Dear Miss Demeanor

by Joan Hess

  “She’s still in the hospital, Mrs. Malloy.”

  “I was there earlier in the afternoon. I thought I might go by her house to water her plants and check on things,” I said, not adding that the one thing I wanted to check on ran around town in bedroom slippers.

  Miss Bagby had heard too many excuses about incomplete assignments and missing homework. “How remarkable of her to ask you rather than Alexandria or me,” she said, her lips a-twitch with doubt. “Did she give you a key?”

  I considered telling her my dog ate it, but instead I said, “I walked right out of the hospital without it. She’s doing poorly; I’d hate to disturb her about a minor detail like a house key, wouldn’t you?”

  After a moment of silence, Miss Bagby told me the address and the location of the house key, which was under the welcome mat. We’re rather casual about that sort of thing in Farberville; it drives Peter Rosen et al crazy, but the burglars haven’t caught on yet.

  I drove to Miss Zuckerman’s house and hid my car at the far end of the driveway. It was a tidy bungalow, similar to that of Mrs. Platchett-although I doubted a single leaf dared to fall on her yard. Here there were indications that no one had been home for several days. The shades were drawn, the door locked. The key was not under the welcome mat. Opting for simplicity, I rang the doorbell. Simplicity didn’t work, so I sat down on the top step of the porch to consider my next move.

  I was still sitting there, uninspired, when the pink fuzzies ambled up the sidewalk, with a few minor digressions to either side. Miss Parchester tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed me, but I stood up. brushed off the seat of my pants, and trailed her into the house.

  “It took me a long time to figure out where you were,” I said. “I did accuse Mrs. Platchett and Miss Bagby of hiding you, but they were offended at the suggestion. I forgot to ask Tessa Zuckerman.”

  “She is a dear friend,” Miss Parchester said. She took off her coat and plastic rain bonnet, propped her umbrella in a corner, and patted a few stray wisps of hair back into place. “She seemed slightly better today, although tired after her conversation with you and that nice policeman with whom you keep company.

  “That nice policeman has been wanting a word with you for a week, as have I. In fact, that same policeman assigned several of his men to detain you, should you return to the hospital. Did you not encounter any of them?”

  “I have been very cautious since I was attacked outside Tessa’s room. Today I borrowed a bathrobe from a linen closet in order to pose as a patient; yesterday I wore a white coat and carried a clipboard. It presents a challenge, but the Judge trained me to utilize all my talents, and I have strived all my life to follow his wisdom.” She hiccupped at me, then put her fingers on her lips and giggled. “It was most challenging to leave my country establishment without arousing unwanted attention.”

  “And how did you accomplish that?” I asked. As always, I supposed I ought to call Peter and share my discovery, but I was fascinated with her tale of exploits.

  “In a laundry basket. It was unpleasant until I accustomed myself to the odor, and terribly uncomfortable. The laundry service is quite lax about leaving baskets in their vans; I must mention it to the matron so that she can speak to them.”

  “So you slipped out with the sheets in order to investigate,” I prompted. “What have you been doing since then, besides avoiding an entire police department and attending school functions?”

  “Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs. Malloy? I’m sure Tessa would not mind if we borrowed just a little and some water.”

  “No, no,” I said hastily, “let’s finish our chat before we indulge in-in tea. How did you learn that Miss Dort and Mr. Weiss were responsible for the errors in the journalism ledger?”

  “The last letter to Miss Demeanor was, I fear, explicit. I turned quite pink at some of the language, but it was impossible to avoid the conclusion that the two were having some sort of relationship. The rest was obvious, wasn’t it?”

  After a fashion, and a week of reading old Falcon Criers “Did you take the packet of letters from the school office?”

  “Oh, my goodness, no. Although the letters should have been in the journalism mailbox, I happened to find them in Mr. Weiss’s desk the afternoon of his funeral. I certainly did not take the letter in question with me as evidence; the judge was very adamant about illegal search and seizure. However, I don’t believe he ever gave an opinion from the bench about reading.”

  “You searched his desk, though.”

