Текст книги "Dead Giveaway"

Автор книги: Joanne Fluke

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Walker sat down on the couch. “It was spectacular, Ellen. You know those little crystal balls you find in the stores at Christmas, the ones with the winter scenes and the snowflakes?”

Ellen nodded.

“Up at the spa with the dome overhead and the snow falling outside, I felt like I was trapped inside one of those crystal balls. It was a strange feeling. I was all alone, but I wasn’t alone because some big hand up there was shaking the ball to make the snow swirl. That sounds pretty crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Nope.” Ellen shook her head. “I wish I’d been there.”

“It’s not too late. Why don’t you go put on your suit and we’ll sit in the Jacuzzi with the lights out. Then I can show you what I mean.”

Ellen began to smile. Her former coworkers at Garfield Elementary would have had a collective fit if they thought she was even considering such a thing. She was glad she didn’t have to worry about proper behavior for a teacher anymore.

“Come on, Ellen. I really want you to see it. It’s the chance of a lifetime.”

Ellen smiled and got up. She turned at the doorway with a smile. “It’s really strange, Walker. Somehow, you’ve plugged into my fantasy. When I was a little girl, I always dreamed of hiding inside the little crystal ball my mother had on the mantel. Now here I am, over thirty years old, and I’m finally going to do it.”

TWELVE

Jayne woke up to feel her husband’s arms around her. God, how she’d missed him! She burrowed a little deeper under the covers and thought about how good it was to have him home again. Last night had been like a second honeymoon. If only they could stay like this and ignore their problems. Perhaps they needed blackout drapes like Marc, so they could sleep and make love all night and all day.

The sun streaming in through the shuttered window cast a bright pattern of gold stripes against the knotty pine-paneled walls. Moira had burned cattle brands into the wood at strategic intervals and the bedroom had the look of an elegant bunkhouse. Jayne squinted and tried to read the time on the Lone Ranger alarm clock Paul had found for her in an antique shop. Seven-fifteen. At seven-twenty, the clock would whinny like Silver and play the first eight bars of the 1812 Overture. She reached out and pulled the plug so it wouldn’t go off. The button had broken off while Paul was gone and she hadn’t gotten around to fixing it.

The bedroom was filled with promotional objects that had been sold in the forties by the enterprising cowboys and cowgals of the silver screen. It had all started when Jayne had casually mentioned that she’d always wanted the Tonto Trick Lasso she’d seen as a child, advertised in the back of a Lone Ranger comic book, and Paul had turned it into a holy quest. Now she had the lasso, along with a Gene Autry hat rack, a Roy Rogers Happy Trails phonograph that played only seventy-eight RPM records, a Gabby Hays Sidekick trunk that sat in the corner next to her dressing table, and a Dale Evans Little Cowgirl mirror framed with rope. Paul had even managed to find a Cisco Kid poncho, obviously a product of some tongue-in-cheek promoter. He’d spent hours searching for cowboy movie memorabilia until she’d begged him to stop. That was another of their basic differences. She’d always enjoyed trying new activities, but Paul threw himself into them with such zeal that they ended up as work instead of fun.

Jayne grimaced as she remembered suggesting they camp out at the Grand Tetons for a week last summer. She’d always wanted to see Jackson Hole. Paul had agreed that it might be fun and the next thing she knew, their living room had been loaded with camping equipment. She could see the need for backpacks and sleeping bags and she hadn’t objected to the three tents: One for sleeping, one for cooking, and one for storing their supplies. Paul said he wanted to be prepared for any contingency and he’d pored over countless volumes on life in the wild, taking notes on the proper procedures for setting up their base camp and making detailed lists of the supplies they’d need. Jayne had thought all this preparation was silly. They were just going for a week and if they ran out of something, they could get in the car and drive to the store. And if the tent blew down, or the air mattresses went flat, or it was too cold at night, they could always dash up to the lodge to get a nice comfy room there. Absolutely not, Paul had been firm. Jayne had wanted to camp out and that was exactly what they were going to do.

