The Merchant of Menace (12 page)

“Speaking of whims," Mel said, "what have you done with my mother?"

“Dropped her off at the airport," Shelley said under her breath so he couldn't hear her, but Jane could.

“We invited her to lunch with us, but she said she didn't like Chinese," Jane replied. "I imagine she's still upstairs."

“It's the MSG that gets her," Mel said. "I guess I better take her someplace for lunch." He paused, waiting for them to let him off the hook.

Jane and Shelley smiled benevolently at him. Jane was tempted to say there were lots of leftovers they could eat, but kept quiet. She wanted Addie out of the house for a while. Just longenough to briskly move the sewing room furniture back to the way it had been before.

“Did you talk to Bruce Pargeter?" Shelley asked.

“Yes, at some length. He told me about the sinkhole, his father's decline and death after the scandal."

“And did he have an alibi for last night?" Jane asked.

“Sort of," Mel replied. "He says he told his mother about Lance King possibly being in the neighborhood and they decided to keep the lowest possible profile. His mother's bedroom and sitting room are at the back of the house. They turned off all the front lights, the mother went to her room, and Bruce spent the evening in the basement."

“In the basement? Hiding or what?" Shelley said.

“No, he's got a terrific woodworking shop down there. Said he was making a jewelry box for his mother's birthday next month. There were plans from a magazine and a half-done box. Incredibly fine work, by the way."

“So it wasn't something he whipped up this morning as an alibi?" Jane asked.

“Nope, but it doesn't prove anything. He could have done it a week ago and just
said
he worked on it last night. He's
a
nice guy, it seems, but I have nothing to convince me that he couldn't have been peering out a darkened upstairs window, saw Lance on the roof, and hared up the block to give him a push. His mother, without even being asked, admitted that she's a little hard of hearing and had the television in her sitting room turned up pretty loud.”

“So he's a suspect?" Jane asked.

“Jane, at this point, everyone's a suspect. I've already been to do first interviews with all the people who were here, getting their impressions and asking them to make lists of times and people. By the way, 'Lance King' was a stage name."

“Was it? Who was he really?" Shelley asked. "Harvey Wilhite."

“Wilhite?" Jane asked. "One of the neighbors is named Wilhite."

“Sharon Wilhite," Mel said. "Right. And she's his wife — ex-wife, rather."

“You're kidding!" Shelley exclaimed.

But before they could ask anything else, Addie VanDyne called down the stairs, "Mel? Is that you, dear?”

He went to meet her and a hurried, hissy conversation took place. Jane and Shelley strained their ears to overhear it, but couldn't get any sense out of the few words they could discern. "I'm going to run Mom out for lunch," he announced as he returned to the kitchen. He didn't look very pleased, Jane thought. Was it just that he resented taking precious time off the murder case or because of the content of their little whispered chat?

The minute Mel and his mother were out of sight, Jane and Shelley galloped upstairs. They put the bed back on the other wall and scooted the small worktable to the place it had formerly been. "Did she explain why she moved the furniture?" Shelley asked, neatly aligning the wastebasket under the table.

“No, neither of us mentioned it. I was too surprised to say anything that wasn't criminally rude.”

They took a last look around and closed the door on the sewing/guest room.

“I feel just like a teenager who has just successfully TP'd
a
house!" Shelley said gleefully.

Suzie Williams was the first to arrive for the cookie party. She looked fabulous in an extremely well-fitted and well-underpinned green suit. The color made her greenish-blue eyes even more gorgeous than usual and her hair had been freshly platinumed. Suzie was a generous-sized woman with a sort of Mae-West-in-her-prime style. And the vulgar sense of humor to go with it. "I'm early. Sorry. But when you're in the girdle business, you've got to get while the getting is good."

“Suzie, what great cookies!" Shelley said with a little more enthusiasm than was strictly polite. Suzie's box contained several dozen little iced cookies that almost looked like miniature cakes. "Did you make these today?”

Suzie burst out laughing. "Not today, my dear. Not ever. They're straight from the bakery… you know, one of those places that makes your food for you. Nobody told me I had to
cook
the fucking cookies in order to come to this party."

