A Farewell to Yarns jj-2

by Jill Churchill

  “He must have really wanted something."

  “From me?" Jane asked, shaking chili seasoning into the pot and stirring. "All he asked was that I help him look over Phyllis's things to see if anything was there that shouldn't be. Of course, he'd barely gotten here when the news came on, and he dashed off. I've never seen a man look so upset. He even seemed genuinely sorry about Phyllis, and then there as that picture of Chet being led away, and John turned the color of cauliflower."

  “I've got to go back to fixing dinner," Shelley said. "Call and tell me what you find out from your Uncle Jim, will you?"

  “Say, Shelley—what are you doing after dinner?"

  “Nothing planned. Why?"

  “Well, I'd like to do what John Wagner was asking—look through Phyllis's things—and get it over with. He made me feel horribly guilty, saying I'd know what was hers just because I knew her so well. The fact is, you and I might know if something isn't hers just because we're women. I mean, Steve once saw me using a nail whitening pencil and said he'd always wondered what they were. His mother always had one around. He thought it was some secret feminine hygiene thing you don't talk about. I guess that's sort of an opposite example of what I mean, but—"

  “I get it anyhow. I don't think you'll find anything interesting, but sure—I'll come along. How do you plan to get into the house?"

  “Last I heard, Bobby was staying there." Shelley shuddered. "I forgot about him. Do you think we ought to get near him? What if he is the murderer?"

  “There's safety in numbers. Besides, he'd have no reason to do anything to us.”

  Jane fed everybody, drove Mike to band practice, dropped Todd at a friend's house, and took Katie to her pal Jenny's, whose mother had offered to take them to a teen fashion show at the mall. Certain they all had rides home, Jane came back for Shelley. "Let me give Uncle Jim one more try," she said, stamping the snow off her boots at Shelley's kitchen door.

  This time she got him.

  “Hey, Janey. You calling to uninvite me to Saturday dinner?" he asked.

  “Don't get your hopes up. Mike is counting on you coming to his concert, and I've already got the sauerbraten marinating. I'm calling because I saw you on television this afternoon."

  “Oh, yeah. The Wagner thing. VanDyne is in charge. Did you know that?"

  “I not only know it, I'm a suspect. Phyllis was a friend of mine. In fact, she'd come to Chicago to visit me."

  “My God, Jane! The things you get into."

  “I didn't get into it. It came looking for me. Uncle Jim, what do you know about this?"

  “Up until now, nothing. I was just asked to have a man or two at the exits in case there was trouble. There wasn't. Jane, if I'd known you were involved—"

  “Don't get upset. I'm not involved. But I want to know what's happening. Have they actually arrested Chet Wagner?"

  “Not that I know of. Like I say, I didn't take much interest. I had the idea it was just a matter of time. Give me an hour or two to see what I can find out. I'll call you back. You home?”

  Jane paused. "Ah—no. I'm at Shelley' s, and we're going—going Christmas shopping.”

  But the pause had alerted him. "Jane," he said menacingly. "You stay away from all this, understand?"

  “Well, of course. Don't be ridiculous. I'll call you back when I get home." She hung up the phone and said, "Let's get out of here quick before he decides to come babysit me.”

  The police boundary tape was gone, and the rented Jaguar was in the driveway. Bobby came to the door with a drink in his hand. "Yeah? Whaddaya want?"

  “I'm Jane Jeffry, and this is Shelley Nowack. Remember us from yesterday? I loaned your mother a book, and I wondered if it would be all right if I went up and got it back." Jane was rather proud of this little story. It had crossed her mind on the way over that asking to browse through Phyllis's belongings for clues might not please Bobby. And if he was the killer, they certainly didn't want to offer him a motive to harm them.

  “Yeah, I guess it's okay. The cops have already gone through all her stuff," he said, apparently not fooled in the least by Jane's story.

  He opened the door and allowed them in. Jane noted that he was already making a shambles of the house. Clothing was strewn around, beer bottles were making rings on the dining room table, and several ashtrays overflowed with butts.

