A Knife to Remember

She wanted Jake's murder solved so she could have her weekend with Mel.

18

She pulled the curtains on the living room windows so she wouldn't even be tempted to look outside and, on a whim, got out a long-forgotten project. Last year Todd had made a Christmas tree ornament in Cub Scouts that really took her fancy. It was a toy soldier made out of a roundheaded clothespin. She had liked it so well that she'd bought clothespins, assembled all the interesting loose scraps of fabric and trim in her sewing room, and found glue, glitter, acrylic paints, pipe cleaners, and yarn to make more of the dolls. But something had interrupted the project before she got started and she'd put it all away last January. She went searching for the almost-forgotten box, brought it down to the dining room, and laid it all out.

This was the ticket! Something creative and solitary and peaceful that had nothing to do with movies or actors. She had promised, months ago, to come up with an idea for something 'different' in the way of refrigerator magnets to sell at the next PTA carnival and these little dolls would do fine.

She'd painted faces and made little tutus in different colors for three ballerinas when Katie gothome. 'Oh, Mom. That's cute,' Katie said. 'What are you going to use for hair?'

“I don't know. I guess I can't leave them bald. Maybe they could be wearing turbans of the same fabric.'

“No, there's something. .' she closed her eyes for a minute, then dashed off to come back a moment later with a yellow-and-brown sweater with a ripped sleeve. 'See? The yarn's all wiggly from being knitted and if you fray it a little, you have hair! Blondes and brunettes.”

Jane made another dancer while Katie made and applied hair to the others. Then she disappeared again and returned with a wad of Play-Doh. 'What's that for?' Jane asked.

“Boobs.'

“Ballerinas don't have boobs.'

“This one's going to. She'll be a failure as a ballerina because of them, but will later make a good living modeling underwear for J. C. Penney's ads,' Katie said.

Katie got so caught up in the clothespin dolls that she voluntarily helped Jane get dinner on and later cleared so they could go back to them. By eight o'clock that evening, they had a startling array of little people. Soldiers, dancers, a grayish one that Katie maintained was a mailman and Jane said was a Confederate soldier, girls in frilly long dresses, a bride and two matched bridesmaids, and a gypsy with hair from a black sweater Jane had always hated and was happy to sacrifice to the cause.

Jane kept thinking about Shelley's wanting to preserve her daughter in amber at age ten. This is the evening I want preserved in amber, Jane thought as they started putting away the fabric and glue and paints.

The doorbell rang and Katie went to let Shelley in. 'Jane, I'm glad you're remembering to lock up well. Oh! How darling!' Shelley exclaimed when she saw the dolls.

“They all have life histories. Katie can tell you about them,' Jane said. 'This one, for example, was a drummer boy from Georgia during the Civil War and was reincarnated as a mailman.'

“I'll tell you about the rest of them later, okay? I've got a biology assignment,' Katie said. 'Good night, Mrs. Nowack.”

Shelley sat down looking troubled and waited until Katie was well out of hearing range. 'I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but have you looked out your back window lately?' she asked quietly. 'There are police all over the place again. And an ambulance just pulled away. Without the lights flashing. You know what that means.”

Jane just stared at her friend for a long moment, then got up and went to the living room window. As she parted the curtains and looked out, she saw Mel coming across the backyard. She and Shelley met him at her kitchen door.

“Mel! What is it?'

“Lynette Harwell is dead. Suicide,' he said. 'No!' Shelley exclaimed. 'No! Absolutely not.

She might be dead, but it wasn't suicide.'

'I know it's hard to believe, but—'

“Not hard to believe. Impossible.'

“Except that there was no note, it was a classic suicide,' Mel explained patiently. 'She'd put on her best clothes, done her hair and makeup, took a huge dose of tranquilizers or something, and laid herself out on the couch in her dressing room. She looked like a queen lying in state.”

Shelley kept shaking her head. 'Not suicide, I tell you. She wouldn't do that. She was the center of the universe. She wouldn't even consider it.'

“What happened?' Jane asked. 'How did she get away from her keeper long enough for anything to happen to her?'

“It was the keep er, Miss Longabach, who sent us here. There was some kind of mix-up about the transportation. You see, the stars and the directors have their own limos and drivers to take them back to the hotel downtown where everybody stays. The rest of the out-of-town cast and crew go in vans. Apparently Miss Longabach wasn't allowed to ride with Miss Harwell in the limo—'

“Doesn't that just figure!' Shelley said.

Mel went on, 'She went back to wait at the hotel for her. When she didn't come, Miss Longabach assumed she had a dinner engagement and just hadn't mentioned it. After a while, though, she got worried and called Miss Harwell's driver to ask where he'd taken her and with whom. He said he hadn't taken her anyplace, he'd found a note on the front seat of the limo saying she didn't need a ride tonight. That's when Longabach got panicked. She called me. She'd kept my card when I interviewed her earlier. She was embarrassed, said she knew it was just confusion of plans, but to be sure, could I check the set?'

“Why didn't she send somebody from the crew?' Jane asked.

“They don't have cars of their own here, and she said the man in charge of local transportation had gone out for the evening.'

“And you found her?' Jane asked.

“In her dressing room in that fancy trailer.' 'What about the security people on the set? Don't they leave somebody there all the time?'

“Two men, yes. But they just patrol, looking for intruders or anything out of the ordinary.'

“Was her dressing room locked with her inside?' Jane asked.

“No. Unlocked. One of the security men had tested the door and noticed that it was unlocked, but he said it usually was. She either didn't keep any valuables in it or she was too dim to remember to lock up.'

“What about the note the driver found in the limo? Did he keep it?'

“He had no reason to. He threw it out in a gas station trash can when he stopped to put some oil in the car and empty the ashtray. He can't remember which station it was, but he's trying to find the receipt. The trash is probably long gone by now.”

Shelley had been silent during this exchange. Now she spoke firmly. 'Look, Mel. I know you think I'm crazy, but I'd stake my life on the fact that she did not commit suicide. The woman was pure ego. But besides that, Jane and I were on the set this afternoon and everybody — even thepeople who hated her the most — said she'd given the performance of her life today. Nobody could say enough good things about it.'

“That's true,' Jane said.

Shelley went on, 'After years and years of wallowing in mediocrity, she'd finally shined again. Today was, well… a springboard to glory. She'd reestablished her talent and celebrity. She had everything to live for and believe me, she'd have wanted to revel in every gratifying second of it. She positively wouldn't have given it up.”

Mel looked thoughtful, but said nothing for a long moment. Then, 'Jane, do you agree?”

Jane didn't hesitate. 'I didn't talk to her much, but if Shelley feels this strongly, I have to agree.”

He walked across the kitchen and looked longingly at the coffeemaker. Jane handed him a cup, which he filled and sipped at for a minute. It was the dregs of the pot and must have tasted foul, but he made no sign of distaste, not even a slight flinch, which was a measure of his preoccupation.