A Quiche Before Dying

make you happy. Now, who else? Ruth and Naomi.“
    “One at a time. Naomi: Pryce was rude to her about her illness.”
    They looked at each other, trying to think of anything else. “She collects cookbooks,“ Shelley added.
    “Cookbooks tell you how to feed people, not how to poison them,“ Jane pointed out.
    “Okay. Right. What if the blood disease she has is AIDS and she doesn’t want anyone to know? You know how weird people are about AIDS. She could be a lot more sensitive to that sort of ‘get away, you’re contagious’ talk than she let on. Don’t look at me like that. I’m just theorizing.“
“Two, tops,“ Jane said, writing the number down. “Then Neufield has to be more than a three.“
    “What about Ruth?“
    “No motive except secondhand on her sister’s behalf. A one at the most.“
    “Don’t be hasty. She’s a very strong-minded woman. Takes action when it’s called for.“
“So do we, and it doesn’t mean we’re murderers.“
    “Who’s left? The maid.”
    Jane put her pencil down. “She’s a real unknown, isn’t she? She could have tons of motives we’d never guess. Do you think maybe that’s why they’re keeping her in the hospital so long? A sort of subtle house arrest?“
    “What’s VanDyne told you about her?“
    “Not much. And for all his apparent openness, he can keep confidences. He knew all about Grady’s wife and didn’t say anything about her. He might know all kinds of things about the maid.“
    “I think we have to give her a ten with a question mark.”
    Jane looked at the list again. “Well, on the theory that it’s the least likely person, it has to be Ruth or Naomi.“
“Or you, me, or your mother. We’re all zeros,“ Shelley pointed out. “Not even on the list, in fact.“
    “Good point.”
    Headlights swept the room as Jane’s station wagon turned in to the driveway. Shelley glanced at her watch. “My God! Paul will think I’ve been kidnapped.“ She hopped up and headed for the door, setting the empty juice glasses in the sink as she went. Jane stuffed her notes in the kitchen junk drawer.
    Shelley opened the door and turned back. “Jane, you didn’t tell me a thing about your date with VanDyne.”
    Jane grinned. “I didn’t, did I?”
     

19
     
    Jane stayed up late that night talking with her mother and daughter. Not about the murder, but about practically everything else. At one point, Cecily asked Katie point-blank, “What do you think about your mother dating?”
    That led to another hour of talk, some tears, a few feeble jokes, and a final understanding that Jane Jeffry wasn’t entirely over the hill, and might as well go out with men occasionally—so long as those men knew that Steve Jeffry had been a saint.
    Jane repressed the urge to remind Katie how she’d felt about her dad when he’d forbidden her to wear lipstick, or to go to the mall with her girlfriends. Shortly before his death, they’d nearly come to blows over whether she could wear jeans with the knees deliberately torn out. But then, maybe Katie would eventually forget about her tiffs with me as well, Jane told herself.
    “I’m glad you got that out in the open, Mom,“ Jane said to Cecily as they climbed the stairs shortly before one o’clock.
“There’s a lot you learn as a mother,“ Cecily said, yawning. “And there’s a few things you don’t understand until you’re a grandmother. Like the benefits of just wading in and thrashing it out. I wish I’d done that when you were at home.“
    “It’s too late now,“ Jane said with a smile. “And not necessary anymore, I hope.“
    “I’m glad you waded right in.”
    Cecily stopped midstep and took a deep breath. “Darling, I’ve learned something about myself lately. I’m a better grandmother than I was a mother.“
    “You were a wonderful mother. You still are.“
    “No. You’re a much better mother than I was. You’re always here for the children. I wasn’t. I’m proud of you. I guess I should have said that a lot sooner. Good night, chickie.”
    Jane hugged her, her eyes brimming with tears. “You haven’t called me chickie in ages. I kinda like it.”
    Jane couldn’t get to sleep for an hour. In a couple sentences, her mother had wiped out years of hidden resentments. Somehow, the fact that Cecily knew she’d failed, if only in a very small way, eliminated Jane’s grudge about it. It shouldn’t have been that simple, but it was. Maybe all she’d been waiting for was an