A Quiche Before Dying (6 page)

Unfortunately, she caught sight of herself as she whirled past a mirror.

“Oh, my God!“ she exclaimed, letting Meow escape her grasp. She peered into the glass. “Hair! Clothes! Makeup!“ she said to the disheveled image.

6

Shelley dropped by while Jane was in the midst of a facial. “Oh, you decided to try that stuff? You look like a mummified raccoon.“

“But underneath, I’m gorgeous. Wait a minute. It’s time to wash it off. Come on upstairs and look at my closet. I need your help.”

When Jane emerged from the bathroom, her face scrubbed and shining, Shelley was sitting on the edge of the bed. “What’s up?“

“I’ve got a date tonight.“

“A date! Who?“

“Mel VanDyne. And I’m behaving like an idiot. I know it. But I don’t know what to wear. Something casual, but not sloppy. Feminine but not girlish. He’s picking me up from class, so it has to be something I might normally wear to class.“

“Okay. Where are you going?“

“Nowhere much. Ice cream.“

“He invited you out for ice cream? What a cheapskate!“

“No. He invited me dancing, but I don’t think I remember how to dance. Shelley, it’s been more than twenty years since I’ve had a real date.“

“But not since you’ve been asked. Remember that.“

“Oh, sure. The neighborhood sleezeballs who pounce on anybody who looks like they’re free. That one who wears the polyester leisure suits is still calling me every month or so. He must have a roster he goes through. And there’s the one with the potbelly and load of gold chains who calls everybody ‘babe.’ You know, he called me a week after Steve died. A
week!
I was so offended that I burst into tears. He took it for encouragement.“ Jane shuddered at the memory.

“Pink. An apricotish pink,“ Shelley mused. “I’ll be right back.“ She dashed off and returned a few minutes later with a blouse in a dry cleaning bag. “This is it. Do you have a lace bra?“

“One.“

“Good. This fabric is just thin enough that a lace bra will barely show through. Sexy without being blatant. With your white skirt. And you can’t carry that hideous saddlebag purse. He’ll think you’re going on a camp-out.“

“You know I operate on the assumption that I might run into Pierce Brosnan any moment, and if he asks me to run away with him, I’ll be ready to go.“

“Ice cream and running away are miles apart. I have a little white clutch you can use.”

They settled on shoes and jewelry and were debating over hose when Katie and Cecily got home. “Hey, Mom, you’ve got to see what we—“ Katie began, then looked around Jane’s bedroom. Rejected clothing was strewn everywhere. “Hey, this looks like my room. What’s going on?“

“Your mother has a date tonight.“

“A date?“ A series of expressions crossed her face in rapid succession. She settled on pleased surprise. “Cool, Mom. Who?“

“Detective VanDyne,“ Jane said.

“Yeah? He’s okay. For an old guy.”

Jane came over and hugged her daughter. “You just put everything into perspective. Let’s see your new stuff.”

At quarter of six they dutifully assembled to go to Mrs. General Pryce’s. They were going in Shelley’s van because it had a flat area in the back where they could set the food without it spilling. Jane had the two quiches she’d made under her mother’s direction; Shelley had her fruit salad, and Cecily had voluntarily contributed some cheese and olive puffs and a plate of deviled eggs.

“I saw her make them,“ Jane said to Shelley in an aggrieved tone when Cecily went back inside for her purse. “I used exactly the same recipe, and when I cook those olive things, the dough runs down and pools. They look like something from one of those obscene bakeries. Hers puff up.“

“Don’t be cranky, Jane. You do lots of things better than she does,“ Shelley said.

“Name four. Never mind. I’d hate to watch you struggle to come up with them. I can feel my hair falling.“

“Your hair looks great, and if I catch you near a bottle of hair spray, I’ll break your wrist.“

“Oh, Shelley, I’m acting like an ass and I can’t stop myself. Priscilla wouldn’t behave like this.“

“ Priscilla? Who the hell is Priscilla?“

“Never mind. Remind me again why we’re doing this.“

“Because Missy will kill us if we don’t.”

