The Merchant of Menace (11 page)

“Didn't Suzie say she knew something about him?" Jane asked. "You might ask her about him.”

Mel didn't seem too interested. He was studying his list. "I'm afraid of your friend Suzie," he said with a preoccupied half-smile. "Did you say she was in the basement with the men?"

“Naturally," Shelley said with a smile.

“And there's Ginger, of course, who isn't on the map," he mumbled as he fought to roll up the wrapping paper map. It had silly-looking Santas on other side. Jane wondered why she'd ever bought it.
It's appropriate, in a way,
she thought,
but he's sure going to look ridiculous having it on his office desk.

“
What about the rest of his television crew?" Jane asked. "They had to spend a lot of time taking orders from him. He couldn't have been a pleasant person to work with."

“Three of them, and they alibi each other. Having coffee and doughnuts at the convenience store. The clerk said their van, which is pretty noticeable, was sitting in the lot the whole time. And none was foolish enough to pretend to have liked Lance. That
would
have made me suspicious.”

Shelley was frowning. "I'm not so sure it has to be someone in the neighborhood. Nobody but Julie, Jane, and I knew she'd invited him. And he was promptly uninvited."

“Yes, but you know what a blabbermouth Julie is," Jane said. "She probably called all her friends on the block and carried on about her celebrity coup before she even dropped the bomb on me. And she's unlikely to have called them back to tell them I'd made her retract the invitation.”

Mel stood up and gathered his paperwork. "I'm off to see your Mr. Pargeter."

“Good," Jane said cheerfully. "I have another party to hostess today."

“I guess I should tell Mom good-bye," Mel said.

“Is your furnace fixed yet?" Jane asked, rather pointedly, she feared.

“I don't know. Why do you ask? Mom's not being a nuisance, is she?”

“Oh, no. Not at all," Jane said with a false smile.

When he'd gone, Shelley said thoughtfully, "I think the Bible's wrong."

“The Bible?"

“Sure, the story is that God made Eve out of Adam's rib. I think God made Eve out of Adam's brains, which accounts for why men are men.”

Jane laughed. "She's his mother, Shelley!

Name me one man who can see through his mother."

“I can't. And you'd do well to keep that in mind.”

The kids finally stirred themselves, slouched · downstairs, and messed up the kitchen fixing themselves breakfasts of varying degrees of sloppiness. Jane made Todd clean up the milk mess he'd made with his cereal, Katie the cookie crumbs, and Mike the granola bar wrapper. She'd done enough cleaning, washing up, and putting away last night after the caroling party that nothing remained to do before the cookie party except a little random tidying up. Jane vacuumed while Shelley put a fresh cloth on the dining room table. The kids had disappeared and Addie had not come back downstairs.

Jane and Shelley sat down in the living room. "If I had any sense, I'd be frantic at this point," Jane said.

“No need. Everything's under control."

“That's what's scary. It's the time everything seems to be under control that the plumbing backs up and the furnace goes out. It's a rule."

“Speaking of furnaces, and Mel's in particular," Shelley said, lowering her voice, "how longdo you think you're going to have dear Addie here?"

“Not long, I hope. I want to like her, Shelley, and I just can't. She did a good job raising Mel, and I've got to admire her for that, but—"

“She doesn't want to let go of him?"

“That's my guess. Or maybe she just disapproves of me. And with good reason. I'm a couple years older than he is, I've got one grown-up son and two teenagers and no job, let alone a successful career or social position or any of the things women like in a daughter-in-law. You couldn't blame her for thinking I'm just looking for a husband to support me and help me with the kids and college tuition and all."

“Are you looking for a husband?" Shelley asked.

Jane stared at her. "Shelley, you astonish me. You're usually telling me what I think, not asking."

“So, I'm asking."

“I'm not looking for any old husband. These years since Steve died have been some of the best in my life. Well, that's got a lot to do with Steve's personality, I guess. But I'm pretty happy with things just the way they are and don't much miss washing a man's Jockey shorts and sorting his socks. I like having the closet and all the drawers in my bedroom to myself and having a collection of books I'm reading all over the bed. It used to make Steve wild to crawl into bed and discover an Agatha Christie under his pillow.”

