The Merchant of Menace jj-10

by Jill Churchill

  It put last night's disastrous party out of Jane's mind. This was a good neighborhood party, a celebration of the holidays without a threat in their midst. Unless, of course, one of these women had hoisted herself up the ladder — no, she wouldn't let herself think about that right now.

  Tiffany Johnson arrived by herself, clad in an ill-fitting red organdy-over-taffeta frock that was obviously expensive and totally inappropriate. Jane went out of her way to make Tiffany welcome, although the woman obviously hadn't clued in that she was seriously overdressed for the occasion. She'd brought along exquisite puff pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar, which surprised Jane. She'd expected Tiffany to turn up with something heavy, filling, and distinctly "down home" instead of something so fine and delicate.

  Shelley strolled into the dining room, looking over her shoulder at Tiffany. "I don't get it, Jane."

  “Don't get what?"

  “The Johnsons. That's a very pricey dress Tiffany's wearing. Awfully mother-of-the-bride-ish, but good quality. Where do they get the money? How do they afford the rent on their house? Do they do something for a living?"

  “I have no idea," Jane said. "The only thing I can figure is that they inherited a wad from some distant relative."

  “Or maybe Billy Joe sold out a highly successful hog-butchering factory," Shelley said. "They aren't as ignorant as you'd think," Jane said. "I meant to tell you about this. I went over to invite Tiffany to the parties and Billy Joe was working away at a computer."

  “Probably just playing a game."

  “No, I don't think so. I caught a glimpse of the room before Tiffany hastily closed the door. There were shelves of books and computer manuals."

  “Jane, when you're past this entertaining binge, we have to try to find out more about them. You can't entirely overlook the fact that Lance was killed at their house. Could just be a random roof he chose, or it could be more."

  “You mean Lance knew about them?"

  “Possibly. He was even nosier than we are."

  “But Shelley, that doesn't make sense. If he were setting up a 'spy station' to spy on them, he'd have been on someone else's roof, wouldn't he?"

  “Let me think that over," Shelley said as the doorbell rang.

  Another group arrived together and the noise level went up significantly. Of course, they were having to compete with Billy Joe Johnson's Christmas music which was once again blasting the neighborhood. Jane was strolling through the living room, greeting friends and feeling smug when a relative silence fell over the room. Everybody was gazing at the doorway to the kitchen, where Sam Dwyer stood, looking very awkward.

  “You must be Sam Dwyer. How nice that you could join us," Jane said. "Ladies, this is Sam Dwyer. Pet's dad. You'll all have to introduce yourselves.”

  The noise level gradually climbed again as Jane took the box Sam had brought along. "Oh, what lovely fudge," she said. It was a huge improvement on the fudge Pet had brought the day before.

  “Thank you," Sam said quietly. "Where should I put it?"

  “Come along to the dining room," Jane said, leading the way and handing him one of the brightly colored plastic serving trays. While he moved the squares of fudge onto the tray, she studied him. She'd never gotten a close look at him before, just a general impression from down the block. He was better-looking than she would have guessed from a distance. His hair was too short to be stylish and his glasses were a bit on the Buddy Holly side, but his features were strong and handsome. He wore a charcoal gray tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, a light gray shirt and tie, and black dress slacks. Very well turned out for a computer nerd.

  “I appreciate all you've done for Pet," he said, setting the last piece of fudge in place.

  “I haven't done anything for her. Except enjoy her. She's a nice little girl. A credit to you."

  “You're more important to her than you know. She's shy around most people, but feels comfortable coming to your house and beingfriends with your son. She told me you even let them use your computer.”

  Jane was surprised at the compliments. "They both know more about computers than I do. I don't worry that they'll wreck it as much as I worry that I will."

  “Well, I still want to thank you for making her feel that your house is sort of a second home. We don't have family here and it's pretty lonely for her at home sometimes. I'm her only companion there and my work takes a lot of my time and concentration. She really enjoys your family. She's always telling me about how busy and interesting everybody in the Jeffry family

  “Listen, Sam, any man who is able and willing to do tidy French braids is a fine dad.”

  He laughed. "I keep hoping she'll get interested in doing them herself!”