Cecily came back to the car. “Mom, are you sure you don’t mind my going out tonight after class?“ Jane asked.

“Of course I don’t. I’m not company, I’m your mother,“ Cecily said firmly. “Katie and I can talk about you behind your back this way,“ she added with a smile as Shelley backed the van out.

Mrs. Pryce’s home was one of the older ones in the neighborhood. It had been built when their suburb was still a distinct town, before Chicago had oozed out and encircled it. There were uninspired flower beds in front and overgrown hedges along the property lines on either side. A not very subtle marking out of her turf, Jane thought. The harsh white paint on the house looked as if it was ready to peel any second. They were met at the door by a maid in uniform. She was an old lady, vaguely Asian, probably Filipino or Thai, and surly-looking. Who wouldn’t be, Jane thought, having to work for Mrs. Pryce? “Welcome, misses,“ she said, relieving them of as many dishes as she could.

Jane walked and was suddenly struck blind in the dark hallway. “The waste-not-want-not school of lighting,“ Shelley murmured, reaching for Jane’s arm.

They stumbled into the living room, where there was a little more light. Shelley’s hand on Jane’s arm tightened and she gasped. The house was so crammed with artifacts that the eye could hardly figure out what to focus on. Mrs. Pryce had apparently spent the last six or seven decades traveling around the world and picking up everything she could find. Oriental brass figurines fought for shelf space with glazed South American pottery. Spanish shawls covered tables and were themselves covered by Belgian lace and mixes of fake and real Meissen ornaments. Japanese lacquer bowls jostled for space with Chinese cloisonné and cheap plastic pennants. A nest of primitive dolls was stuffed into a big, footed silver bowl that sat on a fragile inlaid wood and mother-of-pearl Burmese table.

The air smelled like a neglected museum—warm, musty, with a faint undertone of mildew and marble polish. There was no air-conditioning, just a few feeble table fans barely turning. Jane supposed the only thing that kept them all from suffocating was the fact that the ceilings were so high in the old house.

She stared for a moment before turning to her mother, who was grinning. “There are bazaar merchants all over the earth who rub their hands together at the thought of her,“ Cecily murmured.

“I see you’re admiring my treasures,“ Mrs. Pryce said.

For a moment Jane couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from, then she sorted out the visual overload and identified Mrs. Pryce near a window that was covered with layers of curtains. She was sitting on a high-backed chair with some sort of finials at the top—slightly thronelike. Her smug expression made clear that she was genuinely proud of all the junk the rest of them considered so tacky.

“This is all very—interesting,“ Jane said with a straight face. She heard a noise behind her that sounded like Shelley grinding her teeth.

“Your mother could have a house like this, full of lovely memories, if only she’d planned ahead,“ Mrs. Pryce said to Jane as if Cecily weren’t present.

“You planned this?“ Jane asked.

Stunning thought.

“Certainly. All the years that we were collecting, we were having things sent back to storage. Then, when my husband retired, we moved back here and started setting things out. I can’t tell you the pleasureit was to meet old memories. It’s a shame you haven’t done the same,“ she added, this time speaking directly to Cecily.

“How do you know I haven’t?“ Cecily asked.

“You’re not the type. You girls with the handsome diplomat husbands never appreciate your opportunities. Here! Don’t touch that!“

“I wasn’t touching anything,“ Ruth Rogers snapped back.

Jane hadn’t even noticed she was there. Ruth and her sister, Naomi Smith, both in patterned dresses, had blended in. They were looking at a crèche made entirely of varnished nuts. As Jane looked around, she discovered that Grady Wells was present as well, nestled helplessly among the knickknacks on a small tapestry love seat. He had the look of a man who’d just been told his wife was carrying quintuplets.

Jane went to sit next to him. “Are you all right?“ she asked.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Amazing, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone who had absolutely
no
taste on such a grand scale. Did you see the dish of plaster tacos?“

“No, but I saw a wicker Madonna and child and a three-dimensional needlepoint replica of one of Ludwig’s Bavarian castles.”

