Joan Hess - Dear Miss Demeanor

“If one of them is indeed an accomplice, she is guilty of no more than doing a small favor for a dying friend-and a major favor for the students of Farberville High School.” She smiled, then closed her eyes and let her cheek fall against the pillow. We all tiptoed out of the room.

Miss Parchester announced that she needed to return the wheelchair before it was missed. Miss Bagby opted to ride, and the three squeaked toward the elevator, leaving an unhappy policeman and a bemused amateur sleuth in the hallway outside Miss Zuckerman’s room.

“Do you know which one did this ‘small favor’?” he asked me. “It doesn’t really matter,” I sighed. “Miss Zuckerman conceived and executed the plan; whoever delivered the bottle did so for her. You’re not exactly loosing a homicidal maniac on the town.”

He glanced at the closed door. “I suppose not, but what if they decide they don’t like the new custodian? They can’t be allowed to take matters into their own hands every time they encounter a potential source of corruption in the corridors of the school.”

“Have a talk with them about retirement,” I suggested. “I doubt you’ll get an argument, and the three of them can take a nice bus tour of southern gardens in the spring. I’ll check into watercolor classes.” Of the three, I was fairly certain Miss Parchester needed the busiest schedule.

“I may check into Happy Meadows,” he grumbled, but without heat. We walked out to his car and drove back to my apartment. I entertained him with an account of Miss Dort’s intentions, and the likelihood of retaliation from Paula Hart. The teachers’ lounge would continue to be a hotbed of gossip and intrigue, I concluded as we went upstairs.

“But you won’t have to be there, or take it upon yourself to solve whatever mysteries arise,” Peter murmured.

In that he was murmuring into my ear, I did not feel compelled to point out that I had solved the murders for him. In the midst of further murmurs, the telephone rang. It proved to be Sherwood Timmons, bubbling with the news about his manuscript. I let him bubble for a minute or two, then interrupted with congratulations.

“Thank you, dear sleuth,” he said. “I shall cherish ad infinitum the memories of our minor escapade in crime.”

“You had a key, even if it was an unauthorized copy,” I reminded him. After all, Supercop was in my living room.

“I’ll mail it to Miss Dort, accompanied by a note begging her forgiveness. She will make a terse note on her clipboard, but we will not have to listen to her crackly voice over the intercom or watch her lips purse with displeasure over-”

“We?” I inserted before he lost control of himself completely.

“Evelyn and I. I have proffered vinculum matrimonii , and she has consented.”

I congratulated him once more. After he said good-bye ( carpe diem , actually, but I ignored it), I joined Peter on the sofa and told him about the impending matrimonii . He gazed at me for a long time, looking terribly enigmatic. I opted for nonchalance.

“Claire,” he at last said, “I can think of only one way to keep you out of trouble, and that’s to-”

I stopped that nonsense. And with great charm, I might add.

Joan Hess is the author of both the Claire Malloy and the Maggody mystery series. She is a winner of the American Mystery Award, a member of Sisters in Crime, and a former president of the American Crime Writers League. She lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas.