Grime and Punishment

that it would all come in handy sooner or later.
    She passed the Staplers’ house. The red MG was parked in front. VanDyne must be questioning everyone. Her attention was soon diverted as she passed the Happy Helper van going the other way at the end of the street, and had a horrible shock as she pulled in her driveway. It was like yesterday, but a mirror image—her house instead of Shelley’s. Standing at her kitchen door was Mrs. Thurgood!
    Jane slammed on the brakes and the woman turned. No, of course it wasn’t the dead cleaning lady, but she was of a similar build with frizzy, blond hair. That and the blue uniform gave a scary impression.
    “You must be Edith,“ Jane said, hoping the fact that she was carrying a huge, heavy sack would account for her breathlessness.
    “That’s right,“ Edith said, without offering to help. She merely stood back like company as Jane struggled to fit her key in the lock while balancing the cleaning materials. This didn’t bode well, but then the woman’s job didn’t really start until she got inside. Jane knew her opinions of the moment were being influenced by Dorothy Wallenberg’s claims. Still, it was odd that people had such widely different impressions of Edith.
    While Jane showed her around and mentioned a few of the things she was particularly concerned about having done, Edith just sauntered along behind her, making the occasional affirmative noise. Jane couldn’t figure out whether the woman took it all as a matter of course, or whether she simply wasn’t interested in what Jane was saying. Neither of them referred to the events of the day before, even though it was obvious Edith must have known what had befallen her substitute. Jane kept feeling she ought to say something sympathetic, but didn’t know what.
    The tour was mercifully interrupted by the phone. Jane left Edith to strip the beds and ran downstairs to answer it. It was Uncle Jim.
    “Honey, I just read the papers. That was right on your block, wasn’t it? Are you all right?“
    “You mean the murder? Yes, it was next door, at Shelley’s, but I’m fine. Just kinda shaky.“
    “You want me to come stay with you until this is sorted out? I don’t like to think about you and the kids there by yourselves.“
    “That’s nice of you to offer, but you’d have an hour and a half drive each way to work.”
    “I wouldn’t mind.“
    “Well, I would. No, I’m okay. Really. See you Sunday.”
    She had only a half hour before driving her blind kids, but she took the time for a quick shower and sprayed on a tiny, precious bit of the Giorgio perfume to which she’d treated herself for her birthday. These kids, having lost one sense, had developed the others to a high degree. It was a running joke with them to guess what sort of soap and shampoo she’d used, and they could often tell if she’d been to the store recently because of the scent of onions or cleaning materials or whatever she’d carted around in the station wagon.
    As she flew through the kitchen, she found Edith leaning on the counter, gazing out the window and languidly sipping at a cup of coffee. There was no sign of her having done any cleaning at all.

    Jane had a delightful morning with her kids. They identified the perfume right away, and knew about the cleaning materials. One of them also pointed out that there was a weak spot in the upholstery in the back seat, and the muffler didn’t sound at all good.
    The previous spring Jane had told the teacher that, come the new school year, she wanted to start learning how to help these kids in a more concrete way than simply acting as taxi driver. So, during class, she was blindfolded. “You can’t pretend you’re blind, Mrs. Jeffry,“ the teacher said. “You won’t be really motivated unless you experience not seeing.”
    Jane acquired a few bruises trying to get through a maze of chairs using a cane, and discovered she had insensitive, if not downright numb, fingertips when she was introduced to braille. Still, as she drove home, she felt she’d gained valuable insight into what these children faced.
    The experience gave her a lot to think about. Back in February, when Steve died, her great-aunt May had phoned to say, “My dear, I’m going to tell you the best advice I got when I was widowed and I want you to follow it. Do nothing for a year. Make no changes, no decisions that aren’t necessary. Too many new widows dash into things they shouldn’t before they’ve come