  Bobby slouched toward the kitchen, leaving Shelley and Jane to their own devices. That was good; he didn't intend to stand over them while they went through her things.

  At the top of the stairs, Shelley grabbed Jane's arm. "Look at that!" she said, pointing toward the master suite. In addition to the unmade bed, clothing and suitcases flung everywhere, there was an elaborate sound system on the far wall next to the door to the deck.

  “That wasn't here this morning," Jane whispered.

  “I've been pricing this stuff for Paul for Christmas, and take my word for it, that's at least $3000 worth of equipment."

  “I guess he ran out and used his mother's credit cards to the limit before Chet thought to have them shut off. What a bastard!”

  Turning their backs on the evidence of Bobby's greed, they went into the small bedroom Phyllis had died in. Jane let out a long breath of relief. The blood-soaked mattress and bedding had been removed. The rest of the room, however, was in chaos. Suitcases gaped open with clothing tumbling out. The perfume and makeup on the dressing table looked like someone had rummaged through it with a heavy hand. "The police went through this. They certainly made a mess," Jane said, frowning.

  “I don't think this is the way the police would work. This has a distinctly Bobby look. I bet he was searching for something."

  “But what?"

  “Maybe he thought she had a lot of cash hidden in her suitcases. Maybe she did. That might account for the stereo and tape deck and all.”

  Jane looked around the room sadly. "This isn't right. We can't leave it this way. I wouldn't like Chet to ever see her things this way."

  “Chet? Chet's probably in the slammer right now for having killed her."

  “I know that, but I still don't believe he could have. Let's clean this up and get out.”

  The box springs were still on the bed frame, and the two women set the four big suitcases and the overnight case there to start filling them. Item by item they started picking up clothing, folding and repacking it. Everything was of excellent quality. Handmade French silk underwear, Scottish woolen skirts and dresses, a Bob Mackie evening dress, a stunning Michaele Vollbracht swimsuit, though God knew where she'd intended to wear that!

  “Look at this," Shelley said. She'd picked up a magenta silk dressing gown with a pink appliquéed chrysanthemum. Underneath it on the floor was a needlepointed bag about the same dimensions as a briefcase. On the front, in satin stitch, were the initials P.F.W. "I bet he didn'teven see this. If I were carrying important papers or extra emergency money, this is where I'd keep them. I wonder if the police noticed it.”

  Jane took the largest suitcase off the bed, and they sat down. Shelley slid the contents of the case out. The largest item was, of all things, a well-thumbed high school yearbook—an old one from a school in Pennsylvania. "Imagine your yearbook being so important you'd carry it around," Shelley said sadly. "I don't even know where mine is, and I don't care."

  “I don't have one," Jane said. "I graduated from a school in Washington, D.C. that I'd only attended for the last semester. I think that was between Egypt and Germany."

  “Look at this," Shelley said, flipping through the pages. "She not only carried it around, it's nearly worn out. She must have actually looked at the thing often. Why does that break my heart?"

  “Because it's so typically Phyllis. What's in the envelopes?”

  The first and thinnest of the two manila envelopes contained various documents; some papers having to do with Bobby's adoption and a number of pictures of him. Bobby sunbathing, Bobby diving, Bobby lounging on a deck chair, Bobby leaning on a balcony rail. In every o
ne of them he had an arrogant smirk, as if thinking. Look where I am, world!

  There were also some insurance papers, Phyllis's passport, her birth certificate, Bobby's passport, and a few faded old photos of a middle-aged woman with hat, hair, and clothes that looked like the picture was taken in the middle sixties. She looked like the kind of woman who really belonged on a farm, making pies. "I bet that's her aunt, the one who took her in. She died a few years ago. See, here's a clipping of the obituary notice," Jane said.

  There were a lot of pictures of Chet, too, and Jane realized with a shock that he was really quite dynamic and youthful looking. Nothing like the grim, unremarkable man on the evening news. There were candid shots of the two of them dancing, sailing, swimming, playing shuffleboard on a cruise ship. One was a studio portrait of the two of them in silhouette, looking into each other's eyes. Sort of overdramatic and silly but touching just the same, because the look of love they were exchanging was obviously so genuine.

