Pet waited safely and patiently while Shelley backed up in her usual hell-for-leather driving style. "I wonder if the idea of asking for an invitation was Pet's or her dad's?" Shelley said when they were on their way.
“Huh? Oh, good question," Jane said, preoccupied. "Sounds like it might have been his, since she said he was already making fudge. I really should have invited him without Pet prodding me to be polite.”
They didn't speak again until they reached a little neighborhood Chinese restaurant that was one of their favorite spots to eat. It was barely eleven-fifteen and they were the first and only customers as yet. Luncheon was a buffet that was just being set out. Shelley ordered jasmine tea for both of them, then leaned forward and said, "Spill the beans, kiddo. What are you so pissed about?"
“She rearranged the sewing room. Actually moved the bed to the other wall and put the sewing table in front of the window."
“Addie moved a bed?"
“It's just a flimsy little bed and it's on rollers. But that's not the point. It's my house. My sew‑ ing room. I don't care that there's better light for sewing nearer the window. I had it like I liked it. I can't believe a woman of her sophistication would think that was acceptable guest behavior!"
“Oh, Jane! Get a grip! Of course she knows that. You're missing the point."
“Which is?"
“She's showing you what kind of mother-in-law she could be if you dare to marry her baby boy.”
Jane stared at Shelley for a minute, then said, "You're right." Suddenly the whole incident struck her as funny. "She could have done worse. Dyed her hair and destroyed the bathroom. Or washed all my sweaters with bleach. I got off easy, I guess."
“You have to nip this in the bud, Jane, before she thinks of something else."
“Oh, I will," Jane said, grinning like a hyena.
Shelley cocked a shapely eyebrow, but didn't inquire further. She glanced at the buffet table. "Oh, look, they're bringing out that divine spicy beef and scallops thing!”
The two of them hardly talked during lunch, wolfing down their favorite Chinese food in a most unladylike manner. Finally, they sat back, sated and feeling stuffed and greasy.
Jane cracked open her fortune cookie. " ' The wise man uses his time as if it were a treasure,' " she read. "Phooey! That's not a fortune, it's a homily. I want real fortunes in fortune cookies. Like, 'You will inherit vast- sums of money in seventeen days,' or 'Your daughter will take good care of you when you get old and dottyand want to wear your panties on your head.' What's yours say?”
Shelley unfolded the little white strip of paper. "Your son will get a full scholarship to Harvard.' "
“No! It does not," Jane said, snatching at the paper, which Shelley held just beyond her reach. The waitress brought them a fresh pot of jasmine tea. Shelley checked her watch. "We don't need to leave quite yet. I wonder what they said on the noon news about Lance King's death?”
Jane shrugged. "Maybe that a celebration parade is being planned. How could anyone actually want to be disliked?"
“I think it goes back to fear. He knew he couldn't be liked, so he wanted to be feared instead. It gave him a sense of power. That was obvious. It's like hypochondriacs who think sympathy and love are the same thing," Shelley said.
“Got any ideas about whose button he pushed too hard?" Jane said.
“None," Shelley admitted. "But I want to know. If Mel's right, it's most likely someone in the neighborhood. Someone who needs to be scooped up and put in jail."
“I'm not so sure," Jane said. "There were a lot of people driving by and gawking at the Johnson' house."
“But how many of them do you suppose said to themselves, 'Hey, there's Lance King, my lifelong enemy, on a roof. Think I'll just give him a shove'? Besides, nobody driving by could have seen the ladder in back, much less guess that the guy on the roof was Lance King in a Santa suit.”
Jane nodded. "You're probably right. Mel's probably right. I couldn't sleep well last night trying to remember who was where and when,' she said. "It was all just a blur though. I was sc flurried that I hardly remember where I was, much less the rest of the guests.”
Shelley sipped her tea. "I'm not sure it would have taken long enough for anyone to be missed. If somebody was trailing him, all they had to do was slip outside, wait until he had gone up the ladder, then follow him. One quick push was all it took, I assume.”
Jane said, "But why would someone be following him just at that time? Surely he didn't mention that he was going to go climb on a dangerous, slippery roof. And he might just as well have gone to the television van with the other guys."
“Maybe somebody saw him climbing the ladder. Or just saw him going between the houses. You can see that area from the side window in your dining room. No, I think alibis are going to be useless. It's the motive that's going to count and a lot of people had good reason to wish him dead."
“You're thinking about Bruce Pargeter?"
“Not seriously. But his name does come to mind."
“Only because he told us something about his background," Jane said. "Just think how many other people may have been hurt by the man and just don't talk about it.”
Shelley glanced at her watch again. "I think maybe we better get going. You don't want to miss your own cookie party."
“Wanna bet?" Jane asked.
Thirteen ·;·,
When they got home, Mel's MG was parked in ': the street and he was sitting in it, reading a report, which he hastily put away. "Was that the autopsy report?" Jane asked when he joined them at the kitchen door.
“Just a preliminary. Nothing unexpected. The metal support in the reindeer horn pierced his aorta. Death was nearly instantaneous. Other minor injuries that wouldn't have been life‑ threatening."
“How could anybody count on that happen‑ ing?" Jane asked, taking off her coat and gathering up Shelley' s and Mel's to put on the temporary rack.
“I don't suppose they could," Mel said. "This doesn't look like a well-thought-out plan just someone taking advantage of a situation. Maybe it didn't matter if he died, just so he was injured enough to back off and leave someone alone.”
“But what if he'd seen his attacker — and sur‑ vived?" Jane asked. "Wouldn't it just make things that much worse?"
“I don't have the answer to that yet. I'm not sure we ever will unless we get an honest confession. It looks to me, from what little we know so far, like a sudden-impulse crime. Somebody who hated King, saw an opportunity to do him damage, and leaped at the chance without looking at the options."
“Sort of like that time you bought those stiletto heels, Jane," Shelley said with a grin. "No thought of the future or of the quality of the decision."
“Stiletto heels?" Mel asked.
“Never mind. I just meant we all do idiotic things on a whim occasionally."
“I'd hardly call murder a whim," Mel said.
It wasn't like Mel to be so stuffy, Jane thought. This case obviously wasn't going well for him. "No, what you're saying is that it was an act of passion, which is usually even more idiotic than a mere whim," Jane said.
“Speaking of whims," Mel said, "what have you done with my mother?"
“Dropped her off at the airport," Shelley said under her breath so he couldn't hear her, but Jane could.
“We invited her to lunch with us, but she said she didn't like Chinese," Jane replied. "I imagine she's still upstairs."
“It's the MSG that gets her," Mel said. "I guess I better take her someplace for lunch." He paused, waiting for them to let him off the hook.
Jane and Shelley smiled benevolently at him. Jane was tempted to say there were lots of leftovers they could eat, but kept quiet. She wanted Addie out of the house for a while. Just longenough to briskly move the sewing room furniture back to the way it had been before.