Grime and Punishment

sure you didn't set it yourself, Mrs. Nowack?'

“Not unless I did it accidentally. I don't know or care how that timer gadget works.'

“Wait a minute!' Jane said. 'Don't you have a pathologist or coroner or somebody who can tell when she died?'

“Yes, but he can't set a very good time in this case. You see, that's determined in large part by the temperature of the body in relation to weight, room temperature, and the stage of rigor mortis, which is also influenced by surrounding temperature. That was a guest room, which Mrs. Nowack keeps closed off with the furnace vents also closed. It was pretty chilly the night before, so the room might have been quite cool. We don't know. When Mrs. Thurgood opened the door, she let it start warming up from who knows what temperature. In addition, the body was lying in a shaft of sunlight, which also threw off the temperature calculations. The coroner puts a tentative time of death at between noon and two. So, you see, the dishwasher evidence was in contradiction to that, and now we know — or suspect why.'

“You're saying whoever killed her very calmly set the dishwasher to start at a time when she — or he — had an alibi?'

“Not necessarily. It might have just been a last-minute gesture to generally confuse the issue. And it has.”

Jane sat down shakily. She hadn't adjusted to the idea of one of her neighbors killing someone, much less doing it cold-bloodedly enough to think of something like that.

“Did any of the women who brought food see the cleaning lady when they came?' Shelley asked.

“Mrs. Wallenberg didn't, of course, because she was here before Mrs. Thurgood and didn't come in anyway. Mrs. Williams says the house was quiet, and so does Mrs. Revere, who came right after her. But Mrs. Jones was here an hour after that, and she mentioned that the victim was vacuuming the living room. Mrs. Greenway heard her moving around in the study. Mrs. Stapler says she didn't see or hear anything, but she also made the point that she stayed only briefly.'

“Terrified, no doubt, even though she had no way of knowing anything was wrong. She's like that,' Jane said. 'Her husband has a safety store, whatever that is, and she takes caution very much to heart.'

“Well, I guess that pretty well covers everybody who was in and out that day,' Shelley said, leaning back.

VanDyne didn't reply for a minute; then he said, very softly, 'Not quite everybody.”

Jane thought for a second that he meant Shelley's alibi hadn't held up. She knew she'd come to Shelley's defense, no matter what questions she might privately entertain.

He turned his head slightly, and Jane felt his gaze on her face.

“You were the last person to bring a dish, weren't you, Mrs. Jeffry?”

Fifteen

'That son of a bitch actually thinks I killed your cleaning lady!'

“Now, Jane. He doesn't either. You're overreacting.”

They stood at the kitchen door, watching the red MG back out and drive away.

“Then why did he make that remark about my being the last person to bring a dish? And did you see the fishy look that went with it? The idiot was waiting for me to break down and confess, like the last scene in a Perry Mason movie!'

“Maybe he does suspect both of us,' Shelley admitted. 'But why shouldn't he? He doesn't know us any more than he knows the rest of them. Once you accept the premise that a perfectly respectable suburban housewife might have cold-bloodedly murdered somebody, where do you draw the line as to which one is capable of it?”

Jane sat down at the table. 'It was bad enough being afraid of the killer, but now we have to be scared of the police too. They're sup? posed to look after dull, law-abiding people like us, not terrorize us.'

“I know what you mean and I feel the same way, but I don't think he means to scare us. Asking questions about what you saw and heard is probably necessary information to clear you.'

“This is when you start telling me about the bridge in Brooklyn you have for sale, right? Come on, Shelley!”

Shelley shrugged. 'I don't see what we can do about it. As far as I'm concerned, VanDyne can suspect us all he wants. He's obviously not going to prove anything because we didn't do it. Here, help me get this stuff out of the refrigerator. That'll take your mind off him. I wonder if I ought to give the food back or not? This is Monday and it came on Thursday. No, it's probably going yucky. I think I'll run it all down the disposal and let everybody think Paul and I were pigs and ate it.”

Jane got up and started handing bowls to Shelley. The first to go was her carrot salad. 'I never even got to taste it,' she said sadly. 'I'm still mad, Shelley. If he really just wanted to clear me, he could have said so.”

She handed over Laura's cucumber and onion salad; Shelley peeled off the plastic wrap and sniffed at the dish. 'I love this stuff. What a pity to throw it out. Do you think—?'

“No, pitch it! This is the one that will really break your heart. The brisket.' She set the big lidded plastic container on the counter with a thud.

“No, that I'm going to take back to Joyce. Shecan throw it out herself if she wants. Will you quit flouncing around? You're going to break something.'

“Shelley, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. If he can think I might have done it when I brought my salad, he's only half a step away from suspecting you of doing it a few minutes later. In fact, he might decide we were in on it together, or that one of us is covering for the other, and that way we'd both be in trouble. Accessory to murder is a prison term too. Oh, God—!”

The big bowl of potato salad slipped from her grip and hit the floor. The plate that had served as a lid bounced against the table leg and shattered; the bowl rolled sideways, flinging potato salad around the room.

“Oh, hell! How am I going to find a matching plate?' Shelley moaned, staring down at the mess. 'Is the bowl broken?'

“No. And don't worry about the plate. It was my fault. Here.' She handed Shelley the bowl and started scooping up globs of potato salad with a spatula and flinging them into the sink. 'Give me a paper towel to get this glass.”

Murder was forgotten while they cleaned up and disposed of the rest of the food. Shelley washed the dishes and Jane behaved herself while she dried them and stacked them up.

“Let's go ahead and take them back,' Shelley said. 'If we don't, everybody will come here and talk to me endlessly about the whole thing. I'm sick of it.'

“You better not get too sick of it, not with that man suspecting us.”

Shelley just rolled her eyes at this. 'Take Mary Ellen's bowl back while I put the rest of them in the car.”

Tucking the heavy, slippery bowl firmly under her arm, Jane went across the street and rang Mary Ellen's doorbell. She answered it a moment later. Today she was in a charcoal jogging suit that set off the blond in her hair beautifully. Didn't she ever look bad?

“Jane, come in.”

Jane walked through to the kitchen and set the bowl down carefully. 'I'm sorry, the plate on top got broken. It was my fault. I'll get you a new one.”

Mary Ellen smiled. 'You can't. And I don't want you to. It was just a grocery-store giveaway. You know, you buy ten dollars' worth of stuff and get the plate for a quarter. I'm glad to see the end of it. Sit down, will you?'

“Thanks, but I can't. Shelley and I are taking all the dishes back.'

“What's happening, Jane? I saw that man in the red car over there a while ago. Do they know who did it yet? I haven't seen anything more in the paper about it, and I didn't like to bother Shelley by asking questions. I know she must be awfully upset.'

“They don't seem to know much,' Jane said. She wasn't sure whether the theory of it being the wrong victim was supposed to be a secret or not. Probably not, or VanDyne wouldn't have told her, but still… 'Did he come talk to you?'

“The detective? Yes. He seemed to expect to find that I spent the whole day with my nose glued to the front window, spying on the neighbors. He was disappointed, I think, at how little I knew about everybody's comings and