I spotted her at once, near the kitchen, indistinct in the smoky restaurant, one foot resting against the wall, a lock of pale hair hanging over her brow. Though white with fatigue, she ushered another waitress out of the way. “Is there news?” “We are making progress. You have been an immense help, more than I can say. But it’s possible we may call on you again if we need to, if any of the men on your list prove to be important and we need to have them identified.” She nodded. “And I was wondering, could you tell me any more about the day Stella came in late, when she hadn’t been home?” “Not really. She was tired and grubby. Secretive. That’s all.” “Did you have an idea where she’d been? You must have wondered.” She rubbed fruitlessly at a tea stain on her apron. “I suppose I did. She was so tired. And frightened and upset. I thought she must have had a bad time with someone—not with Wheeler, he’d never treat her bad—but if so, why wouldn’t she say?”
