Grime and Punishment

that carrot salad recipe. Shelley gave me orders to make it for tonight, but I’ve lost the recipe.“
    “I’ve got a recipe, but it might not be the same. Why don’t you just get it from Shelley?“
    “She’s gone for the day, or getting ready to go if she hasn’t left yet,“ Jane said, unwilling to admit she didn’t want to face Shelley’s wrath.
    “Oh, yes. To have lunch with her sister or something at the airport. She told me Monday, when I was collecting for the Cancer Society. Just a minute—my buzzer’s going off.“
    “I’ll just run over and get the recipe.”
    Jane peered out the kitchen window. Good. Shelley’s minivan was gone. But, just in case, she sprinted across the street to Mary Ellen’s house and lurked behind the tall evergreen next to the door until Mary Ellen let her in.
    Mary Ellen was a real beauty. Her appearance was stereotypically southern California; very tan, streaked blond hair, a lot of makeup applied so skillfully that it looked like nearly none, and trendy clothes. She, too, was in a tennis outfit, but it was apparent she wasn’t going to play anytime soon. Her right arm was in a cast from thumb to past her elbow. “How’s it feeling?“ Jane asked.
    “Fine, so long as I don’t try to use it. And I keep banging the cast into things.“
    “Shelley said you fell in the grocery store parking lot?“
    “Yes, but not the grocery store down the street. I’d driven clear over to Oakview because somebody told me they had a good fish market. I never did find it, so I just ran into a strange store for a pack of cigarettes. I slipped on something as I came out. A nice man who was just behind me helped me up and took me to the emergency room of the community hospital.”
    Mary Ellen had put a cup and saucer in the dishwasher and pushed several buttons on a control panel that looked like part of NORAD as she spoke. Still using only her left hand, she was awkwardly rummaging in a recipe-card box. She tried to use her right hand to take out a card and winced.
    “I always wanted a cast when I was a kid,“ Jane mused. “So people could write things on it. But I never broke a thing. I tried to make a cast once when my sister had some plaster of paris for a hobby project, but it just looked like I’d grown a limestone arm. My mother made me break it off and it took all the hair on my arm along with it. God, it hurts to remember.”
    Mary Ellen looked so pale that Jane was suddenly stricken with guilt. “Never mind the recipe. I shouldn’t be bothering you.“
    “It’s all right. Here it is,“ Mary Ellen said, handing her a card. “I think Shelley adds a little lemon juice and parsley to hers. Just don’t lose the recipe card.“
    “Oh, I won’t,“ Jane assured her, glad Shelley wasn’t around to hear her making such a rash promise.
    Mary Ellen walked to the door with her, and as they passed the den, Jane noticed that the computer was on and the screen was filled with some sort of graph. Mary Ellen had something to do with an investment group. Jane had never quite understood it or wanted to. All she knew was that it was extremely lucrative, and Mary Ellen did it at home most of the time, but had an office somewhere in Chicago where she went once every week or so. Steve had told her more, back when he’d been in his investment phase, but she hadn’t been very interested. “So you can at least work?“
    “What? Oh, yes. A little. Just with the one hand, though. It’s very slow.”
    The phone began to ring. “Go ahead. I’ll let myself out.”
    Jane hurried home, still half-afraid Shelley would catch her. Safely inside her own kitchen, she looked at the card and groaned.
    Tangerine juice! Where the hell was she going to get tangerine juice?

Three

    Jane was standing at the kitchen window, miserably contemplating where she’d find the elusive ingredient, when she heard Shelley’s minivan pull back into the driveway between their houses. She must have taken the dog to the kennel and come back before going on to the airport. Thank heaven she hadn’t been a minute earlier and caught Jane galloping across the street, waving a recipe card like a red flag.
    Jane paced around a minute to see if Shelley would come right back out. Willard had inhaled his breakfast, and she shoved him out the back door into the fenced yard. He looked around cautiously to see if anyone was lurking there to get him. Willard, whose life’s ambition was to escape into the front yard, was