Joan Hess - Dear Miss Demeanor

“Did the police really discover her cowering in the basement?” whispered Inez.

I considered ignoring Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and taking a cup of tea to bed. On the other hand, the two were apt to be better informed than I; FHS was not a monastery, as I well knew. It was a radio station, complete with news bulletins and in-depth commentaries.

Once I was armed with tea, I returned to the living room. “So the popular theory is that Miss Parchester did it?”

Caron shook her head. “That’s what the seniors think. The juniors think Coach Finley did it Out of Love, the sophomores are backing Mr. Timmons, and the-” She broke off with a funny expression. She has a variety of them, but this one was unfamiliar.

“And?” I prompted. I took a long drink, just in case.

Inez shot me her version of a funny expression. It was noticeably baleful, but tempered with sympathy-for Caron. “Some of the freshmen think you did it, Mrs. Malloy. Caron and I told them in no uncertain terms that you didn’t, of course.

“Thank you, Inez. Why do the freshmen harbor such ideas?”

“Because you were so upset about the Falconnaire . Everybody heard that you were livid in the teachers meeting, and snarled all sorts of threats at Mr. Weiss.”

“And then poisoned him to avoid having to supervise work on the yearbook? Don’t the freshmen find that a bit extreme?” I told myself that the question was absurd; I knew from personal experience that freshmen did indeed find things a bit extreme, including such things as life.

Caron sniffed. “Inez and I tried to tell them, Mother. I mean, the idea is preposterous. If the police will just find Miss Parchester, they can make her confess and clear your name.” Not to mention other people who were saddled with the same name through no fault of their own.

The telephone rang. I went to answer it while I toyed with my defense. To my astonishment, Miss Emily Parchester was on the line.

“Mrs. Malloy, I was hoping you might be able to visit me sometime in the next day or two. I am quite curious about your progress in the mysterious case.”

Mysterious was a mild description. I turned my back on the audience on the sofa and whispered, “Where are you?”

“I am at a country establishment, taking a rest for a few days while I try to keep this troublesome situation from disturbing me. I have experienced some difficulty in sleeping, and felt fresh air and the presence of a well-trained staff might soothe me. Have you made any progress?”

Nothing beyond being the freshman class’s candidate for murderer, I thought bleakly. “There have been a few developments. Have the police not contacted you to discuss them?”

“Then the auditors are certain I was remiss in my accounts? Oh, Mrs. Malloy, whatever shall I do? The Judge must be rolling-”

“In his grave, on a rotisserie. Where is this establishment, Miss Parchester? I do think I’ll come by for a visit today. Immediately.”

She gave me directions, and I hung up. Caron and Inez were both flipping through magazines, competing for the title of Miss Nonchalance. I wondered what Caron found so fascinating in Bookseller’s Monthly Digest, but I didn’t ask. Instead, I said, “I’m going out for an hour or so, girls. Can you feed yourselves without burning down the kitchen?”

“Who was that on the telephone, Mother?”

“My Avon lady. The winter mascara has just arrived, and it may be my color. I’ll see you later.”

“What shall I tell Peter if he calls?” she continued, her lips pursed in great innocence as she adjusted an invisible halo.

“Tell him that I’ll test ‘Tarnished Copper’ first.”

Miss Parchester’s so-called establishment was several miles out of town. The name was vaguely familiar, and I recalled its reputation when I stopped in front of a ten-foot-high iron gate. A chain-link fence topped with concertina wire disappeared into the woods in both directions, creating a formidable enclave designed to keep out hikers and stray dogs. Happy Meadows Home was not an ordinary country inn; it catered not to vacationers, but to inmates.

A guard appeared at my window, his eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses. “You got business here?”

I checked my lipstick in the twin reflections. “I have come to see Miss Emily Parchester.”

“You got permission from the office?”

“I was not aware I needed permission from the office,” I said, mimicking his surly tone. “is this a prison, and is Miss Parchester locked away somewhere in solitary confinement? For that matter, where are the happy meadows-and your supervisor?”

“I’ll have to call the office, lady. No one’s supposed to go in unless they got business.” He went into a gatehouse and reappeared after several minutes. “You can talk to her medical advisor, but before you go in, I’ll have to search your car and your person.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said as I rolled up the car window. When the gate remained closed, I gave up and allowed the officious goon to search my car and purse, although I rebelled when he made a move toward my person. It has never been searched thus far-at least not for weapons or whatever he feared I had stashed under my unmentionables.

He ran a professional eye over my body, shrugged, and locked the gate. Wishing I had concealed a submachine gun on my person, I drove along a winding road to the front of a stately white house. No bars that I could see, but the goon at the gate did discourage trespassers. Once inside, I stopped at the reception desk and asked for Miss Parchester’s room number.

I ended up in a claustrophobic room with a pale young man in a white coat. All he lacked was an oversized net and a hunchbacked, lisping lab assistant. “You wish to see Emily Parchester? This is highly irregular. Are you a family member or merely a friend?”

“I’m her attorney. She called me to discuss matters that are confidential.” When he paled further, I went for the jugular. “The matters concern her incarceration in a certain establishment.”

“Her stay is voluntary.”

“That remains to be determined, perhaps through the auspices of our legal system. Now, if I may see my client-“

I was told that she was on the terrace, having tea. Feeling like a red-haired Joyce Davenport, I sailed out of the room and minutes later found myself with a porcelain teacup in one hand and a mushy cucumber sandwich in the other.

Miss Parchester beamed at me. “I am absolutely thrilled by your little visit, Mrs. Malloy. Although this establishment is restful, it does get a teeny bit boring. Now, what can I do to assist your investigation?”

“I still haven’t found the accounts,” I told her, suddenly remembering my appointment for that evening with Sherwood Timmons. It was out of the question now; I hoped he would realize the police might notice the two of us creeping down the hall. “Things are rather complicated at the moment, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to try to analyze the deposit slips.”

“I’m sure you’ll do your best. You’re so kind to take on this burden for me; I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ve been so fortunate.”

Without me, she wouldn’t have visited the journalism room and dropped off her little gift in the lounge. She wouldn’t have been accused of murder. She wouldn’t have a policeman in the bushes beside her house or a supercilious lieutenant determined to arrest her at the first opportunity. I decided not to tell her how fortunate she was until I had cleared her name, along with the Judge’s and dear mamma

“You’re more than welcome,” I murmured. “I was curious about the brandied peach compote, Miss Parchester. Did you use your normal recipe?”

“I used Aunt Eulalie’s recipe, dear. It’s been in the family for years and years. The Judge always spoke highly of it.”