He went to the front door and opened it and looked in.

Mae entered the room from the hallway to the kitchen. She had a cup of something steaming, coffee perhaps, in one hand, a fresh piece of toast in the other. She stood there, watching Holden come in, and she put the piece of toast in her mouth and bit off one corner with a huge chomp of her white teeth.

``Mae'' --

``I've been thinking,'' she said, swallowing the toast. ``Didn't you have an old pair of painting overalls in the garage? You used them that time you painted the porch at our other house. And then you wiped up some grease.''

She had caught him off guard, no preparation, nothing certain but that ahead lay some kind of disaster. ``No. Wait a minute. What do you'' --

``I've been looking for them, and they're gone. I'm sure they were in the garage up until a couple of days ago. Or even yesterday. You used to paint in them, and then you just took them for rags. The police have them now.''

``I don't remember any overalls at all.''

``They were all faded. Worn through at the knees.'' She stood sipping and chewing and watching. ``Green paint, wasn't it? Well, I'm not sure of the color. But you had them.''

``Mae, sit down. Put down the cup of coffee. Tell me what this is all about.''

She shook her head. She took another bite of toast. Holden noticed almost absently how she chewed, how the whole side of her cheek moved, a slab of fat that extended down into her neck. ``My goodness, you ought to remember if I do. You're going to have to go to the police and explain what happened. Tell them the truth, or something, before they come here.''