The kid patted his mother on the shoulder and said in a husky voice meant to be reassuring, “Go ahead, Mom. If he tries to get slick—”
“I won’t,” said Skinner brusquely. “What was the gathering, Mrs. Dunn?”
“It was to celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.” June met his eye and spoke clearly and composedly. “That’s why my brother was there. I mean by that, my husband and my brother had not been together for some time. We were all aware of the slander that was being whispered about the loan to Argentina, and they thought it best not to give it color—”
“That isn’t necessary, June,” Prescott put in. “If I were you I’d let backgrounds alone and stick to facts.”
“Yes, please do,” Skinner agreed. “Who was present?”
“My husband. I. Our son, Andrew. My daughter, Sara — no, Sara got there after — afterwards, with Mr. Prescott. My sister May and my sister April. My brother and his wife. Mr. Stauffer, Osric Stauffer. It was a family party, but Mr. Stauffer came to give my brother a business message and was invited to stay. That’s all.”
“Excuse me. I was there.”
June turned to the voice. “Oh, so you were, Celia. I beg your pardon. Miss Celia Fleet, my sister April’s secretary.”
“Is that all, Mrs. Dunn?”
“Yes.”