He glared at her, his face red. "Mel VanDyne is on his way over. You go to your friend Shelley's and both of you stay there and wait. Don't touch the phone. Don't touch a car key. Don't try to figure anything out. Don't think Don'ttalk!"
“Yes, sir," she said and bounded out the door before he could change his mind.
Shelley was hovering in her kitchen, waiting. "I saw you out in back getting yelled-out."
“It's going to work, Shelley. I'm sure of it. If we insist on going through with it, they'll have to at least provide us with police protection, and if they're going to be here anyway, well…”
They waited nearly an hour, then Jim Spelling and Mel VanDyne came over, looking like angry pallbearers. The first twenty minutes were wasted on trying to convince Jane and Shelley that their plan was insane. "You don't even know this cleaning lady was the intended target," VanDyne said.
“She had to have been. And if you didn't believe it, why have you been asking all these questions about her and the neighbors?" Jane asked.
“I've asked a lot of people a lot of questions," VanDyne snapped. "This is one line of inquiry. I've got men out pursuing several other lines as well, and I don't intend to pull them off their work to help you conduct this little farce of yours!"
“That's quite all right," Shelley said calmly. "We're going to do it anyway, with or without you. We just thought it was fair to tell you, in case you wanted to participate in catching the murderer.”
Finally the two men realized it was hopeless and went on to the next stage.
“All right, Janey," Uncle Jim said, narrowing his eyes menacingly. "Here are the ground rules. Mr. Nowack has to agree to it first—"
“I'm sure he will," Shelley said, looking not at all sure.
“Most important, you two women will be out of here from the moment the cleaning lady arrives until it's all over with. Out of the houses, out of the neighborhood, if possible, out of the state! Do you understand that? And I mean truly understand! No clever little tricks, no last-minute changes in plan.”
Jane and Shelley exchanged looks. "Sure," Jane said.
“All right," VanDyne said. "Here's the plan then. We'll get some men in here tonight. As soon as Mr. Nowack and all of Mrs. Jeffry s children are gone in the morning, you two will make a big public production of leaving. You'll stay away all day."
“But I have to pick my kids up from school," Jane protested.
“You can pick them up, but arrange to take them somewhere else. Didn't you mention a mother-in-law? Give me her name and number. We'll call you both there when it's all over. If — and it's a big if — anything happens at all, which I very seriously doubt.”
He can claim he doubts all he wants, Jane thought, but if he doesn't really believe it will work, why are they so vehement about us leaving? "Sounds fine with me. Shelley?"
“Okay. Now will you call my husband or shall I?”
Having stirred up so much trouble, Jane felt it imperative to be a model of domesticity the rest of the day. She stayed home, ironing and cleaning, and even arranged a peaceful little tableau to greet Uncle Jim when he got home late that afternoon. An early fall fire burned in the fireplace; the dog snored at her feet as she sat mending a pair of his socks. She'd have to hide them and buy a new pair before he could see her handiwork. Having never darned socks in her life, she wasn't doing a very good job. The children hung around all evening, so the subject of Thursday's plans didn't come up.
Wednesday passed in the same way. Afraid she'd somehow give the game away if she talked to anybody, Jane kept to the house. Only one strange incident marked the day. Around lunchtime the phone rang, but when she answered, the caller hung up. A half an hour later it rang again, and after a long silence there was something like a sob and then a click and a dial tone. Jane tried to convince herself it was Joyce Greenway trying to make an approach and unable to pull herself together. But she was still troubled.
She dialed Joyce's number, just to see who would answer, but no one did.
About nine o'clock that evening, Willard'shead suddenly came up from between his feet, and he howled horribly before running for cover. "What was that?" Uncle Jim asked.
“It sounded like a knock at the patio door!" Jane said, hearing nothing now but the pounding of her own heart in her ears.
Uncle Jim went to investigate and came back looking disgusted. "Damned fools came to the wrong house. There's no hope in hell for this.”
She assumed he meant the officers who were supposed to be sneaked into Shelley's house. "Why the back door?"
