Silence of the Hams jj-7

by Jill Churchill

  “You and Shelley think," Mel said. "I'm going to eat cookies and give my brain a break."

  “Okay," Shelley said in her organizational voice. "Here's the situation: X finds Y dead on the floor—"

  “Apparently dead," Jane interrupted.

  “Good. Yes, that might make all the difference. X finds Y sprawled on the floor. Maybe dead. Maybe unconscious. Pushes a heavy thing over on him, making it look like Y was murdered. So, what could the reasons be?"

  “Sheer frustration," Jane said. "X hated Y, planned to kill him, and is furious to think somebody else got to it first and lashes out in a fit of pique."

  “Okay, that's one," Shelley said. "Sheer hatred. X hated Y, but couldn't take any action against him, so when he sees him helpless for once, he's overcome by the impulse to dish out vengeance. And even if he knew for sure that Y was already dead, that hatred might just need the outlet of pretending to kill him."

  “A bit more baroque," Jane said as if evaluating a painting. "How's this: X finds Y lying dead on the floor — doesn't necessarily even know or care who it is, but has a rabid hatred for Z—"

  “Z?" Shelley asked indignantly.

  “Let me finish. X hates Z and thinks by pushing the rack over on Y, he can blame it on Z."

  “Who could Z be?" Shelley asked, still apparently resentful of the introduction of this new character.

  “The first person who comes to mind is Conrad, just because it's his deli. Or maybe X planned to claim later that he'd seen Z leave the room just before the crash."

  “If that were the case, why didn't X ever make such an accusation?" Shelley asked.

  As serious as the subject really was, Jane felt a sense of ghoulish amusement take over. "Try this one then: X knows Y is having an affair with Z and was once married to Q, who is trying to haul him into court to testify in a drug-running case against P—"

  “—and S knew all about it and was threatening to tell M, who feared that K would hear about it and All Would Be Revealed!" Shelley finished. "I like it, Jane. Mel, we've solved it. You can probably still make your arrest this evening if you hurry.”

  Mel stared at them and then spoke very slowly and deliberately. "I thank all that is holy that you two didn't go into law enforcement.”

  2 1

  Jane couldn't sleep, which was a rare affliction for her. She claimed, only half joking, that anywhere that you could throw down a blanket and wad of something soft resembling a pillow was a good enough bed. She prided herself on being a champion sleeper, so on the rare occasions when she had insomnia, it made her furious. And that, naturally, made it worse.

  She'd gone to bed not long after Shelley and Mel left and spent a luxurious hour finishing the Dorothy Sayers book she'd been reading in ten-minute bits since the week before. The rain had stopped, so she opened her bedroom window, turned out the light, and snuggled down to enjoy the cool air and, with any luck at all, dream about Lord Peter.

  She was still flouncing around, trying out various comfortable positions, and waiting for sleep, when she heard Mike come in. She thought about calling good night to him in the hopes that he might feel like a chat, but rejected the idea. He'd think she'd waited up for him on purpose. Finally she nodded off, only to be awakened again at four-thirty when Max, who had positioned himself in the open bedroom window, saw a creature in the yard and gave a low, eerie growl.

  Jane gave up.

  She closed the window — it had gotten downright chilly — threw some sweats on over her nightgown, and decided she'd go downstairs and find another book to read. While she was at it, she'd get some laundry started while nobody was awake to complain about the washing machine interfering with showering. She gathered up an armload of dark clothes and crept quietly downstairs.

  Max and Meow thought the whole thing was great. Night was their favorite time and there was so seldom anyone awake to enjoy it with them. They lashed themselves against her legs and made chirruping is-it-breakfast-time? noises. Jane dumped the dirty clothes by the basement door and opened a can of cat food, then picked the clothes up again and went down to throw them in the wash. She considered booting up the computer and playing a little solitaire while she was down there, but it was cold and vaguely clammy in the basement, and besides, she didn't want to think.

  When she came back up, she got a glass of milk and sat down at the kitchen table. The room was a mess. She hadn't even loaded up the dishwasher after dinner, and the empty but crusty macaroni pan was still soaking in the sink. She'd at least scrub it out and get the nasty plates out of sight. Then she could really clean the kitchen in the morning.

