“Maybe. Have you located Chet yet?"
“No, he's not on that island they own, and nobody seems to know where he's gone. His assistant has promised to let me know the second he's found."
“You aren't still suspecting him, are you?”
“I'd be both crazy and negligent not to. How well do you know this guy?"
“I hardly knew him at all, but I know he adored Phyllis."
“Still? Or seventeen years ago?"
“What do you mean?"
“You got the idea that he adored her from her, didn't you?" VanDyne said. "Look, if she'd come here without that obnoxious son and just talked about him, wouldn't you have formed a different sort of impression? That he was a terrific kid who loved her? Maybe it's the same with her husband."
“I'm not convinced. But maybe you're right. So you think Chet killed her?”
He set his coffee cup by the sink and started strolling toward the front door. "You know I'm not supposed to discuss my opinions with the general public."
“That just means you don't have any idea yet—and I'm not the 'general public.' I'm Phyllis's friend. Probably the last person to see her alive except for the killer.”
VanDyne had reached the front door and was resting his hand lightly on the handle, giving her a long, cool look. "Yes, that's quite true, isn't it.”
Jane felt her heart sink. "Why—why you jerk! You didn't come here for a friendly chat. You came here to interrogate me. Am I one of your suspects?"
“At this stage, everybody is," he said calmly. There was something that looked suspiciously like a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.
“Not me! Get out!"
“Okay," he said, cheerfully ignoring her fury. "I'll see you later—Jane.”
She slammed the door behind him, then leaned on it, listening to Willard's renewed frenzy of barking. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. He was really maddening. But maddening was a lot better than boring.
Jane found herself wondering what it would be like to talk with him about something other than crime. What if he did actually ask her out sometime? What would they discuss? Where would they go? Just how much would they find they had in common? Would he find her the slightest bit interesting if he weren't trying to get specific information from her? And would she find him interesting once she got her fill of admiring his smile? She'd reached the dizzy point of speculating on what it would be like to kiss him when Willard, still incarcerated in the basement, let out a pitiful howl.
“I know just how you feel," she said to him.
Fourteen
Jane released Willard and went back to work on the vacuum cleaner. But she'd hardly gotten it together before there was another knock on the door. She opened it to find her friend Suzie Williams from down the street. "Jesus H. God, Jane, can't you shut that dog up?" Suzie asked.
She was a big, gorgeous woman who made a mockery of the entire theory of dieting. Built roughly along the lines of Mae West, she had masses of naturally curly, naturally platinum blond hair—or at least, it was artfully contrived to look natural. A buyer and saleswoman for the foundations section of the local department store, Suzie was also the living denial of the career woman. Though she was extremely successful at her job, she made no bones about her constant search for a man to first inhabit her bed and then, if sexually satisfactory, to fill her checkbook with lovely money that he made. In addition, she was the most refreshingly vulgar person Jane had ever known.
“Come in, Suzie. What are you doing at large in the middle of the day?"
“Watch that 'at large' talk," Suzie said, sailing through to the kitchen. "I was on my way home for lunch and saw a red MG in your driveway. So I cruised the block until it left. That was our old pal Detective VanDyne, wasn't it?"
“Yes, it was. I swear, that man makes me crazy."
“That good, huh?"
“That's not what I mean—more's the pity.”
“Cut through the crap, Jane. What was he doing here? If you're screwing him, I want every juicy detail. Then I want to know how I can get in line to be next. From the looks of his car and clothes, he makes a decent living." She fished in her purse, brought out a couple of candy canes, and offered one to Jane.
“No, thanks. I'm not screwing Mel VanDyne. Only daydreaming."
“Oh, it's 'Mel' now, is it? Jane, I'm short on time, and I'm missing my lunch to butt in here. Aren't you going to offer me a sandwich while you tell me everything?"
“I haven't got any bread that doesn't have green fuzz on it. Let's get a hamburger instead.”
They got into Suzie's car and went to the local McDonald's. While hunched hungrily over Big Macs ("None of that salad crap for me. I have to keep up my strength to spend an afternoon fitting corsets," Suzie said), Jane explained why Mel VanDyne had been at her house.
Suzie daintily chewed the last of her second order of large fries and said, "I'd opt for that asshole Finch. I'd like to see him in the clink whether he did it or not."
“What have you got against Mr. Finch?"
“Not half as much as he tried to put against me. I was out for a walk one day last summer, and as I passed his house, he latches on to me and starts yammering about his new toolshed. I guess it was the silly bastard's idea of flirting. Well, I didn't have much of anything I was in a hurry to do, and I figured, hell, why not let the old fool have the thrill of showing the damned thing to me? Well! He lures me into the shed thing, which reeks of insecticide, and all of a sudden he's all hands and pelvis."
“What did you do?"
“Kneed him in the crotch, of course. That really jarred his dentures. Silly old fool."
“He's not so old, is he?"
“I guess not. Only fifty or so, but that old-maid prissy sort of man always seems older. I'd chalked him up as gay before, which is why the whole thing took me so off guard. Men don't often take me by surprise."
“Suzie, I think you ought to tell VanDyne about this. Finch might have tried to rape Phyllis and ended up killing her."
“Rape? He wouldn't do that."
“But you said you had to fight him off."
“Oh, it wasn't so much that I had to as I got to. I was never in any danger. I was just pissed at him. No, I don't think Finch is really a strong possibility, much as I'd like him to be, and much as I'd like an excuse to have a chummy little visit with Vandyne. I think it's her husband or the stepson. Murder usually runs in families, you know."
“But her husband loved her."
“Horseshit! You weigh love against paying alimony, and love loses every time. Even my husband—asshole that he is—was real generous about everything until we got divorced. But it's like pulling teeth to get my child support every month—and he's crazy about our kid; he just can't stand the idea of me so much as getting to look at his money as it goes by."
“But Chet has lots of money. More than he needs."
“Come on, Jane! Nobody thinks they have more than they need. All the greed or drive or whatever the hell it takes to get it and keep it can't ever be turned off."
“Maybe you're right."
“You can bet on it. I've got to get back to work. There's a world of women out there who are too old to jiggle and crying out for my attention. You through with your lunch?”
As Suzie dropped her off at home, she said, "Oh, Jane, I nearly forgot. I got Monday off work to help with the bazaar. And I've always got Friday afternoons, so I can help you tomorrow, if you need me."
“We sure do. I'd nearly forgotten about the bazaar with all this other business.”