“Because they came across that field out back.”
Mike, who'd been sprawled in front of the fire reading Great Expectations, was now watching them with open curiosity. It was time to explain to him. Leaving out the specifics of the blackmail and the whole episode of the paring knife in the mattress, Jane gave him a summary of the plan for tomorrow. "You can see that it's very important that none of you change plans and come home until we know it's safe. You must wait for me to pick you up from school.”
He took it very well. She could never be sure when his maturity was going to come through and when it was going to crumble. "Sure, Mom.And Todd'll do what he's told without having to know why. But what about Katie? You never know where she'll turn up. I know! I'll tell her Johnny Hervey is coming home with us in the car; she'd wait forever so she wouldn't miss the chance to sit next to him in the backseat."
“Who in the world is Johnny Hervey?"
“You don't know him, but she does," he said with a leer.
Jane went to bed early, but slept fitfully. She kept hearing the middle-of-the-night creaks the house made and imagining sinister happenings. What would happen tomorrow? Had she and Shelley really made the horrible mistake Uncle Jim and Mel VanDyne claimed? What if it didn't work? Would they ever know which of their friends was a killer, or would they just go from day to day and year to year wondering… always wondering?
Twenty-three
She was awake long before the alarm went off. Going downstairs, she peeked out the windows at the Nowacks' house and the street. Everything looked absolutely normal. As soon as it was fully light, Paul came out, backed the car to the end of the driveway, then got out and returned to the house for his briefcase. Jane wondered it that was for real or planned to make sure any possible watcher was thoroughly aware of his leaving.
Jane drove Katie to cheerleading practice, came back and took the boys to band practice, and was home before Todd was picked up. "Hey, Mom, old thing. You look kinda sick or something," he said as Dorothy Wallenberg's Mazda pulled up.
“Just tired, Todd, old thing. I'll take a nap today and be gorgeous by this afternoon.”
Dorothy just waved to her and drove off when Todd got in the car. Apparently this wasn't going to be an exact replica of the last time or she'd have had her cake along.
Back inside, Uncle Jim was opening a can of cat food, having taken seriously his role as member of the family. "What'll you do?" she asked him.
“As soon as you two leave, I'll slip across to the Nowacks' behind that hedge."
“So you think it's a near neighbor — Laura or Suzie or somebody on the block who can see the house, instead of Robbie?"
“It's possible.”
She had a feeling he knew more than he was telling her, but this wasn't the time to try to pry anything out of him — not that she'd have any success anyway.
A few minutes later a blue Happy Helper van stopped in front of Shelley's. There was only one person besides the driver. The door opened and Edith got out. Jane had been afraid she wouldn't show up, in spite of Shelley's efforts.
At nine-thirty, Jane strolled across the two driveways and knocked on Shelley's door. "Come in," Shelley said.
“Where's Edith?" Jane asked.
“Upstairs in the master bedroom with an officer, being questioned and kept out of sight.”
There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the room above, a male voice mumbling from
the basement stairway, and Mel VanDyne and another man were in the living room, talking quietly over some paper work. He looked up at the sound of Jane's voice. "Ah, Mrs. Jeffry. Are you ready to leave?" He sounded cranky.
“No, I'm not leaving," Jane said.
“What?" Shelley and VanDyne spoke in unison.
“This is my idea and I'm going to see it through," Jane insisted.
“Oh, it's your idea, all right," VanDyne drawled sarcastically, "but you're not seeing it through. In fact, if you don't get out of here right now, I'll have you arrested and taken away for interfering with an officer doing his duty."
“Jane, be sensible," Shelley implored. "If we aren't seen leaving, it'll wreck the plan. The whole point is to make it appear Edith is here alone. Come along right now!”
Jane might have marshaled a further argument, except at that moment her attention was diverted to a figure at the head of the stairway. Edith. No, not Edith. A woman with blond frizzy hair and a Happy Helper uniform that looked very much like the cleaning lady. "Hey, Mel, what time you got?" the figure said in a deep, male voice.
