Jill Churchill: Grime and Punishment

She glanced at Shelley, who had balanced the cigarette on the edge of the table and was leaning over with her head between her knees, breathing deeply. "I can't ask her, Dorothy. Just call anybody you think might have been coming. I think Laura Stapler has a list of the committee members. Start with her. Thanks, Dorothy.”

Shelley stood up and went to the window, swaying slightly. The wail of the first siren stopped abruptly, and through Jane's kitchen window they could see that there was one officer sprinting around the far side of Shelley's house and another coming around the near corner. They had their guns drawn. Another, having apparently parked on the next street, vaulted nimbly over the back fence and headed, crouching, toward the basement door that opened out of the back of the house. Jane could hear at least two other sirens. "Dorothy says if there's anything you need or want, just call her.”

Shelley turned away from the window, sat down, and pushed her hair back from her face. "That's nice of her," she said with mechanical courtesy.

Jane's phone rang and she answered curtly. "Yes?"

“Jane! This is Mary Ellen. I just looked out the front window. What's wrong at Shelley's?"

“The cleaning lady's been killed. The killer may still be in the house."

“Edith? Killed?"

“Yes — no, not Edith. It was a substitute. Somebody strangled her."

“Oh, my God," Mary Ellen said, sounding nearly as bad as Shelley did. "What can I do? Is Shelley all right?"

“She's not hurt. You can't do anything. Just stay in the house until it's over. I'll talk to you later.”

Shelley was rummaging in the cabinet for Jane's jar of instant coffee. Meow jumped onto the counter to see what was going on that might provide nibbles for her. There was no sign of Willard. Probably hiding in the basement.Hands shaking, Jane turned on a burner and started some water boiling. They didn't speak. Jane had a strange nightmarish sense of reality and horror interwoven. Next door, a dead woman lay in the guest bedroom and police searched the house. Here, they were silently making coffee, as if that were a solution to something.

Shelley sat trembling at the table, sipping her coffee. Jane watched out the window. More emergency vehicles arrived, and somebody put up white-and-orange-striped sawhorses several doors down to stop traffic. Dear God, it would scare the kids to death if they came home and found the neighborhood seemingly under martial law. Todd would be at Dorothy's house, but Mike and Katie..

Hating to do it, Jane picked up the phone again and called her mother-in-law. "Thelma? Jane. I can only talk a second. Something awful has happened next door and the police have the block cordoned off. No, I'm fine. I'm not in any danger. But I'm worried about Mike and Katie trying to come home and thinking something has happened to me. I can't get out. Would you please call their schools and order them to stay there until you or Ted can pick them up? Thanks, Thelma. I'll come over to get them just as soon as I can.”

As she hung up, there was a knock on thefront door. Opening it gingerly, she was faced with a cop who couldn't have been more than twenty. "Is the homeowner of the house next door here? I was given this address."

“Yes, please come in.”

She introduced herself and Shelley and he said, "We've gone through the house, and there's nobody there but the victim. We'll need to ask you some questions. Would you rather stay here for a while to answer them?"

“Yes, I would," Shelley said. She'd gotten a grip on herself and was back to her normal color. "I think Mrs. Jeffry can probably tell you more than I can anyway. I've been gone almost all day. You were home, weren't you, Jane?"

“Mostly. I ran some errands. Tangerine juice," she added.

“Why didn't you just take some out of my freezer?" Shelley asked.

“Do you mean I ran all over town and it was next door all the time?" She felt an urge to laugh, but knew it would turn into full-blown hysteria if she started.

Another officer had come to the kitchen door, and with him there was a handsome, blond man in a business suit who introduced himself as Detective Mel VanDyne. He looked like a movie version of an investigator — shoulders wide enough to slightly strain an expensively tailored jacket, and smooth, economical gestures. As soon as Shelley and Jane identified themselves, he said in a deep, reassuring voice, "I noticed the uniform the victim was wearing and I've called the company to send someone over to make the identification, Mrs. Nowack."

“Thank you. I couldn't look at her again," Shelley said, lighting another cigarette, then stubbing it out. "I shouldn't be doing this. I quit."

“You'll quit again tomorrow," Detective Van-Dyne said in a voice so assured that Jane felt certain it would happen just as he said. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

“None. I left around— Oh, dear, I don't really remember—"

“It was ten o'clock. I saw you go," Jane put in. "Where did you go?"

“To the airport.To have lunch with my mother. I've been there the whole time. I'm sure there are people at the restaurant who will remember us. My mother managed to offend nearly every employee—”

Detective VanDyne's smile was friendly. "I wasn't asking you for an alibi, yet. But thanks anyway. When did you get back?' Shelley didn't even bother to answer. She looked at Jane.

“At three, or a few minutes before. I was at her house at quarter of and she wasn't back yet.”

VanDyne gazed at Jane speculatively. "What were you doing there?"

“Taking over a carrot salad."

“I'm having — I was having a meeting at my house tonight. A group that's planning to raise funds for new playground equipment," Shelley explained. "It was a potluck dinner, and everybody was supposed to bring their food ahead of time."

“So you were letting people in for Mrs. Nowack?" the detective asked Jane.

“No, I just left the door unlocked," Shelley said. "It's not as if the house were empty.”

VanDyne shook his head disapprovingly. "Can you give me a list of the people who came over?" He addressed this question to the air halfway between them.

Shelley's voice was a shade haughty. "You don't mean to suggest that one of my friends killed the woman?"

“Ma'am, I haven't any idea who did it. Not yet. But I must obviously begin with the people who were known to be there."

“It doesn't matter," Jane said. "She was only killed a few minutes before we called you. Only moments before Shelley came home."

“If you don't think it's impertinent of me to ask, how do you know that?"

“Because the dishwasher was on the prewash cycle when Shelley got home and discovered the body." She glanced at Shelley for confirmation, but Shelley had gotten dangerously pale and was carefully pouring herself more coffee with shaking hands. Jane went on. "That means the cleaning lady must have started it between the time I was there and the time Shelley got home. Everybody had already brought their food and gone when I went over at quarter to three."

“Still, I need the names of the people who were there and when."

“Oh, all right. Let me think. Dorothy Wallenberg brought a sheet cake early in the morning.”

“A sheet cake?"

“You know, the kind that's done in a big, flat pan. You don't have to ice the sides or worry about it not rising evenly or—”

VanDyne wasn't interested in the fine points of baking for a meeting. "Did this Wallenberg woman know Mrs. Nowack wasn't at home?"

“I was home then," Shelley said. "But Jane brought the cake in for her."

“I see. Go on, Mrs. Jeffry."

“Let's see. Joyce Greenway brought a brisket over about one o'clock. And Laura Stapler came with a cucumber and onion salad around twenty minutes later. However long it took me to cook the carrots — for my salad, you see."