“Where were you Monday night? Not that I want an affidavit, but the police will be asking.”
“They will not!”
“Sure they will, unless they crack it before they get to you. Practice on me. Name the people you were playing Canasta with.”
“I wasn’t. I was at home. Here.”
“Any company? Or was Olga here?”
“No.”
I shrugged. “That requires no practice.” I leaned to her a little. “Look, Mrs. Jaffee, I might as well admit it. I’m here under false pretenses. I said we wanted information, Mr. Wolfe and I, and we do, but we also want help. Of course you know of the provisions of Priscilla’s father’s will? Now that she is dead, you know that five people — Helmar, Brucker, Quest, Pitkin, and Miss Duday — you know that they will own most of the Softdown stock?”
“Yes, certainly.” She was frowning, concentrating at me.
“Okay. You’re a stockholder. We want you to bring an action against those five people. Use your own lawyer, or we’ll recommend one. We want you to ask a court for an injunction restraining them from exercising any of the rights of ownership of that stock until it is determined whether one or more of them acquired it by the commission of a crime. We think that under the circumstances a court will entertain such a request and may grant it.”
“But what—” Her frown was deeper. “Why should I do that?”