A Farewell to Yarns

rooms. She plumped cushions, halfheartedly ran a dust cloth over the major flat surfaces, and hauled the recalcitrant vacuum cleaner out of the front hall closet. But on her first swoop with it, she sucked up a penny that crashed around hideously for a second before the machine moaned to a smelly stop. “Damn!“ she exclaimed, unplugging the monster and flipping it over onto its back to operate.
    As she knelt, she caught a glimpse of white under the nearest chair. It was one of Phyllis’s knitting bags. Jane crawled over, pulled it out, and peered in the top. It was Bobby’s crimson sweater. Never go be completed. Jane pulled out a sleeve and looked at the elaborate cable pattern, done apparently on size two or three needles. She could feel the sharp-cornered edge of a knitting book in the bag. Maybe she could finish the sweater for Phyllis. It seemed a fitting tribute, especially given how difficult it would be for an amateur like Jane. But what would she do with it, if and when she ever finished? Give it to Bobby, as Phyllis had intended? God, no! The day would never dawn that Jane would so much as slip a stitch for Bobby Bryant.
    She shoved the sweater sleeve back into the plastic bag, wondering what to do with it, when there was a knock on the door. Willard, naturally, went quite mad. As he went flying by, barking like there was a mob of cossacks about to break down the doors, Jane reached out and grabbed his collar and nearly jerked both of them right off their feet. Shoving him down the basement steps, she went to the front door and discovered Mel VanDyne. Of course! He would visit when there was a dead vacuum cleaner with its guts spilling out in the middle of the living room.
    “Come in. Let’s sit in the kitchen,“ she said. “Have you learned anything yet?“
    “Nothing worthwhile. I’ve been interviewing neighbors. I hope you’ll tell me what they wouldn’t themselves.“
    “You think a neighbor killed her?“
    “No, I don’t. According to you and Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Wagner just flitted in and bought the house yesterday. Nobody’d ever heard of her or met her before. It seems unlikely that anybody could develop a murderous hatred of her in such a short time. Still, I need to check it out.”
    Jane had poured them coffee and sat down across the table from him. At least she’d cleaned up the milk lake and cleared the crumbs. He wouldn’t go away with greasy elbows from sitting at her table. If he wasn’t impressed by her neatness, at least he wouldn’t be having a little chat with the Board of Health about her. “I get it. This is a perfectly pointless line of inquiry, so it’s okay to talk to me about it.”
    He grinned over the top of his coffee cup. Oh, those teeth! “Tell me about the Howards and Mr. Finch anyway.“
    “Tell me what you think of them first.“
    “All right. Mrs. Howard is a nice Englishwoman, and Mr. Finch is a not very nice American. There’s also a house behind on the next street, but the people are out of town.“
    “The neighbors think Mr. Finch poisons dogs and cats that come in his yard.“
    “I know. The local police have a fat file of complaints but no proof. Mrs. Wagner didn’t know him, did she?“
    “Of course not. How would she? She only lived in the house for a few hours. When did Phyllis die?“
    “Don’t know yet. The coroner’s first guess was between midnight and four. Her son says she spoke to him when he came in, but he has no idea when that was. Thinks it was around one. That’s when Mrs. Howard says she heard a voice or voices. Do you know this Finch character?“
    “No. We’ve got a nodding acquaintance, as my mother would say. I see him working on his lawn, which is sacrosanct. And I pass him in the aisles of the grocery store. My kids are afraid of him, but that’s probably because he’s the neighborhood ogre. He’s yelled at them a time or two for cutting across the corner of the yard. In fact, he called me once when Mike was little to tell me what a bad mannered child he was. I never knew quite what it was about.“
    “You think he’s a killer type?“
    “Of dogs and cats, yes. But unless Phyllis ran across his precious lawn with a Rototiller, I can’t imagine why he’d have the least interest in her, let alone a desire to kill her.“
    “Fair enough. When I went over to talk to him, he tried to make me take off my shoes before I could come into the house. My impression is that murder is altogether too messy an activity