Rita: Come on, Alma. Confess. It will make you feel so much better.
Alma: Oh, how I wish you were still in jail! If the police hadn't found that damned postcard letting you off the hook!
Rita: Postcard?
Alma: Yes, the maid's confession. Don't look at me like that. It was in all the papers.
Rita: The papers said she left a note. None of them said it was on a postcard. You murdered Isabel, too!
Alma: Now, hold on.
Rita: I knew she wouldn't have killed herself! I knew it!
Alma: Whatever it is you think you know, you can't prove any of it.
Rita: Perhaps not, but I can certainly make some noise.