Paul had been so thoroughly prepared that absolutely nothing had gone wrong. But what Jayne had thought would be a carefree week of romping through the park and sleeping out under the stars had turned into a test of their survival skills.

The same thing had happened when they’d taken up tennis. She’d watched Laureen and Alan play and it looked like fun, so she’d asked Paul if he’d pick up a couple of racquets and a can of balls while she took care of the rest of the things she had to do in town. She should have known better. Paul had purchased every conceivable item of tennis equipment, all the proper clothing the salesman insisted they’d need, and a stack of instructional videos. He’d even arranged for them to take lessons from a pro three times a week. Naturally, the fun had gone out of it.

Jayne sighed. Paul researched a subject to death while she tended to go off half-cocked. There simply had to be a happy medium.

“What is wrong, Jayne?”

Jayne opened her eyes to find Paul staring at her. “I was just thinking about tennis, that’s all. And how it’s no fun anymore.”

“I know. I have thought similarly. Perhaps it would be more enjoyable if we failed to keep score.”

“You’d go for that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. “I thought you were keeping a log of how many matches we won.”

“I deep-fived it.”

“You mean deep-sixed. Then you’re willing to play just for fun?”

Paul nodded and glanced at his watch. “We can go to the court before brunch. Unless you would rather argue first.”

“But I don’t want to . . . oh, you mean that kind of argue.” Jayne began to smile. “I’d love to, but I can’t think of anything to argue about.”

“Speak the words grumble-mumble. And then walla, walla, artichoke.”

“What?” Jayne pulled back a little to stare at him.

“It is a crowd noise. A month ago, I became the additional in a movie of the television.”

“You were an extra? How did it happen? Tell me!”

“I was walking to the office of Marc, and the director invited me to join them.”

“And you did? Just like that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. It was totally out of character for Paul to do anything spontaneous.

Paul grinned. “I knew you would say to have fun and I did. They first divided the group into two sections. One was to speak the grumble-mumble, and the other the walla, walla, artichoke. The director told us it would simulate the sound of many persons arguing. Which words do you choose to speak, Jayne?”

Jayne frowned slightly. “I think we’d better postpone this, Paul. We’re supposed to meet the gang for brunch in less than an hour.”

“It does not matter to me if we are late.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No. You are of more importance than the clock which tells the time.”

Jayne wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Paul had definitely mellowed.

Hal popped the last of a strawberry muffin in his mouth and waved Jayne away as she passed the plate. “I had three already and I couldn’t eat another bite. We’d better save a couple for Clayton and Rachael.”

“What’s keeping them?” Vanessa looked thoughtful. “I knocked at their door on the way up here, but they didn’t answer. I know Clayton’s not exactly the passionate type, but maybe . . .”

“That’s enough, Vanessa!” Hal cut her off before she could finish. “They probably just overslept like Jayne and Paul. Yesterday was quite a day, right, Jayne?”

“Right.” Jayne felt the blush rise to her cheeks and hoped she didn’t turn the color of the red cowgirl shirt she was wearing. She wasn’t sure whether Hal was referring to Paul’s return, or to everything else that had happened. “Anyone want another piece of Laureen’s quiche?”

Alan rubbed his stomach. “Just one more. My wife makes the best quiche I ever tasted.”

“That’s sweet, Alan.” Marc winked at him. “And pretty sly, too. Did you marry Laureen to get a controlling interest in her quiche?”

“No, he didn’t,” Laureen laughed. “I was a terrible cook when we got married.”

Vanessa looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. If you were a terrible cook, I don’t see why in the world he’d ever . . .”

“Vanessa!” Hal clamped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe you were ever a bad cook, Laureen.”

“I was, though. The first time I made breakfast for Alan, I burned the toast and the eggs were as hard as rocks.”

“And I didn’t even notice.” Alan smiled at her. “I was thinking about how pretty you looked across the table. I could have been eating cardboard.”

