The Merchant of Menace

and telling him about her finances and how she managed to keep the house, unlike many divorced or widowed women did.
    Sam topped up her sangria and looked like he was about to ask her something else.
    “And what about you?“ she said quickly.
    “Oh, much the same, I think. My dad was closer to the .idiot side and could never keep a job. But the result was the same. Lots of moving, no sense of home. Not much sense of family either. Lots of times he’d have to work quite a while in a new job before he could send for us and in the meantime my mom had to work to make ends meet. I feel like you do about raising children in the same place.“
    “How long have you been here?“
    “Only a few years. Since Pet’s mother died. But it’s where we’re staying. And I’m lucky enough to have a job that lets me stay home and be available to her whenever she needs me.“
    “You speak of your wife’s death very calmly,“ Jane said.
    “And so do you of your husband’s,“ he pointed out.
    “That’s true. But at the end, it wasn’t a happy marriage,“ she said. One of the great understatements. Steve had been leaving her for another woman on an icy February night when his car hit a guardrail.
    “Neither was mine,“ he admitted. “I’ve got to check the cornbread.“
    “Can I do anything to help?“ Jane asked.
    “You could. I’m afraid I left the newspaper all over the dining room table. If you could just stuff it in the recycling bin in that closet.”
    Jane liked it when people accepted an offer to help as sincere. Besides, in this case it was a good way to put an end to what might be polite inquiry on his part, but was seeming more like a job interview.
    She gathered up the newspaper and opened the closet door. It was more of a pantry, really, with long shelves along one wall and recycling bins tucked under them. Sam Dwyer was, it appeared, seriously into recycling. In the paper bin there were not only newspapers, but cardboard egg cartons, leftover wrapping paper, magazines, a couple of flattened boxes. The metal bin was the same way. Not only soda and food cans, but even wads of used aluminum foil. This was a seriously overorganized person. Well, what could you expect from a man who actually wore an apron to cook? A masculine apron, but still... an apron.
    Smiling to herself, she realized she was in absolutely no danger of falling for him.
    This allowed her to enjoy her evening. The chili was spicy, but good, with lovely bits of real tomatoes in the sauce and a hint of some mysterious flavor she couldn’t quite pin down, but suspected was just a breath of nutmeg. Sam had also made cornbread with a green chili sauce and a lot of paprika in the mix that was fabulous. There were deviled eggs, crisp celery stalks with a cream cheese stuffing, and tiny crackers that looked a bit like spaetzle that had been boiled then baked. Sam preened about them. They were his own culinary invention, but he didn’t reveal the secret of making them. Just as well, Jane thought, she’d probably make a botch of it.
    The kids ignored the subtlety of the food and just wolfed it down as if they were starving. Todd had a soft drink with his dinner; Pet had her special milk poured from a lovely old-fashioned pitcher. Jane was astonished that Pet, who appeared rather fragile, managed to outeat Todd. How nice for Sam that he hadn’t gotten a picky eater for a child.
    As soon as they finished eating, the kids went back to their computer game, which Jane regretted. This was supposed to be a family gathering and it would have been nice if the family members had all stuck it out.
    Sam wasn’t in any hurry to clear the table and get on with dessert. After Jane had finished her effusive and heartfelt compliments on the meal, he went into questioning mode again. But this time, it was about Lance King, not Jane. This amused her. He, more than anyone else in the neighborhood, had seemed disinterested in it. He hadn’t, to her knowledge, walked up the block to ask the neighbors what was going on, which was what nearly everyone else had done.
    “What were the police doing this afternoon with rakes in the middle of winter?“ he asked.
    Jane figured enough people knew the answer that she wouldn’t be giving away anything she shouldn’t. “Apparently Lance King kept notes about people he might go after on a computer disk, rather than on the computer itself. At least, that’s what his assistant, Ginger, says. They haven’t found the disk