The Merchant of Menace

his brother, Ted, and his mother, Thelma, had jointly owned a small chain of pharmacies. Early in Jane and Steve’s marriage, there had been a severe financial crunch and Jane had contributed a small inheritance to the pharmacies to help keep the business afloat. Steve had insisted that under the circumstances, a contract would be drawn up to make his third of future profits Jane’s as well. So, though Steve had been dead for years now, Jane was still entitled to her one-third share. Steve hadn’t intended to die, of course. The contract was pure sentiment—a means of thanking his then-new wife.
    But since his death, Thelma had performed the monthly ritual of giving Jane her check as though it were a present—out of the goodness of her heart. And as the years went on, Jane had become more resentful and humiliated with each presentation. But from now on, things would be different. It was Jane’s own gift to herself.
    She took the check from Thelma, folded it neatly, and put it in her pocket. With a smile, she said, “Thelma, that’s the last time you will need to put yourself out this way.“
    “What do you mean?“ Thelma said brightly, apparently thinking Jane meant to forgo her share of the profits.
    “I talked to the bank this week and arranged to have the funds transferred automatically to my account.“ This wasn’t strictly true. The pharmacy’s accountant would have to approve it, but Jane would talk to him later. “You won’t even have to bother with the check anymore.”
    Thelma was taken completely off-guard. “But Jane, I like giving you the check,“ she said.
    Jane kept her smile frozen in place. “I know you do, but I don’t like it, Thelma. This will work out much better.”
    Shelley threw herself into the momentary silence while Thelma was gathering her wits for a riposte. “Jane, what an excellent idea that is! How very considerate of you to save Mrs. Jeffry the trouble of hand-delivering it. And how much easier it will make the bookkeeping.”
    Suzie, who had no idea of what the underlying current was, but recognizing that it was in full flood, contributed, “I have my paycheck done that way. Straight into the bank electronically. Saves all the concern about a check ever getting lost. And it’s a lot easier for me and the company at tax time. All the transactions are recorded automatically and a machine just spits them out in January.“
    “But—“ Thelma stuttered.
    “It will be better for everyone this way,“ Jane said firmly. Very firmly.
    The doorbell rang and Jane said, “Oh, more of our guests,“ as she left the kitchen. She paused in the front hall and did a quiet little victory dance before opening the door wearing a manic smile.

Fourteen

    Two of the older ladies on the block were at the door, looking rather alarmed by Jane’s excessively enthusiastic welcome. Jane saw Mel pulling into the driveway to deliver his mother. Jane ushered in the two neighbors and took their coats and cookie boxes and heard Shelley, in the kitchen, introducing Addie VanDyne to Thelma Jeffry. Wonder what they’ll make of each other, Jane thought. Mincemeat, most likely.
    Mel left without even coming in the house. Jane hurriedly set more cookies out on trays and waited at the front door for the next guests. A clump of ladies all converged at the same time. One of them was Sharon Wilhite. Jane was eager to get her aside and question her about Lance King, but not in front of the mob of cookie-bearing neighbors.
    The party showed every sign of being a grand success. The dining room table was laden with trays of cookies—everybody’s most elaborate recipes. Spritz cookies with fancy shapes and Christmas colors, date-roll cookies, tiny iced nutmeg logs, gingersnaps, rum balls—a cornucopia of sugary delights. The house smelled of pine boughs and hot cinnamon cider and the rich scent of the Godiva coffee Jane practically had to take a loan out to purchase.
    It put last night’s disastrous party out of Jane’s mind. This was a good neighborhood party, a celebration of the holidays without a threat in their midst. Unless, of course, one of these women had hoisted herself up the ladder—no, she wouldn’t let herself think about that right now.
    Tiffany Johnson arrived by herself, clad in an ill-fitting red organdy-over-taffeta frock that was obviously expensive and totally inappropriate. Jane went out of her way to make Tiffany welcome, although the woman obviously hadn’t clued in that