A Farewell to Yarns

trash-hauling company.“
    “That could take years! What about alibis?“
    “John Wagner claims to have been home in bed both nights. His wife confirms it, but she would, wouldn’t she? Chet Wagner—well, youknow the situation with him the night his wife was killed, and last night he says he was tucked in at a hotel along with the other son. The other son, Everett, I think, confirms it. Everett, incidentally, seems to be in the clear for his stepmother’s death. He was seen and photographed at some country house shooting party in Yorkshire. Of course, the sons could be lying, either to protect themselves or their father.“
    “What about Mr. Finch?“
    “Same thing as the others. Says he was home in bed. Might be true, might not. None of the neighbors claim to have seen him leaving during the night, but apparently there were plenty of them who would have liked to pin it on him. Then there’s the parents of the boy, the adopted parents, that is. Supposedly in Florida, and a humdinger of an alibi for last night. The father is a diabetic and got into some trouble with his blood sugar or whatever. Spent the night under observation at a hospital. Wife with him the whole time.”
    They pulled into the school parking lot and, seeing that he was probably going to have to park in the next county, Uncle Jim let Jane off at the door and drove away in search of a spot. Jane walked slowly along the hallway, feeling very nostalgic. The school district music curriculum started at the fourth-grade level with two big concerts a year with all the kids from nineyear-olds on up. Jane had been coming here twice a year since Mike was that age. Steve had always hated coming, but she’d loved it. In fact, it was the one motherly duty that she saw as uncompromised pleasure. Unlike Cub Scouts or field trips or cheerleading practice, it required nothing of her except to show up and enjoy herself. And unlike many of the awards assemblies she’d sat through, it was truly enjoyable. Even the little kids learning violins and sounding like they were stepping on ducks had a certain charm that made up for the musical slaughter.
    She found Thelma and the kids, and between them they managed to hold onto an empty place and flag down Uncle Jim when he finally came in. Thelma studied the program and started to point something out to Jane, who hastily said, “No, I’m not supposed to know what’s on it. I promised Mike.”
    Huddled like a row of roosting chickens on the bleachers, they watched as the kids started to file in and take their places. Front and center were the two grade school groups. All the little girls had on their Christmas party dresses, and the little boys looked pink and shiny, like they’d been plucked from their baths only moments before.
    Flanking these groups were the two junior high orchestras. The little guys had bounced into the gym; the junior high slouched self-consciously. The girls were well dressed in a terribly trendy, too-old way, and the boys were pretentiously underdressed. They were, as always, a funny mix of “shrimps and giants“ as Jane had mentally dubbed this age group years ago. Some were still babies, others (usually the girls) had already shot up to adult height.
    Finally, after these groups had settled into place, the high school group filed in. They were the only ones in “uniforms.“ The boys all woreblack trousers and light green blazers with the school emblem on the breast pocket. The girls wore white blouses with a dark green vest and floor length skirts. True, a few of these skirts showed sneakers at the bottom, but on the whole, they were a spiffy group that came in with brisk, breezy self-confidence. They took their places in the semicircle of chairs set up behind the grade schoolers—more or less benevolent big brothers and sisters of the kids in front.
    Mike took his place at the back, and as he looked over the audience, Jane managed to catch his eyes. She waved, and he nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
    After a few inevitable announcements—“A silver-blue Oldsmobile Cutlass by the front door has its lights on,”
    “Last chance for ordering a Fruit-A-Month from the fund-raising committee,”
    “Cookies and punch in the all-purpose room after the concert,“ the program commenced.
    The youngest went first, and Jane let her mind drift. Virtually the only way to recognize what they were playing was by consulting the program, and Jane wasn’t allowed to look at one. How many