Grime and Punishment

Rummaging in the drawer again, she found everything that should have been there. She wrote the check she needed and returned everything to the drawer, then locked it carefully and put the key back in the little magnetic box.

“If I were going to pick a lock…' she said to herself as she looked through the things in the top middle drawer. It didn't take long to find the perfect tool (or so she assumed, having had little experience with lock-picking since her sister had given up keeping a locked diary twenty-five years ago); a miniature screwdriver in a glasses- repair kit. She unscrewed the top of the kit and shook the contents out in her hand.

Tiny screws and a little magnifying glass tumbled out, but no screwdriver. That she was sure she had not lost. Her favorite sunglasses kept losing screws, and she guarded the little kit as if it were made of gold.

She closed the drawer and sat back in the comfortable old chair. The only person who'd been in the room, besides herself, was Edith. She tried to recall whether there had been any hint of guilt in Edith's manner when she caught her in the room. Not guilt, but a bit of defensiveness, maybe, in that critical remark about mildew and spiders. Jane closed her eyes and tried to recall whether she'd heard the drawer close. No, but then it was a wooden drawer on runners and it closed silently, unless you shoved it hard enough to slam.

There was also the fact that Jane was certain she'd specifically told Edith not to go in the office. She'd assumed Edith just hadn't paid attention — but if you were looking for something valuable, wouldn't you look in the one room you were told not to go in? Not having criminal inclinations much beyond snooping in sisters' diaries, Jane was straining with the effort to imagine what a criminal would think.

But was Edith a criminal? Nothing valuable was missing. If she didn't steal anything, what was she doing? Probably getting ready to steal something when Jane interrupted. Or possibly she just didn't find Jane's treasures worth stealing. Jane smiled wryly. That was vaguely insulting, in a funny way.

Still, if she was a thief..

Closing up the office, Jane did a quick survey of the house. Edith had carried only a small purse, so she couldn't have taken anything big. The little silver matchbox was in the living room; it had even been polished, though the cleaning woman had left some polishing gunk in the cracks. The antique coloisonne cigarette jar was in place, as were all the coins in Steve's framed collection in the hallway. The silver was safely locked in its drawer in the china cabinet. Todd's piggy bank was intact and obviously full. Her own jewelry was all in the box on her dressing table…

She spent half an hour doing a mental inventory before deciding that nothing was gone. She thought about it all the way to the bank and back, and then, sitting down at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee, Jane brooded. The woman had had hours alone in the house while Jane was with the blind kids. She could have taken any number of things, if she'd wanted. So why wasn't anything gone? Feeling that she might have misjudged, Jane still was at a loss to explain the unlocked desk drawer. There was no question in her mind that the lock had been picked and the contents pawed through.

So what would explain it? Think logically, she told herself. Like yesterday, when she and Shelley were discussing reasons for murder. And was there any connection between the missing pearls and the missing screwdriver? How could there be? Rummaging in her purse for the scrap of paper with Shelley's hotel number on it, she dialed.

“Shelley, are you doing anything?'

“My nails. Paul is taking me downtown for dinner. He's in the other room in the suite right now making some business calls.”

The other room of the suite… Jane didn't comment on how the Nowacks spent a night away from home. The last time she and Steve had spent a night alone together it had been in a Holiday Inn room, next to the elevator shaft.

“Shelley, I understand you can't talk about the pearls, but I want to discuss something odd with you. Just to sort out my own thoughts.'She explained about the unlocked desk drawer and her suspicions. Throughout, Shelley made no comment. There was only the occasional whhh as she blew on her nails.

“You think Edith did it, then?' Shelley asked when Jane was through with her recital.

“I think so, yes. But for some reason, I don't want to believe it — or there's something wrong with the assumption. I just want to eliminate all the other possibilities.'

“Hmmm, I guess you have to consider that someone else might have gone through the desk drawer.'

“But who?The kids?'

“Not very likely suspects, I agree,' Shelley said.

“Mike's too moral and upright. I'd never dream of accusing him of that to his face — it isn't what teenagers want to be called — but it's true. He's always the one who makes me go back and fess up when I accidentally get too much change from a clerk.'

“There speaks a proud mother,' Shelley said with a laugh.

“No, it's not that I have any illusions about his faults; he has plenty, including his cavalier attitude toward my mental health and wellbeing when in a car. But he utterly lacks any sneakiness. If he wanted to look in the drawer, he'd have just asked for the key — and I'd have given it to him, and he knows it.'

“One down and two to go. Eliminate Katie. Whhh—' Shelley said, blowing on another nail.

“Katie? Katie can be sneaky. It goes with the age and gender.'

“Doesn't it just!'

“I think the urge to experiment with the truth to see just how far it can be bent is part of the growing-up process. But Katie wouldn't have broken into the drawer — she's already stripped me of all my valuables. If she thought there was anything she might want in there, she'd have just nagged until I gave it to her. That's how she got the little pearl pinkie ring away from me.'

“The one she lost in the swimming pool?'

“That's the one.'

“All right, what about Todd? Whhh—'

“He's very good at mechanical things, and sheer curiosity might have made him pick the lock just to see what was in there, except he was the one who helped me last time I cleaned out the drawer. Back in March, when he had the chicken pox. He was driving me crazy, fetching things for him, so I made him help. He knows everything that's in it, and found most of it real boring. All he liked was some Mexican coins I had in there, and I gave them to him. So he had no reason to get into it.'

“What about you? Couldn't you have gone through it and just forgotten about it?”

No, Jane thought. A year or two ago it might have been possible. When the kids were smaller and she was more harried and hadn't adjusted to the maternal necessities of balancing five schedules in her head — then, it might have been possible. But since last winter, this quiet little office had become a special haven, and she simply didn't allow the rush of daily life to interfere. It was a little like self-hypnosis; she'd conditioned herself to the state that the very act of stepping in the door served to make her think calmly. She could picture herself doing any sort of loony, scatterbrained thing almost anywhere but here.

“I'm certain I didn't leave it unlocked or mess up the drawer, and even if I had, why is the eyeglasses screwdriver missing?'

“Whhh — So, if it wasn't one of you — and temporarily assuming it wasn't the obvious Edith, just for fairness — who else could it have been? Who else came in the house? What about the kids' friends? You haven't had that Stringer child in, have you?'

“Lord, no! Didn't they put him away for the Brinks robbery in fifth grade?'

“No, I think they may have moved to Cleveland.'

“Same thing. There are armies of kids through here all the time, but very few since last week because of school starting. Besides, they're in the kitchen pillaging the refrigerator or in the living room with the video games when they visit. None of the kids' friends would be caught dead in the basement family room.'

“Not wishing to speak ill of the dead — Jane, now that Steve's gone, why don't you give up calling that a 'family room' and just refer to it as the dank, hideous cave it is?'

“Steve worked so hard on it—'

“Yes, and if he'd been a carpenter or electrician — or better yet, a foundation specialist — instead of a pharmacist, it might have turned out nicely. But that's beside the point. You feel certain it wasn't a kid who got into the desk drawer?'