Grime and Punishment: A Jane Jeffry Mystery (10 page)

When she'd hung up, Jane went to the window and looked out at Shelley's house. The red MG was there again. Poor Detective VanDynehe was probably bored and hungry. Maybe she could make a decent dinner and invite him over. She glanced in the refrigerator. There were possibilities there. But as she closed the door, she caught sight of her reflection in the microwave door.

“Katie!" she called up the stairs. "Buy me some of those fingernails while you're out, would you? And some mascara and blusher…”

Nine

Jane had planned
to spend a quiet
evening
Y with the kids, but it didn't work out that way. Todd got an invitation to spend the night with Elliot Wallenberg, an invitation he was dying to accept because of Elliot's new toys from his birthday earlier in the week. Katie was asked to sleep over with Jenny after their shopping trip. Jenny, a chunky girl who ate like part of a starving nation, had spent the night with the Jeffrys a half dozen times over the summer, and Jane felt it would help even the score.

Mike's marching band was playing at the first football game of the season. Both the musicians and the athletes had been practicing since weeks before school started and were chomping at the bit. He was going out for pizza afterwards with a friend whose parents had rashly bought him a car for his birthday. Mike was making noises as if he was expecting the same bounty to befall him. Jane had tried to make him understand that she could hardly afford to keep her station wagon running now that he was on the insurance. Another vehicle wasn't possible. Of course, there was always the possibility that Thelma would step into the breach, checkbook in hand. The thought made Jane mad, but she could never figure out quite why.

Their departure left Jane alone and at the mercy of the phone. Everyone seemed to feel it was tacky to call Shelley and ask for the gruesome details of the murder. A few had no such delicate feelings, but simply couldn't reach her. They all called Jane. By ten o'clock her mouth felt cottony from talking, and her brain was stewed from repeating the few things she did know over and over. There was really so little to say, so little known.

Each caller seemed to have a theory of her own. The vagrant maniac was a popular theme, possibly because that meant they were safe — how many vagrant maniacs are there, after all? And a vagrant maniac doesn't hang around the neighborhood. He moves on to Dubuque, or Fargo.

A woman from the next block who was active in the John Birch Society was certain it was a Communist plot. Her theory had something to do with oppressed workers, though Jane refrained from pointing out that accusing the 'commies' of killing one of the oppressed hardly made sense.

Another neighbor, having read in the paper that the victim had previously lived in Montana, figured it all had to do with a survivalist group from which Ramona Thurgood had very likely escaped with some kind of secret information.

“But she had a newspaper route and taught Sunday school," Jane protested to this one. "Survivalists don't do things like that."

“Jane, dear, you're too, too naïve. They have people in every walk of life. That's what's so insidious. Why, all you have to do is watch the children's cartoons to see that they've infiltrated the toy industry. The cartoons themselves are rife with violence, and then the commercials are for toy soldiers and tanks. Who do you suppose provided the money to make "Rambo"? They're poisoning the minds of a whole generation. It's pitiful. I suspect we may someday regard this poor woman, who died trying to warn us of their plans, as a genuine heroine.”

Jane hung up, shaking her head in wonder.

The last call was Joyce Greenway. "I'm so worried about you and the children staying in the house alone."

“We're not alone. There is a whole mob of us."

“I mean without a man to protect you. Won't you please come stay with us until this is over?”

I'm sick to death of Joyce's well-meant sympathy,
Jane thought, but managed to put a smile in her voice. "That's really nice of you, Joyce. But we're really just fine.”

Finally, at ten, the phone stopped ringing and Jane was able to settle in to watching an old Katharine Hepburn movie, until Mike got home and bored her with a detailed account of the school football game. She slept soundly that night — no dreams of murder, no dreams at all.

Jane tried to sneak out in the morning to pick Katie and Todd up, but at the first muted jingle of car keys, Mike appeared. "I'll drive!" he said blearily.

“I thought you were still asleep. In fact, I still think you are." She gave him a light punch on the arm and he collapsed against the counter.

