Jane nodded. "But it's not just the things he does. Mowing the lawn, carrying heavy things, fixing the dishwasher, all that male stuff. More important, he likes me. He and Todd both do. They think I'm a neatperson who's worth talking to occasionally. But Katie—"
“It's just her age and hormones. One day she'll be a lovely young woman and she'll be your best friend. Like you're mine . .”
Jane felt tears coming to her eyes. "Life would be awful without a mother," she said, just as a bright red Jeep turned in to the driveway. "There's Mike!”
This time she waited inside. Mike wouldn't appreciate his mother flying out the door and folding him in an embrace in front of his friend Scott.
He came in the door—tall, young, healthy, Jane's true pride and joy. Jane got teary again. She'd be holding up better, she knew, if it weren't for waiting for Mel to call and confirm her suspicions. She wasn't normally a weeper.
Mike had a packet of information from each college they'd visited. As he pulled out each one, Jane had to stop herself from crying, "Don't go so far away, please." She couldn't ever say that to him, least of all today when he was on the brink of going away and growing up entirely. He was so excited about leaving home.
When Todd came home, he took his grandmother upstairs to show her his hamsters (as if she hasn't been smelling the damned things for days, Jane thought). Jane got up to fix herself and Mike a soft drink while Mike stretched his long legs under the table. "Mom, I had a great time seeing those places."
“I'm glad, honey. How are you going to decide on which one to go to?"
“Well, I think maybe I've decided already." "Oh? You've got a whole year to think about it." "I think I'll just start out right here at the junior college."
“Mike! Why? You aren't worried about the money, are you? I told you I can come up with—"
“No, Mom. It's not the money. It's you. I think you need me here.”
Don't cry! Jane told herself. She set his drink down and took his big hands in hers. "Mikey, I do need you. But I don't want you to stay here because of me. I'll muddle along. Maybe when I'm eighty and getting around with a walker, I'll ask you to take care of me, but not until then."
“You sure?"
“Absolutely certain," she said with a lot more sincerity in her tone than she felt.
Uncle Jim Spelling called at four, barking as she picked up the phone, "Jane! I've just caught up on the papers. I didn't know about Mrs. Pryce. You stay out of this, you hear me!”
She considered explaining, but didn't have the heart or the energy. "I will, Uncle Jim. You're coming to dinner Sunday, aren't you?"
“Will the Dragon Lady be there?"
“ 'Fraid so."
“Good. I haven't had a chance to rile her up for a long time. I'll be there. Jane, you do like I tell you. You and Cecily stay clear of that class business until the police sort this out. Are you listening to me? I mean it!”
By five-thirty, when she was starting dinner, Jane was a wreck. When the phone rang, she leaped for it, even though the last six calls had been Mike's friends welcoming him home.
“Jane?" Mel's voice.
“Yes?"
“I think you're right. I'm sorry.”
Jane slid down the cabinet and sat on the floor. "Oh, so am I. When will you ...?"
“As soon as I'm sure."
“Mel, please don't tell anyone that I figured it out."
“I won't. I've got to go. I just wanted to tell you.”
Mel hung up, but Jane couldn't move. Cecily found her still sitting on the floor. "Was that Mel? Were you right?"
“Yes. And I've never been sorrier about anything.”
Missy, of course, knew nothing of what was going on behind the scenes and began the class with brisk enthusiasm. "I regret that I didn't schedule this as a two-week course. You'll forgive me, I hope, if I race along and try to cover as much material as I can as quickly as possible. We're going to save the last hour of class tonight for critiquing the manuscripts I handed out to you before the class sessions started. Now, I want to talk briefly about the value and use of photos, documents, and letters in an autobiography—”
For once, Jane didn't find herself automatically applying the information to her book—yes, it was becoming a book—about Priscilla. But she took notes assiduously, so that she wouldn't be tempted to look around at the class members. She was afraid of meeting the murderer's eyes. She knew if that happened, her own shame would flash like a neon light.
The first interminable hour passed and they took a short break, then reassembled. The tension was so thick that Jane wondered how anyone could breathe. But the others didn't seem to notice it. Or did they? Bob Neufield was staring at her, which made her skin crawl. When she met his gaze, his didn't falter. She looked away first. Grady was nervously tapping his pencil on the arms on his chair. Desiree was sitting at the back of the room, away from everyone else, and frowning at the blackboard as if there were something written there so faintly, she could hardly make it out. Naomi was struggling with the zipper on her purse as if closing it were of enormous importance, and Ruth was trying to help her, making little nervous, darting motions with her hands. Jane noticed that Cecily was humming under her breath, something she only did when she was very nervous, and even Shelley looked frightened.
Missy had just begun speaking again when the back door of the room opened. Jane didn't even notice at first, then she became aware of everyone craning to look back. She turned.
Mel was standing in the doorway.
Missy's lecture faltered to a stop. "Yes, can I help you, Detective VanDyne?"
“No. Please continue. I'm afraid I might have to ask you all to stay a little longer than usual."
"Why is that? What are you doing here?"
“I'm waiting for some information. When it ar‑ rives, you'll be free to leave," he said.
All but one of us, Jane thought.
He pulled a chair over by the doorway and sat down.
Jane glanced around the room. There was the illusion of guilt on every face. They were all perplexed and alarmed.
Missy continued, her voice trembling. "Very well. If you'll get out the manuscripts, I'd like to go over each one briefly. First, I'll give my own comments and evaluations, then I'd like to know what impressions you had as you read them.”
Everyone tried gamely to pretend that VanDynewasn't at the back of the room, watching and listening. But their responses were feeble and disjointed.
The door opened again, bumping against VanDyne's chair. He moved it, and a uniformed woman officer handed him a white envelope. He thanked her, opened the envelope, and nodded. All illusion of a normal class was abandoned. Bob Neufield slammed his briefcase shut and glared at VanDyne. Grady got up and went to the front of the room to stand behind Missy's chair. Desiree Loftus leaned back and closed her eyes. Ruth and Naomi were holding hands. Cecily laid her hand on Jane's arm. Shelley was fidgeting with the lid of her pen, making a faint, frantic clicking sound.
Mel came into the middle of the room, in the aisle between the chairs. "I'm afraid I'm here to arrest the person whose name is on this birth certificate, the person who was born in captivity in the Philippines ... Maxine Harbinger.”
There was a moment of confused silence, quick, puzzled glances. Then Ruth Rogers stood up briskly, ruffles bouncing. "There's no need to make a fuss, Officer. I'm Maxine Ruth Harbinger."
“No, ma'am. You're not," VanDyne said softly. Ruth stared at him.
“You can't save your sister," he went on very gently. "Not from the law—or from anything else.”
Naomi Smith slowly got up and came to stand by her sister. She was normally a sickly, pale color. Now she was as white as death. "I'm sorry, Ruth. But you know I had to do it. I'd have happily killed her in the town square at high noon—with pride!—except I wanted to spare you. She killed our mother, Ruth. She had to be punished. You know that. It was necessary. It was right. Everything that happened to me after that was her fault. If we'd just had our mother—”