  “In the name of freedom of the press, my dear. The judge instilled in me a strong sense of priorities.”

  “How did you get into the building?”

  “Mr. Pitts happened to be mopping the hallway and graciously let me inside. He even invited me to eat a meal with him, but I declined. Pizza is difficult to manage with dentures.”

  “You were in the school the afternoon Pitts died?” I said. “Did he mention anyone else in the building?”

  “Pitts-died?” She turned white and put her hand on her chest. “I had no idea, no inkling of this. I feel quite stunned by the news. Mrs. Malloy, could you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water?”

  I went in the kitchen for water, then decided to hell with it and took the brandy bottle off the table. Once she was settled with a medicinal dose, her color improved to a pastel flush, if not a rosy glow. “You didn’t know about Pitts?” I said.

  “No, I am flabbergasted to hear of his death,” she said. “I have not been able to watch the evening news, since I was worried someone might notice a light. Please tell me what happened to him.”

  “Let’s discuss the murder of Herbert Weiss first. Were you aware that Miss Zuckerman spied on Pitts through the hole in the ladies room of the lounge, and overheard him selling certain information to Cheryl Anne?”

  “She told me several days ago, but in the strictest confidence.”

  “Did she also mention that she laced your compote with Laetrile in order to poison him?”

  Miss Parchester took a long drink of brandy, then looked up with a bleary smile. “Not in so many words, but I did wonder. I visited her classroom last night to see if her pills might be in a drawer, but I heard a policeman come down the stairs after me. I fled through the exit by the boiler.”

  “But you did know she had cancer, and had been to a Mexican clinic to try Laetrile-which is basically cyanide?”

  “It seemed obvious.”

  The judge had trained his daughter well, I told myself in an admiring voice. Or we had varying definitions of “obvious,” with mine leaning toward “tentatively guessed after a week of agonized concentration.”

  “Tessa Zuckerman poisoned the peach compote and Herbert Weiss via a slight miscalculation, but she’s been in the hospital since the day of the potluck. Who do you think murdered Pitts?” I asked her.

  “I really couldn’t say, Mrs. Malloy, I really couldn’t say.”

  Damn. I’d been hoping it was obvious.

  THIRTEEN

  Miss Parchester announced that it was teatime, and went to the kitchen. I stayed in the living room with the brandy bottle, trying to work up enough enthusiasm to call Peter and inform him that I’d found his culprit. He wasn’t apt to come roaring over with sirens and flashing lights, in that he knew she hadn’t poisoned Herbert Weiss and her motive to murder Pitts was no stronger than anyone else’s. Pitts hadn’t been blackmailing Tessa Zuckerman, since she was unavailable for such things. He could have been blackmailing someone else, I thought tiredly, but it didn’t seem likely. Blackmail requires secrecy; Pitts had been too eager to share his information.

  Miss Zuckerman was the most promising candidate; she had admitted both motive and means, and the poison in the whiskey had also been an organic compound. She lacked opportunity, however. She was the only one who could not have left the whiskey for Pitts, I realized, sinking Farther into both the sofa and despair. Even Miss Parchester had visited the school, and had been invited for a cozy supp
er of pizza and whiskey. I wondered why her dear friend Tessa hadn’t mentioned Pitts’s death to her during one of their visits; Miss Parchester had been genuinely shocked when I told her.

  I decided to ask her why, and went to the kitchen. The tea kettle was on the stove, but it wasn’t whistling Dixie -or anything else. The cups and saucers were on the counter, along with a sugar bowl and two spoons. The back door was slightly open. Miss Parchester was thoroughly gone. It did not surprise me.

  Once the tea things were put away and the African violets watered, I let myself out the front door and went to my car. I drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes, but I had little hope that I would spot her on the sidewalk, and I was proved right. Miss Zuckerman’s house was located midway between the hospital and Farberville High School; I drove past both without success, then headed for home, aware that Miss Parchester would resurface in due time-probably disguised as a Maori, a nun, or a circus clown. Or all three, if she felt it necessary to operate as a tipsy, red-nosed, religious New Zealander.

