“Ask, before you let anyone in. Party who did that stab job may still be on the floor.” I went over to the French windows opening onto the private terrace overlooking Central Park; under a striped cabana canopy there were half a dozen beach chairs and chaises, but nothing bigger than a Pomeranian could have been hiding out there. “Your boss is over at the studio trying to get on Tildy Millett’s trail.”
“He’s been spending a good deal of time at it.” She was acid. “Maybe what she’s done now will change that.”
“Think she killed the guy across the hall?”
“Why else would she run away?” The luminous emerald gleamed in her eyes.
“Might be other reasons.”
“Oh, yes. I know them. But they’re all tied in together, her reasons for running away, for murdering her bodyguard.”
“Lanerd?”
She studied me. “I wish I knew whether I could trust you?”
I said I wouldn’t guarantee it. But she could try.