A Quiche Before Dying

VanDyne, Mother. I wrote to you about him.
The detective I invited to Christmas dinner with us.“
    “Oh, yes. The fabled Christmas dinner when Todd got sick.“
    “Todd couldn’t help it. I never heard from VanDyne again. I guess he thought somebody always threw up on Christmas around here. Long family tradition. After all, if the president can upchuck at a state dinner, why should Todd be any different?“
    “Jane, I’m sorry,“ her mother said.
    “No, don’t be. It’s nothing,“ Jane said.
    But it was. Mel VanDyne had been her first timid venture back into the world of romance after being widowed, and she’d been humiliated when he never called back after the ill-fated dinner. She’d beat herself up about it for weeks. What had she expected? He was younger than she, extraordinarily good-looking, and sophisticated in the real world. She, on the other hand, was domestic to the eyebrows, wallowing in children, pets, recipes, cleaning products, and PTA committees. What possible interest could a handsome bachelor have in her? And yet, she’d been instrumental in helping him solve a couple of crimes, and the reason she was able to help was that she understood the suburban life that she was so thoroughly a part of and he didn’t. Still, he had probably regarded that as a helpful- trait, not a sexy one.
    “You aren’t going back, are you?“ Jim was asking.
It took a second to hoist herself out of her reverie.
“You mean to class? Sure. Missy’s a terrific teacher.“
    “Besides, we’re committed now,“ Shelley said. “We’ve been summoned to dinner at Pryce’s tomorrow. A sort of royal command.“
    “We have?“
    “Jane, I’m worried about you,“ Shelley said. “Don’t you remember? Where is your mind? Mrs. Pryce announced that we would all meet for dinner at her house. You even asked if there was anything you could bring.“
    “I must have been on autopilot. Whenever people talk about getting together, I go into my casserole mode. What did I offer to cook?“
    “A quiche,“ Shelley said.
    “What? I don’t know how to make quiche. I’d never volunteer that.“
“No, it was assigned you. I was assigned a fruit salad—no pineapple. Don’t you really remember?“
    “I guess it is ringing a faint bell.“
    “I’ll make your quiche, Jane,“ her mother offered. “I’ve got a great recipe that uses chicken and asparagus—“
    “You don’t mean you’re all really going to her house, do you?“ Jim said. “Why would she invite you, anyway?“
    “She just wants to show off her house, I guess. And yes, we have to go. We can’t leave the others unprotected,“ Cecily explained.
    “I tried to wriggle out,“ Shelley put in. “Missy nearly slapped me. She said if she had to go, we all had to.“
    “Besides, I’m curious to see how she lives,“ Cecily said. “It’ll probably give me stories to dine out on for weeks.“
    “But why would anyone go? You should have all refused,“ Jim insisted. He was a lifelong bachelor, and the ways of women never stopped surprising him.
    “If we’d had any warning, I imagine we would have,“ Cecily said. “But, Jim, I’ve been to dinners where I was expected to eat eels—and act as though I like them. If I can survive that, dinner with Mrs. Pryce ought to be a piece of cake. Now, Katie, let’s go sit in the living room and plan our shopping tomorrow. I want to take some notes on your closet.”
    Shelley told everyone good night and took off. Jane opened the refrigerator door, wondering if she had the necessary ingredients for quiche. She was hard-pressed to remember what went into a quiche. It was just a custard without the sugar, wasn’t it? As she was standing and staring stupidly into the white box, Uncle Jim came over and put his arm around her. “Janey, what’s wrong? You aren’t acting like yourself.”
    She shut the refrigerator door and hugged him hard. “I’m fine, Uncle Jim. Really fine. And the garage door works beautifully. Thanks for fixing it. I kept hoping something truly terrible would happen to it and I could persuade the insurance company to pay for fixing it.“
    “I don’t think you should be taking this class. It’s making you unhappy,“ he said to the top of her head.
    “No, it’s really not. I’m not unhappy. I’ve just got something on my mind.“
    “Anything I can help with?“
    “No, it’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s kind of exciting and nice. Let’s take a couple beers out on the