The Merchant of Menace

was vaguely grandmotherly, although she had no grandchildren. She had the same fair hair and ruddy complexion as her son Bruce. Jane didn’t know her terribly well, but liked her. Catherine was deeply, seriously into genealogy and when Jane and Shelley developed an interest in the subject, Catherine had been more than willing to answer their very stupid, beginner questions. And she did so with good cheer and grace.
    “I was sorry you couldn’t come to the party last night,“ Jane said. “Although it didn’t turn out to be very festive.“
    “I just couldn’t, dear. Not with the threat of that awful man being here. I can’t say I’m glad he’s dead, but I can’t say I’m sorry, either. Bruce told me he explained it all to you and Shelley.“
    “He did and it broke my heart,“ Jane said sincerely.
    “It’s a long time ago. One can’t dwell on heartache,“ Catherine said. Then she brightened in a deliberate manner. “How are you getting along with your genealogy, Shelley?”
    While Shelley and Catherine chatted, Jane watched as the others drifted back to the living room. Addie and Thelma were in conversation again, both of them still looking a bit cranky. Since the only thing they had in common was Jane herself, she was glad to be spared hearing them. Sam Dwyer had been cornered by Julie Newton. Julie’s bouncy perkiness seemed to disconcert him. He almost flinched every time she made one of her grand gestures—and she was making a lot of them. Sharon Wilhite and Tiffany Johnson were trying to find some everyday subject for conversation and apparently finding it heavy going. One would speak and the other would look interested but perplexed. Then they’d reverse the process. Then, as Jane observed them, they both laughed. Apparently the death of the ex-husband of one woman, the site of that death being the home of the other, hadn’t really harmed either of them.
    If Lance King were looking down (or up, more likely) on this scene from wherever his mean spirit had gone, he must have been severely disappointed at how little his passing had meant.

Fifteen

    The guests started drifting off around three- thirty and Jane was reminded of one of the things she’d always loved about the cookie parties. Everyone always brought a lot more cookies than they were supposed to and took away only a few more than specified, with the result that the hostess ended up with a hearty supply of everyone else’s baking efforts. She’d probably gain ten pounds by New Year’s, but what was January good for except dieting?
    Jane stood at the door, hugging an afghan around her shoulders to keep warm, bidding everyone good-bye, making sure they had the right hats, gloves, boots, and their box of cookies. Mel arrived again as the last stragglers departed. “Hi, Janey,“ he said brightly. “Guess what?”
    She grinned at him. He’d cheered up considerably since the last time she’d talked to him. “Okay... you got a raise? A Christmas bonus? An Oscar for being my leading man?“
    “You aim too high, Janey,“ he said, giving her a light peck of a kiss. “I got my furnace fixed. On a Saturday!”
    It was all Jane could do to keep from shouting, “WHOOPEE!”
    “ On a Saturday,“ she said calmly. “Imagine that.“
    “So I can take Mom off your hands.”
    Jane could afford to be gracious now. “Oh, she hasn’t been a bit of trouble, Mel.“
    “Oh—well. Maybe she’d rather stay here, then.“
    “No, no, no! I mean, I’m sure she wouldn’t. She came to see you, Mel. Not camp out here with all the kids and noise.”
    Men could be such dim-bulbs about their mothers.
    Addie, still deep in conversation with Thelma, was informed that she was moving and went upstairs to pack. And probably to have another shot at moving the furniture, Jane thought. Shelley saw to it that Thelma was levered out the door without getting another chance to take Jane to task about the Great Check Delivery Debate and was in the kitchen putting soiled plastic plates and cups into a trash bag when Mel and Jane oined her. “Excellent party, Jane,“ Shelley said, giving the trash bag an expert twirl and closing it up with a plastic gizmo. “Almost no mention of the late and not very lamented Lance King.“
    “It was a nice party, wasn’t it?“ Jane said. “Mel, I’ve got a ton of leftover cookies. Want some?“
    “Just to help you out.“
    “Speaking of Lance King, how’s it going?“ Shelley asked.
    “Not well. Not well at