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his arms. 'This is, after all, a major election.'
'You think I'm working for Davison?'
'You and Windsor come to my home under false pretenses. You start asking bizarre
questions about my past. You pay off a police officer to steal a file on my
wife's death. You are connected with a man who recently tried to blackmail me.
And you've been seen conversing with known criminal associates of Davi-son's.'
He gave the political smile, the one that couldn't help being a touch
condescending. 'If you were I, what would you think?'
'Back up,' Myron said. 'One
mbt ema, I didn't pay off anybody to steal a file.'
'Officer Francine Neagly. Do you deny meeting with her at the Ritz Diner?'
'No.' Too long to explain the truth, and what was the point? 'Okay
jordans shoes for women, forget that
one for now. Who tried to blackmail you?'
The manservant entered the room. 'Iced tea, sir?'
Bradford thought it over. 'Lemonade, Mattius. Some lemonade would be divine.'
'Very well, sir. Mr. Bolitar?'
Myron doubted that Bradford stocked much Yoo-Hoo. 'Same here
mbt sandale, Mattius. But make
mine extra divine.'
Mattius the Manservant nodded. 'Very well, sir.' He slid back out the door.
Arthur Bradford wrapped a towel around his shoulders. Then he lay back on the
chaise. They were long so that his legs would not hanyilai：
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