  Thelma came into the dining room just then. She gave them an appraising look and said, "Jane, is there anything I can do to help?”

  Jane introduced Thelma to Sam and said, "No, I think everything's under control. There are two more people I believe are coming. We'll give them another five minutes before turning everybody loose on the cookie distribution.”

  Thelma gave Sam another close look. She appeared to be faintly disapproving of his presence as an invited guest, but since she was faintly disapproving of most things Jane did, this wasn't surprising.

  “You live here on the block, Mr. Dwyer?" Thelma asked.

  “Yes, in the blue house down the street and across. My daughter Pet is a friend of Todd's.”

  He was smiling slightly and Jane suspected that he knew Thelma was dying to grill him about his presence among the women on the block. "I think maybe I should meet some more of my neighbors," he said.

  When he'd left the room, Thelma said, "What is he doing here? I didn't think men were invited."

  “He's a single, stay-at-home parent, Thelma. A widower. He hasn't been very sociable until now. I think it's nice that he came."

  “I suppose it is, but it's certainly odd. What's this I hear about Lance King?" she asked with an abrupt shift. "I heard some of your other guests talking about his death. I didn't have time to read the paper this morning and didn't know."

  “He fell off the roof next door and died," Jane said bluntly.

  “But someone said he'd just been here. In your house."

  “Unlike Sam Dwyer, Lance King was not here at my invitation, Thelma."

  “What was he doing on the neighbors' roof?"

  “Snooping, apparently. Scouting for a place for setting up a camera or listening device possibly."

  “Dreadful man!" Thelma said. "Not that one wishes dreadful people to die, of course. Still, he was a terrible person. Always going after people who couldn't defend themselves against him. I lived in fear—" She stopped.

  “That he'd go after the family pharmacies?"

  “No, of course not." She paused. "Well, yes. Not that we had anything to really fear, but he seemed to just make things up, just to stir the pot."

  “He did, indeed."

  “So he just fell off the roof?”

  Jane debated with herself for a moment.

  Surely the newspaper or television reporters had already gotten wind of the fact that Lance King was probably murdered. After all, the bright yellow crime scene tapes around the Johnsons' house were pretty much of a tip-off. No point in keeping Thelma in the dark. "I don't think he managed it by himself," Jane said.

  “What do you mean?"

  “That it's likely that he was pushed off the roof.”

  Thelma gasped. "Murdered? Right next door to you?"

  “Better there than here," Jane said.

  “Oh, Jane. Don't even say such a thing. I had no idea! Who did it? Who killed him?"

  “I don't know. The police are investigating.”

  Thelma shifted gears again. "Jane, I want to talk to you about this business about your monthly check—”

  Fortunately, Shelley interrupted at exactly the right moment. "I think everybody's here, Jane.

  They're all stoked up on cider and coffee. Want me to invit
e them to eat?"

  “Yes! But I'll do it," she said, frantic to escape Thelma. She'd spent most of a week gearing herself up for the earlier confrontation, but wasn't ready for another round.

  Everyone was full of praise for Jane's table and the variety of goodies. Jane had tiny plates set out for sampling the sugary feast. Later everyone would be given pretty little boxes to take home a mixture of cookies. Jane was sorry the tradition had been allowed to lapse for several years and glad that she'd been the one to revive it. While the guests were gushing and choosing, she went into the living room. As she passed by the stairs, Addle was just coming down. She started to say something, thought better of it, and merely nodded to Jane with a faint, artificial smile. Jane smiled back.

  Shelley was sitting by herself on the sofa. Jane joined her and whispered, "Addie's just been upstairs.”

  Shelley grinned. "Did she say anything?”

  “Not a word.”

  They giggled like schoolgirls.

  “It's such a joy to see you enjoying your own party," Catherine Pargeter said, sitting down awkwardly in the squishy armchair. "Oh, dear, it's probably going to take a crane to get me back out of here.”

  Catherine was in her late fifties, a bit on the heavy side, and was vaguely grandmotherly, although she had no grandchildren. She had the same fair hair and ruddy complexion as her son Bruce. Jane didn't know her terribly well, but liked her. Catherine was deeply, seriously into genealogy and when Jane and Shelley developed an interest in the subject, Catherine had been more than willing to answer their very stupid, beginner questions. And she did so with good cheer and grace.

