Jill Churchill: A Farewell to Yarns

“It wasn't even in the paper. How did Suzie know?"

“She had to run down to the mall early this morning to set up for a lingerie sale. It was the talk of the town. Who did it? Why there? When? Where do we send out thank-you notes?"

“Shelley, you don't mean that."

“I know I don't. But he's a hard person to feel sorry about. Was the funeral hideous? What about lunch? We can pick the whole case apart.”

Over crab quiche and white wine, Jane told Shelley what little she knew about Bobby's death. "So nothing at the scene helped them?" Shelley asked.

“Apparently not. Unless VanDyne is concealing information from me—which is entirely possible. The only reason he was being chummy with me was so he could go to the funeral 'disguised' as a friend of a friend of the family. Shelley, there is such a thing as an unsolved crime—"

“Probably many more of them than we're led to believe," Shelley agreed.

“I have this awful feeling Bobby and Phyllis are going to end up in that category. The thing that scares me is the thought that whoever killed them may not be through." She took a last bite of her quiche. "Suppose it was somebody like Mr. Finch—not that I think it was—but if he killed them for something he imagined was an insult to him, he might just go right on and bump off Fiona or somebody. On the other hand, suppose it was Chet or John Wagner—"

“Then it's a domestic matter, not likely to go any further," Shelley said firmly.

“Not necessarily. If one of them did it, they might think somebody else had a clue—maybe even us—and is a danger to their getting away with it."

“Us? What do we know?”

Jane paused. "We might know lots of things we don't realize are significant.”

Shelley waited while the waiter came and took their plates and dessert orders. When he'd gone, she crossed her arms and leaned forward. "Jane, what's on your mind?”

Jane lowered her voice. "Shelley, this little memory jiggled through my mind during the service. Remember when Chet and John came over that night and we went to the door because Bobby didn't? Picture what happened.”

Shelley frowned. "Nothing happened. They came in the door. That's all."

“No, they came in a locked door ..." Shelley leaned back in her chair. "... that we didn't open."

“Right. John Wagner had a key.”

The waiter hovered until they were done and the shopping mall was too crowded for further conversation. They left the restaurant, and Jane got out a little notebook she carried in her purse. "Let's see. I've got Mike's CDs to get and something for Thelma and Dixie Lee. That ought to finish it up."

“You're not buying Mike a CD player, are you?"

“Good Lord, no! I can't afford a thing like that. Thelma's getting it. I hate for her to give the kids such expensive gifts. She only does it to put me in a bad light."

“Come on, Jane. That's not fair. They're her only grandchildren, and she's got plenty of money to spend, so why shouldn't she?"

“Yes, you're right. But I wish Steve's brother Ted and his wife, Dixie Lee, would get on with having kids, so she could disperse her interest a little. I should be grateful she didn't buy Mike a car. I was afraid she was going to."

“All right. Let's get the CDs first," Shelley said, glaring dangerously at a group of women who had jostled her.

Standing over a rack full of Billy Joel CDs, and finding themselves momentarily alone, Shelley said, "There are lots of reasons he could have had a key. Phyllis might have given it to him. She probably did."

“Yes—it's not really the key itself that's bothering me. I just meant it was something like that. Or several somethings skittering through my brain—Shelley," she gasped, "do you know what these things cost?”

After purchasing four of the shiny plastic disks, they moved on to a luggage store, where Shelley knew there was a sale on extremely good, frumpy handbags. That took care of Jane's mother-in-law. "She'll just take it back," Jane groused.

“Of course she will, but she might apply the credit to a suitcase and then get the urge to go on a trip. You can't lose."

“Oh, Shelley, you are a comfort to me!" Jane said with a laugh.

A matched set of necklace, earrings, and bracelet in very good mock turquoise and silver let Jane mark her sister-in-law's name off her list. "That's really pretty stuff," Jane said. "I can't believe they aren't hot at that price. She'll love them. So would I. If Steve were alive, I'd go home and hint like mad. You know, it's very strange not shopping for him. I actually put his name on my list when I started this and felt like a fool."

“Old habits," Shelley said astringently. "Let's get on our way. I'm getting claustrophobic.”

On the way home, they chewed over the business of John Wagner having a key but came tono clear conclusion, except that Jane really ought to at least mention it to Mel VanDyne. It had seemed a long day already, and Jane felt her brain turning to mush. Once home, she hid her purchases and put the roast into the oven. It had been marinating for two days in wine vinegar, cloves, and onions and smelled good enough to eat raw. It was Uncle Jim's favorite dinner, and if he was going to drive clear out to the suburbs, which he hated, to sit through a band concert, a good dinner was the least she could do for him.

After touching base with each of the kids, she went to her room, took off her suit, silk blouse, and panty hose, and lay down for a short nap. But her mind kept wandering around the question of the murders. She knew something important, she was sure of it, but she couldn't land squarely on what it was. It was something she'd noticed recently.

Something she'd seen . . .

Twenty -one

“W hat a very interesting seasoning," Thelma Jeffry said with critical reflection as she chewed on a bit of roast beef.

Uncle Jim winked at Jane. "It's German, Thelma," he said. "When Jane's family and I lived in West Berlin, her mother fixed this nearly every Sunday just for me."

“Jane, I didn't know you lived there—too." She made it sound like they were gypsies who'd called a painted wagon their home. "Such a dangerous place to take children, I would have thought."

“Not really," Jane said breezily. "My sister and I used to play hide-and-seek on the Berlin Wall. The guards were really nice. Especially the Russian ones.”

Thelma gasped and looked like she wanted to clamp her hands over the children's ears to keep them from hearing about their mother's foolishness.

“I'm joking, Thelma," Jane told her reluctantly. "My sister and I weren't born then, and The Wall didn't exist. Mike, would you please join us?”

Throughout the meal Mike had been rehearsing for the upcoming concert. Tapping his foot to the beat of music none of them could hear, he was intently practicing his fingering on his milk glass. He hadn't spoken throughout the whole meal.

“Huh? Oh, Mom, you did get the oil and water checked and put some air in the tires, didn't you?"

“Mike, it's only a few blocks," she said, passing him the potatoes. "Mike is driving himself tonight," she explained to the rest of them.

“First time out on the new driver's license?" Uncle Jim asked.

“Oh, Jane, do you really think that's a good idea?" Thelma asked.

“No, I'm quite certain it's not. I don't think he should drive until he's at least twenty-five. But the state of Illinois says it is, and he passed his test with flying colors—and I do mean flying!"

“Mike, why don't you let me take you and your friends in my Lincoln?" Thelma offered.

Mike looked so stricken at the idea of showing up at the school being driven by his grandmother that Jane took pity. She wouldn't just take him, she'd go in with him and want to fuss around straightening his collar and taking dozens of pictures. "No, Thelma, I promised Mike he could drive himself. He needs to be there earlier than the rest of us."