  “I'm sorry we looked in this," Jane said. "It's like peeping into someone's bedroom window." She stacked the contents and slipped them back into the envelope.

  The second envelope, the one that bulged, was full of knitting patterns, some clipped magazine articles about various crafts, and a plastic palletlike holder strung with samples of several dozen colors of yarn. Folded into a thick bundle were numerous letters and order forms for fabrics and fibers from places all over the world. There was also a long, flat, embossed leather case that opened to reveal a complete set of knitting needles in every size.

  “Wicked looking things, aren't they?" Shelley said, gathering everything up to put back in the bag.

  “If I were carrying around money, I'd haveput it with the other legal documents in that first envelope, wouldn't you?" Jane said. "Probably," Shelley said. As she rose to put the displaced suitcase back on the bed, she stopped and peered out the front window. "Somebody's stopped in front of the house."

  “Damn! With my luck, it's either Mel Van-Dyne or my Uncle Jim. Either one of them will have a fit if they find me here snooping around."

  “I think it's too late to escape. Two men are coming to the front door.”

  Jane stood up. "Might as well go down there and get chewed out and have it over with. Someday I'm going to write the definitive work on how to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Sixteen •

  Jane hesitated on the stairs, realizing it wasn't her house or her place to go to the door. But after a moment, when there was neither sound nor sight of Bobby, Shelley gave her a little shove, and they went down together. The door opened, however, before they reached it. Chet and John Wagner came in, John pocketing a key. Chet looked like a strong man who'd lost a war. So must General Lee have appeared grim, gray, and rigid, held together by dignity alone. John Wagner was keeping close to him, one hand hovering, ready to take his elbow to steady his father as if he were a fragile old man. John had the air of a man thrust uncomprehendingly into a nurturing role and extremely uncomfortable with it.

  Jane stepped forward with her hand outstretched. "Chet, you probably don't remember me from the old days; I'm Jane Jeffry.”

  He took her hand in a firm grip and held it between both of his square, well-manicured hands. "Of course I remember. You haven't changed at all," he said with a feeble attempt at chivalry.

  “I'm afraid I have. It's a long time and three children later."

  “Two boys and a girl," Chet replied. "Mike, Todd, and—"

  “—Katie," she said, her voice quivering. How incredible that he would know and remember her children's names. She embraced him. "Oh, Chet, I'm so sorry about Phyllis."

  “At least she had you at the end. That means a lot to me. She was so fond of you," he said.

  “Phyllis was a dear, wonderful person," Jane said honestly. Pulling away, she blinked back tears and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. This is my friend Shelley Nowack. Shelley, this is Chet Wagner and his son. John, we came over to go through Phyllis's belongings. They're almost all packed."

  “Keep them, Jane," Chet said.

  “Oh, no. I couldn't do that."

  “It's what she'd want. It's what I want.”

  Jane caught a glimpse of John Wagner's surprised expression. Surprised and not at all pleased. "That's very nice of you, Chet, but we can talk about it later. I think in the meantime John ought to take the suitcases to his house. Just until things are settled.”

  They were all still standing around in front of the door. Nobody knew quite what to do next. This was probably Chet's house, legally, but he'd never been in it before. Shelley took things in hand. "I don't know where Bobby's gotten to. He was here when we came in. Why don't we all sit down?" Assuming the hostess role with a heavy-handed firmness, she shepherded everyone into the dining room, there still being no living room furniture. She and Jane hastily cleared away the rubble on the big table.

  They were barely seated when there was the sound of a door opening somewhere else in the house and a toilet flushing. The nasty jerk, Jane thought. He probably hadn't even used the toilet, just flushed it to make a rude noise. A moment later, Bobby ambled into the room and stood leaning negligently against the dining room door frame. "Company's come, huh? Hi, John. Hi, Chet.”

  There was a stunned silence for a minute, then Chet stood up. Color had come to his face, and he suddenly seemed the "leader of industry" the press called him. Jane was astonished at the degree and suddenness of the change. "Don't you 'Chet' me, boy," he said in a ringing tone that all but knocked Jane back in her chair. "I'm certainly not your friend, and you can no longer claim the most tenuous relationship with me or my family. I'm Mr. Wagner to you, you punk.”