“Just give me a sec, Mom. I'll be ready.”

The pickups were completed without incident. Todd gave an enthusiastic but exceedingly tedious rundown of Elliot's new acquisitions, with strong suggestions as to which of the same he needed for Christmas. Jane listened patiently, knowing he'd be tired of them by then and have a new list. Then, by February, he'd start compiling yet another. Mike graciously made no critical older-brother comments about the length or content of Todd's accounting.

Katie's fingernails were hideous, and she was positively thrilled with them. "I think they make my hands look so thin — don't you, Mom?”

Jane thought they looked more like a medical condition than a beauty aid, but took note of the "Mom" instead of "Mother" and was effusive in her compliments. Again Mike said nothing. He made a perfectly repulsive noise through his nose, but didn't actually speak.

By the time they pulled in the drive, Jane was thoroughly mellowed by how nice and familyish they were being. They had a late-morning snack that was a cross between breakfast and lunch, then Jane took Todd to his last baseball game of the season.

“You don't need to stay, Mom," he offered. "I always stay. Aren't you pitching?"

“Only the first inning. The coach said since we don't have any chance of the championship, he's gonna let everybody pitch."

“Well, I'll probably stay anyway.""You don't need to," he insisted.

The problem was suddenly clear. They were having a big picnic after the game, and Todd didn't want his freedom to enjoy himself hampered by her presence. Since it was already arranged that another mother would bring the car pool home, he'd counted on attending as a "bachelor," so to speak.

“Okay, I'll just watch your inning.”

He smiled. "Thanks, Mom-Old-Thing.”

When they reached the field, he and the three boys they'd picked up fled and Jane hung back, checking out who was there. There were mothers one never got near at these games, women who made George Steinbrenner look like Heidi. Happily, she spotted Suzie Williams and picked her way up the bleachers to join her.

Suzie was one of her favorite people. She was a big divorcée who would have been called "handsome" in an earlier age. She had long, platinum-blond hair and a gorgeous complexion. Her cheeks were always naturally pink, and her eyes were glacial-blue. She looked like an earthy Swedish queen who'd been hitting the smorgasbord a little too heavily.

She saw Jane coming and put down the blood-and-guts paperback novel she'd been reading. "Good God, it's Jane Jeffry, font of murderous gossip. I imagine you're being driven mad by nosy neighbors callously invading your privacy and peace of mind? Most people are so insensitive."

“What do you want to know?"

“Everything!Every bloody detail!”

Jane gave her account by rote. She'd told it so many times it hardly seemed real anymore. The one thing she didn't mention was the missing pearls. That was, unfortunately, Shelley's secret, and Jane felt bound to honor it, even if she disapproved.

“Shelley might have talked to the police again by now and found out something more, but she wasn't home when I came out. She and Paul are staying at a hotel."

“Hiding from the killer?"

“No, I think they're having an orgy."

“If I could get my hands on Paul Nowack, I'd have an orgy too. Ever seen him in swimming trunks? Oh, to die for—! Anyhow, who do you think killed her?"

“I haven't any idea."

“Too bad it wasn't the regular one that got knocked off. Edith, isn't that her name?"

“Why? What's the matter with Edith?"

“I don't know. I just didn't like her. I just had her once, and by the end of a day having her mooch around looking like she had a cob up her ass, I wanted to bang my head on the wall — or hers. Depressing bitch. Kept giving me these searching looks, like she was waiting for me to say something to take offense at. I probably obliged. I generally do."

“That's weird, Suzie. People have such different opinions of her. Dorothy Wallenberg didn't like her because she didn't clean very well—"

“Dorothy said that? The woman who had the patio party and didn't notice there was dog shit under the grill?"

“—and Robbie Jones thinks she's wonderful.”

“Jesus God. You could eat out of Robbie's toi- lets! I had a salad there once that tasted sorta funny, and after a while I realized it was soap. When she washes lettuce, she
really
washes lettuce. And this cleaning woman meets
her
standards? Have you ever had her clean for you? Edith, I mean?"