  But one thing led to another. Once she got the plates, glasses, and silverware off the counter and out of the sink, it was silly not to go ahead. She worked her way along the counter, tidying up. At the wall, where the phone was, there were a couple scraps of paper with phone numbers, which she tacked onto the little bulletin board. There was also a paper sack. She glanced into it and remembered that it was the trash sack from Mike's car that she'd tossed there when she came home the night before.

  Jane headed for the wastebasket, then thought better of it. Shelley had said it was trash, but it might not all be. If Mike had some car gadget in the sack and she pitched it, she'd be in trouble. She threw away the items in it one by one. Gum wrappers, a wadded-up empty cigarette pack, a couple of receipts from the deli, a yellowed newspaper clipping Jane had thrown away the clipping before she realized there was a familiar name on it.

  She pulled it back out, set it on the counter, and read it.

  Then read it again.

  "Mel, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" she asked.

  His voice over the phone was blurry and irritable. "Janey, it's seven in the morning. Of course you woke me up!"

  “You got off lucky. I've been waiting to call for two hours."

  “What's wrong?"

  “Nothing's wrong, but I think I've got the solution. I've been thinking about it for hours and it all fits. There was a clipping — well, I won't explain it now, but can you come over?"

  “Now?"

  “Not right now. I guess there's not that much of a rush, but there are things you're going to need to check on."

  “I'll be there by eight.”

  Despite her lack of sleep, Jane was wide awake. She ran down to the basement to throw the laundry into the dryer, thinking that by the time she'd showered, her jeans would be dry. As she came back up this time, she noticed a spot of color on the floor at the top of the steps. She picked up the little blue lozenge of paper that must have fallen out of her jeans pocket.

  Nodding, she picked it up and said aloud,"Yes! Yes, it was a green one that I saw. And that fits, too.”

  Mel arrived at eight, just as Shelley had gone out to pick up her newspaper. She flung the paper in her kitchen door and followed him to Jane's.

  “What's going on?" Shelley demanded when Jane ushered them in.

  “I've got it," Jane said. "It was in that trash sack in Mike's car. Look!" She showed them the clipping on the kitchen counter. "I'm sorry. I touched it, but when I realized what it was I didn't touch it again. There might be fingerprints.”

  Mel and Shelley leaned over together and read. Then Mel said, "Jane, is Mike up yet?"

  “He'll be down in a minute. I woke him when I saw you drive up.”

  Shelley was still studying the clipping. "But Jane, this must mean—"

  “I'm afraid it does.”

  Mike staggered into the kitchen, rumpled and grouchy. "Mom, what in the world — oh, Mel. Mrs. Nowack."

  “Mike, I need to ask you about the trash sack that was in your car," Mel said.

  “Trash? Oh, yeah. What about it?"

  “Where did you pick it up and when?"

  “At the deli," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Saturday morning, I think. Yeah, Saturday when I went in to work. There was junk peo‑ ple had dropped along the sidewalk and I had the paper bag in my car from buying some batteries, so I just picked up some of the junk
."

  “The front sidewalk?" Mel asked. "Did anyone see you doing that?"

  “I don't know. It was no big deal."

  “Mike, look at this newspaper clipping, but don't touch it," Mel said. "Is this part of what you picked up?”

  Mike glanced at it. "I guess so. I'm sorry, but it was just trash. I didn't really look at it, I just picked it up and put it in the bag."

  “Thanks, Mike. Go back to bed," Mel said as he picked the clipping up with tweezers and carefully put it in a plastic bag.

  “What now?" Jane asked.

  “Now you two keep very quiet and let me get to work. I'll call you later," Mel said. "For God's sake, don't talk to anybody about this. No more snooping! Understand?”

  When he'd gone, Jane suddenly felt exhausted. Her frenzied, largely sleepless night suddenly caught up with her.

  “What's wrong?" Shelley asked as Jane sat down at the kitchen table.

  “I was up half the night. I fried my brain thinking about this."

  “Then go back to bed. There's nothing more we can — or should — do."

  “Don't you want to know—"

  “Sure, but I think I see the general outline.I'll come back and blast you out at noon if I haven't heard from you sooner.”

