Grime and Punishment

up? Thanks, Thelma. I'll come over to get them just as soon as I can.”

As she hung up, there was a knock on thefront door. Opening it gingerly, she was faced with a cop who couldn't have been more than twenty. 'Is the homeowner of the house next door here? I was given this address.'

“Yes, please come in.”

She introduced herself and Shelley and he said, 'We've gone through the house, and there's nobody there but the victim. We'll need to ask you some questions. Would you rather stay here for a while to answer them?'

“Yes, I would,' Shelley said. She'd gotten a grip on herself and was back to her normal color. 'I think Mrs. Jeffry can probably tell you more than I can anyway. I've been gone almost all day. You were home, weren't you, Jane?'

“Mostly. I ran some errands. Tangerine juice,' she added.

“Why didn't you just take some out of my freezer?' Shelley asked.

“Do you mean I ran all over town and it was next door all the time?' She felt an urge to laugh, but knew it would turn into full-blown hysteria if she started.

Another officer had come to the kitchen door, and with him there was a handsome, blond man in a business suit who introduced himself as Detective Mel VanDyne. He looked like a movie version of an investigator — shoulders wide enough to slightly strain an expensively tailored jacket, and smooth, economical gestures. As soon as Shelley and Jane identified themselves, he said in a deep, reassuring voice, 'I noticed the uniform the victim was wearing and I've called the company to send someone over to make the identification, Mrs. Nowack.'

“Thank you. I couldn't look at her again,' Shelley said, lighting another cigarette, then stubbing it out. 'I shouldn't be doing this. I quit.'

“You'll quit again tomorrow,' Detective Van-Dyne said in a voice so assured that Jane felt certain it would happen just as he said. 'Do you have any idea what happened?'

“None. I left around— Oh, dear, I don't really remember—'

“It was ten o'clock. I saw you go,' Jane put in. 'Where did you go?'

“To the airport.To have lunch with my mother. I've been there the whole time. I'm sure there are people at the restaurant who will remember us. My mother managed to offend nearly every employee—”

Detective VanDyne's smile was friendly. 'I wasn't asking you for an alibi, yet. But thanks anyway. When did you get back?' Shelley didn't even bother to answer. She looked at Jane.

“At three, or a few minutes before. I was at her house at quarter of and she wasn't back yet.”

VanDyne gazed at Jane speculatively. 'What were you doing there?'

“Taking over a carrot salad.'

“I'm having — I was having a meeting at my house tonight. A group that's planning to raise funds for new playground equipment,' Shelley explained. 'It was a potluck dinner, and everybody was supposed to bring their food ahead of time.'

“So you were letting people in for Mrs. Nowack?' the detective asked Jane.

“No, I just left the door unlocked,' Shelley said. 'It's not as if the house were empty.”

VanDyne shook his head disapprovingly. 'Can you give me a list of the people who came over?' He addressed this question to the air halfway between them.

Shelley's voice was a shade haughty. 'You don't mean to suggest that one of my friends killed the woman?'

“Ma'am, I haven't any idea who did it. Not yet. But I must obviously begin with the people who were known to be there.'

“It doesn't matter,' Jane said. 'She was only killed a few minutes before we called you. Only moments before Shelley came home.'

“If you don't think it's impertinent of me to ask, how do you know that?'

“Because the dishwasher was on the prewash cycle when Shelley got home and discovered the body.' She glanced at Shelley for confirmation, but Shelley had gotten dangerously pale and was carefully pouring herself more coffee with shaking hands. Jane went on. 'That means the cleaning lady must have started it between the time I was there and the time Shelley got home. Everybody had already brought their food and gone when I went over at quarter to three.'

“Still, I need the names of the people who were there and when.'

“Oh, all right. Let me think. Dorothy Wallenberg brought a sheet cake early in the morning.”

“A sheet cake?'

“You know, the kind that's done in a big, flat pan. You don't have to ice the sides or worry about it not rising evenly or—”

VanDyne wasn't interested in the fine points of baking for a meeting. 'Did this Wallenberg woman know Mrs. Nowack wasn't at home?'

“I was home then,' Shelley said. 'But Jane brought the cake in for her.'

“I see. Go on, Mrs. Jeffry.'

“Let's see. Joyce Greenway brought a brisket over about one o'clock. And Laura Stapler came with a cucumber and onion salad around twenty minutes later. However long it took me to cook the carrots — for my salad, you see.'

“Who else?' Detective VanDyne asked, not to be sidetracked with carrot cooking time.

“Robbie Jones brought some dip and this wonderful crunchy thing she makes — whole wheat fingers.”

The detective's eyebrows shot up, but he resisted. 'When was that?'

“I don't know. I didn't see her.'

“Then how do you know she brought them?'

“Well, they're there. They didn't just materialize,' Jane snapped. These quibbling interruptions were irritating

“No, I mean, how do you know she brought them, and not somebody else?'

“She always does. And the dip was in her funny, discolored Tupperware bowl. I always think I could get the stain out if I could get my hands on it. I had one like that, and soaked it overnight in—'

“Mrs. Jeffry!'

“Yes. I guess that is beside the point. But you asked.'

“All right. Assuming you can tell who was there by the food, who else had been there?'

“Well, there was a pasta salad I didn't recognize. Everybody's making pasta salads these days.'

“That was Suzie Williams,' Shelley put in. 'She lives next door on the other side of me. She called and told me she was anxious to try out a new recipe.'

“And there was a potato salad in a huge orange ceramic bowl with white flecks,' Jane added. 'I've seen it before. Who does that belong to, Shelley?'

“Mary Ellen Revere.'

“Of course. She lives across the street.”

“Is that it?”

Jane could see out the window. 'Yes. .' she said slowly as she watched a gurney with a covered shape being wheeled out to the ambulance. A man in coveralls the same blue as the cleaning lady's pant suit was walking alongside.

Jane suddenly felt sick again, but it had nothing to do with the murder victim. She was thinking of Steve. He must have been taken away like that, his face covered. But it had been the middle of the night, freezing and snowing. And instead of lush, green lawn, there must have been only twisted metal, bent guardrails, ice-coated pavement, and blood everywhere. Steve's blood and the truck driver's, probably steaming in the frigid night air at first, then crystallizing on the snow.

And he'd had nobody to walk beside him.

Five

“Mrs. Jeffry, could you give me addresses for the women you've mentioned? I'll have to contact them.'

“What—? Oh, yes, of course.' Jane dragged herself back to the present. What was going on now was bad enough; the past was unthinkable. She got her address book out from the drawer beneath the phone and started