Jane was nearly run over by three ambulance attendants as she left. She slipped past them and leaned against the hallway wall. "I need some fresh air," she said, feeling woozy.
Cecily grabbed her arm and steered her up the stairway and toward the exit. Just as they reached the foyer and front double door of the city hall, one of the doors was yanked open, nearly spilling them outside.
“Jane! Are you all right?" Mel VanDyne said, steadying her.
She looked up. "Just a tad faint. What are you doing here?"
“I was in the station doing some work when the call came in about a woman down in the basement of the city hall. I was afraid—well, I'm glad you're okay. What happened?"
“An old lady in our class had a stroke or a fit or something. It was horrible." She took a deep breath and looked at him. "It's nice to see you again," she added, aware that it wasn't a particularly appropriate thing to say. Still, he looked even better than she'd remembered him, and he looked especially good when he was showing concern for her. He was a remarkably handsome man, even more so than she'd remembered. Why was it that men tended to improve with age and women tended to unravel? Jane wondered.
Cecily cleared her throat pointedly.
“Oh, sorry. Mother, this is Mel VanDyne. Mel, my mother, Cecily Grant."
“Now I see where you get your looks," Mel said, grinning. It was a hokey, cliched thing to say, but he carried it off. "I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Grant."
“Hadn't you better go downstairs?" Jane said.
“No, I'm just a spectator. Nothing suspicious about this, is there?"
“Nothing at all," Cecily said. "Just a very mean elderly lady going to meet her maker—and probably tell him just what he's done wrong with the world.”
They perched in a row on the edge of a flower box by the doors. The red lights of the ambulance were streaking blindingly around the parking lot, making all of them and the building turn red every few seconds. Another police car pulled up, and the officers nodded to VanDyne as they went into the building. A moment later, Ruth and Naomi came out the door, with Shelley just behind. Naomi had her hand out as if longing to stabilize herself against her sturdy, competent sister.
“How is she?" Jane asked.
“Dead," Shelley said bluntly. "At least she went out completely in character. Oh, it's Detective VanDyne, isn't it? Nice to see you again."
“How are you, Mrs. Nowack? And what do you mean about going out in character?"
“She was a dreadful, nasty woman. Made my mother-in-law look like Mother Teresa. She had some kind of seizure and was saying terrible things about everybody. What do we do now?”
The door had opened again as she was speaking. "You could get out of the way," Grady said. He was propping the double doors open. Jane expected the ambulance attendants to be just behind him, but Missy, Bob Neufield, and Desiree Loftus came out next. Neufield's face was white and set in a grimace, and Desiree looked suddenly old and vulnerable. She had her hand on his arm lightly.
“Gather around," Missy said in her best schoolteacher manner. "Are we all here? Yes, I believe so. In spite of this tragic and terribly upsetting occurrence, I believe the class should go on. We won't, of course, reconvene tonight, but I suggest we meet tomorrow night at the usual time and go an hour extra. I have a lot of material to cover, and you've all paid good money for it. Is that satisfactory? Everyone?”
There was a faint chorus of agreement.
“Your teacher's a sensible woman," Mel murmured to Jane.
“Very well," Missy said. "I suggest we all go home and try to put this out of our minds as best we can. It's not acceptable to speak ill of the dead, but Mrs. Pryce was not a valuable addition to the class, and I genuinely look forward to seeing the rest of you tomorrow." She smiled at Jane. "See? I don't believe in anybody going down with the ship.”
They were all drifting away from the front doors when Jane suddenly said, "Mrs. Pryce's maid! She ordered the poor old thing to pick her up after class. Somebody should tell her.”
‑ Missy sighed. "I guess it's my responsibility. I'll run by there."
“Do you want Jane and me to go with you?" Mel said.
“Yes, that would be nice—who are you?" Jane made the introductions.
“A detective?" Missy said, alarmed.
“Off duty. Jane and I had a date after class."
“Well, well, well," Missy said, smiling at Jane like a fond auntie. "How nice. I don't mean to ruin your evening, but I would appreciate it if you'd run by there with me for a minute. The maid will probably be pleased to know that her bondage is over, but who knows? I wouldn't know what to do with her if she went to pieces on me.”
As they were getting into Mel's car, the ambulance attendants were maneuvering a gurney out through the doors. The figure on it was completely covered. Jane knew she should feel sadness at Mrs. Pryce's death, but could only be sad about her life—her wasted, empty, mean-spirited life, filled only with souvenirs. Jane suddenly realized that in all the trash and treasures, there hadn't been a single picture of a person.
They rang the bell three times. Finally the maid opened the door. Although it was nearly dark, she was shading her eyes and squinting. "Yes? Who are you? Misses, she's out."
“I'm the teacher. Mrs. Jeffry and I were here a while ago at dinner," Missy said. "May we come in?"
“Yes. But misses not here." She fished a handkerchief from her pocket and seemed slightly unbalanced by the action. She steadied herself against the doorframe for a moment, then stood aside.
They followed her into the front hall. "I'm afraid we have bad news," Missy said. "Mrs. Pryce became ill during class—"
“Yes, yes. I pick her up."
“No, you don't have to pick her up. She's been taken to the hospital—"
“Keys. Car keys. Don't know where—the lawn.
Yes. Water the lawn—storm coming," she said, then lapsed into babbling in a foreign language.
Mel was looking a question at Missy and Jane. "Is she crazy?" he seemed to be asking.
“—and then we go to market," the maid said. She staggered, and Jane grabbed her to keep her from falling.
“Mel, there's something wrong. This is how Mrs. Pryce was acting—sensitive to light, raving, off balance.”
The woman was leaning against the doorframe, clutching at her chest.
“Where's the phone?" Mel demanded.
Missy tried to calm the maid down while Mel and Jane searched for a phone. When he found it, he dialed quickly, identified himself, and gave Mrs. Pryce's address. "Send an ambulance and seal off the city hall. I think it may be a crime scene.”
He hung up and looked at Jane, who was helping Missy get the maid to sit down on a settee in the front hall. "You sure are a fun date," he said wryly.
8
Missy came by at ten the next morning. Jane had been up since eight but still felt blurry. It had been a late night.
“Can you stand company?" Missy said. She was looking a little haggard, too.
“Sure. Come in. Want some iced tea?"
“Only if you throw it in my face to wake me up." "Were you up late, too?"
“There were policemen questioning me until nearly two, then I couldn't get to sleep. Gee, it's quiet. Where is everybody else?"
“Katie's still in bed, and my mother's gone to visit an old friend in Evanston. I couldn't sleep last night either. Then when I finally dropped off, Mel called around four to let me know that the maid—her name's Maria Espinoza, by the way—is probably going to recover. They pumped her stomach right away on the assumption that it might have been something they both ate."
“And what did they find?"
“I don't know. Mel says the pathology people say the symptoms could point to any number of poisons. But they won't know until they've done an autopsy on Mrs. Pryce and analyzed Maria's stomach contents. Ugh! Imagine doing that for a living."