A Farewell to Yarns (12 page)

The day would never dawn that Jane would so much as slip a stitch for Bobby Bryant. She shoved the sweater sleeve back into the plastic bag, wondering what to do with it, whenthere was a knock on the door. Willard, naturally, went quite mad. As he went flying by, barking like there was a mob of cossacks about to break down the doors, Jane reached out and grabbed his collar and nearly jerked both of them right off their feet. Shoving him down the basement steps, she went to the front door and discovered Mel VanDyne. Of course! He
would
visit when there was a dead vacuum cleaner with its guts spilling out in the middle of the living room.

“Come in. Let's sit in the kitchen," she said. "Have you learned anything yet?"

“Nothing worthwhile. I've been interviewing neighbors. I hope you'll tel l me what the y wouldn't themselves."

“You think a neighbor killed her?"

“No, I don't. According to you and Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Wagner just flitted in and bought the house yesterday. Nobody'd ever heard of her or met her before. It seems unlikely that anybody could develop a murderous hatred of her in such a short time. Still, I need to check it out.”

Jane had poured them coffee and sat down across the table from him. At least she'd cleaned up the milk lake and cleared the crumbs. He wouldn't go away with greasy elbows from sitting at her table. If he wasn't impressed by her neatness, at least he wouldn't be having a little chat with the Board of Health about her. "I get it. This is a perfectly pointless line of inquiry, so it's okay to talk to me about it.”

He grinned over the top of his coffee cup.
Oh, those teeth!
"Tell me about the Howards and Mr. Finch anyway."

“Tell me what you think of them first."

“A l l r i g h t . M r s . H o w a r d i s a n i c e E n glishwoman, and Mr. Finch is a not very nice American. There's also a house behind on the next street, but the people are out of town."

“The neighbors think Mr. Finch poisons dogs and cats that come in his yard."

“I know. The local police have a fat file of complaints but no proof. Mrs. Wagner didn't know him, did she?"

“Of course not. How would she? She only lived in the house for a few hours. When
did
Phyllis die?"

“Don't know yet. The coroner's first guess was between midnight and four. Her son says she spoke to him when he came in, but he has no idea when that was. Thinks it was around one. That's when Mrs. Howard says she heard a voice or voice s. Do yo u kno w this Finch character?"

“No. We've got a nodding acquaintance, as my mother would say. I see him working on his lawn, which is sacrosanct. And I pass him in the aisles of the grocery store. My kids are afraid of him, but that's probably because he's the neighborhood ogre. He's yelled at them a time or two for cutting across the corner of the yard. In fact, he called me once when Mike was little to tell me what a bad mannered child he was. I never knew quite what it was about."

“You think he's a killer type?"

“Of dogs and cats, yes. But unless Phyllis ran across his precious lawn with a Rototiller, I can't imagine why he'd have the least interest in her, let alone a desire to kill her."

“Fair enough. When I went over to talk to him, he tried to make me take off my shoes before I could come into the house. My impression is that murder is altogether too messy an activity for him. What about Mrs. Howard?"

“Fiona? You know who she is, don't you? She's Richie Divine's widow.”

VanDyne set his coffee cup down with a clatter. "You're kidding!
The
Richie Divine? Of course—Fiona Divine. I should have recognized the name Fiona."

“I think she'd be pleased that you didn't.”

“I had a lot of interest in his death. My sister was visiting friends in Seattle and went to his last concert. She was at some sort of slumber party when she heard the radio bulletin that his plane had crashed in the Pacific on the way to his next concert. Called home in the middle of the night and woke the whole family up to tell us. I always thought there was something suspicious about it, even then."

“Why? Tragic, yes. But suspicious?"

“Don't you remember? He'd gotten into some kind of flap with organized crime—they were skimming profits from his tours. He actually testified against his own business manager, who then ratted on everybody he knew."

“I had forgotten that. You mean that the mob had something to do with his plane go i ng down?"

“There wasn't any proof that I know of. But the plane didn't just run out of gas and fall into the ocean. It blew up in midair first. They never found enough bits of the plane or the

passengers—to reconstruct what happened."

