A Quiche Before Dying (20 page)

“Oh, naturally. Children are quite pleasant to travel with if you’ve got your own wits together,“ Thelma purred. The implication was clear: Jane had no wits to speak of and certainly never had them together. But Jane was glad to see that there were lines of fatigue around Thelma’s eves, and she looked awfully pale for a woman who’d just spent a week in Florida. “Cecily, how nice to see you,“ Thelma said.

Jane’s mother had come out onto the porch. Todd ran and practically tackled her. Thelma watched this reunion with a cold eye.

Todd treated them to a solid hour of excited chatter about his trip, while Thelma sat stolidly listening. It was clear she was loathe to abandon him to his mother, much less his other grandmother, but was exhausted and longing to go home. She finally gave up the fight and left.

“Mom’s leaving Monday. Do come to a big Sunday dinner, will you?“ Jane asked Thelma as she tottered out to her car.

“That would be nice, dear. I do always enjoy hearing your mother talk about her... ‘globe-trotting’ life.“ She made it sound as if Cecily moved from campground to campground in a rusted-out pickup truck with a canvas tent in the back.

Todd met Jane as she went back in. “Mom, do you think Nana would mind if I went over to Elliot’s? I got a lot of stuff to show him.“

“I’m sure Nana would understand. Ask her yourself, though.”

A few minutes later, Jane and her mother were watching the driveway again. “Mike’s due in about fifteen minutes. I’ll be glad to have him back. Mom, I’m going to miss him horribly when he goes away to college. I depend on him so much.“

“He’s come through losing his father with flying colors, hasn’t he?“ Cecily said.

Jane nodded. “But it’s not just the things he does. Mowing the lawn, carrying heavy things, fixing the dishwasher, all that male stuff. More important, he likes me. He and Todd both do. They think I’m a neat person who’s worth talking to occasionally. But Katie—“

“It’s just her age and hormones. One day she’ll be a lovely young woman and she’ll be your best friend. Like you’re mine . .”

Jane felt tears coming to her eyes. “Life
would
be awful without a mother,“ she said, just as a bright red Jeep turned in to the driveway. “There’s Mike!”

This time she waited inside. Mike wouldn’t appreciate his mother flying out the door and folding him in an embrace in front of his friend Scott.

He came in the door—tall, young, healthy, Jane’s true pride and joy. Jane got teary again. She’d be holding up better, she knew, if it weren’t for waiting for Mel to call and confirm her suspicions. She wasn’t normally a weeper.

Mike had a packet of information from each college they’d visited. As he pulled out each one, Jane had to stop herself from crying, “Don’t go so far away, please.“ She couldn’t ever say that to him, least of all today when he was on the brink of going away and growing up entirely. He was so excited about leaving home.

When Todd came home, he took his grandmother upstairs to show her his hamsters (as if she hasn’t been smelling the damned things for days, Jane thought). Jane got up to fix herself and Mike a soft drink while Mike stretched his long legs under the table. “Mom, I had a great time seeing those places.“

“I’m glad, honey. How are you going to decide on which one to go to?“

“Well, I think maybe I’ve decided already.“

“Oh? You’ve got a whole year to think about it.“

“I think I’ll just start out right here at the junior college.“

“Mike! Why? You aren’t worried about the money, are you? I told you I can come up with—“

“No, Mom. It’s not the money. It’s you. I think you need me here.”

Don’t cry!
Jane told herself. She set his drink down and took his big hands in hers. “Mikey, I do need you. But I don’t want you to stay here because of me. I’ll muddle along. Maybe when I’m eighty and getting around with a walker, I’ll ask you to take care of me, but not until then.“

“You sure?“

“Absolutely certain,“ she said with a lot more sincerity in her tone than she felt.

Uncle Jim Spelling called at four, barking as she picked up the phone, “Jane! I’ve just caught up on the papers. I didn’t know about Mrs. Pryce. You stay out of this, you hear me!”

