The Merchant of Menace

appraising look and said, “Jane, is there anything I can do to help?”
    Jane introduced Thelma to Sam and said, “No, I think everything’s under control. There are two more people I believe are coming. We’ll give them another five minutes before turning everybody loose on the cookie distribution.”
    Thelma gave Sam another close look. She appeared to be faintly disapproving of his presence as an invited guest, but since she was faintly disapproving of most things Jane did, this wasn’t surprising.
    “You live here on the block, Mr. Dwyer?“ Thelma asked.
    “Yes, in the blue house down the street and across. My daughter Pet is a friend of Todd’s.”
    He was smiling slightly and Jane suspected that he knew Thelma was dying to grill him about his presence among the women on the block. “I think maybe I should meet some more of my neighbors,“ he said.
    When he’d left the room, Thelma said, “What is he doing here? I didn’t think men were invited.“
    “He’s a single, stay-at-home parent, Thelma. A widower. He hasn’t been very sociable until now. I think it’s nice that he came.“
    “I suppose it is, but it’s certainly odd. What’s this I hear about Lance King?“ she asked with an abrupt shift. “I heard some of your other guests talking about his death. I didn’t have time to read the paper this morning and didn’t know.“
    “He fell off the roof next door and died,“ Jane said bluntly.
    “But someone said he’d just been here. In your house.“
    “Unlike Sam Dwyer, Lance King was not here at my invitation, Thelma.“
    “What was he doing on the neighbors’ roof?“
    “Snooping, apparently. Scouting for a place for setting up a camera or listening device possibly.“
    “Dreadful man!“ Thelma said. “Not that one wishes dreadful people to die, of course. Still, he was a terrible person. Always going after people who couldn’t defend themselves against him. I lived in fear—“ She stopped.
    “That he’d go after the family pharmacies?“
    “No, of course not.“ She paused. “Well, yes. Not that we had anything to really fear, but he seemed to just make things up, just to stir the pot.“
    “He did, indeed.“
    “So he just fell off the roof?”
    Jane debated with herself for a moment.
    Surely the newspaper or television reporters had already gotten wind of the fact that Lance King was probably murdered. After all, the bright yellow crime scene tapes around the Johnsons’ house were pretty much of a tip-off. No point in keeping Thelma in the dark. “I don’t think he managed it by himself,“ Jane said.
    “What do you mean?“
    “That it’s likely that he was pushed off the roof.”
    Thelma gasped. “Murdered? Right next door to you?“
    “Better there than here,“ Jane said.
    “Oh, Jane. Don’t even say such a thing. I had no idea! Who did it? Who killed him?“
    “I don’t know. The police are investigating.”
    Thelma shifted gears again. “Jane, I want to talk to you about this business about your monthly check—”
    Fortunately, Shelley interrupted at exactly the right moment. “I think everybody’s here, Jane.
    They’re all stoked up on cider and coffee. Want me to invite them to eat?“
    “Yes! But I’ll do it,“ she said, frantic to escape Thelma. She’d spent most of a week gearing herself up for the earlier confrontation, but wasn’t ready for another round.
    Everyone was full of praise for Jane’s table and the variety of goodies. Jane had tiny plates set out for sampling the sugary feast. Later everyone would be given pretty little boxes to take home a mixture of cookies. Jane was sorry the tradition had been allowed to lapse for several years and glad that she’d been the one to revive it. While the guests were gushing and choosing, she went into the living room. As she passed by the stairs, Addle was just coming down. She started to say something, thought better of it, and merely nodded to Jane with a faint, artificial smile. Jane smiled back.
    Shelley was sitting by herself on the sofa. Jane joined her and whispered, “Addie’s just been upstairs.”
    Shelley grinned. “Did she say anything?”
    “Not a word.”
    They giggled like schoolgirls.
    “It’s such a joy to see you enjoying your own party,“ Catherine Pargeter said, sitting down awkwardly in the squishy armchair. “Oh, dear, it’s probably going to take a crane to get me back out of here.”
    Catherine was in her late fifties, a bit on the heavy side, and