  As I unlocked my door, I heard the telephone ring, It was apt to be Peter, irate over Caron’s lie and ready to bawl her out. Feeling as if I were trapped in a round of Russian roulette, I picked up the receiver. “I’m not available to come to the phone right now,” I intoned. “At the sound of the

  “Claire, this is Evelyn. I’ve just heard the most astounding news, and I presumed you’d be interested.” When I agreed, she continued, “Jerry and Paula have had a major falling out. She came over to sob on my sofa and repeat numerous times how utterly horrid he was. It seems the coach and Miss Dort have come to an understanding: He’s going to become administrative vice-principal, a position more in line with his credentials.”

  “But he’ll get a raise, won’t he? That puts the cottage and babies in the immediate future, which ought to delight her.”

  “I pointed that out to her, but she sobbed harder and said I didn’t understand. I didn’t, for that matter, but I couldn’t get anything more from her.” There was a long pause in which I supposed we were both mulling over the inexplicable turn of events. I was wrong. “Sherwood had good news,” she said, sounding oddly hesitant.

  “His manuscript has been accepted?”

  “Yes, by a university press. He is, quite understandably, elated. After a stream of Gloria in excelsises and other incomprehensible utterances, he said the classics department there had an opening for an assistant professor next semester and wanted him to come immediately for an interview.”

  “That is good news,” I said. “You don’t sound especially thrilled, though.”

  “I guess I’ll miss his conversations, as obscure and oppressively pedantic as they were. It’s difficult to envision the same with Mrs. Platchett or Mr. Chippendale.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes, then I hung up and made myself a cup of tea. Cheryl Anne and Thud had parted ways, as had Jerry and Paula. Miss Don’s long-standing relationship with Herbert Weiss was finished, too, although not by choice of either participant. Evelyn and Sherwood might miss the obvious and end up at far ends of the educational spectrum. I wondered if Claire Malloy might be facing the same fate, due to a well-intentioned attempt to tidy things up and present Peter Rosen with a solution.

  It was late in the afternoon by now, and said cop had not returned to chastise my daughter and listen to my latest bit of treachery. I wasted a few minutes chastising myself for losing Miss Parchester-for the umpteenth time, then took a piece of notebook paper and a pencil and sat down at the kitchen table. Charts and timetables had never worked yet, but one did cherish hope.

  I listed all the names and drew arrows hither and yon. The paper began to look like a highway map, but I persevered until I had sorted out the relationships. I circled Sherwood’s name as the only possessor of an illicit key, and Miss Zuckerman’s as the possessor of a notably lethal bottle of tablets. I then underlined her name as the possessor of the most brazen motive. But she had been in the hospital, I reminded myself as I decorated the circle around her name with flowering vines.

  But she did have loyal friends. Who were likely to visit that evening at seven o’clock.

  I was staring at the paper when Caron and Inez slunk into the room. “Peter hasn’t called or come by,” I told the mendacious duo. “He will, of course, so you’d best call in Perry Mason to conduct your defense.”

  Caron put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who bungled things, Mother. Inez and I kept Miss Parchester on the line; you were supposed to find her and deliver her to the police.”

  “I did find her,” I admitted, “but she managed to slip out the back door. There may be a way for us to redeem ourselves, however. I think she’ll visit Miss Zuckerman this evening at the hospital. If you two-”

  “No way,” Caron said. She picked up her notebook and her purse, shot me an indignant look, and hobbled toward the door. “Inez and I are not about to stake out the hospital. The situation was totally humiliating. Come on, Inez, we’re going to Rhonda’s house. At least we won’t be Tackled and Thrown to the floor there.”

  “What about your career?” I said. “It’s possible that we can sort things out so that Miss Parchester can return to her classroom Monday morning, and the Falcon Crier can resume publication. You’ll have the opportunity to write the Miss Demeanor column.”

  “I have decided to drop the journalism class. My design for the freshman class float won first prize; everyone agrees I have a talent. Therefore, I have decided to apply myself to set design in the drama department.”

