Jill Churchill: A Farewell to Yarns

Mel was staring across the room. "Or—or he could have known the bomb was on the plane."

“What do you mean?" Jane asked. "He wouldn't have let the others take the risk if he'd known. And how could he have known?”

Mel gave her a long, level look.

John Wagner answered. "He could have known if he'd arranged it.”

Jane nodded. It was a thought that had been swimming malevolently in the deepest, darkest part of her mind, but she hadn't allowed herself to recognize it.

The waitress, a perky girl with a gleam in her eye, bounced over to give them their bill. She tried to flirt with VanDyne but was firmly rebuffed. When she'd gone, John Wagner spoke again. "So after years of hiding the truth and probably feeling pretty confident that nobody would ever discover it, he suddenly has Phyllis, his first wife, turning up."

“Talking a mile a minute about her son, a boy exactly old enough to be Richie Divine's son," Jane said.

“How do you know she was talking about Bobby?" VanDyne asked.

“I heard her. Sweet, gabby, completely indiscreet Phyllis," Jane said softly.

“And she recognized him?" Mel asked.

“I think she must have, but maybe not right away. I'm sure he recognized her. When he came in the room, he looked like he'd been hit in the head with a hammer. I thought at the time it was because the room was such a mess, but it must have been the sight of Phyllis. Fiona had to force him to take Phyllis over to look at the house next door. He didn't want to. He was almost rude about it. But when he came back, he was really mellow. Like he'd sorted it out. Maybe they'd talked about it, and she'd agreed not to tell anyone."

“She would agree," John said. "But I don't think she could have stuck to it. She was too open."

“That must have occurred to him later," Jane said.

Mel said, "We've skipped over a vital part of this whole thing. Why do you think Albert Howard is Richie Divine? There's no resemblance. How would Phyllis have recognized him if the rest of the world hasn't? And what made you think of it?”

Jane told them about the church choir and elaborated on her theories about plastic surgery and age.

“But if you're right, it's only because you heard him sing and have a good ear. It doesn't account for Phyllis knowing him. I doubt that he hummed a few bars of 'Red Christmas' as he was walking her over to the house next door."

“But she knew him fairly well. She'd been married to him, if only for a short time. Besides, I think it's more likely that Albert himself gave it away. He knew her. He probably had fond memories of her, and he must have at least suspected that the son she talked about might be his. He and Fiona have no children. Getting to know a son is a powerful incentive for a middle-aged man to give himself away."

“And then have second thoughts about his own welfare," Mel said. He picked up the bill, glanced at it, and dug in his back pocket for his billfold. "All right, Jane. I think you've got something"

“That's big of you to admit," Jane said.

“Let me have all this stuff," he said to them. Jane handed over the framed band picture and the book she'd bought. John Wagner gave him Phyllis's yearbook. "I'm going back to the office to see what else I can run down. Mr. Wagner, I've got to ask you to keep this to yourself for a while longer. I know you're anxious to tell your father, but—"

“I understand. It might be raising false hopes. Besides, my dad might tear over there and try to take Albert Howard apart with his bare hands. Don't worry. I won't say anything yet. But when?"

“If there's any of this I can confirm, it shouldn't take more than a few hours," Mel answered.

“Just one thing," Jane said, scooting out of the booth. "Please don't ruin the bazaar."

“What?"

“It's only got a few more hours to run. We close down at six-thirty. A lot of people worked awfully hard on it. Please don't ruin it."

“Jane, you've got the weirdest priorities," Mel said. "All right. I won't make a move until six-thirty, but how am I going to explain that to my superiors? I'm sorry, boss, but I couldn't make an arrest until the last of the Christmas ornaments had been sold—”

Jane gave him a smile. "It's important to me.”

“All right, but make sure you close down at exactly six-thirty.”

John Wagner left them, and Mel walked Jane to her car. She paused with her hand on the door. "Mel, I don't much like myself for all this. What I've done to Fiona—”

He put his arm around her in a bracing manner. "It isn't what you've done, Jane. And you've got to think about your friend Phyllis, not Fiona Howard. You've done the right thing.”

She looked up at him. "I know. It just doesn't feel very good.”

Jane realized on the way back from the mall that she couldn't explain to Shelley what was going on. There wasn't the time or privacy to tell her the whole story, and it wasn't something to tell only a part of. The rest of the afternoon was endless. She stayed at the busy sale table in the front hall most of the time to keep her mind from endlessly circling what she'd done. She didn't see either Fiona or Albert all afternoon, but every time she heard a voice raised, she imagined it was Fiona discovering that the band picture was missing.

At quarter of five, she ran home for a minute. "Mike, drive me back to the bazaar, and you can have the car to get dinner. Here's some money."

“Aren't you going to be home?" he asked, grabbing his coat before she could change her mind.

“Yes, but not until later. I'll find a ride.”

When she returned, some of the other workers were beginning to consolidate what was left of the sale items into two rooms. They also marked things down brutally. "Another rush will start any minute," Shelley said. "People on their way home from work. We have to unload everything we can.”

At six, the last crew of volunteers set out to retrieve all the signs in the neighborhood. At quarter after, they put a CLOSED-SEE YOU NEXT YEAR sign on the front door and locked it. The few shoppers remaining picked over the last goods as the workers slashed prices right and left. At twenty after, Albert came through the hall in his coat and boots.

“Where are you going?" Jane asked. Dear God! Was he escaping the net? No, of course not. How could he know?

“I put your cartons in the garage, and the roof has leaked. They're all wet, and you'll need dry ones to pack what's left," he explained. "I'm running up to the grocery store to get some."

“Oh, there's no need. I'll do it."

“No trouble," he said. "Is there something wrong? You look awfully pale."

“It's nothing. It's just been a long day.”

She watched him leave, feeling helpless.

By twenty-five after, the shoppers were gone. Only Shelley and two other volunteers remained. "You can go on along," Jane told the other two. "Shelley and I can manage."

“But Jane—" Shelley began, but seeing the stricken look on her friend's face, she stopped. "Yes, Jane's right. We'll take care of packing up.

Jane saw them to the door and as she opened it, found herself facing Mel VanDyne. "It's six-thirty, isn't it?" she said needlessly.

He looked grim. "Mrs. Jeffry, would you ask Mr. Howard if I could speak to him?”

It was as if they were strangers. "He's not here. He's gone to the grocery store to get some cartons," she said in the same impersonal tone.

“Then perhaps I could speak to Mrs. Howard while he's gone.”

Shelley came into the hall, smiling. The smile faded as she saw Jane and Mel facing each other with set expressions. "What's wrong?”

Mel turned to her. "Are you the only worker left besides Mrs. Jeffry?" Shelley nodded. "Would you mind leaving—quickly?"

“Of course. Jane, are you coming with me?”