Grime and Punishment

an accessory, but was completely cleared because—“ Jane stopped, listening. A car door slammed in one of their driveways. Nervous, they sat there, frozen like fugitives, until there was a light tap at Jane’s kitchen door.
    Jane peered through the curtains, then opened the door to Joyce Greenway. Her red convertible was parked in Shelley’s driveway.
    “Is Shelley here? Oh, hi, Shelley. I just stopped by to see if I could pick up that thing I brought the brisket in last week. I’m taking treats to the grade school this afternoon and I don’t have anything else big enough to serve—Shelley, what’s wrong? You look like a ghost.”
    Jane admired the way Shelley covered her built-up anxiety. “I just realized I put the brisket in the car to bring to you two hours ago. I completely forgot. If it wasn’t nasty before, it probably is now. I’m so sorry!“
    “Don’t be. Nobody in my family will eat it anyway. Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? Say, before I forget, I wanted to ask you about that costuming book—”
    Joyce was directing the local community theater production of The Importance of Being Earnest, and Shelley had agreed to help with the costumes. The two women fell into a discussion of patterns, giving Jane time to observe them and think quietly.
    This intrusion of normal, everyday concerns calmed her, and she considered Robbie’s motive for killing the cleaning lady. Driven by the need to protect her job and her daughter from the taint of her first husband’s public disgrace, she’d taken the ultimate step to keep it quiet. As horrible as the thought was, Jane felt a grudging sympathy for her.
    But for all that, could Jane automatically eliminate everyone else who was under suspicion? She thought not. If one woman had an adequate motive, it didn’t necessarily mean others didn’t. What about Joyce? A woman who dusted her luggage weekly, yet kept a cleaning lady who wasn’t very good? If blackmail wasn’t the reason for keeping Edith on, what was? Certainly not her charming personality.
    Jane propped her feet up on the vacant chair and leaned back, nursing her coffee along and studying Joyce with a trace of jealousy. She was simply adorable, there was no other word for it. Her fine, blond hair was fashionably kinky and fluffy and set off her fragile features—enormous blue eyes, a mouth that just missed being an old-fashioned Cupid’s bow. And the figure that went with this was perfect. Generous breasts and shapely hips on a slim, girlish frame.
    She looked—dammit!—about twenty-five. Jane knew they had to be the same age. Joyce might even be older than she. How dare she look so good? Of course, her husband was a plastic surgeon, and she’d probably had her full quota of eye lifts, tummy tucks, breast enlargements and whatever other miracles they could work these days.
    What could a woman like this need to hide? Something to her husband’s detriment, perhaps? Jane had doctor husbands on the brain. Would Joyce kill somebody to protect her husband? ‘he seldom mentioned him. He seemed to be a workaholic, while Joyce was a “social-holic.“ Jane couldn’t remember ever seeing them together. One or the other of them was always at soccer games and back-to-school nights—usually Joyce—but never both. Jane had never even seen him in the audience at the community theater productions. If there was a tremendous passion or loyalty in that marriage, it wasn’t evident.
    Aside from a possible motive, and probably more important, could she have done it? Was it physically possible? Strangling somebody must take a lot of strength. Certainly the victim fought back. Even Jane could probably toss tiny Joyce around like kindling if she tried. But, as she considered this, an image flashed through her mind. She’d gone with Shelley to a rehearsal one night last spring, and Joyce had been there, carting stage scenery around with the abandon of a seasoned dockhand. And then, if you add the sheer adrenaline of fear...
    Joyce had gotten sidetracked from theater concerns momentarily and was telling a Polish joke. “—and the other one said, ‘I know why we didn’t get any ducks. We weren’t throwing the dogs high enough.’ “
    Jane had heard it before and laughed politely. Shelley hadn’t, and her laugh was a bit giddy, just short of going out of control.
    Get your thoughts organized, Jane scolded herself. Supposing Joyce could have done it, why would she? Asking ‘Are you being