  Jane dragged herself upstairs and fell, still dressed, into bed. She woke up again in what seemed like a couple minutes, but was actually nearly four hours. She was sitting on the patio drinking a cola and smoking a cigarette when Shelley found her. "I take it you haven't heard from Mel yet?" Shelley asked.

  “Not a peep."

  “I have a dental appointment in a few minutes, then I have to go to the library. Say about two-thirty? Want to go along?”

  Neither of them mentioned what was uppermost in her mind.

  “That sounds fine," Jane said.

  Shelley tooted her horn on the dot of half past two. In the meantime, Jane had cleaned her basement office and found two more overdue library books.

  “They'll send the library police for you if you keep doing that," Shelley said with a strained smile. "Mike's not working today, is he?"

  “No. Let me turn these in and pay my fines, then we'll talk.”

  As they entered the library, a familiar figure was standing at the pay phone by the door. "Oh, Jane! Shelley!" Grace Axton said, hanging up. "I was trying to call you two. Conrad's got another artichoke thing he wants you to test." She indicated the books she was holding under one arm. "Then he's moving into raspberries since they're the currently trendy fruit. What's wrong?"

  “Nothing," Jane and Shelley said in unison, then laughed nervously.

  “Are you just returning those books?" Grace asked.

  “And picking up a couple I had on reserve," Shelley said.

  “Okay, I'll wait with you," Grace said. "The raspberries were Sarah's idea," she said happily as Shelley and Jane conducted their business. "She's starting to take more of an interest in the food. I'm starting to wonder if maybe Conrad was right that she was overly tired. Since she's been back from the hospital, I really think there's been a change. Not much. Very subtle. But I don't think I'm imagining it.”

  Grace continued to chat as they went back out to their cars. Once under way, Jane said to Shelley, "I don't like this. If Mel sees my car at the deli, he'll think we're snooping or gossiping."

  “We'll be in and out so fast there won't be a chance," Shelley said. "I've just remembered an appointment that will make us have to run through."

  “I'm parking in back, just in case," Jane said. They followed Grace's car through thealley behind the deli and as they were pulling in to the small parking area, another car came right behind them. Patsy Mallett got out, already talking. "I've been trailing you and honking for three blocks!" she said. "You two must really be preoccupied. I've got some of those food order records I promised to copy for you, Shelley. I was going to drop them in your mailbox, but I saw you pull out of the library and thought — hi, Grace. Were you in front of them? What a parade!"

  “We're testing another recipe," Grace said. "Come join us."

  “Worse and worse," Shelley whispered to Jane.

  Conrad greeted them effusively. "Perfect timing! I just took them out of the oven. Wait until you see these, ladies.”

  He escorted them through the kitchen, past the deli cases, and to the seating area, empty now that the lunch hour was well past. Sarah trailed along behind with plates and silverware. Grace brought up the rear with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of iced tea. When they were all settled, Conrad came out with a casserole dish and removed the lid with a flourish. Inside were a half dozen large artichokes, hollowed out and filled with a rich stuffing. They were topped with browned Parmesan cheese with herbs mixed in. The smell was heavenly.

  With great formality he placed one on each plate. He was just sitting down himself when the front door opened. Mel VanDyne and two uniformed officers came in. Mel looked over the group at the table and glared for a long moment directly at Jane.

  “Hello? We're not open for meals right now," Conrad said. "But if you'd like to come back at five—”

  Mel said, "Conrad Baker, I'm arresting you for the murder of Emma Weyrich—”

  Conrad stood up, his face darkening. "Sarah, go upstairs," he said in a low, fierce tone.

  She stood automatically and started to walk away, then turned and said, very calmly, "No, Conrad.”

  Mel was reciting the Miranda warning. "Do you understand?" he finished.

  “Yes, yes. But this is all a mistake. You can't arrest me. I haven't done anything. Sarah, I said to go upstairs!”

  He started to move toward her, and the larger of the uniformed officers glided into his path and took his arm. "No, sir. You're coming with us.”

