Quarrel with the Foe. Mel Bradshaw

of the shooting allowed for—for the possibility of . . .” Her voice trailed off.

      “What did your husband tell you about the gun?”

      “That none was found, and that’s what the paper says too. But still—a passerby might have picked it up.”

      “You’d need a nimble trigger finger, Mrs. Watt, to fire a pair of bullets into the same part of your own chest, even if a third one strayed into Daily Strength for Daily Needs.”

      “I see,” said Lavinia. “Thank you.” She held half of one of the double doors open for me.

      I hesitated.

      “How long have you and Mr. Watt been married?”

      “Three years this June. Why do you ask?”

      “I was just wondering how well you knew Digby Watt.”