The Merchant of Menace

not Jane. This amused her. He, more than anyone else in the neighborhood, had seemed disinterested in it. He hadn't, to her knowledge, walked up the block to ask the neighbors what was going on, which was what nearly everyone else had done.

“What were the police doing this afternoon with rakes in the middle of winter?' he asked.

Jane figured enough people knew the answer that she wouldn't be giving away anything she shouldn't. 'Apparently Lance King kept notes about people he might go after on a computer disk, rather than on the computer itself. At least, that's what his assistant, Ginger, says. They haven't found the disk and seem to think it may have fallen out of his pocket either while he was climbing onto the roof or when he went off the edge.'

“What a strange thing to do. Disks are fragile. Do they suspect someone of taking it?'

“I have absolutely no idea what the police think of anything,' Jane said firmly. 'And to be truthful, I'm tired of the whole thing. What with the usual stress of Christmas and the neighbors who put up decorations that have drawn half of Chicago to stare at their house, Lance King's murder is just too much to cope with.”

He got the hint and didn't ask anything more. Instead, he turned on the radio to a classical station and started cleaning up the table. 'I guess I'd feel the same way if I were closer to it all,' he said. 'But it'll soon be over. The holidays and the investigation.'

“Or maybe not,' Jane said. 'There are murders that are never solved. I'm not entirely sure this might not be one of them.”

Twenty

Sam made a couple trips with dishes, this time turning down Jane's offer to assist. While he was on the first trip, she took a sip of the milk substitute Pet had left in her glass. Good stuff. Tasted just like the real thing, but probably cost the earth. Thank heavens none of her own kids had allergies that demanded substitute foods. What a nuisance.

Sam called Todd and Pet back to the table and brought out dessert, which was cut-up flour tortillas, deep- fried and dusted with sugar. They helped settle the chili, he claimed. But the chili was giving Jane a bit of stomach trouble, which she hated because she'd always prided herself on having a cast-iron digestive tract.

When they finished dessert, Jane said, 'That was a superb dinner, Sam,' in a tone she hoped suggested finality.

“You're not leaving, are you?'

“I hate to be rude, but I do have to get back home. I still have tons to do today. I'm not even through wrapping Christmas presents.'

“Oh,' Pet said. 'I wanted to show you my scrapbook with pictures of my mom.'

“Pet, I'm sure Mrs. Jeffry can come back and see them some other time,' Sam said.

But Pet looked so disappointed that Jane had to relent. 'Presents can wait a little while, I guess. I'd love to see your pictures.”

While Sam cleaned up dinner, Pet got out her scrapbook which was in a protective cover. She sat down next to Jane on the sofa and presented it proudly. It was well-worn. Apparently Pet had a deep sense of loss for the mother she couldn't remember. Jane wondered if Sam had given any thought to a little therapy for the child. It couldn't be easy for him, either, being as he'd said the marriage wasn't a real good one.

The first picture was a wedding shot. Stiff, formal. Or at least the much younger Sam was standing rigid with a frozen smile. The bride, however, looked like she was having the time of her life. The photographer had caught her in what looked like the middle of a laugh. She wasn't really beautiful, except in the way all brides are automatically beautiful, but she looked high-spirited and happy. Medium-brown hair like Pet's, but lots of it, all fluffed out and curling all over the place. The gown was cut a bit low and there was an expanse of bulging bosom that wasn't quite virginal.

“Your mother was very pretty, Pet,' Jane said. Pet nodded solemnly.

The next pictures were badly done snapshots. The newlywed couple posed by a presumably new car with palm trees in the background. Sitting on a beach and all but invisible under a bigumbrella. Playing with a dog in a tiny fenced yard. In every picture, Pet's mom was laughing and Sam was looking serious. No wonder they hadn't gotten along. There was just the slightest suggestion of 'the floozy with a heart of gold' in Pet's mom's appearance. Not trashy, just a little more voluptuous and carefree than most women. But then, she was young, too.

“This is my favorite,' Pet said, turning to a new page.

It was her mother in a maternity dress, standing sideways with a great, bulging midsection.

“That's me,' Pet said with a giggle. It was the first time Jane had heard Pet sound genuinely happy. 'That was the night before I was born.'

“That's a great picture. I have one like that, too. The day before Mike was born. What was your mother's name, Pet?'

“Patricia. Like me. Only she was called Patty Sue.”

The rest of the pictures told a story that Pet probably wouldn't understand until she was older. The pictures of Patty Sue with Pet, and there were a lot of them, were the old Patty Sue, laughing and happy. Those with Sam and Patty Sue alone were serious. A filmed history of a marriage falling apart. Someday Jane might have to look through her photos and see if her own marriage had gone to pieces in the photo record.

Or maybe she wouldn't.

The last picture was of Pet's third birthday. She was sitting on Patty Sue's lap with a birthday cake in front of them and icing all over Pet's face. Patty Sue was wiping away tears of laughter. Sam wasn't in the picture.

“Pet, your scrapbook is wonderful. You're so lucky to have all these pictures and I'm sure you'll treasure them all your life,' Jane said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jeffry,' Pet said, closing the album and putting it in a plastic bag that protected it. Just then Todd, still playing at the computer in the den, called to her and she excused herself quite properly and left the room.

Too bad Pet hadn't gotten to have her mother a little longer, Jane thought. She might have absorbed more of the woman's sense of fun and frivolity. Pet did need to be tickled sometimes and Jane guessed that Patty Sue had been a tickling kind of mother.

“Sam, I have to get home,' she said, going into the kitchen. 'I'm worried about my water pipes. The wind's picked up and that'll make the cold worse.'

“I'll drive you home,' he said, closing the door on the dishwasher. The kitchen was spotless.

“No, it's only three houses away. No use you going out, too.”

Luckily, the mild fight to get Todd away from the computer game and into his outerwear prevented any extended good-byes or anything more specific than Sam's vague remark about doing this again someday. Todd raced away up the street, while Jane followed as quickly as she could without risking a fall.

As she came in the kitchen door, Todd greeted her with a grim face. 'Mom, old thing, you're not going to like this.”

“Not the pipes!”

He nodded. 'I went in the guest bathroom and heard a noise in the basement. Water everywhere.'

“Perfect! Just perfect! Sunday night with broken pipes!'

“Go ahead, Mom. Say 'shit.' '

“Shit!”

It didn't help. But it made Todd yelp with laughter.

“Mrs. Pargeter, may I speak with Bruce.' After a short pause, Bruce answered.

“Bruce, it's Jane Jeffry. I hate myself for asking this — I really know all about keeping pipes from freezing and I left the water running, but Katie didn't know and turned it off and what I don't know is where the little handle to turn the flow off is. I've been slogging around in the basement—' She could hear her voice rising to an hysterical squeak but couldn't help it.

“I'll find the shut-off valve for you,' Bruce said calmly. 'Can't fix the pipe tonight though.'

“But we'll have other water, right?'

“Maybe. I'll have to see the system.”

Jane stomped around, looking for another flashlight as hers was already going dim and she was afraid to turn