“Huh? Oh, Mom, you did get the oil and water checked and put some air in the tires, didn't you?"
“Mike, it's only a few blocks," she said, passing him the potatoes. "Mike is driving himself tonight," she explained to the rest of them.
“First time out on the new driver's license?" Uncle Jim asked.
“Oh, Jane, do you really think that's a good idea?" Thelma asked.
“No, I'm quite certain it's not. I don't think he should drive until he's at least twenty-five. But the state of Illinois says it is, and he passed his test with flying colors—and I do mean flying!"
“Mike, why don't you let me take you and your friends in my Lincoln?" Thelma offered.
Mike looked so stricken at the idea of showing up at the school being driven by his grandmother that Jane took pity. She wouldn't just take him, she'd go in with him and want to fuss around straightening his collar and taking dozens of pictures. "No, Thelma, I promised Mike he could drive himself. He needs to be there earlier than the rest of us."
“I know what Steve would have thought," Thelma said repressively.
“Maybe you don't," Jane replied, knowing better but unable to stop herself. "I wonder if you ever knew about the time Steve went to Michigan when he was thirteen and drove your car around all weekend? He told me many times what fun it was.”
This exaggeration of a story Steve had mentioned only once reduced Thelma to a sputtering simmer that lasted through the meal. When Mike finally got ready to go, Jane went to the driveway with him, despite his efforts to leave without fanfare. She grabbed his arm as he started to get in the car. "Honey, I know you don't want to hear this or need to hear it, but I have to say it: drive carefully.”
To her astonishment, he gave her a big hug. "Thanks, Mom, and thanks, too, for keeping Gramma off my tail."
“I love you, Mike."
“And I love you, Mom, but the guys are waiting. Remember, you promised not to look at the program or let anybody tell you what we play last. It's a surprise you'll like.”
She stood back and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Hugging herself and shivering in the cold, she stood her ground until the taillights of the station wagon were out of sight. It was all she could do to keep from running down the street shouting, "Come back. Come back. Stay my little boy. Please don't grow up!”
When she came back in the house, Thelma started to say something, and Jane heard Uncle Jim rumble quietly, "Leave her alone, Thelma.”
After a quiet little cry in the guest bathroom, Jane washed her face and emerged to serve dessert. Uncle Jim's warning had worked. Thelma didn't even comment on the fact that all the Christmas decorations were up, but the presents were sitting in a heap in the corner of the room, waiting for a tree to arrive.
When dinner was over, they organized themselves to go to the concert. Todd was a bit slow getting himself together, but Katie was waiting at the door, fidgeting with impatience. "What's with you?" Jane asked. "I've never known you to be eager to go to a band concert."
“I like 'em, Mom. And besides, there's this really neat guy playing with the junior high orchestra I want to show you."
“Of course there is. Why did I have to ask?" Jane said with a smile.
“I think you really ought to get Mike his own car," Katie said, trailing her to the closet. "I mean, he's got a job and school and band, and you're always having to drive him someplace, and think how much easier it would be for you if he could take himself. And you would still have your car to go wherever you wanted.”
Jane slipped on her coat and fished in the pockets for her gloves. "I didn't come to town on a turnip truck, kiddo."
“What do you mean by that?"
“Just that I know exactly what this excess of consideration for Mike and me is all about. If I were to get Mike a car when he's sixteen, you'd be in a position to say I should get you one when you turn sixteen. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair. Right?”
Katie grinned. "It can't hurt to try. That's what you always say.”
Thelma insisted on taking her car and commandeered Katie and Todd to ride with- her, a plan that was just fine with Jane. It gave her a short time alone with Uncle Jim. Of unspoken accord, neither of them had mentioned the murders in Thelma's presence. Jane was surprised the subject hadn't come up, but apparently Thelma's eagle eye for bad news had missed them altogether, or she'd failed to make the neighborhood connection.
Unfortunately, Jane's hurried and intensive questioning during the short ride to the school auditorium didn't provide her with any useful information. Uncle Jim had not only snooped into the file on Phyllis's death, he'd even called VanDyne and chatted with him about it. He'd also looked over the reports on Bobby's murder. All of this and he had nothing to add to what Jane already knew.
“Don't they go over the sites with a fine-toothed comb for clues?" Jane asked.
“Sure, and they found tons of unrelated junk. Sometimes that's all they find, but every bit of it has to be checked out. That's what's so damned time consuming. The dumpster is a real nightmare. Apparently it's a hangout back there. All kinds of beer cans, broken bottles, the butts of old joints, plus papers and stuff that may have been left by the murderer but probably just overflowed from the trash in the dumpster. They've got to check fingerprints on the damned thing with everybody who's remotely associated with the victims, the mall, and the trash-hauling company."
“That could take years! What about alibis?"
“John Wagner claims to have been home in bed both nights. His wife confirms it, but she would, wouldn't she? Chet Wagner—well, youknow the situation with him the night his wife was killed, and last night he says he was tucked in at a hotel along with the other son. The other son, Everett, I think, confirms it. Everett, incidentally, seems to be in the clear for his stepmother's death. He was seen and photographed at some country house shooting party in Yorkshire. Of course, the sons could be lying, either to protect themselves or their father."
“What about Mr. Finch?"
“Same thing as the others. Says he was home in bed. Might be true, might not. None of the neighbors claim to have seen him leaving during the night, but apparently there were plenty of them who would have liked to pin it on him. Then there's the parents of the boy, the adopted parents, that is. Supposedly in Florida, and a humdinger of an alibi for last night. The father is a diabetic and got into some trouble with his blood sugar or whatever. Spent the night under observation at a hospital. Wife with him the whole time.”
They pulled into the school parking lot and, seeing that he was probably going to have to park in the next county, Uncle Jim let Jane off at the door and drove away in search of a spot. Jane walked slowly along the hallway, feeling very nostalgic. The school district music curriculum started at the fourth-grade level with two big concerts a year with all the kids from nineyear-olds on up. Jane had been coming here twice a year since Mike was that age. Steve had always hated coming, but she'd loved it. In fact, it was the one motherly duty that she saw as uncompromised pleasure. Unlike Cub Scouts or field trips or cheerleading practice, it required nothing of her except to show up and enjoy herself. And unlike many of the awards assemblies she'd sat through, it was truly enjoyable. Even the little kids learning violins and sounding like they were stepping on ducks had a certain charm that made up for the musical slaughter.
She found Thelma and the kids, and between them they managed to hold onto an empty place and flag down Uncle Jim when he finally came in. Thelma studied the program and started to point something out to Jane, who hastily said, "No, I'm not supposed to know what's on it. I promised Mike.”