Jill Churchill: Grime and Punishment

Jane silently handed Jim the phone and suddenly remembered something urgent she had to do in the backyard. She wished she had some pressing errand in a foreign country, but the backyard would have to do.

She was pretending to weed under the fir tree when Uncle Jim came out. His tie was askew, his scowl as fierce as any she'd ever seen. Hismovements were deliberate. He picked up a patio chair and banged the front legs on the cement to dislodge some loose leaves. It looked like he was trying to destroy it. He sat down, leaned back, pointed a finger at her, and then jabbed it toward another chair.

“Sit!"

“Detective Van Dyne is a tattletale," she said, perching on the edge of the chair he'd indicated.

“A grown woman," he said, shaking his head sadly. "The mother of three fine, fatherless children."

“If it weren't me involved, you'd think this was really quite a good idea. I'm sure if you'd just consider it dispassionately—”

The last word was hardly out of her mouth before he leaned forward so quickly she thought he was jumping at her throat. "Jane, this is the goddamnedest, stupidest, most dangerous idea I've ever heard from a pair of pea-brained females…”

He went on at some length and with a fluency that surprised her. When he'd finally run out of steam, Jane said quietly, "But the police are going to help us, aren't they?"

“Help you? The police help you?" He threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of furious despair, got up, and stomped inside the house.

“Aren't they?" she persisted, following him. "Uncle Jim, if this isn't resolved, I'll live the rest of my life afraid that somebody is going to change her mind about stabbing mattresses and stab me instead — or the kids. I see these women all the time, and I probably will for years to come. Suppose I say something in all innocence that the murderer assumes to mean that I know something? It simply has to be brought to a head. Come on, you agree with that, don't you?”

He glared at her, his face red. "Mel VanDyne is on his way over. You go to your friend Shelley's and both of you stay there and wait. Don't touch the phone. Don't touch a car key. Don't try to figure anything out. Don't think Don'ttalk!"

“Yes, sir," she said and bounded out the door before he could change his mind.

Shelley was hovering in her kitchen, waiting. "I saw you out in back getting yelled-out."

“It's going to work, Shelley. I'm sure of it. If we insist on going through with it, they'll have to at least provide us with police protection, and if they're going to be here anyway, well…”

They waited nearly an hour, then Jim Spelling and Mel VanDyne came over, looking like angry pallbearers. The first twenty minutes were wasted on trying to convince Jane and Shelley that their plan was insane. "You don't even know this cleaning lady was the intended target," VanDyne said.

“She had to have been. And if you didn't believe it, why have you been asking all these questions about her and the neighbors?" Jane asked.

“I've asked a lot of people a lot of questions," VanDyne snapped. "This is one line of inquiry. I've got men out pursuing several other lines as well, and I don't intend to pull them off their work to help you conduct this little farce of yours!"

“That's quite all right," Shelley said calmly. "We're going to do it anyway, with or without you. We just thought it was fair to tell you, in case you wanted to participate in catching the murderer.”

Finally the two men realized it was hopeless and went on to the next stage.

“All right, Janey," Uncle Jim said, narrowing his eyes menacingly. "Here are the ground rules. Mr. Nowack has to agree to it first—"

“I'm sure he will," Shelley said, looking not at all sure.

“Most important, you two women will be out of here from the moment the cleaning lady arrives until it's all over with. Out of the houses, out of the neighborhood, if possible, out of the state! Do you understand that? And I mean truly understand! No clever little tricks, no last-minute changes in plan.”

Jane and Shelley exchanged looks. "Sure," Jane said.

“All right," VanDyne said. "Here's the plan then. We'll get some men in here tonight. As soon as Mr. Nowack and all of Mrs. Jeffry s children are gone in the morning, you two will make a big public production of leaving. You'll stay away all day."

“But I have to pick my kids up from school," Jane protested.

“You can pick them up, but arrange to take them somewhere else. Didn't you mention a mother-in-law? Give me her name and number. We'll call you both there when it's all over. If — and it's a big if — anything happens at all, which I very seriously doubt.”

He can claim he doubts all he wants, Jane thought, but if he doesn't really believe it will work, why are they so vehement about us leaving? "Sounds fine with me. Shelley?"

“Okay. Now will you call my husband or shall I?”

Having stirred up so much trouble, Jane felt it imperative to be a model of domesticity the rest of the day. She stayed home, ironing and cleaning, and even arranged a peaceful little tableau to greet Uncle Jim when he got home late that afternoon. An early fall fire burned in the fireplace; the dog snored at her feet as she sat mending a pair of his socks. She'd have to hide them and buy a new pair before he could see her handiwork. Having never darned socks in her life, she wasn't doing a very good job. The children hung around all evening, so the subject of Thursday's plans didn't come up.

Wednesday passed in the same way. Afraid she'd somehow give the game away if she talked to anybody, Jane kept to the house. Only one strange incident marked the day. Around lunchtime the phone rang, but when she answered, the caller hung up. A half an hour later it rang again, and after a long silence there was something like a sob and then a click and a dial tone. Jane tried to convince herself it was Joyce Greenway trying to make an approach and unable to pull herself together. But she was still troubled.

She dialed Joyce's number, just to see who would answer, but no one did.

About nine o'clock that evening, Willard'shead suddenly came up from between his feet, and he howled horribly before running for cover. "What was that?" Uncle Jim asked.

“It sounded like a knock at the patio door!" Jane said, hearing nothing now but the pounding of her own heart in her ears.

Uncle Jim went to investigate and came back looking disgusted. "Damned fools came to the wrong house. There's no hope in hell for this.”

She assumed he meant the officers who were supposed to be sneaked into Shelley's house. "Why the back door?"

“Because they came across that field out back.”

Mike, who'd been sprawled in front of the fire reading Great Expectations, was now watching them with open curiosity. It was time to explain to him. Leaving out the specifics of the blackmail and the whole episode of the paring knife in the mattress, Jane gave him a summary of the plan for tomorrow. "You can see that it's very important that none of you change plans and come home until we know it's safe. You must wait for me to pick you up from school.”

He took it very well. She could never be sure when his maturity was going to come through and when it was going to crumble. "Sure, Mom.And Todd'll do what he's told without having to know why. But what about Katie? You never know where she'll turn up. I know! I'll tell her Johnny Hervey is coming home with us in the car; she'd wait forever so she wouldn't miss the chance to sit next to him in the backseat."

“Who in the world is Johnny Hervey?"

“You don't know him, but she does," he said with a leer.

Jane went to bed early, but slept fitfully. She kept hearing the middle-of-the-night creaks the house made and imagining sinister happenings. What would happen tomorrow? Had she and Shelley really made the horrible mistake Uncle Jim and Mel VanDyne claimed? What if it didn't work? Would they ever know which of their friends was a killer, or would they just go from day to day and year to year wondering… always wondering?