  For once, Bobby seemed shaken out of his in-control, arrogant pose. "But Phyllis was my mother, Chet."

  “A biological accident. Nothing more. You had no claim on her, and you most assuredly have none on me. The only time I ever want to hear about you again is when I read in the newspaper that you've been duly convicted of her murder."

  “Me? Get off it, Chet. I seen the news tonight. You're the one gonna fry for that.”

  John Wagner, silent until now, suddenly rose and, muttering incoherently, lunged at Bobby. But Chet was faster. He grabbed his son's arm."Don't touch the slimy little bastard. We'll just let the lawyers fuck him over. That's what they're paid for. Excuse me, ladies....”

  Jane had an hysterical urge to giggle at the absurd incongruity of his apologizing for his language under the circumstances. She was surprised that he even remembered she and Shelley were present. She was also quite appalled that they were present. Intellectual snooping was one thing, but they had no business in the middle of a private emotional crisis like this. Coming to this house had been one of her bigger mistakes. These men were on the brink of violence, and Jane was terrified of what might happen. For the first time, it really came home to her that it was very likely one of these men was a murderer. And she and Shelley were witnessing something they shouldn't. But she was like an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car—horrified but unable to move.

  Bobby seemed to feel he'd gained the upper hand again. "We'll see who's fucked over when Phyl's will turns up."

  “Will? My wife's will is in the safe deposit box with mine, and I can assure you it's none of your concern," Chet said.

  “I don't mean the old one. I mean the one she had made when we stopped off in New York the other day."

  “You're lying!" John Wagner exclaimed.

  “We'll see, won't we? She hauled me along to meet some old lawyer, then she went into his office and came out puttin' this blue folder thing in her purse."

  “And where is this 'blue folder thing'?" Chet asked. His voice was so cold and malevolent that Jane involuntarily shivered. Didn't the stupid boy know when he was up against a formidable enemy? She'd run for the nearest bomb shelter if Chet Wagner ever spoke to her like that.

  Apparently it didn't faze Bobby. He shrugged elaborately. "I got no idea. It's not her
e. She provably put it in the mail or something. It'll turn up, and believe me, you'll be eating your own shit when it does."

  “Just what's that supposed to mean?" John asked. His face was flushed and blotched with fury. Jane was half afraid he was about to have a stroke.

  “Figure it out yourself," Bobby said. Was it a bluff, or did he know what the will contained? Jane wondered. For that matter, was the whole story a bluff? She suspected it was. Phyllis wasn't the sort to even think about things like wills—unless, of course, a greedy son reminded her.

  “Oh, I'll figure it out," Chet was saying. "And first thing in the morning, I'll also figure out about this house. You better start your packing, boy, because you're going to be out of it. I curse the day I ever went looking for you. Phyllis would be alive today if I hadn't. I can never absolve myself of that.”

  The gentle emotions in his last words broke the spell Jane had been under. Barely able to get her breath, she rose quickly. "I have to go home. Shelley, help me finish the packing, will you?”

  The two of them fled up the stairs. Raised voices followed them. Jane was cursing herself.

  They should have gotten out of the house. What misguided, ingrained sense of courtesy and obligation had made them rush to finish this appalling job? As they flung the last of Phyllis's belongings into the suitcases with little care, Shelley said in a trembling voice, "Dear God, if they're going to kill each other, let us get out of here first.”

  As she spoke, there was the sound of the front door slamming. For a moment Jane thought it was a gunshot, and she clung to Shelley's arm But seconds later there was the sound of the Jaguar starting up. "They must have run him out for the time being. Shelley, I'm so sorry I got us into the middle of this."

  “Don't you be sorry. It was my fault for asking you to do this," John Wagner said from the doorway. ‑

  “I was glad to do what little I could," Jane said, snapping shut the latch on the suitcase. John picked it and the other largest one up. Jane took the smaller ones, and Shelley went to the closet and took out Phyllis's mink jacket and purse.