  Grace had gotten up from the table and gone to Sarah. Jane, afraid to meet Mel's disapproving gaze, looked at them instead. Sarah seemed suddenly taller. Sturdier. And for the first time, Jane could see a resemblance between the sisters.22 The next four hours were hectic. Mel and one officer took Conrad away. Sarah and Grace were asked to come along in the second police car for questioning.

  Grace looked as if she'd been hit in the stomach. "Ladies, I'm going to have to lock up," she said tentatively.

  Patsy, ever practical, asked, "Who's going to cook dinner? Surely you have orders to fill and people will be coming to eat here in another two hours."

  “We'll just have to close down for the day," Grace said. "Probably close down entirely."

  “No!" Sarah said firmly. "No, we're not closing. This is ours, Grace — yours and mine — and we're not crumpling up and throwing it away as if it's nothing!”

  Jane, Shelley, Patsy, and Grace all stared at Sarah as if she'd suddenly turned into an alien life form.

  Shelley was the first to recover. "Then we'll stay and take care of things. The recipes are written down somewhere, aren't they? Jane, you call Mike and get him in here to help us find everything. Patsy, report to your family what's become of you and then call mine, too, if you don't mind.”

  Grace was the one looking confused and fragile for a change. "Conrad? Conrad killed that woman? But why? I don't understand."

  “I'll tell you all about it, Grace," Sarah said. "There's all the time in the world now." Suddenly her shoulders started shaking and she put her face in her hands, sobbing, "Oh, God! I'm free.”

  Shelley, in brisk mode, said, "Grace, we'll take care of everything here. Don't forget your purse. Here it is. Go along now.”

  The second officer escorted them out the front door. Patsy looked at Jane. "I don't understand any of this!"

  “I'll explain—" Jane began.

  “Jane!" Shelley called over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen, walking hard on her heels. "Have you made your phone call yet? There's no time for talk now. We have to fix dinner for about fifty people. Patsy, with all due respect, you aren't allowed near the food preparation."

  “I waitressed all through college. I carry plates very well. Maybe I'll ge
t one of mydaughters to hunt in the attic for my old fishnet stockings and short skirt." They all burst into laughter at this idea.

  They concocted a flimsy story about Grace, Sarah, and Conrad being called away suddenly on a family matter, and cut the menu in half, eliminating the more difficult dishes. Mike came through like a trouper, calling in another friend to help Scott with the deliveries while Mike himself took all the carry-out orders, packed them, and assigned delivery routes. Patsy's waitressing skills came back to her "like riding a bicycle," as she said. Shelley did the cooking and Jane got stuck with the dishwashing and vegetable peeling.

  “Lot of good it does me to be the boss's best friend," she grumbled.

  By seven-thirty, they'd locked the door behind the last diners and collapsed around the small kitchen table to eat leftovers. Mike excused himself with dire remarks about having to work on his day off and how he expected to be paid at least double. The women agreed that he'd been well worth double his salary, whatever it might be.

  “So what is all this about!" Patsy said.

  Jane washed down the last of her sandwich with a big gulp of coffee. "It all came together when I went through the trash from Mike's car," she said. "He'd come in to work Saturday and picked up stuff from the front side‑ walk. Among other things there was an old newspaper clipping. About Sarah and Conrad's baby. I don't remember the exact wording, but the gist of the article was the background of the child's accident, his terrible affliction, and the fact that the parents wanted the life support removed. The local judge had been assumed to be sympathetic to that philosophy, but word had gotten out in the community and a citizens' group had been formed to protest any such judgment. The article mentioned that the citizens' group had been put together and was headed by 'local attorney and civic activist' Robert Stonecipher.”

  Patsy put her hands to her cheeks. "No! Oh, no! He was the one responsible for pressuring the judge to keep the baby alive!”

  Jane nodded.

  “But Conrad didn't kill Stonecipher. Nobody did."

  “But at the time Emma died, neither Emma nor Conrad knew that," Jane said. "Apparently Emma came over here Friday night after the high school graduation and waved that article around in Conrad's face, claiming that he had the best motive for killing Stonecipher and demanding money to keep quiet about it. Conrad must have been horrified," Jane said. "Not only was Emma threatening to put him in danger of arrest, but the whole ugly, upsetting story about the baby's death would becomepublic in the town where they finally intended to settle.”