He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “That room’s got a huge hunting tapestry in four hundred and seven shades of brown. It actually has a museum tag that says so. It makes you feel like you’ve just fallen down a well and broken your leg. Geez! What a place.”

They both looked up as Missy came into the room. She stumbled to a stop, gazing about in horror. Grady’s laugh was a happy snort. Missy caught Jane’s glance and came over to whisper, “Is this deliberate or has there been a terrible accident with a moving van? How do you move around in all this... stuff!”

Mrs. Pryce summoned Missy to pay her respects before Jane could answer. “I’m surprised that everybody’s coming to this,“ Jane said to Grady. “I wouldn’t be here except that Shelley told me I had to, and she could be a formidable enemy.“

“I was afraid not to come, for fear of what she’d say about me behind my back,“ Grady replied.

“What about Mr. Neufield? Why would he come?“

“Is he here? Oh, yes. I see. Cowering behind the piano. I don’t know. I guess just because he’s so law-abiding. If he’s told he has to do something, he does it. Army training in following orders, I imagine. Will Desiree show up, do you think?“

“I hope so. I want to see her reaction.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Desiree Loftus came to a dead stop just inside the doorway. She took a quick inventory of her surroundings and started laughing. “Dear God in Heaven! Has a carnival supply warehouse blown up and all the debris landed here?”

Everyone except Mrs. Pryce laughed. “What? What was that you said?“ Pryce demanded.

“My dear old thing,“ Desiree said, coming forward and shouting. “This is the most divinely gruesome accumulation I’ve ever seen. How
did
you do it?“

“You don’t make sense!“ Pryce said. “Divine? Gruesome? Say what you mean or don’t say anything. And don’t think I’m serving any drinks here. You’ll have to get your devil’s brew somewhere else. This is a good Christian home.“

“Devil’s brew?“ Grady muttered to Jane as he nudged her gently.

Jane went into a fit of giggles that threatened to become full-blown hysteria.

“Dinner is ready,“ the elderly maid said from the doorway to the room Grady had described as the bottom of a well. Everyone picked their way through the knickknacks toward that direction, expecting to find the food they’d brought on the table, but it wasn’t. Mrs. Pryce’s dining table was a long, narrow trestle type that looked as if it had been looted from a dilapidated Spanish castle. There was barely room to set ten place settings, with no space left for serving dishes. They all milled around a bit, not sure if they were to sit and be served or whether they ought to organize a search party to locate the food.

“Take your plates out to the kitchen and serve yourselves,“ Pryce brayed. She pointed her cane in that direction, nearly stabbing Shelley in the shoulder. Shelley whirled on her and delivered one of her Looks, which normally cowed anyone unfortunate enough to rate one. But Mrs. Pryce was as selectively blind as she was selectively deaf. She appeared not to notice Shelley’s glare.

“I’m losing my gift,“ Shelley said, turning to Jane with a stricken expression.

“No, you’re not. She’s just that one in a million who’s immune,“ Jane comforted her.

The kitchen looked as if it had been pretty modern half a century before. But since then, nothing had been done except to put so many layers of paint on the cabinets that they looked rounded at the edges. Spiffy white tile counters had turned grayish yellow with age, and the grout was an indescribable color. The ancient linoleum floor had worn down to the bare wood in front of the sink. Filling their own plates turned out to be a difficult undertaking. The maid had set the various bowls and platters out all over the kitchen and the narrow pantry/hallway that led from the kitchen to the dining room. There was much confusion and jostling and backtracking.

“We’re like a bunch of lemmings who have lost their compass,“ Jane said as her mother backed into her.

“I was thinking of trains in India,“ Cecily replied. “Everybody crowded together in a narrow space, trying to move around and eat at the same time. This is ghastly. I’ve already put my elbow in somebody’s coleslaw.“

“Don’t spill anything on yourself,“ Shelley said, squeezing in next to Jane and trying to snake her arm through for a ham and egg roll. “I should have thrown a drop cloth over you to keep you tidy. Go sit down.“