  Inez bobbled her head. “And Rhonda heard that Rosie is over the mono and coming back to school next week.” They limped out the door, discussing the Untimely Recuperation and the Lack of Consideration shown by certain parties.

  I sat for a long time, then went into the living room and called Peter. I listened to a lot of unkind words about my darling daughter and admitted the purpose of the ruse. I then admitted I’d lost Miss Parchester, but that I had a good idea when next we might find her. He skeptically agreed to meet me at the hospital at seven o’clock.

  That left an hour. I wandered around the apartment for.a while, visions of arrows dancing through my mind. I called Miss Dort again, and listened to the phone ring in vain, then snatched up my jacket and exited, although not with Caron’s style.

  There was a car in the parking lot at the high school. I tapped my car keys on the glass door, and Miss Dort subsequently appeared. The first time I’d gone through the routine, Miss Dort had been irritated to see me. This time she smiled as she held open the door; the Cheshire cat couldn’t have looked more pleased with itself.

  “Did you forget the yearbook layouts,” she asked as we walked to the office, “or did you just want to work in peace? I do enjoy the school when the students are elsewhere. At times I think we could be more efficient if they simply stayed away, but that wouldn’t work, would it?” She giggled at her heretical proposal.

  “No,” I said, bewildered by her behavior. “I wanted to ask you why you allowed Immerman to play in the Homecoming game. I realize it’s none of my business, but I hoped you might tell me.

  “I simply felt it was best for the school, although the Falcons failed to win the game. Immerman s not as important as he thought he was.”

  “I guess Jerry was disappointed,” I said, beginning to get a glimmer of an idea. A decidedly tacky idea. “After all, he made quite a bargain in order to get Immerman reinstated before the game.”

  Miss Don patted her hair, if not her back. “An agreement was reached, but it had nothing to do with the issue of reinstatement. Immerman was persuasive, and student morale is always uppermost in my mind.”

  “But you and the coach had quite a discussion.”

  “I called him in to inform him of my decision, but at that time I began to realize Coach Finley was much too valuable an asset to be left on a football field. Once we discussed the various directions his career might take, he agreed most readily to take on the positio
n of administrative vice-principal.”

  “That’s not what Weiss intended for him, is it?”

  “Herbert wanted to have him fired, but he was afraid lest he alienate Miss Hart. He was biding his time until he could find a way to dispose of Coach Finley. Someone disposed of him in the interim.”

  I saw no reason to enlighten her. “You weren’t caught in the same dilemma, Miss Dort. Offending Miss Hart surely is not your worst fear. Being alone on Thursday afternoons might be, however. Is that the bargain you made with Jerry-he stays on at Farberville High School, both as vice-principal and paramour?”

  “I am getting older, Mrs. Malloy, and I have neither time nor inclination to join singles’ clubs or prowl nightclubs. As acting principal of the school, I must maintain my standards.”

  “How persuasive was Immerman?”

  “I fear it was a letter to Miss Demeanor that convinced me to let him play. Once I read it, I realized Cheryl Anne was the culprit, and quite vindictive enough to contact the school board with all sorts of misinformation about my little meetings with Herbert. She is incorrigible.” Miss Don gave me a tight smile. “To be succinct, Mrs. Malloy, she’s a little bitch.”

  “That’s how you discovered the identity of the poison-pen letter writer, isn’t it? You took the packet of letters from the counter in the office. Sherwood and I searched the building for over an hour, but we couldn’t find anyone.

  “This is, as the students say, my turf. I suppose Herbert must have put the letters in his drawer and failed to mention it to me. It was most fortunate that you found them, Mrs. Malloy. They have since been destroyed.”

  “But Cheryl Anne and Immerman still know about the Xanadu. How can you be sure they won’t use the information against you in the future?”

  “Cheryl Anne is aware that I will report her blackmail scheme to the authorities should she try any more shenanigans. As for Immerman-we intend to discuss it on Tuesdays,” she said. She settled her glasses on her nose, picked up her clipboard, and sailed out the office door.