The Merchant of Menace

Citizen, who was sure to be one of her guests this evening, would see what her opinion was.
    She suddenly realized that she hadn’t ever invited the Johnsons to the party. That was really rude, having a block party next door and ignoring them. She didn’t have a telephone number for them, so she threw on a coat and boots and went next door. Though she could hear a television newscast, it took a long time for anyone to answer the doorbell and she was about to give up when Tiffany opened the door. “Oh, Miz Jeffry, come on in,“ she said. She was wearing a new-looking, but tacky robe—fluorescent pink with little white bobbles outlining the yoke.
    Jane followed her into the house and they were just sitting down as the sound of a computer printer started up. Tiffany looked startled, then trotted to a door at the back of the living room and said, “Billy, Miz Jeffry’s here to visit.“ She shut the door firmly. “Billy plays them computer games and sometimes prints out hints and stuff,“ she said.
    Why’s she explaining? Jane wondered. And then had the realization that Tiffany was lying. Billy was printing out something else entirely. She was sure of it. Maybe someone had put the Concerned Neighbor note on their door, too, and he was writing a rebuttal to pass out.
    Jane explained about the neighborhood caroling party and suggested tactfully that the John-sons join the others and perhaps could turn off their own sound system tonight. “It’s hard enough for some of us to carry a tune at all, without hearing something else at the same time,“ she said. “Then everybody’s coming to my house for a supper. Nothing fancy.“
    “That’s real nice, Miz Jeffry—“
    “Please, call me Jane.“
    “Okay, Jane. Can I bring something to the dinner? I could do up some hog jowls and beans. Or a mess of beets—?“
    “No,“ Jane said more forcefully than she intended. “I’ve got everything taken care of. All we need is you and Billy to join us.“
    “We’d be proud to,“ Tiffany said.
    In for a penny, in for a pound, Jane thought dismally. “Then tomorrow, I’m hosting a cookie party and I’d like for you to come to that, too. Just you. It’s a girl thing.“
    “What’s a cookie party?“
    “Everybody brings two dozen of their best cookie recipe,“ Jane explained. “All the plates are put out and then everyone goes around and chooses two dozen of other people’s cookies. That way, everyone goes home with a nice variety. Sometimes the ladies make up pretty little recipe cards to go with their contribution. But you don’t have to. Some like to keep their recipe a secret and that’s okay.“
    “Oh, Mi— Jane, what a nice neighborly idea. I’d love to come. I got a real good recipe for my granny’s tarts. That’s okay, isn’t it, if they ain’t exactly cookies? Or maybe I could make some of them little fluffy things.”
    Jane had visions of bottled marshmallow dip slathered on graham crackers. “That’s fine, Tiffany. Just so it’s not a cake or pie that has to be cut. Now I better get going. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
    Jane was as good as her word. Purse-sized notebook in hand, she started with the grocery store. She’d been so compulsive that she had several lists. First, the list of dishes she was serving, with the ingredients as headings, then she’d rearranged the individual items into shopping aisles so she wouldn’t have to go back for celery when she already had the onions. I’m so well organized, she preened silently, Shelley would be proud.
    She was able to get her groceries in record time and even made it home before the bags of ice started melting. To her surprise, Mike was awake, dressed, and watching for her. He brought in the bags of food and put the ice in the basement freezer while she set everything out in the order she was going to need it. “Mike, I need a favor. I have two hams ordered and ready to be picked up. I’ve already paid for them. Could you run and get them from the ham shop?”
    While he was gone, she started cooking. She filled several disposable aluminum pans with packaged scalloped potato mix, added thinly sliced red and green pepper rounds, and topped them off with extra cheese. No room in the fridge for them until it was time to put them in the oven, but she’d cleared a space in the garage, put down brown paper, and they could sit there under foil keeping cool until later. She threw together the five-bean salad, tossed it with the