Shelley's attention had wandered. "What are those strange noises upstairs?"

“Probably Mike moving stuff around. Or Katie rearranging her room for the eightieth time. Do you think we dare actually go out to lunch? The guests won't arrive until two. We could make it back in plenty of time to get the coffee started."

“I guess we'll have to invite Addie along," Shelley said glumly.

Jane sighed. "I guess so. With any luck, she'll turn us down.”

Jane went upstairs and tapped lightly on the door to the sewing room. "Addie? Shelley and I are going to lunch and I wondered—”

She stopped speaking as Addie opened the door.

Jane came down a few minutes later, walking hard on her heels. "Let's go. Now," she said grimly.

Shelley knew the danger signs and quickly shoved her feet into her boots and grabbed her coat. A moment later, as they were getting into Shelley's car, which was parked in her driveway, Pet Dwyer tapped on Jane's window. Jane yelped with surprise and opened it.

“Mrs. Jeffry, you've having your cookie party today, aren't you?"

“I am," Jane said, "but I'm afraid kids aren't invited."

“But is my dad invited?”

Jane thought for a second. The neighborhood cookie parties had traditionally been girly-girly affairs, but times had changed. Pet's dad was just as much a single, stay-at-home parent as Jane herself was.

“Well, of course, Pet. I'm very sorry I didn't think to invite him sooner. We're just leaving, but I'll stop and ask him on the way."

“You don't need to. I'll tell him. He'll bring his fudge. He's making it now."

“If you'd rather, that would be fine," Jane said. She knew she should issue the belated invitation herself, but she was still too shaken by her recent encounter with Addie to take on another difficult person.

Pet waited safely and patiently while Shelley backed up in her usual hell-for-leather driving style. "I wonder if the idea of asking for an invitation was Pet's or her dad's?" Shelley said when they were on their way.

“Huh? Oh, good question," Jane said, preoccupied. "Sounds like it might have been his, since she said he was already making fudge. I really should have invited him without Pet prodding me to be polite.”

They didn't speak again until they reached a little neighborhood Chinese restaurant that was one of their favorite spots to eat. It was barely eleven-fifteen and they were the first and only customers as yet. Luncheon was a buffet that was just being set out. Shelley ordered jasmine tea for both of them, then leaned forward and said, "Spill the beans, kiddo. What are you so pissed about?"

“She rearranged the sewing room. Actually moved the bed to the other wall and put the sewing table in front of the window."

“Addie moved a bed?"

“It's just a flimsy little bed and it's on rollers. But that's not the point. It's my house. My sew- ing room. I don't care that there's better light for sewing nearer the window. I had it like I liked it. I can't believe a woman of her sophistication would think that was acceptable guest behavior!"

“Oh, Jane! Get a grip! Of course she knows that. You're missing the point."

“Which is?"

“She's showing you what kind of mother-in-law she could be if you dare to marry her baby boy.”

Jane stared at Shelley for a minute, then said, "You're right." Suddenly the whole incident struck her as funny. "She could have done worse. Dyed her hair and destroyed the bathroom. Or washed all my sweaters with bleach. I got off easy, I guess."

“You have to nip this in the bud, Jane, before she thinks of something else."

“Oh, I will," Jane said, grinning like a hyena.

Shelley cocked a shapely eyebrow, but didn't inquire further. She glanced at the buffet table. "Oh, look, they're bringing out that divine spicy beef and scallops thing!”

The two of them hardly talked during lunch, wolfing down their favorite Chinese food in a most unladylike manner. Finally, they sat back, sated and feeling stuffed and greasy.

Jane cracked open her fortune cookie. " ' The wise man uses his time as if it were a treasure,' " she read. "Phooey! That's not a fortune, it's a homily. I want real fortunes in fortune cookies. Like, 'You will inherit vast- sums of money in seventeen days,' or 'Your daughter will take good care of you when you get old and dottyand want to wear your panties on your head.' What's yours say?”