“Oh, ugh. I was happier not knowing that.”

“Sorry."

“Did you ever stop to think how many entertainers have died in plane crashes? Will Rogers, Glenn Miller—"

“Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Richie Valens in the same one," Mel added.

“Rick Nelson, Patsy Cline—"

“Interesting, but beside the point, if you don't mind my mentioning it. Did Mrs. W a gne r know Fiona?"

“No, not before I took her over with me to move some boxes of stuff for the bazaar. Phyllis did mention kno wing somebody who kne w Fiona, but she couldn't remember who it was. To be honest. I think Phyllis was fudging the truth there. I think she'd just read about Fiona in fan magazines."

“So they'd never met?"

“No, I'm sure they hadn't. Women who have met before always at least pretend to remember each other. Neither of them did that."

“Okay. Who else did Mrs. Wagner know in Chicago?"

“Nobody that I know of. I believe the aunt she lived with in the old days died some years ago. She might know Bobby's adopted family. She told me some story about the stepmother not getting along with him, but that could just be Bobby's version. I don't know that she ever met them. Chet was apparently the one who traced him down, as a surprise to her."

“God, what a surprise. More of a shock, I'd think."

“She adored him."VanDyne stared at her.

“Incredible, but true," Jane insisted.

“Did she say anything at all that might lead you to think his adopted family had anything against her?"

“No, in fact, reading between the lines, I got the impression that they were thrilled to have him out of their hair. Of course, that could just be my interpretation of how I'd feel. Have you talked to them yet?"

“No, the father and stepmother are out of town. A vacation to Florida. Of course, with air travel being so fast and easy—" Suddenly he seemed to catch himself in the midst of gossiping with a civilian. "Thanks for your help," he said, starting to get up.

“Wait a minute!" Jane ordered. "You've asked me for a lot of information you didn't much want anywa y, and you haven't told me any thing. I've got some questions of my own. For a start, who called you in?"

“Bobby himself. Says he got up to go to the bathroom, glanced in her room, and saw she was dead. By the time the officers got there, he'd passed out."

“Do you think he'd do that if he was the one who killed her?"

“Who can tell? He might have been so drunk he wasn't making sense. Or he could have been so stewed that he'd forgotten that he'd killed her. Or he might have figured out that nobody else was likely to discover her for a good long time, and he'd better brazen it out."

“Maybe. Have you located Chet yet?"

“No, he's not on that island they own, and nobody seems to know where he's gone. His assistant has promised to let me know the second he's found."

“You aren't still suspecting him, are you?”

“I'd be both crazy and negligent not to. How well do you know this guy?"

“I hardly knew him at all, but I know he adored Phyllis."

“Still? Or seventeen years ago?"

“What do you mean?"

“You got the idea that he adored her from
her,
didn't you?" VanDyne said. "Look, if she'd come here without that obnoxious son and just talked about him, wouldn't you have formed a different sort of impression? That he was a terrific kid who loved her? Maybe it's the same with her husband."

“I'm not convinced. But maybe you're right. So you think Chet killed her?”

He set his coffee cup by the sink and started strolling toward the front door. "You know I'm not supposed to discuss my opinions with the general public."

“That just means you don't have any idea yet—and I'm not the 'general public.' I'm Phyllis's friend. Probably the last person to see her alive except for the killer.”

VanDyne had reached the front door and was resting his hand lightly on the handle, giving her a long, cool look. "Yes, that's quite true, isn't it.”

Jane felt her heart sink. "Why—why you
jerk!
You didn't come here for a friendly chat. You came here to interrogate me. Am I one of your suspects?"

“At this stage, everybody is," he said calmly. There was something that looked suspiciously like a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

“Not me! Get out!"

“Okay," he
said, cheerfully ignoring her fury. "I'll see you later—Jane.”

She sla mmed t he door behi nd hi m, t he n leaned on it, listening to Willard's renewed frenzy of barking. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. He was really maddening. But maddening was a lot better than boring.

Jane found herself wondering what it would be like to talk with him about something other than crime. What if he did actually ask her out sometime? What would they discuss?

