A Farewell to Yarns

chat. You came here to interrogate me. Am I one of your suspects?'

“At this stage, everybody is,' he said calmly. There was something that looked suspiciously like a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

“Not me! Get out!'

“Okay,' he said, cheerfully ignoring her fury. 'I'll see you later—Jane.”

She slammed the door behind him, then leaned on it, listening to Willard's renewed frenzy of barking. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. He was really maddening. But maddening was a lot better than boring.

Jane found herself wondering what it would be like to talk with him about something other than crime. What if he did actually ask her out sometime? What would they discuss? Where would they go? Just how much would they find they had in common? Would he find her the slightest bit interesting if he weren't trying to get specific information from her? And would she find him interesting once she got her fill of admiring his smile? She'd reached the dizzy point of speculating on what it would be like to kiss him when Willard, still incarcerated in the basement, let out a pitiful howl.

“I know just how you feel,' she said to him.

Fourteen

Jane released Willard and went back to work  on the vacuum cleaner. But she'd hardly gotten it together before there was another knock on the door. She opened it to find her friend Suzie Williams from down the street. 'Jesus H. God, Jane, can't you shut that dog up?' Suzie asked.

She was a big, gorgeous woman who made a mockery of the entire theory of dieting. Built roughly along the lines of Mae West, she had masses of naturally curly, naturally platinum blond hair—or at least, it was artfully contrived to look natural. A buyer and saleswoman for the foundations section of the local department store, Suzie was also the living denial of the career woman. Though she was extremely successful at her job, she made no bones about her constant search for a man to first inhabit her bed and then, if sexually satisfactory, to fill her checkbook with lovely money that he made. In addition, she was the most refreshingly vulgar person Jane had ever known.

“Come in, Suzie. What are you doing at large in the middle of the day?'

“Watch that 'at large' talk,' Suzie said, sailing through to the kitchen. 'I was on my way home for lunch and saw a red MG in your driveway. So I cruised the block until it left. That was our old pal Detective VanDyne, wasn't it?'

“Yes, it was. I swear, that man makes me crazy.'

“That good, huh?'

“That's not what I mean—more's the pity.”

“Cut through the crap, Jane. What was he doing here? If you're screwing him, I want every juicy detail. Then I want to know how I can get in line to be next. From the looks of his car and clothes, he makes a decent living.' She fished in her purse, brought out a couple of candy canes, and offered one to Jane.

“No, thanks. I'm not screwing Mel VanDyne. Only daydreaming.'

“Oh, it's 'Mel' now, is it? Jane, I'm short on time, and I'm missing my lunch to butt in here. Aren't you going to offer me a sandwich while you tell me everything?'

“I haven't got any bread that doesn't have green fuzz on it. Let's get a hamburger instead.”

They got into Suzie's car and went to the local McDonald's. While hunched hungrily over Big Macs ('None of that salad crap for me. I have to keep up my strength to spend an afternoon fitting corsets,' Suzie said), Jane explained why Mel VanDyne had been at her house.

Suzie daintily chewed the last of her second order of large fries and said, 'I'd opt for that asshole Finch. I'd like to see him in the clink whether he did it or not.'

“What have you got against Mr. Finch?'

“Not half as much as he tried to put against me. I was out for a walk one day last summer, and as I passed his house, he latches on to me and starts yammering about his new toolshed. I guess it was the silly bastard's idea of flirting. Well, I didn't have much of anything I was in a hurry to do, and I figured, hell, why not let the old fool have the thrill of showing the damned thing to me? Well! He lures me into the shed thing, which reeks of insecticide, and all of a sudden he's all hands and pelvis.'

“What did you do?'

“Kneed him in the crotch, of course. That really jarred his dentures. Silly old fool.'

“He's not so old, is he?'

“I guess not. Only fifty or so, but that old-maid prissy sort of man always seems older. I'd chalked him up as gay before, which is why the whole thing took me so off guard. Men don't often take me by surprise.'

“Suzie, I think you ought to tell VanDyne about this. Finch might have tried to rape Phyllis and ended up killing her.'

“Rape? He wouldn't do that.'

“But you said you had to fight him off.'

“Oh, it wasn't so much that I had to as I got to. I was never in any danger. I was just pissed at him. No, I don't think Finch is really a strong possibility, much as I'd like him to be, and much as I'd like an excuse to have a chummy little visit with Vandyne. I think it's her husband or the stepson. Murder usually runs in families, you know.'

“But her husband loved her.'

“Horseshit! You weigh love against paying alimony, and love loses every time. Even my husband—asshole that he is—was real generous about everything until we got divorced. But it's like pulling teeth to get my child support every month—and he's crazy about our kid; he just can't stand the idea of me so much as getting to look at his money as it goes by.'

“But Chet has lots of money. More than he needs.'

“Come on, Jane! Nobody thinks they have more than they need. All the greed or drive or whatever the hell it takes to get it and keep it can't ever be turned off.'

“Maybe you're right.'

“You can bet on it. I've got to get back to work. There's a world of women out there who are too old to jiggle and crying out for my attention. You through with your lunch?”

As Suzie dropped her off at home, she said, 'Oh, Jane, I nearly forgot. I got Monday off work to help with the bazaar. And I've always got Friday afternoons, so I can help you tomorrow, if you need me.'

“We sure do. I'd nearly forgotten about the bazaar with all this other business.”

Jane spent the remainder of the afternoon doing one of her assigned jobs for the church bazaar. Seated at the kitchen table with the phone and her list of potential helpers, she managed to get a patchy sort of schedule worked out. She, Shelley, and Fiona were doing all the sorting and setting up and would also work the actual sale. But many more people were needed before and after.

Examples of the best of the merchandise would be displayed in the foyer at church the coming Sunday morning—though there was a bit of grumbling from the pious about this blatant display of commercialism. One woman carried on as if they were planning to be hawking plastic Santas right from the altar. To these folks, Jane gave her standard speech about the church not being able to function in a real world on faith alone. She had this prim little speech down by rote, and it quelled most of them into agreeing to help in some capacity.

The selected items would remain there to be shown again at the church choir concert that night. With some difficulty, Jane managed to find volunteers to gather up the display examples after the concert and take them back to Fiona's.

Monday morning, the sale would begin, and Jane needed a whole new set of people to work that day. Some volunteers would blanket the neighborhood with signs, and others would work at the actual sale. It wasn't hard to find people for this job, which was considered the fun part. It was also a way to be visibly charitable. Women who hadn't lifted a finger or checkbook to help in any other capacity volunteered for an hour or two of sale work with the air of a queen offering to confer her presence on the masses.

The hardest part was finding people to help clear out what was left. The previous bazaar chairman had warned them that the number of leftovers could be overwhelming, and it was imperative to have people who had