“What bakery?" Shelley questioned, squinty-eyed. "I haven't found one that does such nice stuff.”

While Suzie explained how to find the little, out-of-the-way bakery, Jane put her cookies on a serving plate. "Suzie, quick, before everybody else gets here, tell us about Whatsisname Dwyer," she said.

“Sam Dwyer," Suzie said. "I'd heard he was a widower and gainfully employed, which is enough for me to consider a man as a possible conquest. He was out in his yard one day last fall raking leaves, so I primped myself up and strolled down to chat with him. Tried to find out a bit about him, which wasn't easy because the man is a clam. But then, I'm good at opening clams. I finally got him to admit that his wife had died in a car accident when Pet was about three. Something about a road being flooded when a hurricane came through, so it was somewhere in the South. He didn't seem very sad about it and I got the impression that the marriage might have already been in trouble."

“Why is that?" Shelley asked.

“Oh, some comments he made later about how he really liked the quiet life he had here and how it was such a change. He's really pretty much of a confirmed hermit, I think, and she probably wanted a real high life — going out for dinner once a week to Denny's or something."

“What does he do for a living?" Jane inquired.

“Something with computer programs."

“Big help," Shelley said. "We knew that much."

“What can I say? Computers are a mystery to me," Suzie said. "Whatever it is, he does it at home. His main interest is Pet, though. He really adores that nerdy little girl. If a girl can be calleda nerd. Went on about her terrific grades, how she never has to be told to clean her room, how smart she is about computers, and that she's already learning to cook."

“If her fudge is an example, she's got a way to go," Jane said. "Poor little Pet. What's going to happen when she 'blossoms' and wants to get free of him? It's great that he's such a devoted father, but there's trouble ahead."

“Well, it's not going to be my trouble," Suzie said.

“You've eliminated him from the marriage stakes?" Shelley asked.

“ 'Fraid so. In spite of the Mercedes in the garage."

“He drives a Mercedes?" Jane exclaimed.

“I don't think he actually drives it, just keeps it in his garage. I only saw it because he opened the garage door to put his rake away," Suzie said. "I've never seen him leave the house, have you?"

“Come to think of it, I haven't," Jane said. "Not that I pay much attention to who's coming and going. Surely he has to go to the grocery store or the barber shop or something once in a while. He's coming to the cookie party, I think."

“No! Emerging from the clamshell to socialize?" Suzie said. "Amazing.”

Jane's mother-in-law, Thelma, was the next to arrive. Thelma didn't live in the neighborhood and theoretically shouldn't have been included. But when Jane had inadvertently mentioned the plan, Thelma had assumed Jane was issuing an invitation and there was no way for Jane to retract it. Thelma might be the bane of Jane's exis- tence, but she was also Jane's children's grandmother and hence, wasn't to be crossed any more often than necessary.

But today would be a landmark.

“Stay right here, you two," Jane ordered. "And agree with me — even if you don't.”

Shelley and Suzie exchanged perplexed looks, but remained in the kitchen as Thelma entered. Both had met her a number of times and artificially cheerful greetings were exchanged. Then Thelma proceeded to do just what Jane had expected.

“Jane, dear, I have a little something for you," Thelma said, rummaging in her handbag and fishing out a check. This was a temporary triumph for Thelma. She always liked delivering the monthly check in front of an audience if she could manage it.

Although Thelma liked to be Lady Bountiful in this scenario, bestowing what she pretended was a generous gift, it wasn't a gift at all. Jane's husband, his brother, Ted, and his mother, Thelma, had jointly owned a small chain of pharmacies. Early in Jane and Steve's marriage, there had been a severe financial crunch and Jane had contributed a small inheritance to the pharmacies to help keep the business afloat. Steve had insisted that under the circumstances, a contract would be drawn up to make his third of future profits Jane's as well. So, though Steve had been dead for years now, Jane was still entitled to her one-third share. Steve hadn't intended to die, of course. The contract was pure sentiment — a means of thanking his then-new wife.