“That's a man!" Jane exclaimed.
“You didn't think they'd let the murderer actually attack Edith, did you?" Shelley asked. In a single, quick motion, she grabbed Jane's arm and steered her out the kitchen door before she could protest.
As per their instructions, they dawdled along, taking their time getting into Jane's station wagon. Shelley stopped and pointed to Jane's house and pretended to talk about the roof. Then they turned and looked at Shelley's roof. All this was to make sure that anyone who might be watching didn't miss their departure.
While they stood there, Mary Ellen Revere emerged from her house to get the paper and waved with her good arm. Suzie Williams tooted the horn merrily as she passed on her way to work. The Staplers' house showed no signs of life. Nor could Jane recognize any of the cars parked here and there along the street as suspicious.
At a discreet hand sign from Jane's kitchen window, she and Shelley got in the car and drove off. "Where are we going?" Shelley asked.
Jane didn't answer for a minute, then said, "Anywhere we want, just so they think we've gone, but we're coming back. I want to see what happens and make sure VanDyne doesn't screw anything up."
“If he heard you say that, he'd probably shoot you. I'm not sure I'd blame him. We are not going back until it's over."
“But Shelley—"
“No 'buts.' Consider yourself taken captive. I won't take you back there.”
They stopped at a fast-food drive-through and got danishes and coffee. Jane reluctantly dragged out a city map and pretended to look it over for possible destinations. "I know," Shelley said. "I know where there's a gardening supply store. Let's go look at bulbs and seeds and things. By the time we get there, have a nice look around and long lunch someplace, and then drive home, that ought to effectively eat up most of the day. Take a left out of here and then a right at the next stop light.”
Jane opened her mouth to make one last appeal to return to the stakeout, but Shelley's warning glance froze the words in her throat. When Shelley got that look, there was no changing her mind.
In spite of her worries about what was going on back at home, Jane managed to get into thespirit of shopping. A clerk was eager to help her, and unwilling to let her buy more than she could handle in the first year of gardening. Jane started accumulating little bags of bulbs that soon grew to an armful. When she dropped one, the clerk said, "Let's find something to put those in.”
Near them on the floor there was a big, round-bottomed stainless steel mixing bowl someone had used to clean up some spilled potting soil. Flecks still adhered to the inside. "Bulbs won't mind a little dirt. The outside is clean," the clerk said, holding it while Jane dumped her purchases in.
As he handed it to her, she realized too late that the outside of the bowl was a little damp and very slippery. It was also heavier than she anticipated, and slithered out of her grip. The bowl bounced, clanging, on the cement floor, and bulbs flew every which way.
“Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am. I thought you had a hold of it," the clerk said, immediately stooping and starting to gather up the bulbs.
Jane and Shelley joined him on the floor. "It's not your fault," Shelley soothed. "She did the same thing in my kitchen the other day, but it was potato salad. A lot messier.”
Something started whirring and clicking in the back of Jane's mind.
“Jane, you could at least help," Shelley said.
“I dropped the potato salad bowl!" Jane said, sitting back on her heels and putting her hands over her eyes to shut out everything so she could listen to what was going on in her brain.
“Well, it's no big deal. It didn't break. Jane, are you crying or something?"
“No, I'm thinking.”
The clerk, by now, was looking uneasy. He put the last of the bulbs in the bowl and backed up as if ready to make a run for safety.
“Do you have a phone book here?" Jane asked him suddenly.
“Uh — yes, I think so. I'll get it for you.”
“Jane, what is it?" Shelley asked.
“I'm not sure. Just let me think this out.”
The clerk came back with the phone book, eyeing her nervously. Ignoring him, Jane starting flipping through pages. She found what she wanted and ran her finger down the column. Shelley looked over her shoulder. "Hospitals?What do you want to find a hospital for?"
“It's not here, Shelley. It's not here!”
The clerk was looking around frantically, ready to summon help if she got violent. Shelley grabbed her shoulder and shook her. "Jane, what in hell are you carrying on about?”
