A Farewell to Yarns

“So?'

“Not for the bazaar fund, Jane. For herself. She earns the church ten bucks and a couple hundred later for herself. It infuriates me. Is her phone number on there? I'm going to have a word or two with her.' She stormed off and returned a few minutes later looking like a general who'd had an unusually good day crushing invading armies. 'It's all taken care of,' she said serenely.

Jane was afraid to ask. - After another ten minutes, Jane said, 'Is that music as annoying to you as it is to me?'

“It isn't that loud. Imagine if it were spring and the windows were open. Still, I wonder why nobody's called the police to make him shut it off.”

Fiona passed the doorway carrying a stack of linens and looking miserable.

“I'm not going to let him do this to her,' Jane said. She threw on her coat and slipped out the front door before Shelley could reason with her. Stomping down the long drive, along the sidewalk, and up to the house next door, she leaned on the doorbell and knocked a few times for good measure.

Bobby came to the door wearing his usual smirk. 'Yeah?'

“I've come to ask you politely to turn off that music. If you don't, however, I'm going to havethe police come and talk to you about it, Bobby.'

“It's a free country,' he said as if he'd thought up the concept himself. 'Don't you like rock? Would you rather have a little Fred Waring?' He sneered.

“I happen to like Fred Waring. And I also like Twisted Sister, but at a reasonable level and when I want to listen to it. Right now I don't think the whole neighborhood wants to let you make the choice for them. Turn it off!'

“I'll think about it,' he said with an obnoxious chuckle before slamming the door in her face.

Jane got back to the Howards' house fueled by pure rage. 'If Phyllis is in heaven, she's probably still trying to explain herself for having given birth to such a monster!' she said as Shelley opened the door to her. 'I'm calling the police on him.'

“Jane, I'm all for self-assertiveness, but I don't think it's smart to mess with that kid. He could be a murderer, you know.'

“Clear the way,' a voice behind a vast stack of empty boxes said. It was Suzie. 'Get the door for me. I'm going to put these out in the garage.”

Jane and Shelley stood arguing halfheartedly for a minute more. Suzie came bounding back. 'Hey, guys, you gotta see this.”

Shelley grabbed her coat, and they followed Suzie along the path that ran between the Howards' house and Bobby's. Before they could see what was happening, they could hear the argument. Mr. Finch was standing at the front door, waving his arms and screaming unintelligibly in a high voice. They couldn't see Bobby, but they did see his fist suddenly pop out and catch Mr. Finch on the chin.

“Jane, do go call the police,' Shelley said. 'And miss this? Not on your life,' Jane replied.

Finch had tumbled into the snow but picked himself up with lightning speed and flung himself toward the door and out of sight. A second later, a bundle of humanity with four legs and four arms rolled down the steps and into the yard. They thrashed around ineffectually in the patchy snow for a moment, apparently not doing each other much harm. Just as Jane was about to give up watching and run for the phone, a siren wailed over the sound of Richie Divine's voice. Apparently someone else had seen the fight coming or had gotten fed up with the music.

A police car pulled to a sudden stop in front of the house, and two uniformed officers ran across the lawn and separated Bobby and Mr. Finch without too much difficulty. 'Show's over, ladies,' one of the officers called to them.

Jane blushed with embarrassment.

Suzie had a much higher embarrassment threshold. 'Sonofabitch,' she muttered with heat. The three of them hurried back to the house, and Suzie continued. 'Couple of wimps. I could have beaten them both.”

Fiona was at the door. 'What in the world became of you?”

They told her about the fight.

“Oh, dear,' Fiona said, sounding defeated. 'This is all so unpleasant, and I hold myself toblame. If I hadn't mentioned that house was for sale, it would still be nice and vacant. What if something awful happens while the bazaar is going on? We can hardly expect people to pick their way through a full-scale battle to buy a few Christmas things.'

“We'll worry about that if it happens,' Shelley said briskly. 'There won't be a bazaar if we don't get back to work.”

Nothing more was heard from next door. The music stopped a few minutes after the police arrived. The four women worked in peace all afternoon. The only interruption was John Wagner dropping by to tell Jane that there would be a funeral service for his stepmother at ten o'clock the next morning. Fortunately, Fiona's maid, Celia, showed him in directly to where Jane was working, and he didn't cross paths with either Fiona or Albert.

“Dad thought about having her buried from the old church they went to when they lived in the city, but I talked him into having it out here.' He made no reference to the events of the night before, and neither did Jane.

“Do you want me to come along to the funeral?' Shelley asked when he'd left.

“Good Lord, no! You promised to fight the crowds with me to do some Christmas shopping tomorrow afternoon. That's all anybody could ask of a friend.'

“I'm so glad you realize that. Now, about pricing these fruitcakes—”

Shelley had to drive a car pool at three, Suzie at three-thirty, and Jane at three forty-five, but each returned to finish off one job or another.

They sat down for a last slice of Fiona's banana bread and a cup of coffee at five, confident that they had the bazaar situation well in hand.

If only the rest of life could be handled by hard work and organization, Jane thought longingly. How unutterably sad that Phyllis couldn't have been with them. It was exactly the sort of day she'd have loved. What had Mel VanDyne been doing all day while they sorted and priced Christmas knickknacks? Jane wondered. Was he any closer to finding Phyllis's killer?

Nineteen

Jane got up Saturday morning far earlier than  necessary. It was refreshing to enjoy the illusion of having the house to herself. The kids were all sleeping late, so she didn't have to worry about running out of hot water before she was through showering, about fighting Katie for the hot curlers, or about having to drop everything and drive somebody to school before she'd booted up her brain. No music blared from stereos, no cars honked impatiently in the driveway, nobody ran through the house wildly searching for lost books or lunch money or permission slips.

Bliss.

The first order of business was to get ready for Phyllis's funeral. She was going to wear her charcoal gray suit and black silk blouse. Shelley had bought it for her for Steve's funeral last winter, and this was the first time since then that she'd worn it. She got it out and put it on with a certain amount of dread. After all, the associations were grim. Yet she looked in the mirror and was surprised to see herself smiling a bit. This wasn't the same woman who wore the suit last February. That Jane had been blotto—emotionally and physically wiped out.

Everybody had been so sympathetic and mistaken then. That was the hardest part—to act the role of a woman who had lost her loving partner, when inside she was raging with rejection, furious at his disloyalty, and despising herself for her own stupidity and failure.

But this was a new woman wearing the charcoal suit. Under Shelley's dictatorial guidance, she'd streaked her hair, gone in for regular perms, lost a little weight, and learned a bit about makeup, although mascara still made her feel like she had raccoon eyes. 'Eat your heart out, Steve,' she told the mirror and felt a little tingle of vindication.

It was only eight-thirty when she went downstairs for a quiet hour of finishing up the afghan. While she was feeding the animals, she heard the soft purr of a car in the driveway and was surprised—and pleased, for once—to