Shelley unfolded the little white strip of paper. "Your son will get a full scholarship to Harvard.' "

“No! It does not," Jane said, snatching at the paper, which Shelley held just beyond her reach. The waitress brought them a fresh pot of jasmine tea. Shelley checked her watch. "We don't need to leave quite yet. I wonder what they said on the noon news about Lance King's death?”

Jane shrugged. "Maybe that a celebration parade is being planned. How could anyone actually
want
to be disliked?"

“I think it goes back to fear. He knew he couldn't be liked, so he wanted to be feared instead. It gave him a sense of power. That was obvious. It's like hypochondriacs who think sympathy and love are the same thing," Shelley said.

“Got any ideas about whose button he pushed too hard?" Jane said.

“None," Shelley admitted. "But I want to know. If Mel's right, it's most likely someone in the neighborhood. Someone who needs to be scooped up and put in jail."

“I'm not so sure," Jane said. "There were a lot of people driving by and gawking at the Johnson' house."

“But how many of them do you suppose said to themselves, 'Hey, there's Lance King, my lifelong enemy, on a roof. Think I'll just give him a shove'? Besides, nobody driving by could have seen the ladder in back, much less guess that the guy on the roof
was
Lance King in a Santa suit.”

Jane nodded. "You're probably right. Mel's probably right. I couldn't sleep well last night trying to remember who was where and when,' she said. "It was all just a blur though. I was sc flurried that I hardly remember where I was, much less the rest of the guests.”

Shelley sipped her tea. "I'm not sure it would have taken long enough for anyone to be missed. If somebody was trailing him, all they had to do was slip outside, wait until he had gone up the ladder, then follow him. One quick push was all it took, I assume.”

Jane said, "But why would someone be following him just at that time? Surely he didn't mention that he was going to go climb on a dangerous, slippery roof. And he might just as well have gone to the television van with the other guys."

“Maybe somebody saw him climbing the ladder. Or just saw him going between the houses. You can see that area from the side window in your dining room. No, I think alibis are going to be useless. It's the motive that's going to count and a lot of people had good reason to wish him dead."

“You're thinking about Bruce Pargeter?"

“Not seriously. But his name does come to mind."

“Only because he told us something about his background," Jane said. "Just think how many other people may have been hurt by the man and just don't talk about it.”

Shelley glanced at her watch again. "I think maybe we better get going. You don't want to miss your own cookie party."

“Wanna bet?" Jane asked.

When they
got
home, Mel's
MG
was
parked in ': the street and he was sitting in it, reading a report, which he hastily put away. "Was that the autopsy report?" Jane asked when he joined them at the kitchen door.

“Just a preliminary. Nothing unexpected. The metal support in the reindeer horn pierced his aorta. Death was nearly instantaneous. Other minor injuries that wouldn't have been life- threatening."

“How could anybody count on that happen- ing?" Jane asked, taking off her coat and gathering up Shelley' s and Mel's to put on the temporary rack.

“I don't suppose they could," Mel said. "This doesn't look like a well-thought-out plan just someone taking advantage of a situation. Maybe it didn't matter if he died, just so he was injured enough to back off and leave someone alone.”

“But what if he'd seen his attacker — and sur- vived?" Jane asked. "Wouldn't it just make things that much worse?"

“I don't have the answer to that yet. I'm not sure we ever will unless we get an honest confession. It looks to me, from what little we know so far, like a sudden-impulse crime. Somebody who hated King, saw an opportunity to do him damage, and leaped at the chance without looking at the options."

“Sort of like that time you bought those stiletto heels, Jane," Shelley said with a grin. "No thought of the future or of the quality of the decision."

“Stiletto heels?" Mel asked.

“Never mind. I just meant we all do idiotic things on a whim occasionally."

“I'd hardly call murder a whim," Mel said.

It wasn't like Mel to be so stuffy, Jane thought. This case obviously wasn't going well for him. "No, what you're saying is that it was an act of passion, which is usually even more idiotic than a mere whim," Jane said.