“Yesterday. I felt like you did. She got me down. What's more—”

She was interrupted by a cheer from the parents around them as the two teams of little boys ran onto the field. "Cute little bastards, aren't they?" Suzie said affectionately.

After the requisite amount of fumbling around, the game got under way. Todd's team, which Suzie's son Bob was on as well, was in red and white, and were as crisp and noisy as firecrackers as they went to bat. There were a great many balls called and walks made and steals attempted, but at the end of the inning, only one run scored. Jane stayed on, thoroughly enjoying Suzie's vulgar commentary on the game, the parents, and life in general.

At the bottom half of the third inning, one kid on the other team made a long, high drive. The entire outfield ran for it, all looking up. A collision was inevitable. Three of them crashed together behind second base. The parents fell momentarily silent as the heap of children was sorted out. One of them was led from the field, limping ostentatiously.

“That's my Bob, the klutz," Suzie said, hoisting herself up and getting ready to go comfort him. She'd made it down three rows, stepping on purses and fingers with judicious abandon, when she stopped, shaded her eyes, and turned around and came back up. She sat down. "Wasn't Bob at all. It's that Jonnell kid. They all look alike in those uniforms.”

The game resumed and so did Suzie. "We had the Jonnell family to a barbecue one night last summer, and I swear, the kid has the foulest mouth I've ever heard. And his mother! I saw her come within a hair of punching out the coach when he put the kid on the bench for it. Some people — Jane? Earth calling Jane? Are you there?”

Jane turned to her, eyes wide. "Could that be it? The uniforms?"

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Grabbing her arm, Jane leaned forward. "You said it was a shame it wasn't Edith killed instead of the other woman."

“I didn't really mean—"

“Shut up, Suzie. Listen. Nobody had any reason to kill the other woman, but there might be a reason to kill Edith. I don't know what, but suppose there was."

“Okay, what if there was?"

“Edith was supposed to be at Shelley's, and a woman in a Happy Helper uniform gets out of a Happy Helper van at the right house. They even looked alike, in a superficial way. Matter of fact, when Edith turned up at my house yesterday, it gave me a scare. I thought she was the other woman from a distance. They were both middle-sized, kinda hippy—"

“So who isn't?"

“—and they both had frizzy blond hair."

“So why didn't the killer notice they weren't the same person when he got up close?”

That stopped Jane for a minute. She leaned back, thinking. "Because — because he must have come up behind her. Don't you usually vacuum with your back to the doorway?"

“I never thought about it, but yes. I start with the corners and back myself out."

“So the cleaning woman would have been working with her back to the door, with the noise of the vacuum cleaner covering any sound an attacker might have made. He just had to pick up a loose loop of the cord, throw it over her head and — twist," she finished with a shiver. The memory of the dead Ramona Thurgood assaulted her, turning the mental exercise back into the real and very terrible event it was.

“He might not have ever seen her face," Suzie agreed. "You know, I think you may have something there, but you still have one problem: why would anyone kill Edith, assuming she
was
the intended victim? She's a distasteful sort, but if we went around killing people for that, it would be a pretty sparsely populated planet." She glanced around her and added, "I can think of a few who could be the first to go."

“I don't know — but I'm going to call that detective and tell him my idea. He gave me a number when he questioned me. In case I remembered anybody else who'd come to Shelley's that day."

“This detective — is he good-looking?”

“Oh, I don't know

“Bullshit. That means he is. Why don't you go see him instead of calling? You could take a divorced friend along for moral support."

“I want him to pay attention to what I'm say- ing, not to the gorgeous blonde drooling down his shirt front."

“Cruel, cruel.”

Impatient to call the detective, Jane stopped at a pay phone a block from the ball field. "Detective VanDyne, this is Jane Jeffry, Shelley Nowack's next-door neighbor."

“I know who you are, Mrs. Jeffry.”

Jane didn't preen, but she smiled. "I've figured out the murder. Well, I haven't exactly figured out who did it, but—"

“That's the end result we like.”