“Couldn’t he have been using that paint — well, later?”
Tragg raised his eyebrows. “You mean after the shot was fired?” he asked.
Mrs. Gentrie thought that over. “Well, no. I mean before — before his father started to paint.”
“I believe his father mixed up the paint from some he’d brought home from the hardware store.”
“I guess so,” Mrs. Gentrie said.
Hester came through from the kitchen, stood silently in the doorway.
“What is it, Hester?” Mrs. Gentrie asked.
“You want me to get some more preserves from the pantry shelves?”
“Yes...” Mrs. Gentrie looked at Lieutenant Tragg and said, “I wonder if you could pardon me for just a moment, Lieutenant. It seems as though I haven’t been able to keep abreast of my work all day, and...”
“Certainly,” Tragg interposed. “I can understand just how it is, Mrs. Gentrie. Go right ahead.”