A Farewell to Yarns

creep.“
    “Yeah, but that’s mom-talk,“ she said, stuffing another handful of cereal into her mouth. “Can we go over tonight so I can meet him?“
    “Not if I can help it. Isn’t that Jenny’s mother honking?”
    Katie flew past, her backpack full of books catching the milk carton at the edge of the counter. It bounced on the floor and shot a white geyser across the room. “Sorry—“ Katie’s voice was cut off by the door closing behind her.
    The phone rang. If that was somebody asking her to drive Todd’s group, she was going to pretend they had the wrong number. “Yes?“ she said cautiously into the receiver.
    “Jane, this is Fiona. I’m sorry to call so early, and I hope I’m not alarming you unduly, but there’s something going on next door. The house your friend moved into last night—“
    “What kind of something?“
    “Well, there’s a police car over there, and an ambulance just drove up. I heard some teenage voices late last night. You don’t suppose something’s happened to her son, do you?“
    “Oh, my God! I’ll run right over. Thanks, Fiona.”
    Jane ran into the little bathroom off the kitchen, grabbed a big towel, and threw it at the milk on the floor. It had formed a lake, and Willard and both cats were standing at the shore, lapping.
    “What’s wrong, Mom?“ Todd asked between slurps of cereal.
    “I don’t know. I think my friend who came to visit yesterday is sick. I’ve got to run over there. If your ride isn’t here by the time I’m dressed, I’ll wait with you.“
    “Oh, Mom. You don’t have to. I’m not a baby!“
    “No, but you’re my baby, kiddo,“ she said, ruffling his hair as she ran by.
    Upstairs, she kicked off her slippers and slithered out of her robe and T-shirt style nightgown and flung herself into underwear, jeans, and a red, hooded sweatshirt. A glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed her fear that adequate cosmetic help would take too long—possibly days. She looked like she’d been left out in bad weather overnight. She made do with a quick smear of lipstick and a swipe at her hair with a hairbrush. She heard a faint, “Bye, Mom,“ and the slamming of the kitchen door as she was putting on her boots.
    She ran down the steps, grabbed her mystery-fur jacket from the front hall closet, and started looking for her purse. Where would Katie have left it? Ah, next to the refrigerator. She was hampered by the fact that Willard and the cats were pacing around the kitchen in the happy anticipation of being fed now that the kids were gone. “You’ve got to wait, guys,“ she told them as she flew out the door.
    By the time she got to Phyllis’s new home, there were three police cars, plus the ambulance, and a familiar red MG. Damn! That was Mel VanDyne’s car, and she looked like the dog’s dinner. Someone had strung a thin yellow plastic banner across the front yard that said, “Police Line—Do Not Cross.”
    Jane got out of the car and paused to get her breath. It wasn’t easy. Her heart was racing, and she was feeling sick. Police line—Detective VanDyne—ambulance. Something terrible must have happened to that horrid Bobby Bryant. Had he invited some of his former friends from the city to his mom’s new house and got- . ten beaten up? Or had he already had a run-in with Mr. Finch next door? Poor Phyllis. As much as Jane disliked Bobby, she hated for Phyllis to be unhappy, and Phyllis would be miserable if something had happened to her darling.
    Stepping over the yellow strip, she went to the house, aware of the multitude of other neighbors peering from front windows up and down the street. An officer was just coming out of the front door as she approached. “Lady, do you live here?“
    “No, but a friend of mine does.”
    He leaned back inside the door. “Hey, Mel, there’s somebody here who knows these people.”
    Mel VanDyne came to the door, took one look at Jane, and said, “Oh, no.”
    Not precisely the reaction she would have liked from a man she was planning to invite to Christmas dinner. She had met the handsome (and somewhat younger) detective a few months earlier when he was investigating a murder. Jane herself had been instrumental in catching the murderer.
    VanDyne had called her assistance “damned dangerous meddling.”
    Jane had called it “solving the case.”
    But along the way, Jane had decided that when she was ready to throw herself back into the word of dating, she’d throw herself in Mel