He looked hopefully toward the kitchen again.
“The roast isn’t burned,” Larry said patiently. “Now what was the deal between Tonelli and the judge?”
“Tonelli was the judge’s man. Right on the payroll. And the judge tried to double-cross him. The judge saw I knew what was going on, so he slanted my build-up to fit Tonelli, and then he shot him right in front of us. That took nerve and some pretty fast thinking. Tonelli was playing along with him because he knew the judge was in as deep as he was. But the judge figured if he could make a case against Tonelli and then shoot him to keep his mouth shut — well he figured that would put him in the clear.”
“And Tonelli’s men killed Corinne for talking to me?”
“Yeah. That’s about all except—”
Fran appeared in the doorway, holding the roast on a huge platter. She paused, waiting for their approval. She had the triumphant expression of a bride who has followed the cook book faithfully and is a little amazed that it worked.
“Gosh, that’s pretty,” Meyers said.
Larry was frowning. “You said that was all, ‘except’ — except what?”
“Larry!”
Larry looked up and saw Fran standing in the doorway. One of her small feet was tapping the floor ominously. He remembered what had happened the last time he had failed to be properly enthusiastic over a special dinner. He shuddered.
“Darling, that’s magnificent,” he said fervently.