Silence Of The Hams

didn’t know the nature of the relationship—well, Todd seemed unaware that Mel was anything more than Mom’s friend. Katie understood, but doggedly pretended not to, which left her in the difficult position of having to both ignore and disapprove of the same thing. Only Mike seemed okay with it. Jane knew her attitude was stodgy and priggish, but she couldn’t help it. And she suspected that Mel, while he claimed to be perplexed by her attitude, didn’t truly relish the idea of making love to her in the same bed she’d shared with her husband.

    In the morning, she left the still-sleeping kids a note and sat down on the front porch to wait for Mel. When he drove up, she went straight to his little red MG and hopped in. “You look great,“ he said.
    She had a new summer dress Shelley had forced her to buy. It was an old-fashioned white eyelet fabric lined with a pale blue fabric, and had a rather naked bodice held up by spaghetti straps. “I’d look like a beached albino whale in that!“ Jane had said when Shelley whipped the dress off the rack and held it up.
    “No, you’ll look great. Tan is out these days,“ Shelley had assured her. “And you can wear a nice lacy summer sweater with it if you want.”
    Apparently Shelley had been right. As usual.
    “Thanks, Mel. I feel like I’m going around in public in a nightgown, but Shelley assures me I’m stylish. You look good, too.”
    They went to a restaurant a few miles away that specialized in fancy brunches. Jane managed to put away most of a mushroom and artichoke omelet without spilling anything on herself. Mel knocked back eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns, grilled tomatoes, an enormous sweet roll, two glasses of orange juice, and coffee. “If I ate that much, you’d have to roll me home,“ Jane complained.
    They chatted about various harmless subjects while they ate—the graduation, Mike’s new truck, and their plans for a weekend in Wisconsin later in the month. They were very careful not to talk about the recent deaths. When they left the restaurant, Mel drove to a nearby park where they could speak privately. Mel got out, removed a briefcase from the trunk of the car, and sat back down to rummage for a moment among the papers inside. He handed Jane a photocopy of a typed sheet.
    “Take a look,“ he said.
    She skimmed it quickly. “It’s notes from the time I talked to Stonecipher about setting up trusts for my kids,“ she said, giving it back.
    “And this one?“ He gave her another photocopy. This was handwritten. And the sketchy phrases were about Jane’s late husband—his date of death, his involvement in the family pharmacy business, his income. There were notes about Thelma, including a few rash, if not downright insulting, remarks Jane had made about her. And another about the pharmacy having difficulties with the IRS with the comment, “Fraud?“ underlined.
    Jane felt herself grow hot and uncomfortable. She gave the paper back to Mel, even though what she wanted to do was crumple it and throw it away.
    Mel put it back in the briefcase. “The first sheet was from your file in Stonecipher’s office. The official file. The second was in a folder in Emma Weyrich’s bedroom.”
    Jane felt leaden. “Emma’s bedroom? Why did she have it?“ she asked finally.
    “I think she intended to talk to you about it. At your four o’clock appointment.”
    Mel looked at her for a long moment. “I think she considered you blackmailable.“
    “Me? But why? Because I made a few cranky cracks about my mother-in-law? Or because that jerk thought the Jeffry family was cheating on their taxes? Fraud! The nerve of him. It was just a fight over allowable deductions, which the company won eventually. There was no question of fraud.“
    “She didn’t know that. And wouldn’t have until she spoke to you about it. When she approached you after the graduation ceremony, she didn’t mention your husband or his family, did she?“
    “No, of course not. She just summoned me.”
    “You’re positive of that?”
    Jane bridled. “I told you so. Before she died, in fact.”
    He took her hand. “I’m sorry, Janey. I warned you this was official.“
    “Are you saying I’m a suspect in her death, Detective VanDyne?“ she snapped, pulling her hand away.
    “No, I’m saying you’re not. You see, this was in a folder. Like this one,“ he added, taking a brand-new file folder out of the briefcase. It was a hanging-type file, with two light metal