  “I was sorry you couldn't come to the party last night," Jane said. "Although it didn't turn out to be very festive."

  “I just couldn't, dear. Not with the threat of that awful man being here. I can't say I'm glad he's dead, but I can't say I'm sorry, either. Bruce told me he explained it all to you and Shelley."

  “He did and it broke my heart," Jane said sincerely.

  “It's a long time ago. One can't dwell on heartache," Catherine said. Then she brightened in a deliberate manner. "How are you getting along with your genealogy, Shelley?”

  While Shelley and Catherine chatted, Jane watched as the others drifted back to the living room. Addie and Thelma were in conversation again, both of them still looking a bit cranky. Since the only thing they had in common was Jane herself, she was glad to be spared hearing them. Sam Dwyer had been cornered by Julie Newton. Julie's bouncy perkiness seemed to disconcert him. He almost flinched every time she made one of her grand gestures — and she was making a lot of them. Sharon Wilhite and Tiffany Johnson were trying to find some everyday subject for conversation and apparently finding it heavy going. One would speak and the other would look interested but perplexed. Then they'd reverse the process. Then, as Jane observed them, they both laughed. Apparently the death of the ex-husband of one woman, the site of that death being the home of the other, hadn't really harmed either of them.

  If Lance King were looking down (or up, more likely) on this scene from wherever his mean spirit had gone, he must have been severely disappointed at how little his passing had meant.

  Fifteen

  The guests started drifting off around three‑ thirty and Jane was reminded of one of the things she'd always loved about the cookie parties. Everyone always brought a lot more cookies than they were supposed to and took away only a few more than specified, with the result that the hostess ended up with a hearty supply of everyone else's baking efforts. She'd probably gain ten pounds by New Year's, but what was January good for except dieting?

  Jane stood at the door, hugging an afghan around her shoulders to keep warm, bidding everyone good-bye, making sure they had the right hats, gloves, boots, and their box of cookies. Mel arrived again as the last stragglers departed. "Hi, Janey," he said brightly. "Guess what?”

  She grinned at him. He'd cheered up considerably since the last time she'd talked to him. "Okay… you got a raise? A Christmas bonus? An Oscar for being my leading man?"

  “You aim too high, Janey," he said, giving her a light peck of a kiss. "I got my furnace fixed. On a Saturday!”

  It was all Jane could do to keep from shouting, "WHOOPEE!”

  “On a Saturday," she said calmly. "Imagine that."

  “So I can take Mom off your hands.”

  Jane could afford to be gracious now. "Oh, she hasn't been a bit of trouble, Mel."

  “Oh — well. Maybe she'd rather stay here, then."

  “No, no, no! I mean, I'm sure she wouldn't. She came to see you, Mel. Not camp out here with all the kids and noise.”

  Men could be such dim-bulbs about their mothers.

  Addie, still deep in conversation with Thelma, was informed that she was moving and went upstairs to pack. And probably to have another shot at moving the furniture, Jane thought. Shelley saw to it that Thelma was levered out the door without getting another chance to take Jane to task about the Great Check Delivery Debate and was in the kitchen putting soiled plastic plates and j cups into a trash bag when Mel and Jane oined her. "Excellent party, Jane," Shelley said, giving the trash bag an expert twirl and closing it up with a plastic gizmo. "Almost no mention of the late and not very lamented Lance King."

  “It was a nice party, wasn't it?" Jane said. "Mel, I've got a ton of leftover cookies. Want some?"

  “Just to help you out."

  “Speaking of Lance King, how's it going?" Shelley asked.

  “Not well. Not well at all. Ginger must be right about him keeping everything on disk. There was nothing on the laptop of any use. I guess I told you that. And there wasn't anything on his office machine except a word processing program with files identified by date, but without any content."

  “Without content?" Jane asked.

  “Empty as a baton twirler's head," Mel said.

  “Watch it or some feminist group will come after you," Shelley warned him. "I'll have you know that I, Shelley Nowack, once took baton twirling lessons. Well, one lesson."

