Even as she was asking herself the question, the kitchen door opened suddenly and Winthrop came in with something furry by the tail.Mary stared, but Nicky went forward. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “A wounded squirrel! Wait, I’ll rush and get a bandage!”“Oh, for God’s sake,” Winthrop ground out. He slid the squirrel onto the sink for Mary to deal with and glared at Nicky as he eased out of his sheepskin jacket and hat, dumping them untidily on the floor.“There ought to be a law against shooting unarmed squirrels,” Nicky muttered for something to say.Winthrop went to the sink to wash his hands, ignoring her.“Nice squirrel,” Mary defended him. “Plump. Make good stew.”“I’ll bet he was somebody’s daddy,” Nicky murmured.“You’re breaking my heart,” Winthrop said nonchalantly. ”“What’s for dinner?” he asked Mary.“Moussaka.”“That stuff with eggplant?” He made a face. “Whatever happened to beef and potatoes?”“Need change of pace.”“No, I don’t,” he argued. “I like having the same thing every day. It gives me a sense of security.”“Then why go out and kill an innocent squirrel when you really wanted a steak?” Nicky asked.“He wasn’t innocent,” he replied. “I have it on good authority that he was a rounder with unspeakable taste in women squirrels.”“Well, in that case, let’s all eat him,” Nicky agreed.