“Yes. Suggesting that he was a pansy who got thrown out on his ear. Poor guy. He'd been about the only one who'd escaped her nasty tongue, and then she caught him at the end.'
“Do you suppose it's true?' Jane asked. 'Normally I wouldn't give a damn, but under the circumstances, maybe it's important. Did you tell the police about her saying that?'
“I don't know if it's true, and no, I didn't tell the police. I didn't remember it until now. Listen, Jane, I don't mean to sound callous—I'm truly concerned about this, but I actually came to talk to you about something else, and I don't want it to get lost in this mess. I want to talk to you about your Priscilla project.'
“Oh, yes?' Had it suddenly gotten hotter or was it just her nerves coming to life? Missy looked at her over the top of her sunglasses. 'Yes. Let me ask you something—are you having fun doing this or are you just being dutiful about class?'
“I'm having fun. In fact, I'm embarrassed to admit how much fun it is ...' Jane paused. 'No, that's not entirely accurate. I'm enjoying it, but mostly I'm obsessing on it. I guess with two of my kids gone, I need another outlet for that maternal urge to try to run somebody's life. The nice thing about Priscilla is that she has to do what I say. I wouldn't tell this to anybody but you, but even as upset as I was last night, I sat down for a half an hour or so and scribbled a few notes on things I'd thought of for Priscilla to say and do. It's weird, though. I'm not so sure she'll be willing to say and do them—”
Missy nodded. 'That's what I'd hoped—and was half-afraid—you'd say. Jane, I don't want to shock you, but I think you're coming down with a book. I know the signs.'
“Coming down ... ? You mean writing a book?' Jane scoffed. 'That's ridiculous. I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to write a whole book.'
“You write it one page at a time. Just like you're doing.'
“No, I'd never consider it. Really.”
This whole concept was so revolutionary it almost took her breath away. Could ordinary, real people write books? Missy did. Wow! For a minute it was as if Mrs. Pryce had never existed, much less gotten herself murdered.
“I'm sorry to have to tell you this: You don't getto consider it,' Missy was saying. 'Writing is something you have to do. An obsession; you use your own word. The world is made up of people who can't write and those who can't help but write. Still, I won't push you. I just wanted to tell you that if you decide to give a serious shot at writing a book, I'd be thrilled to help you.”
Willard lumbered to his feet and put a paw on Jane's knee. She absentmindedly fished an ice cube out of her tea and gave it to him. He settled back down, chewing noisily. 'Do you mean you think this story of mine really could be a book?' Jane asked.
Missy nodded. 'It's remarkably good writing for a beginner. Of course, good writing isn't everything—there's structuring and marketing and a lot more. But good writing is the first essential.”
They heard the gate squeak, and a moment later Shelley appeared. 'Good. You're still here. Mel VanDyne just called me. He said you didn't answer your phone, and asked if I knew what had become of you. I told him I could see you and Missy out here, and he asked everybody to stay put.'
“Pitcher of iced tea on the counter,' Jane said, feeling this was adequate hostessing for Shelley. She was still trying to cope with what Missy had said.
“Maybe later,' Shelley said.
“Not more questions from VanDyne,' Missy said. 'I'm getting real bored with the few facts I know. It's only a matter of time before I start embroidering them with fictional fillips. Fiction writers are born liars.”
Shelley reached toward Jane's glass, which Jane snatched away. 'Get your own,' she said.
Before Shelley got back, Jane could hear a car door slamming in the driveway. 'Around back!' she shouted inelegantly. She was glad that, tired as she was, she'd washed her hair this morning and put on decent clothes. Mel was back in his detective mode, but he might notice her as a woman instead of a peripheral object in an investigation.
He came out onto the patio, holding a glass of tea Shelley had forced on him. She was right behind with the pitcher and a bucket of ice on a tray. Jane wondered how Shelley'd gotten the ice maker to give up its cubes. It tended to create one large, lumpy mass instead of individual pieces. But there wasn't a household appliance in the world that could best Shelley.
Mel sat down with a sigh. The rest of them had at least gotten a few fleeting hours of sleep; Mel must have been up all night. He was wearing the same clothes, but except for the weary sigh, he looked fresh and bright. He repeated what he'd told Jane earlier about Maria Espinoza and the tests. They still didn't have definitive results. 'So, ladies, I'd like to go over the food and seating arrangements and so forth with you.”
Willard had finished his ice cube and finally noticed there were newcomers. He shambled over to put his head on Mel's thigh. Mel patted his big, square head and waved his hand at the cloud of gnats that went everywhere the dog went.
“We've all been questioned about that already,' Missy said. 'Can't we go on to something else? It's like revising the same chapter over and over.'
“Not until we've got this sorted out. Now, who could have put something in the quiche or the tea?”
Jane sat up straight. 'Why the quiche and tea especially?''Because that's all the maid had in her stomach.
Mrs. Pryce had apparently eaten all kinds of stuff.' 'But I made the quiche,' Jane objected. 'Exactly,' he said coolly, staring back at her. 'You don't think I poisoned her?'
“As a matter of fact, I don't, but somebody apparently did, and it's my sad job to find out who and how. I have to assume that the quiche itself wasn't poisoned, or other people would have become ill, too. So it must have been put in her food or her drink after she got her plate and cup. Now, where was she sitting? Who could have exchanged her plate or added something to her food?'
“Anybody,' Shelley and Missy said together.
Shelley took up the explanation. 'The dining room is a very crowded little space, and everybody was crammed together. We were all reaching over and past each other and banging our elbows together. Mrs. Pryce sat at the head of the table with her back to the hallway and kitchen, where the dishes were set out. We had to squeeze past her and each other to get around at all.'
“Did she fill her own plate?”
The three women exchanged glances. 'I don't think so,' Jane finally said. 'At least she wasn't in with the lost lemmings.'
“I beg your pardon?'
“I mean she wasn't stuffed into the hallway with the rest of us when we were getting our food. At least, I don't think she was.'
“Was she at the table when you got there?' Mel asked.
“Yes, and she had a plate full of food. The first time.'
“The first time? What?'
“The first time I sat down. But I'd forgotten a drink and—”
Mel held up his hand. 'Hold it. Step by step. Where had she gotten the plate if she hadn't filled it herself?'
“I don't know. It was already there when Shelley and I sat down. What about you, Missy?”
Missy had her eyes closed hard. 'I'm trying to picture it. I just can't recall. I seem to think I saw someone set it in front of her, but I can't see who. And I'm not sure but what I'm making that up. I don't mean to invent details, it's just that it's my job to do that, and I can't always turn it off.'
“I appreciate your honesty,' Mel said, looking as if he'd like to shake her teeth loose. 'Can you tell me the order that people came to the table?'
“I have no idea,' Missy said. 'People came, then went and came back again. When I extricated myself from the crowd in the hall—let me see—I think Grady was there already. Yes, he was, because he accidentally bashed a chair leg into me while I was sitting down. And somebody else. I think Ruth Rogers. Or maybe her sister. I wasn't really paying any attention. I was puzzling over some stuff I didn't remember putting on my plate.'
“With coconut?' Jane asked. 'Somebody gave me a lump of that, too. Maybe—maybe the tea