Where would they go? Just how much would they find they had in common? Would he find her the slightest bit interesting if he weren't trying to get specific information from her? And would she find him interesting once she got her fill of admiring his smile? She'd reached the dizzy point of speculating on what it would be like to kiss him when Willard, still incarcerated in the basement, let out a pitiful howl.

“I know just how you feel," she said to him.

Fourteen

Jane released Willard and went back
to work on the vacuum cleaner. But she'd hardly gotten it together before there was another knock on the door. She opened it to find her friend Suzie Williams from down the street. "Jesus H. God, Jane, can't you shut that dog up?" Suzie asked.

She was a big, gorgeous woman who made a mockery of the entire theory of dieting. Built roughly along the lines of Mae West, she had masses of naturally curly, naturally platinum blond hair—or at least, it was artfully contrived to look natural. A buyer and saleswoman for the foundations section of the local department store, Suzie was also the living denial of the career woman. Though she was extremely successful at her job, she made no bones about her constant search for a man to first inhabit her bed and then, if sexually satisfactory, to fill her checkbook with lovely money that
he
made. In addition, she was the most refreshingly vulgar person Jane had ever known.

“Come in, Suzie. What are you doing at large in the middle of the day?"

“Watch that 'at large' talk," Suzie said, sailing through to the kitchen. "I was on my way home for lunch and saw a red MG in your driveway. So I cruised the block until it left. That was our old pal Detective VanDyne, wasn't it?"

“Yes, it was. I swear, that man makes me crazy."

“That good, huh?"

“That's
not
what I mean—more's the pity.”

“Cut through the crap, Jane. What was he doing here? If you're screwing him, I want every juicy detail. Then I want to know how I can get in line to be next. From the looks of his car and clothes, he makes a decent living." She fished in her purse, brought out a couple of candy canes, and offered one to Jane.

“No, thanks. I'm not screwing Mel VanDyne. Only daydreaming."

“Oh, it's 'Mel' now, is it? Jane, I'm short on time, and I'm missing my lunch to butt in here. Aren't you going to offer me a sandwich while you tell me everything?"

“I haven't got any bread that doesn't have green fuzz on it. Let's get a hamburger instead.”

They got into Suzie's car and went to the local McDonald's. While hunched hungrily over Big Macs ("None of that salad crap for me. I have to keep up my strength to spend an afternoon fitting corsets," Suzie said), Jane explained why Mel VanDyne had been at her house. Suzie daintily chewed the last of her second order of large fries and said, "I'd opt for that asshole Finch. I'd like to see him in the clink whether he did it or not."

“What have you got against Mr. Finch?"

“Not half as much as he tried to put against me. I was out for a walk one day last summer, and as I passed his house, he latches on to me and starts yammering about his new toolshed. I guess it was the silly bastard's idea of flirting. Well, I didn't have much of anything I was in a hurry to do, and I figured, hell, why not let the old fool ha ve the t hril l of s ho wi ng t he damned thing to me? Well! He lures me into the shed thing, which reeks of insecticide, and all of a sudden he's all hands and pelvis."

“What did you do?"

“Kneed him in the crotch, of course. That really jarred his dentures. Silly old fool."

“He's not so old, is he?"

“I guess not. Only fifty or so, but that old -maid prissy sort of man always seems older. I'd chalked him up as gay before, which is why the whole thing took me so off guard. Men don't often take me by surprise."

“Suzie, I think you ought to tell VanDyne about this. Finch might have tried to rape Phyllis and ended up killing her."

“Rape? He wouldn't do that."

“But you said you had to fight him off."

“Oh, it wasn't so much that I
had
to as I
got
to. I was never in any danger. I was just pissed at him. No, I don't think Finch is really a strong possibility, much as I'd like him to be, and much as I'd like an excuse to have a chummy little visit with Vandyne. I think it's her husband or the stepson. Murder usually runs in families, you know."

“But her husband loved her."

“Horseshit! You weigh love against paying alimony, and love loses every time. Even my husband—asshole that he is—was real generous about everything until we got divorced. But it's like pulling teeth to get my child support every month—and he's crazy about our kid; he just can't stand the idea of me so much as getting to look at his money as it goes by."