Jill Churchill: The Merchant of Menace

“It can't hurt to try anyway.”

Jane made duplicate copies of each of the small files on paper, one set for her, one for Shelley, and sent an E-mail to her father before they abandoned the cold and rather damp-smelling basement.

“My family will think I've run away from home," Shelley said. "I can't remember if I even mentioned I was coming over here, I was in such a rush. I'll work on this at home and give you a call if I figure anything out.”

Jane dinked around with the printouts for nearly an hour and got nowhere. It was no wonder, considering what a long day it had been, that she felt brain-dead. It was still Sunday, the day that had started out with church. But that morning seemed like it was days and days ago. She'd put the coded messages away somewhere safe and let her subconscious work on them while she was busy with other things. She got another sheet of paper and started making yet another list of reminders to herself.

The day after tomorrow was Christmas Eve day. Her shopping was done, but a lot of wrapping remained. Note: Get more tape and ribbon.

Christmas Eve day was also the normal trash pickup day. Would they send the monster trucks around on what was normally a half holiday? She hoped so. The parties she'd given had generated so much trash that if she didn't get it out this week, it would become a whole Dumpster load by the next week. Note: Put out trash and recycle.

That made her think about Sam Dwyer and his fanatic recycling. She had a lot of plastic-coated paper plates. She'd just put them in a big bag. But if she were to recycle them, would they go in the plastics bin or the paper bin?

Her mind was going. No question about it. She remembered the "fortune" she'd made up at the Chinese restaurant — that her daughter would take care of her when she was old and dotty and wanted to wear her panties on her head. At the rate she was going, that might be next week.

She waited up, half watching television, half napping, playing (and losing) a few games of solitaire on her laptop until Katie and Mike had both come home. Then she went upstairs and took a long, soaky bath. When she got out, she was shocked to discover that it was only ten o'clock. It seemed like the middle of the night. Would this day never end?

While she was soaking, she'd thought of some other things that had to be done tomorrow and went back downstairs to fetch her list. Note: Call Marty. Her sister Marty was living in Tupelo this year. Unlike Jane, who had vowed not to move out of the neighborhood, let alone move around the world once she no longer had to, Marty and her husband couldn't stop moving. "It's the only way I get my closets and drawers cleaned out," Marty told her.

Jane had long since given up putting Marty's addresses and phone numbers into her book in ink. Just pencil. But wherever Marty went, it was never Chicago. They hadn't laid eyes on each other for at least five years. Marty and her jerk of a husband also always seemed to find someone to impose themselves on at holidays, so Jane had to call her the day before to pass along her good wishes.

Note: Call Uncle Jim. He was a lifelong friend of her parents who had retired from the army and was a tough old Chicago cop now. Though he was no relation in blood, he was dear to her and she always had him over for holidays and any other time she could snag him. She needed to make sure he knew what time to come for Christmas dinner. Had she wrapped his present yet? She ran back downstairs to check. Yes, the big red foil package. It was a fine leather briefcase. He'd rumble about it, say she'd better start watching how she threw away her money, claim that if the punks on the street didn't steal it, the punks in his office would. But he'd treasure it anyway.

It was only 10:20. Jane was still too wound up from the long day to sleep. But if she got in bed and was ready to sleep, maybe it would creep up on her. She called to the cats, who insisted on sleeping in her bed, gathered up the coded messages, turned off the television and downstairs lights, and made her way slowly up the stairs, tripping over Max and Meow and dropping her pencil.

Mike had his stereo booming out something awful. She tapped on his door, opened it, and asked him to turn it down. "I have to drown out Willard," he said. The big dog was sound asleep in the middle of the floor, his snoring almost as loud as the music.

“Make sure you send him outside one more time before you go to bed," she said. "Unless you want a cleaning job in the morning.”

Katie was, naturally, on the phone. Getting her a line of her own was among the smartest things Jane had ever done. Katie made a "wait, wait" gesture and ended her conversation. "Mom, I was just thinking, since you have to have the pipes fixed in that bathroom, why don't you redecorate it? It's kinda ratty-looking. We could go out and look at wallpaper and sinks and stuff after Christmas while I'm out of school."

“I think that's a great idea. I'll get a bid from Bruce Pargeter when he comes back tomorrow.”

Todd was already asleep when she peeked in his room. How could he sleep through Mike's music!

She went to her own room and the cats made a beeline for the bed. The Johnsons had turned off their Christmas lights and music, so she could have her curtains open again. It had been disconcerting these last few days to wake up in a darkened room.

She pulled the curtains back and looked at the wreck of their backyard. The police had certainly churned up the snow with their rakes. As Jane's eyes adjusted to the relative darkness outside, she noticed that one space between the houses must have been raked clear down to the grass. There was a dark area.

She squinted her eyes. The dark area looked almost like a person.

Actually, the dark area looked exactly like a person.

She reached once more for the phone and dialed Mel's number.

Twenty-two·.,

Janewokeat nine in a state of instant panic. '? Bruce Pargeter was coming over to work on the broken pipe. More important, Mel would certainly check in and she was desperately eager to hear what he'd have to say about the events of last night.

She'd been unable to get to sleep until almost four in the morning and now staggered put of bed, bleary and tired and pointedly avoiding looking out the bedroom or bathroom windows. She could hear voices downstairs. She showered and dressed hurriedly and threw on a bare minimum of makeup. Just enough that the bags under her eyes wouldn't actually frighten impressionable young children. Not that there were likely to be any around.

“Mom, Mel called while you were in the shower," Mike said when she came downstairs. "Said she was probably going to be okay. He's stopping by in a couple minutes.”

Jane nodded and made her way to the coffeemaker. Thank God! Mike had started it for her. She poured a cup, added lots of cream and sugar, and gulped it down as quickly as she could. Ah… caffeine!

“What's that noise?" she asked Mike as she came closer to full consciousness.

“Bruce Pargeter. In the basement fixing things," Mike said.

Jane looked at Katie, who was excavating her cereal for raisins. "You can buy boxes of raisins, you know," Jane said. "All by themselves."

“But they aren't sugary or wet," Katie said. "What went on last night?"

“Somebody tried to bump off that reporter," Mike said. "The redheaded woman, Ginger.”

“Why?" Katie asked.

Mike shrugged. Jane said, "We don't know.”

“Maybe Mel does," Mike said. "Here he comes.”

Katie, still in her robe and fuzzy slippers, went away to get dressed.

“You, too, Todd," Jane shouted into the living room where her youngest was cruising television channels. "No slobbing around in jam-mies.”