  “Not much good at it?" Jane asked.

  “I gave myself a bloody nose with the knob on the end and my mother threw the baton away," Shelley admitted. "Seriously, Mel, aren't you making any progress?"

  “I didn't say that. We're still gathering evidence, doing interviews. Time-consuming, but necessary."

  “I don't guess you're going to tell us who you suspect?" Shelley said.

  “Nope. Because I suspect everybody at the moment."

  “Suspect everybody of what?" Addie said from the doorway.

  “Suspect everybody of everything," Mel said cheerfully. "Are you ready to go? I'll get your bag."Addie had a lot of lovely things to say about Jane, her children, and her house and emphasized how extraordinarily kind it had been of Jane to take her in.

  Jane gushed about what a very welcome guest she had been and how pleasant it had been to get to know her, even though things had really been too hectic for a good heart-to-heart.

  Behind Addie and Mel, Shelley was making gagging motions.

  Addie and Jane parted with warm enthusiasm and anticipation of their next meeting which would once again be at Jane's house for Christmas a few short days away. How time does fly. Air kisses were exchanged. Artificial laughter filled the air. Fake smiles beamed.

  As soon as Mel and his mother had backed out of the driveway, Jane shuddered elaborately and said, "I hate myself.”

  Shelley had her head down on the kitchen table, howling with laughter. "You should. That was the most disgustingly gooey scene I've seen since Love Story."

  “Don't worry. Mel's the only one who didn't understand it," Jane said. She sat down and propped her feet on another chair. "Thank God, my entertaining is over for a few days. The Christmas Day dinner looms ominously, but I'm not thinking about it until tomorrow at the earliest."

  “You're not quite done. Sharon Wilhite brought her cookies on her own tray and left it behind. We need to take it back to her."

>   “And ask a few questions?" Jane said.

  “Oh… maybe just a few.”

  Jane had never been in Sharon's house and was surprised at how tastefully bland it was. Sharon apparently subscribed to the "Beige Is Good" school of decorating. There were bits ofcolor here and there. A muddy blue vase. A rug with charcoal and cream colors. An abstract painting over the sofa that had hints of apricot with the beige. It was a house that wasn't really lived in very much. There was no clutter, no newspaper or TV Guide. In fact, no television that Jane could see.

  Though Shelley claimed they'd only stopped by to deliver Sharon's platter (as if it took two of them to carry it), Sharon wasn't fooled. "I guess I owe you an explanation," she said.

  “You don't owe it, but I'd sure like to hear it anyway," Jane said.

  “Do you smoke?" Sharon said unexpectedly. "Sometimes. As little as possible," Jane replied.

  “Feel free then."

  “I didn't bring any along. It's okay," Jane said.

  “I'll get you a cigarette. I used to smoke and keep one pack in the house just so I don't panic." She opened a little drawer under the coffee table and got a pack out. She was obviously hedging, thinking what to say.

  “No thanks, I'm fine," Jane said, recognizing a brand that had changed its packaging a good five years earlier. She didn't mind stale, but objected to petrified. And she wanted Sharon to get on with what she had to say.

  Jane and Shelley settled themselves on the sofa, while Sharon chose a straight-backed chair with a beige and brown seat cover. "I married Harvey — Lance, that is — in college. It was partly an escape from my parents, partly a general rebellion, partly sex. He was interesting. Most of the guys who were attracted to me were jocks. Harvey was an intellectual. Not really, but he gave that impression to a girl as foolish and lonesome as I was. It only lasted a year."

  “Who got dumped?" Shelley asked bluntly.

  “Oh, I dumped him. I wasn't entirely stupid. I found out that he was — well, 'wicked' sounds melodramatic, but he was wicked. Or sociopathic. He was always bragging about the things he'd put over on people. That made me uncomfortable, but I told myself it was just made up. Jokes, you know, to see how I'd react. I always just laughed it off. Then one day he said something about how silly it was for me to be paying college fees. Told me he could hack into the university computer and show my tuition as paid. This was in the early days of computers. He didn't have his own, but had access to one in a science lab. He proceeded to explain that he'd only paid his first-semester tuition and had gotten his education for free since then.”