“Well. Satisfied is quite a word. I’m going to tell him I have bought your explanation of your happiness at the game — or rather, Mrs. Goidell’s.”
“You could be a liar.”
“Not only could be, I often am, but not at the moment.”
She regarded me. “Shake hands with me.”
I raised a paw. Her hand was cold, but her grip was firm, and in four seconds our temperatures had equalized. She let go.
“Maybe you can tell me about Bill,” she said. “They don’t really think he killed Nick Ferrone, do they?”
“They think maybe he did.”
“I know he didn’t.”
“Good for you. But you weren’t there, so you don’t have a vote.”
She nodded. She was being hard and practical. “Are they going to arrest him? Will they really charge him with murder?”