asked Jury. Nils Anders looked across the top of his bourbon and smiled. “I told you she wasn’t much on details.” Nils had been holding on to a table for them, by the time Jury arrived at the restaurant. Holding on for dear life it would have to be, judging by the crowd both sitting and standing. It was a favorite spot, a place where you couldn’t get a table without a reservation, but the tourists weren’t aware of that. “She said it and just—walked away.” Jury sipped his whisky, dying for a cigarette. Thank the Lord Anders was a nonsmoker and they were sitting in the No Smoking section. “Well, it sounds as if Mary doesn’t much care for Cuz, doesn’t it?” “How about you?” Anders looked puzzled. “Do I care for Cousin Dolly?” He shrugged. “She’s all right, I guess.” Nils reached in the breadbasket for a piece of corn-and-chili bread. “Mary hasn’t said anything to you about Dolly Schell?” “Anything like what?” Nils shook his head, buttered his bread.
