Investigation by Dorothy Uhnak

back. Her small eyes filled with tears and they spilled down her round cheeks, leaving long royal-blue streaks of mascara.
    “And you haven’t seen or spoken to Mrs. Keeler since ... what was it, five o’clock last night?”
    She nodded absently, then jerked her head at me. “Oh, no, wait, that wasn’t what I said, was it?”
    “I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood, Patti. Did you see or speak to Mrs. Keeler after five last night?”
    She became evasive; her face screwed up with indecision. I leaned forward and reached for her hands; they grasped mine with a surprising tension.
    “What’s wrong, Patti? What is it you’re not sure you should tell me?”
    “How did you know that?” she asked in wonder. It’s been a long time since I was so impressive.
    “Because you’re a nice girl and I can see you’re worrying about something. It’ll be better if you tell me; then you won’t have to worry about it anymore. Patti?”
    “Well, you see, last night I drove my gentleman friend to his place and left right away. He’s coming down with the flu and didn’t want me to stay around. He lives in Manhattan, you see, so as I was driving over the bridge to Queens, I fell to thinking that why ever should Mrs. Keeler be without her car in the morning? It was good enough of her to lend it to me; the least I could do was to return it, and take a taxi-cab home you see?”
    “Very thoughtful, Patti.” Very carefully, I asked her, “So you went back to Mrs. Keeler’s apartment late last night” What time would that be?”
    “It was two-thirty. This morning. I pulled into the parking lot, see I know her parking space, it’s all reserved and all, and I knew it was two-thirty, the news was just coming on and all.”
    “And what happened then? You went to Mrs. Keeler’s apartment at two-thirty?”
    “Well yes.” She hesitated: this was the tricky part; the part of it that had her worried. I squeezed her hands lightly: they were very cold.
    “Did you see her at that time? Patti?”
    “Well. No. See, that was the funny thing. I went to the apartment door and tapped. I didn’t want to wake the boys so I didn’t ring the bell at first.”
    “What about waking Mrs. Keeler? Didn’t you think she’d be asleep at that time?”
    “Oh, no. Mrs. Keeler is so used to working late-night hours, at the spa, you see. She hardly ever gets to sleep before three or four, she’d told me that. Besides. I’d seen her bedroom light on around the back, you know, when I came from the parking lot.”
    “Okay what happened then?”
    “Well, she didn’t come to the door. So finally I rang the bell. I hated to do that, it’s such a loud bell, but, you know, I thought maybe she’d the telly on and couldn’t hear me tapping.”
    “Did she come to the door?”
    Patti shook her head, staring at our collection of fingers.
    “Then what did you do? Did you hear anything from inside? The boys crying or calling out or anything?”
    “It was quiet inside. From what I could hear with my ear at the door.”
    “Then what did you do?”
    “Well, then I drove home. Back to here, and I got ready for bed. And then ...” She wavered; drew her hands onto her own lap.
    “Come on, Patti, then what?”
    Apparently she couldn’t talk unless I squeezed the words out of her hands. They were still cold, but, at the same time, now they were sweaty.
    “Well. I was sort of worried, you know. Her not coming to the door and all. So ... I went out into the hallway there, where the phone is. And I called her. Mrs. Keeler.”
    “And ... ?”
    “She answered; on the first ring, in fact. I was relieved to hear her voice. That she was ... all right, you know?”
    “What time was this, Patti? And what did she say?”
    “It was a minute or so after three; the news was on again.” She gestured vaguely toward her table radio. “And so, well, I told her that I had stopped by, with the car for her, and all. But, well, I think she was angry with me. Or