Grime and Punishment

Shelley’s. There was only one person besides the driver. The door opened and Edith got out. Jane had been afraid she wouldn’t show up, in spite of Shelley’s efforts.
    At nine-thirty, Jane strolled across the two driveways and knocked on Shelley’s door. “Come in,“ Shelley said.
    “Where’s Edith?“ Jane asked.
    “Upstairs in the master bedroom with an officer, being questioned and kept out of sight.”
    There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the room above, a male voice mumbling from the basement stairway, and Mel VanDyne and another man were in the living room, talking quietly over some paper work. He looked up at the sound of Jane’s voice. “Ah, Mrs. Jeffry. Are you ready to leave?“ He sounded cranky.
    “No, I’m not leaving,“ Jane said.
    “What?“ Shelley and VanDyne spoke in unison.
    “This is my idea and I’m going to see it through,“ Jane insisted.
    “Oh, it’s your idea, all right,“ VanDyne drawled sarcastically, “but you’re not seeing it through. In fact, if you don’t get out of here right now, I’ll have you arrested and taken away for interfering with an officer doing his duty.“
    “Jane, be sensible,“ Shelley implored. “If we aren’t seen leaving, it’ll wreck the plan. The whole point is to make it appear Edith is here alone. Come along right now!”
    Jane might have marshaled a further argument, except at that moment her attention was diverted to a figure at the head of the stairway. Edith. No, not Edith. A woman with blond frizzy hair and a Happy Helper uniform that looked very much like the cleaning lady. “Hey, Mel, what time you got?“ the figure said in a deep, male voice.
    “That’s a man!“ Jane exclaimed.
    “You didn’t think they’d let the murderer actually attack Edith, did you?“ Shelley asked. In a single, quick motion, she grabbed Jane’s arm and steered her out the kitchen door before she could protest.
    As per their instructions, they dawdled along, taking their time getting into Jane’s station wagon. Shelley stopped and pointed to Jane’s house and pretended to talk about the roof. Then they turned and looked at Shelley’s roof. All this was to make sure that anyone who might be watching didn’t miss their departure.
    While they stood there, Mary Ellen Revere emerged from her house to get the paper and waved with her good arm. Suzie Williams tooted the horn merrily as she passed on her way to work. The Staplers’ house showed no signs of life. Nor could Jane recognize any of the cars parked here and there along the street as suspicious.
    At a discreet hand sign from Jane’s kitchen window, she and Shelley got in the car and drove off. “Where are we going?“ Shelley asked.
    Jane didn’t answer for a minute, then said, “Anywhere we want, just so they think we’ve gone, but we’re coming back. I want to see what happens and make sure VanDyne doesn’t screw anything up.“
    “If he heard you say that, he’d probably shoot you. I’m not sure I’d blame him. We are not going back until it’s over.“
    “But Shelley—“
    “No ‘buts.’ Consider yourself taken captive. I won’t take you back there.”
    They stopped at a fast-food drive-through and got danishes and coffee. Jane reluctantly dragged out a city map and pretended to look it over for possible destinations. “I know,“ Shelley said. “I know where there’s a gardening supply store. Let’s go look at bulbs and seeds and things. By the time we get there, have a nice look around and long lunch someplace, and then drive home, that ought to effectively eat up most of the day. Take a left out of here and then a right at the next stop light.”
    Jane opened her mouth to make one last appeal to return to the stakeout, but Shelley’s warning glance froze the words in her throat. When Shelley got that look, there was no changing her mind.
    In spite of her worries about what was going on back at home, Jane managed to get into the spirit of shopping. A clerk was eager to help her, and unwilling to let her buy more than she could handle in the first year of gardening. Jane started accumulating little bags of bulbs that soon grew to an armful. When she dropped one, the clerk said, “Let’s find something to put those in.”
    Near them on the floor there was a big, round-bottomed stainless steel mixing bowl someone had used to clean up some spilled potting soil. Flecks still adhered to the inside. “Bulbs won’t mind a little dirt. The outside is