Jane rummaged in her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill, which she handed to the astonished clerk. "I'm sorry, but I can't take time to buy these things today. I'll be back next week. This is for all your time and trouble. Come on, Shelley, I'll explain in the car.”
As soon as the doors closed, Jane started rattling off her thoughts so fast Shelley could hardly understand her. When she'd wound down enough for Shelley to get a word in, she said, "I don't know, Jane—"
“But it has to be. Don't you remember the order those dishes were stacked in the refrigerator? This is the only thing that could possibly explain it! We've been wrong all along about Robbie. We have to tell VanDyne before it's too late. Suppose they think it was Robbie too, and come jumping out from behind the drapes and arrest her? It would be horrible for her, and it would blow the whole plan besides."
“How do you intend to contact him? The only person who's supposed to be at my house is Edith, and I don't think the police will risk answering the phone."
“Shelley—"
“No, Jane. We promised we wouldn't go back. We promised!"
“Haven't we already done enough to Robbie? Could you ever face yourself again if she got arrested by mistake and we could have stopped it? After all she's already been through? Shelley, I'm going back. You can come with me or not."
“Dammit, Jane!All right. But we can't just drive up. We'd spoil the stakeup."
“It's stakeout. No, we'll get there the same way those men did last night. Across the field behind our houses."
“They did it at night when they couldn't be seen."
“We won't be seen either. It's tall grass. We'll crawl." She turned on the ignition and started home.
“You're insane!" Shelley shrieked, but Jane paid no attention.
It seemed a much longer trip back. Jane's driving, already frantic, wasn't improved when she realized she'd taken a wrong exit and made a U-turn on the highway to correct her error.
When they finally stopped on the shoulder of the road, Shelley was shaking.
“If you think I'm going to ruin this outfit by crawling clear across—"
“No need, Shelley. It just takes one of us to explain," Jane said. She leaped out of the car and dived into the high grass before Shelley could change her mind. She'd never realized how large this field
really was until she crossed it on her hands and knees. Nor did she have any idea previously of how many nasty, prickly things grew in it. Her arms and face were crosshatched with scratches by the time she reached the edge of Shelley's backyard.
She climbed over the fence and ran for the house, then flung herself down the basement stairwell and paused to get her breath for a moment before trying the door. Thank God! It was unlocked. She stepped in, picking her way carefully through Shelley's basement and up the stairs. At the top, she waited, listening. She didn't want to suddenly appear in Shelley's kitchen right in the midst of an arrest. Nor did she want to spring the trap too soon.
Finally, hearing nothing whatsoever, she gingerly pushed the door open a crack. Nothing.Open a little bit more. Still nothing. She stuck her head through and a voice next to her ear said, "Stop right there!”
She turned and looked into the barrel of a gun. Behind it there was a young man in jeans and a T-shirt that said "Tit for Tat.”
Dear God! Had she been even more wrong than she thought? Had it been a wandering ma-niac after all? And why was he back here today? Would Thelma get to raise her children now? "We got her, sir!" he shouted.
Suddenly the room was full of men. Five other plainclothesmen — including Detective Mel VanDyne and Uncle Jim Spelling, who emerged from the broom closet spitting flame. "Jesus Christ, Janey!" Uncle Jim said. "Put that gun down, Harris. She's not the one. Not that she doesn't deserve to be shot!”
Detective VanDyne had bent over the counter and looked like he was about to start banging his head on the Formica. "I could have gone into the family's hardware business, but no-o-o, I had to go into law enforcement…”
Harris, the wandering, maniac, put away his gun and turned. The back of his shirt said, "Okay, what's a Tat?"
“Uncle Jim, we were wrong. It isn't Robbie at all—”
At that moment, everyone froze at the sound of the vacuum cleaner starting upstairs. It was obviously a signal. The men in the kitchen instantly melted away. "I don't have room for her with me," Uncle Jim said. "You take her!" With that, he got in the broom closet and closed the door behind himself.
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