A Quiche Before Dying

be late.“
    “Ready? All I have to do is pick up my purse and car keys.”
    Unfortunately, the car keys had hidden themselves, so they spent a frantic five minutes rummaging through the house and hurling accusations at each other before the keys were discovered lurking under a sofa cushion.
    Katie’s job, as far as the swimming pool management was concerned, was playing with the little ones in the baby pool. In her own view, her primary responsibility was getting a tan. “It’s looking good, isn’t it, Mom?“ she said, propping a slim brown leg on the dashboard.
    “It is, indeed,“ Jane said, executing what her friend Shelley called a “running stop“ at the corner. “It’s a shame it’s not good for you. No! I really meant that conversationally,“ she said as a cloud of surliness drifted across Katie’s face. “It wasn’t a mom-nag.“
    “Jenny’s mother is bringing us home, so you don’t have to pick me up,“ Katie said. “When is Nana coming?“
    “Sometime this afternoon. She didn’t say exactly. You’ll plan to stick around with her, won’t you? She’s coming to see you more than me.“
    “Of course. I like Nana. She’s excellent. Do you think she’ll take me shopping? I’m off tomorrow.“
    “I’m sure she will,“ Jane said, remembering the last time her mother and daughter had gone shopping and came home with armloads of impractical and unsuitable clothes for Katie. A silk blouse, for God’s sake! That was a lifetime investment in dry cleaning, and about the time Jane was starting to feel she had a serious financial stake in the garment, Katie decided green wasn’t her color and gave it to Jenny. Of course, Jane’s mother had always had a staff to take care of laundry, so she probably had no idea what silk really meant to the average housewife. Jane had to believe that. The alternative explanation was that her mother really meant to make things harder for her.
    “Why isn’t Grump coming?“ Katie asked.
    Jane smiled at the fact that Katie still called her grandfather by the name her brother Mike had given him. It wasn’t a reflection on Jane’s father’s personality—he was an extremely affable man—but an infant mispronunciation of “Grampa“ that had stuck. “He’s in some Arabian country,“ Jane explained, “and you know how Nana hates to go to those places where they expect women to hide indoors.“
    “Yuck! I’d hate it too.”
    Jane glanced at Katie’s bare legs. “You sure would. If you went out like that, they’d stone you.”
    Katie’s interest in cultural comparison was fleeting. “There’s a great pair of shorts and a matching top at that shop next to the jewelry store. I think we’ll start there.“
    “Here you are, kiddo,“ Jane said, pulling to a stop in front of the pool entrance.
    Jane made a quick detour to the grocery store before heading home. She felt as if she really ought to buy caviar and some of those miniature vegetables that were so trendy. Her mother was used to eating the extraordinary cuisine that the best chefs in the world turned out. But she always claimed to enjoy Jane’s ordinary cooking, whether she meant it or not. Accordingly, Jane went through the store on autopilot, got the same things she did every week, and headed for home.
    Out of a sense of duty, if not enthusiasm, she did a little straightening up after she put the groceries away, then settled back down with the manuscripts. She finally picked up her mother’s—neatly typed, of course—and began to read. Her mother had started out in a third-person fictional mode, telling of a girl named Cecily Burke attending her debutante ball and meeting a handsome man named Michael Grant, who had just started working for the State Department. Jane knew the story, of course, how her mother lost her charm bracelet, and it was returned by messenger the next day with a new charm attached—a silver heart engraved MHG.
    Naturally her mother’s story started with meeting her father.
    The chapter was well written, spritely, and, in technical terms, as well groomed, tactful, and self-controlled as her mother. It ended: “It was as if my life before that night had been a long preparation for meeting Michael....“ Nice, Jane thought. A good transition to first person and going back to the beginning in the second chapter to come. And yet, the sentiment left her feeling grouchy, and guilty about feeling grouchy. This was an old, old problem between them. Jane, you’re