A Quiche Before Dying

all over your lawn last fall.”
    Jane thought Desiree had finally gone over the edge. She looked at Shelley with alarm.
    Shelley giggled and whispered, “Naked ladies are those pink lilylike flowers that come up in the late summer. You know, the ones that don’t have any foliage.”
    Jane sighed. “I’m so relieved. I was picturing unclad virgins artfully strewn all over the corner lot and wondering how I could have missed it.”
    Desiree, courageous as ever, called across the room to Mrs. Pryce, “My dear! Such a bad color for you—blue. You have a red aura, you know.“
    “Utter nonsense!“ Mrs. Pryce exclaimed.
“No, not at all. I’m very tuned in to these things.“
    “You’re drunk! As usual!”
    Desiree glared at her for a moment, then laughed shrilly. “Drunk on the joy of life, perhaps,“ she replied before turning her attention to the man at the edge of the room. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Desiree Loftus.“
    “How do you do. I’m Robert Neufield. My friends call me Bob.“
    “Oh, I do hope I’m going to be among them, Bob.“ She gave him a dazzling smile and turned to survey the room for other conversational victims. “Jane! Shelley! And who are you? No, don’t tell me. You must be a relative of Jane’s. It’s the eyebrows. They tell everything! People don’t pay nearly enough attention to eyebrows these days.”
    As the introductions were going on, Jane heard Grady Wells’s characteristic hearty laughter in the hallway. He came in the room with Missy, who was smiling—until her eye fell on Mrs. Pryce ensconced center front. Grady, chunky and florid-faced, took a seat by Bob Neufield, and Missy went to her desk and started sorting out her notes.
    Jane slipped out of her seat and went to have a word with Missy. “I’m cheating. I made up a person,“ she said, furtively sliding an envelope onto the desk. “Just for fun. Not for the class.“ She was surprised and embarrassed to realize her heart was pounding at her own audacity. She almost snatched the envelope back.
    “What a great idea, Jane. I won’t pass it out to the others if you don’t want me to.“
    “Oh, no. Please don’t. I’m terrified to even show it to you.”
    They were interrupted by Mrs. Pryce bellowing at Grady. “I’m surprised you’d have the nerve to show up here.”
    Grady smiled at her as if she were a grand joke. “I don’t know why that would be.“
    “After the way you’ve neglected your civic duties.“
    “Mrs. Pryce,“ he said patiently, “I’m not here as mayor. Bring your concerns to the council meeting if you must.“
    “Oh, yes! To your paid toadies!“
    “Mrs. Pryce, the council isn’t paid anything. And I only get a hundred dollars a year. That’s about a nickel an hour for my time.“ His patience was obviously wearing thin, but he still looked cheerful. Grady always looked cheerful.
    “That may be your salary, but I have good reason to think you make a good deal more.”
    All the amusement had faded from Grady’s face. “What are you talking about?“
    “Let’s not mince words. Embezzlement. That’s what I’m talking about.“
    “Embezzlement?“ Grady’s always pink face had grown alarmingly red.
    “Yes. We all pay a hefty amount in taxes, but there never seems to be any money for necessary pro- grams. I believe that large sums of money are missing.“
    “Mrs. Pryce, I invite you to look over the city’s financial statement any time you want. In fact, I insist on it. I’ll have our treasurer explain it all to you. But I warn you—if there’s any more of this loose talk, I’ll have to discuss you with the city’s attorney. This is slander and could damage a number of reputations. I won’t have it.”
    Missy cleared her throat loudly. “I believe we had better begin our class.”
    Jane scuttled back to her place between her mother and Shelley and sat down, shaking her head in disgust.
    “Do you think she’s gone gaga?“ Shelley whispered.
    “God! Can you imagine saying a thing like that to Grady?”
    Missy glanced at them, silently ordering them to be quiet. “Now, we’re all here to learn to write an autobiography—“
    “Some of us already know how,“ Mrs. Pryce said.
    Missy ignored her. “I’ll be giving you a lot of instructions—rules, if you wish—but I want to make a disclaimer right now. Rules are, as trite as it may be, made to be broken. But the secret to any good writing is in breaking the rules selectively. I