A Quiche Before Dying

“Anybody could have had one. I’m not so sure it means anything anyway.“
    “Neither am I,“ Jane admitted. “But taken with the extra copy of the book and the flowers, it’s odd.“
    “I still think you’re wrong about the book being a mystery. You just accidentally picked up somebody else’s. And the flowers; are those the ones?”
    Jane carefully picked up the arrangement from thecounter and set it in the middle of the table. “Pretty, isn’t it?“
    “Gorgeous. Set somebody back a pretty penny. Why don’t you call the florist and ask if they have a record of who sent it?“
    “I thought about it, but got interested in Priscilla and forgot to do it.“
    “Priscilla? Who’s that?”
    Jane took a deep breath and explained to Shelley about the concept of writing a book.
    “Jane! That’s the job answer, don’t you see? If you’re any good at it, you can do it in your own time, make some extra money. This is a great idea. What’s the name of the book?”
    Murder was forgotten for the moment.
    “I don’t know. There’s a wolf in it, and I’d like to work ‘wolf’ into the title. It’s a dark story, sort of gothic, and ‘wolf’ is a great word for that mood. But it can’t just be Wolf for a title. It would sound like a publication of the National Geographic Society.“
    “Hmmm. Wolf whistle. Wolf in sheep’s clothing. No. All wrong. Wolf pack—“
    “No. Cry wolf?“
    “Maybe. Depends on the story. Holding a wolf by the ears—“
    “What’s that mean?“
    “It’s Greek, I think. It’s the same as holding a tiger by the tail. Gone to the wolves?“
    “That’s dogs. Gone to the dogs.“
    “Oh, yeah. She-wolf? Wolf bane? Wolf at the door?“
    “Wolf bane...“ Jane mused. “I like that. Bane is a good word. Gothic, a little spooky and ominous. A hint of the psychic. What is wolf bane?“
    “I have no idea. A plant, maybe? Or a drink? It couldn’t be a place, could it?“
    “No, I think it’s a plant. I’ll look it up. I like the sound of that. I hope it’s appropriate and isn’t a disfiguring disease or something.“
    “Good. We’ve solved one of the really important questions in life,“ Shelley said wryly. “Now all that’s left is murder. Frankly, I don’t think the birdcage and flowers have anything to do with it.“
    “You’re forgetting the extra copy of Mrs. Pryce’s book.“
    “I was trying to.“
    “But why would anybody leave the birdcage on the patio?“
    “How about this: Somebody saw it, thought you’d like it, and came over to give it to you. Maybe, when they saw your car wasn’t here, they sat down on the patio to wait and see if you came home soon. When you didn’t, they left it for you.“
    “Without a note?“
    “Didn’t have a pen and paper along. She meant to ask you later if you got it and hasn’t run into you yet.“
    “But everybody was in class but my mother.“
    “I don’t mean anybody in class, Jane. Just some friend. Your uncle Jim—well, maybe not—or Suzie Williams. Maybe it was for Katie!“
“Katie doesn’t have admirers who could afford a flower arrangement that cost a good sixty bucks.“
    “ No, but that’s a different matter.“
    “Is it? I still think there’s a connection.”
Shelley sighed. “All right. Let’s suppose there is—only for a moment, mind you. I don’t want to encourage these delusions. What would a book, a toy birdcage, and flowers have to do with the murder, and much more important, if they do have to do with it, why would someone give them to you?“
    “ As hints? Clues?“
    “But who would do that? The murderer? If he wanted to get caught, he’d just tell the police without you. And if he didn’t, he wouldn’t mess with you either.“
    “For the thrill of it? To increase the danger?“ Jane said, but shook her head as she was speaking. “What if somebody else knows or thinks they know who did it?“
    “Same questions,“ Shelley said. “Why tell you instead of the police, and why not say it right out if they wanted the person caught? Likewise, if they wanted to protect the murderer, they’d protect him instead of strewing clues around on purpose.”
    Jane leaned back in her chair and stared past Shelley at Meow swishing his tail furiously, pretending there was a mouse under the stove. At least Jane hoped he was pretending. “All right. I give up. You must be right. But it is still strange, especially the flowers.“
    “I’ll grant you that. But strange and murderous