She considered explaining, but didn’t have the heart or the energy. “I will, Uncle Jim. You’re coming to dinner Sunday, aren’t you?“

“Will the Dragon Lady be there?“

“ ‘Fraid so.“

“Good. I haven’t had a chance to rile her up for a long time. I’ll be there. Jane, you do like I tell you. You and Cecily stay clear of that class business until the police sort this out. Are you listening to me? I mean it!”

By five-thirty, when she was starting dinner, Jane was a wreck. When the phone rang, she leaped for it, even though the last six calls had been Mike’s friends welcoming him home.

“Jane?“ Mel’s voice.

“Yes?“

“I think you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jane slid down the cabinet and sat on the floor. “Oh, so am I. When will you...?“

“As soon as I’m sure.“

“Mel, please don’t tell anyone that I figured it out.“

“I won’t. I’ve got to go. I just wanted to tell you.”

Mel hung up, but Jane couldn’t move. Cecily found her still sitting on the floor. “Was that Mel? Were you right?“

“Yes. And I’ve never been sorrier about anything.”

Missy, of course, knew nothing of what was going on behind the scenes and began the class with brisk enthusiasm. “I regret that I didn’t schedule this as a two-week course. You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I race along and try to cover as much material as I can as quickly as possible. We’re going to save the last hour of class tonight for critiquing the manuscripts I handed out to you before the class sessions started. Now, I want to talk briefly about the value and use of photos, documents, and letters in an autobiography—”

For once, Jane didn’t find herself automatically applying the information to her book—yes, it
was
becoming a book—about Priscilla. But she took notes assiduously, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to look around at the class members. She was afraid of meeting the murderer’s eyes. She knew if that happened, her own shame would flash like a neon light.

The first interminable hour passed and they took a short break, then reassembled. The tension was so thick that Jane wondered how anyone could breathe. But the others didn’t seem to notice it. Or did they? Bob Neufield was staring at her, which made her skin crawl. When she met his gaze, his didn’t falter. She looked away first. Grady was nervously tapping his pencil on the arms on his chair. Desiree was sitting at the back of the room, away from everyone else, and frowning at the blackboard as if there were something written there so faintly, she could hardly make it out. Naomi was struggling with the zipper on her purse as if closing it were of enormous importance, and Ruth was trying to help her, making little nervous, darting motions with her hands. Jane noticed that Cecily was humming under her breath, something she only did when she was very nervous, and even Shelley looked frightened.

Missy had just begun speaking again when the back door of the room opened. Jane didn’t even notice at first, then she became aware of everyone craning to look back. She turned.

Mel was standing in the doorway.

Missy’s lecture faltered to a stop. “Yes, can I help you, Detective VanDyne?“

“No. Please continue. I’m afraid I might have to ask you all to stay a little longer than usual.“
“Why is that? What are you doing here?“

“I’m waiting for some information. When it arrives, you’ll be free to leave,“ he said.

All but one of us,
Jane thought.

He pulled a chair over by the doorway and sat down.

Jane glanced around the room. There was the illusion of guilt on every face. They were all perplexed and alarmed.

Missy continued, her voice trembling. “Very well. If you’ll get out the manuscripts, I’d like to go over each one briefly. First, I’ll give my own comments and evaluations, then I’d like to know what impressions you had as you read them.”

Everyone tried gamely to pretend that VanDyne wasn’t at the back of the room, watching and listening. But their responses were feeble and disjointed.

The door opened again, bumping against VanDyne’s chair. He moved it, and a uniformed woman officer handed him a white envelope. He thanked her, opened the envelope, and nodded. All illusion of a normal class was abandoned. Bob Neufield slammed his briefcase shut and glared at VanDyne. Grady got up and went to the front of the room to stand behind Missy’s chair. Desiree Loftus leaned back and closed her eyes. Ruth and Naomi were holding hands. Cecily laid her hand on Jane’s arm. Shelley was fidgeting with the lid of her pen, making a faint, frantic clicking sound.

Mel came into the middle of the room, in the aisle between the chairs. “I’m afraid I’m here to arrest the person whose name is on this birth certificate, the person who was born in captivity in the Philippines... Maxine Harbinger.”

