Tragg came across to stand before her. “And how are you today?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well, you’re certainly looking well.”
“Isn’t she,” Mrs. Gentrie said. “I believe murder cases agree with her. She’s perked up no end.”
“Now, Florence,” Rebecca said, “you’re talking as though I had been an invalid.”
“Don’t be silly. But you must know you’re looking a lot better, and I think you’re feeling a lot better. Now that you have something to interest you.” She turned to Lieutenant Tragg, and said, “Rebecca spends too much time in her darkroom, and she stays in the house too much of the time. I keep trying to persuade her to get out, and take more exercise, but I don’t have much luck.”
“Well, sakes alive, what’s a body going to do?” Rebecca demanded. “I never stand a chance at getting the family car — even if I knew how to drive, which I don’t. And as far as walking is concerned, it isn’t any pleasure to get up and pound your feet to pieces on the cement sidewalk while automobiles go whizzing by and spewing a lot of poison gas into the atmosphere. I don’t see why they allow automobiles on residential streets, Lieutenant. I think it’s an outrage and a menace to health.”
“It may be at that,” Tragg agreed. “Are there any new developments?”
Mrs. Gentrie shook her head.
Rebecca, having started to talk, rambled on. She said, “Mr. Mason was out here just about an hour ago. He was making what he called a final check-up.”