She was holding her chin a little higher than natural, to keep the spunk going.
“You-all of you have met Mr. Goodwin.
Yesterday morning at…that candy business with the police. I've engaged Nero Wolfe to investigate Uncle Boyd's death, and Mr. Goodwin works for him-”
Dudley Frost bawled from his chair,
“Lew! Come here!
Damn it, what kind of nonsense-”
Llewellyn hurried over there to stem it Perren Gebert had approached us and was smiling at me:
“Ah!
The fellow that doesn't like scenes.
You remember I told you, Calida?”
He transferred the smile to Miss Frost.
“My dear Helen!
You've engaged Mr. Wolfe?
Are you one of the Erinyes?
Alecto? Megaera?
Tisiphone? Where's your snaky hair?
So one can really buy anything with money, even vengeance?”
Mrs. Frost murmured at him,
“Stop it, Perren.”
“I'm not buying vengeance.” Helen colored a little. “I told you this morning,
Perren, you're being especially hateful. You'd better not make me cry again, or I'll…well, don't.
Yes, I've engaged Mr. Wolfe, and Mr. Goodwin has come here and he wants to talk to you.”
“To me?” Perren shrugged. “About Boyd?
If you ask it, he may, but I warn him not to expect much.
The police have been here most of the day, and I've realized how little I really knew about Boyd, though I've known him more than twenty years.”
I said,
“I stopped expecting long ago.
Anything you tell me will be velvet. – I'm supposed to talk to you, too, Mrs. Frost.
And your brother-in-law.
I have to take notes, and it gives me a cramp to write standing up…”
She nodded at me, and turned.
“Over here, I think.”
She started toward Dudley Frost's side of the room, and I joined her.
Her straight back was graceful, and she was unquestionably streamlined for her age.
Llewellyn started carrying chairs, and Gebert came up with one.
As we got seated and I pulled out my notebook and pencil, I noticed that Helen still had to keep her chin up, but her mother didn't.
Mrs. Frost was saying:
“I hope you understand this, Mr. Goodwin.
This is a terrible thing, an awful thing, and we were all very old friends of Mr. McNair's, and we don't enjoy talking about it.
I knew him all my life, from childhood.”
I said, “Yeah. You're Scotch?”
She nodded.
“My name was Buchan.”
“So McNair told us.” I jerked my eyes up quick from my notebook, which was my habit against the handicap of not being able to keep a steely gaze on the victim.
But she wasn't recoiling in dismay; she was just nodding again.
“Yes. I gathered from what the policemen said that Boyden had told Mr. Wolfe a good deal of his early life.
Of course you have the advantage of knowing what it was he had to say to Mr. Wolfe.
I knew, naturally, that Boyden was not well…his nerves…”
Gebert put in,
“He was what you call a wreck.