There was a moment of confused silence, quick, puzzled glances. Then Ruth Rogers stood up briskly, ruffles bouncing. “There’s no need to make a fuss, Officer. I’m Maxine Ruth Harbinger.“

“No, ma’am. You’re not,“ VanDyne said softly. Ruth stared at him.

“You can’t save your sister,“ he went on very gently. “Not from the law—or from anything else.”

Naomi Smith slowly got up and came to stand by her sister. She was normally a sickly, pale color. Now she was as white as death. “I’m sorry, Ruth. But you know I had to do it. I’d have happily killed her in the town square at high noon—with pride!—except I wanted to spare you. She killed our mother, Ruth. She had to be punished. You know that. It was necessary. It was right. Everything that happened to me after that was her fault. If we’d just had our mother—”

She was shaking, and near collapse. Ruth put her arm around her sister to support her and wept, “But the maid, Naomi. You almost killed the maid. You were too young to remember her, but she helped us in the prison camp after Mother died. She protected us from the guards and smuggled food in to us. She’s the only reason
we
survived. And you almost killed her. That wasn’t right.”

Naomi was crying now, too. “But I didn’t
mean
to, Ruth! Nobody else should have been hurt. It was only for that evil woman that killed our mother. You know I wouldn’t harm anyone else for the world.”

Ruth put both arms around her sister, in love and in physical support. Naomi was crumbling. Ruth looked over her shoulder and met Jane’s eyes. “I know, Naomi. I know. Now, let’s go with the police and explain it to them.“

21

“Mom!“ Katie called from the living room. “Mike and Todd are being repulsive again! They’re such dweebs!“

“It’s their nature,“ Jane called back from the dining room table.

“I’ll help you clear this up,“ Thelma said, surveying the dirty dishes and general wreckage of Sunday dinner littering the table.

“No hurry, Thelma. More coffee, Uncle Jim? Mel? Mom?”

Shelley came into the room. “I’ve got my gang off to the pool. May I invite myself to dessert?“ She sat down at Katie’s abandoned place and helped herself to a microscopically thin wedge of strawberry pie. “Missy just called me. She said Naomi’s in the hospital and is in very bad shape. Is that true, Mel?“

“Yes, it is. She won’t make it to trial. It wasn’t the arrest. We handled her with kid gloves. She just hasn’t long to live.“ He glanced across the table at Jane.

“I’m not sure I understand yet, Jane,“ Thelma said grumpily. She’d expected the dinner conversation to center around her and her recent trip, but it hadn’t. “Old Mrs. Pryce hadn’t
actually
killed their mother, had she?“

“No, but she’d turned her in to the Japanese guards because she stole milk for her daughters,“ Jane said. “And the Japanese took care of the rest. Ruth and Naomi knew the story from other camp survivors, but they never knew the name of the woman, just that she was a general’s wife. Then, when Missy handed out Mrs. Pryce’s book and they saw the other side of the story, they recognized that this had to be the same person. Worse, in her book, Mrs. Pryce bragged about it, as if she’d done something noble and fine. It was too much for Naomi.“

“Naomi Smith had a horrible life,“ Mel put in. “She was passed from one family to another, sexually abused in at least two of them. She felt that if her mother had lived, none of that would have happened to her. Which was probably true.”

Thelma glared at him, offended that anyone would dare mention sex in any context at the table. “But why was the sister leaving clues for Jane? That makes no sense at all!“

“But it did, Thelma,“ Jane said. “She knew Naomi had done it. She’d seen her reach toward Mrs. Pryce’s plate and then palm a little bottle at the dinner table while everybody was looking for Grady’s contact lens. When Mrs. Pryce died later that evening, Ruth was certain the bottle had contained poison. When she got home, she noticed that some of her monkshood had been picked, but there was no sign of the cut stalks anywhere. Naomi must have boiled it down—or whatever you do with it to make a concentrated poison. In their formative years in the prison camp, they both learned a lot about plants—which are edible and which are poison.“