But since his death, Thelma had performed the monthly ritual of giving Jane her check as though it were a present — out of the goodness of her heart. And as the years went on, Jane had become more resentful and humiliated with each presentation. But from now on, things would be different. It was Jane's own gift to herself.

She took the check from Thelma, folded it neatly, and put it in her pocket. With a smile, she said, "Thelma, that's the last time you will need to put yourself out this way."

“What do you mean?" Thelma said brightly, apparently thinking Jane meant to forgo her share of the profits.

“I talked to the bank this week and arranged to have the funds transferred automatically to my account." This wasn't strictly true. The pharmacy's accountant would have to approve it, but Jane would talk to him later. "You won't even have to bother with the check anymore.”

Thelma was taken completely off-guard. "But Jane, I
like
giving you the check," she said.

Jane kept her smile frozen in place. "I know you do, but I don't like it, Thelma. This will work out much better.”

Shelley threw herself into the momentary silence while Thelma was gathering her wits for a riposte. "Jane, what an excellent idea that is! How very considerate of you to save Mrs. Jeffry the trouble of hand-delivering it. And how much easier it will make the bookkeeping.”

Suzie, who had no idea of what the underlying current was, but recognizing that it was in full flood, contributed, "I have my paycheck done that way. Straight into the bank electronically. Saves all the concern about a check ever getting lost. And it's a lot easier for me and the company at tax time. All the transactions are recorded automatically and a machine just spits them out in January."

“But—" Thelma stuttered.

“It will be better for everyone this way," Jane said firmly. Very firmly.

The doorbell rang and Jane said, "Oh, more of our guests," as she left the kitchen. She paused in the front hall and did a quiet little victory dance before opening the door wearing a manic smile.

Two of the older ladies on the block
were
at the door, looking rather alarmed by Jane's excessively enthusiastic welcome. Jane saw Mel pulling into the driveway to deliver his mother. Jane ushered in the two neighbors and took their coats and cookie boxes and heard Shelley, in the kitchen, introducing Addie VanDyne to Thelma Jeffry.
Wonder what they'll make of each other,
Jane thought.
Mincemeat, most likely.

Mel left without even coming in the house. Jane hurriedly set more cookies out on trays and waited at the front door for the next guests. A clump of ladies all converged at the same time. One of them was Sharon Wilhite. Jane was eager to get her aside and question her about Lance King, but not in front of the mob of cookie-bearing neighbors.

The party showed every sign of being a grand success. The dining room table was laden with trays of cookies — everybody's most elaborate recipes. Spritz cookies with fancy shapes and Christmas colors, date-roll cookies, tiny iced nutmeg logs, gingersnaps, rum balls — a cornucopia of sugary delights. The house smelled of pine boughs and hot cinnamon cider and the rich scent of the Godiva coffee Jane practically had to take a loan out to purchase.

It put last night's disastrous party out of Jane's mind. This was a good neighborhood party, a celebration of the holidays without a threat in their midst. Unless, of course, one of these women had hoisted herself up the ladder — no, she wouldn't let herself think about that right now.

Tiffany Johnson arrived by herself, clad in an ill-fitting red organdy-over-taffeta frock that was obviously expensive and totally inappropriate. Jane went out of her way to make Tiffany welcome, although the woman obviously hadn't clued in that she was seriously overdressed for the occasion. She'd brought along exquisite puff pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar, which surprised Jane. She'd expected Tiffany to turn up with something heavy, filling, and distinctly "down home" instead of something so fine and delicate.

Shelley strolled into the dining room, looking over her shoulder at Tiffany. "I don't get it, Jane."

“Don't get what?"

“The Johnsons. That's a very pricey dress Tiffany's wearing. Awfully mother-of-the-bride-ish, but good quality. Where do they get the money? How do they afford the rent on their house? Do they
do
something for a living?"

“I have no idea," Jane said. "The only thing I can figure is that they inherited a wad from some distant relative."

“Or maybe Billy Joe sold out a highly successful hog-butchering factory," Shelley said. "They aren't as ignorant as you'd think," Jane said. "I meant to tell you about this. I went over to invite Tiffany to the parties and Billy Joe was working away at a computer."