Grime and Punishment

of the cookies,“ she ordered, taking a bowl of tapioca out of the refrigerator.
    “Yuck!“
    “I’ve got to get the middle shelf cleared so everybody can put their food for the potluck in while I’m gone. I’m really irritated about the Happy Helper people sending this woman. I hate leaving someone I don’t know a thing about in the house when I can’t be here.“
    “You don’t know Edith either. You’ve only had her clean for you once before, haven’t you?“
    “Yes, but I know of her from the other people around here she’s been with for ages. Actually, I’d be glad to try someone else if I didn’t have to leave the house. I wasn’t all that impressed with the wonderful Edith. I know everybody raves about her, but I didn’t think she was so great. She smudged up more windows and mirrors than she cleaned, and I know for a fact she didn’t even touch the kids’ bathroom.“
    “How odd. Robbie Jones and Joyce Greenway swear by her, and Joyce is probably the most compulsive tidy person I’ve ever known—next to you, of course,“ Jane added.
    Shelley regarded her mania for cleanliness as an affliction. “I know it’s shallow of me, but I really love to clean,“ she’d said once. “You know my favorite shopping place in the world? The hardware store—the section with the industrial cleaners and mops and buckets. I sneak in sometimes just to look at the new products.“ Shelley was the only person Jane knew who actually apologized for her house being so immaculate.
    “I hope Edith isn’t sick or something,“ Jane went on. “I’m supposed to have her at my house tomorrow for the first time. I’ve never even seen this wonder woman.”
    The previous month Jane and Shelley’s regular cleaning lady had decided to give it up and go live with her married daughter in Little Rock, after being with them for years. Shelley had immediately set about finding a replacement. Edith had recently lost two of her regular customers, and Shelley got her for Thursdays and arranged for Jane to have her Fridays.
    Jane had originally decided not to get anyone, thinking she could do it herself and save money. Then she found out what sort of housekeeper she really was. Within two weeks it looked like a band of cossacks had been using the house.
    “I could come over and keep an eye on your Ramona, I guess. If you’re worried about leaving a stranger in the house,“ Jane said.
    “And what reason would you give for hanging around here all day when you live just next door?“
    “There is that.“
    “Don’t worry, Jane. It’ll be fine. If she goes off with the silver, I’ll worry about it later. The Happy Helper people are supposed to be bonded. Wouldn’t you eat some of that tapioca?“
    “Not if you set my hair on fire.”
    Jane cleaned up the kitchen when she got home, a slap-dash dean because the great Edith—or a substitute—would be along soon to take care of the residue. Max and Meow all but clung to her legs, howling pitifully for cat food while she worked. Willard simply sprawled, snoring, underfoot. She got them all fed, then started looking around for the ingredients for the carrot salad. Shelley had given her the recipe, but she’d lost it twice already and was afraid to admit to such chronic domestic carelessness. Not that Shelley would be surprised, of course.
    Jane was fairly certain she remembered it, though. Sliced carrots (“Fresh and cooked just to tenderness, Jane. Not those orange plastic circles they sell in cans.“), some onions (“Sliced paper-thin, not hacked-up chunks like you do in meat loaf. Your meat loaf always looks like Attila the Hun had a part in fixing it.“), and some sort of sauce. That was going to be the tricky part, faking a sauce. To the best of Jane’s recollection, it was based on some sort of salad dressing—Italian, most likely—and had some strange liquid added. Orange juice, Jane thought. Or maybe lime.
    Well, she didn’t have any carrots, so she’d have to hit the grocery store before she could begin. Who gave Shelley that recipe anyway? Jane closed her eyes, trying to remember where she’d had the dish. She could visualize the yellow bowl with the scalloped edges that the salad had been in... the tablecloth with the leaf motif... ah! She’d had it at Mary Ellen’s! Surely she’d know the recipe.
    She dialed, and on the third ring, a soft, husky voice answered.
    “Mary Ellen? Jane Jeffry. Hope I didn’t disturb you. I wondered if you had