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“It’s Joan.”
“I’ve got the TV on. Were you harmed?”
“Just frightened,” she replied. “She was the first person I hired. An agency sent her over.”
“Take some deep breaths.”
“After East Hampton, I know the drill, thanks.”
“Do you want to stay here tonight? Perhaps a few days?”
“No, I’m not going to let the little creep scare me out of another house.”
“Are we thinking of the same little creep? The description seems to apply.”
“We are.”
“Make sure to ask the police to search every room, every nook and cranny, including the garage. Is the extra Mercedes still there?”
“No, it was gone when I got home.”
“Did the locksmith replace the lock on the door of the maid’s room off the garage?”
“He did. I had a look at that, and my key worked.”
“Did you go inside?”
“No, my nerve failed me at that point. If she’d been left in that room, we still wouldn’t have found her.”
“Keep listening to your nerve, and sleep with your gun under your pillow. It will be more comforting than it sounds.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Do you want me to come over and spend the night?”
“Certainly not! What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“The regular kind, I suppose.”
“Nevertheless, my .45 will be my only company—it’s a relief to have it back.”
“As you wish. Call if you need me.”
“I think I can handle it.” She hung up.
A moment later, the phone rang. “Yes?”
“It’s Sandy. Does your intuition extend as far as the Upper East Side?”
“No, but the murder was at my secretary’s house.”
“Was it she?”
“No, she just called. The butler found the body as he was turning off lights for the night.”
“How is it that you have a secretary with what was described on TV as ‘one of the largest houses on the Upper East Side’?”
“An aunt left it to her—not long ago. She’s barely moved in. Why did you think I might have intuited something about the murder?”
