She said, “I don’t care what Uncle Boyd told you about us Frosts. It couldn’t have been anything very terrible, because he wouldn’t tell lies. I don’t care if you’re working with the police, either. There couldn’t be anything more... more distasteful to a Frost than what has happened. Anyway, the police never found out anything at all about Molly Lauck, and you did.”
Her tears had dried. She went on, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you... of course I’m sorry. I thought I was keeping a secret for Uncle Boyd, but I’m sorry anyway. I only wish there was anything else I could tell you... but anyway... I can do this. This is the only time I’ve been truly glad I have lots of money. I’ll pay you anything to find out who killed Uncle Boyd. Anything, and... and you won’t have to sue me for it.”
I got her glass and went to the cabinet to get her some more brandy. I grinned at the bottle as I poured, reflecting that this case was turning out to be just one damned client after another.
Chapter 11
Llewellyn was expostulating. “But, Helen, it’s a police job. Not that he could be any more offensive than the police are, but it’s a police job and let them do it. Anyway, Dad and Aunt Callie will be sore as the devil, you know they will, you know how they went after me when I... Tuesday.”
Helen said, “I don’t care if they’re sore. It’s not their money, it’s mine. I’m doing this. Of course I won’t be of age until next month — does that matter, Mr. Wolfe? Is that all right?”
“Quite all right.”
“Will you do it?”
“Will I accept your commission? In spite of my experience with another Frost as a client, yes.”
She turned to her ortho-cousin. “You do as you please, Lew. Go on home and tell them if you want to. But I... I’d like to have you...”