A Farewell to Yarns

home from school with chicken pox, she came back for another break.
    There wasn’t anyone in the kitchen or family room this time, and she was glad to be spared having to make conversation. Her voice was already getting fuzzy from all the talking she’d done. Her brain was getting even fuzzier. She sank back into the sofa, gazing sightlessly at the wall of pictures.
    This had been one of the most frantic weeks of her life. Except for the quiet morning with Mike yesterday, she’d been running the whole time, ever since the day Phyllis and Bobby arrived. It wasn’t just physical, it was mental exhaustion as well. Images of the past week were getting jumbled in her mind. Phyllis’s body being taken away, setting up the bazaar, John and Chet Wagner yelling at Bobby, Mike’s band concert, the church choir concert, the fight between Bobby and Mr. Finch, the funeral with Mel VanDyne rushing her past the news cameras. And someplace in all that mental rubble, there was something important they’d all overlooked. Something so small and ordinary that no one had noticed it in the pressure of the week’s extraordinary events.
    She was tired, almost nodding off, when her eyes suddenly focused on one of the pictures on the opposite wall. Without knowing quite why, she got up and went to look at it more closely.
    Of course!
    With a click she feared must be almost audible, things started falling into place. She stood back for a moment, stunned by what she was thinking. It could be. No, it had to be. Looking around to make sure she wasn’t observed, Jane took the picture off the wall and stuffed it up under her sweater. Squeezing between shoppers, she went to the front closet and got out her coat and purse. Shelley was at the sales table. “Where are you going, Jane?“ she asked.
    “I’ve got to run an errand, Shelley. I’ll only be a little while. It’s important.“ Before Shelley could question her further, Jane ran out the door and headed for home. Once inside her own house, she took the picture out and studied it again. Then she dialed the phone. On the third ring, Mel VanDyne answered. “I’ve got it,“ she said. “At least, I’ve got half of it, and you can figure out the other half.“
    “Jane, what in the world—?“
    “I have to meet you. How about that coffee shop in the mall? Here’s what you have to do: Get hold of John Wagner, and have him meet us. Make him bring along that briefcase thing of Phyllis’s with everything in it. I have to show you something in it.“
    “Jane, just tell me—“
    “I can’t. It’s something you have to see, and I have to see it, too, to be sure I’m right. I’m leaving right now. See you there.”
    She hung up, stuffed the picture into a shopping bag, and headed for the mall. Before going to the coffee shop, she gave a bookstore clerk a tough five minutes finding a book she needed. Then, armed with her evidence, she dashed to the coffee shop and sat down to read hurriedly through the book while she waited.
     

Twenty-five
     
    Mel VanDyne and John Wagner arrived within moments of each other. Jane had taken over a corner booth which afforded relative privacy. “Please sit down,“ she said firmly.
    The men exchanged looks that might have been surprise or amusement, but they did as she asked and sat down facing her. Jane noticed that Van Dyne saw to it that Wagner was on the inside. Was that because he thought the man might try to make a getaway?
    “First, I have to clear up a couple of things,“ Jane said to John Wagner. “How did you have a key to the house where Phyllis was staying?“
    “She gave it to me,“ he said. Jane glanced at Van Dyne, who stared back blankly. Apparently this was something that had already been cleared up to his satisfaction.
    “Second, and I know this has nothing to do with the murders, but I want to know—have you ever met Albert Howard?“
    “Yes, some time ago. I was trying to get him to contribute to building that park at the old Orville Wagner homestead.“
    “Orville Wagner? Any relation?“
    “No.”
    That put to rest the discrepancy between how callous and tacky John Wagner had seemed to Fiona and how agreeable he’d been during the course of the investigation. He hadn’t been trying to name the project after himself, as Fiona thought. Relieved, Jane took the picture she’d stolen out of her shopping bag and handed it to John Wagner. “Now, this is to the point. Do you recognize this?”
    It was the band