Grace laughed. “Now that’s true love. Moira won’t even let me try to cook. She says I break too many dishes. Five years ago, right before that last big party we had for all Moira’s clients on Thanksgiving, or maybe it was Halloween, I really can’t remember which, I had all the china sitting out on the counter, two dozen salad bowls and two dozen plates and two dozen cups and saucers in that wonderful old-fashioned gold leaf design and I reached for the silver coffeepot and . . .” Grace cut herself off in midsentence and turned to look at Moira in alarm. “Why aren’t you stopping me, Moira? I know I’m babbling.”

“I was waiting to see how long you’d go on.” Moira reached for Grace’s hand under the table and squeezed it, and then she turned to the rest of the group. “Gracie’s impossible in the kitchen. I don’t see how she can be so graceful on the stage and such a total fu . . . klutz in the kitchen.”

Jayne glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. “Do you think I should go down to check on Clayton and Rachael? They’re over an hour late.”

“I will go also, Jayne.” Paul stood up and bowed. “Excuse me. And please to hold down the rampart until we return.”

“It’s hold down the fort,” Jayne corrected automatically. “Better make some more coffee, Ellen. I think I drank that whole pot all by myself.”

Jayne frowned as they got into the elevator. “Better stop at our place, honey, just in case. Rachael gave me a key when they delivered the new dishwasher and I think I still have it.”

“They purchased a new dishwasher?” Paul looked surprised. “The one they had was under warranty.”

“I know, but Rachael bought a whole bunch of new glasses that wouldn’t fit in the rack so they traded it in for a different model. Hold the elevator. I’ll be right back.”

When they got down to the fifth floor, Paul rang the doorbell repeatedly with no result. “I am not sure that we should use the key, Jayne. It is an invasion of their privacy.”

“Oh fiddlesticks! They won’t mind. Come on, Paul. Let’s roust them out of bed.”

The apartment was silent as Jayne and Paul walked from room to room. The bed looked as if it had been slept in, but Rachael and Clayton were nowhere in sight.

Paul was clearly unsettled by the sight of the deserted rooms. “This is very curious. Where could they be?”

“Uh, oh.” Jayne rushed to the hall closet and looked inside. “Their coats are gone and so are their boots. Remember how Clayton was so hot to take the snowmobile last night? I think we’d better check to see if it’s still here.”

Several minutes later, they had their answer as they stared at the empty spot where Paul had parked the Arctic Cat. There was nothing to do but go back to the spa.

Everyone was stunned, most of all Grace. “I can’t believe that Rachael would let him start out on the thing in the dead of night.”

“Well, that’s exactly what they did.” Jayne gave a rueful laugh. “I swear, Clay doesn’t have the brains that God gave a barrel cactus!”

“Maybe they waited until morning,” Marc suggested. “It wouldn’t be as dangerous in the sunlight.”

Laureen shook her head. “I know for a fact they left before daybreak. I got up at six-thirty to start the quiche and I would have heard them.”

There was a long, tense silence while everyone imagined the worst. Then Ellen spoke up. “There was plenty of light last night. It was a full moon. I saw it from the Jacuzzi.”

“What were you doing in the Jacuzzi in the middle of the night?” Vanessa wanted to know.

“I couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement, I guess. So Walker and I went up there to enjoy the view.”

Vanessa looked shocked. “Really, Ellen! You went up to the Jacuzzi in the middle of the night with a . . .”

Hal clamped his hand over Vanessa’s mouth. “Sorry about that. So what shall we do about Clayton and Rachael?”

“I don’t know that we can do anything.” Marc shrugged. “They took off with our only means of transportation. I guess we just have to hope that they got through all right.”

It was seven in the evening when they finished packing the things in Johnny’s kitchen. Laureen glanced down and groaned. “That’s enough work for today. Just look at my hands! They’re black from all the newsprint.”

“Not as black as . . .”

Hal clamped his hand over Vanessa’s mouth, a gesture that had become pure reflex. “I think I’ll stay and finish a couple more boxes. It’s too early to go to bed.”

“How about a game of charades?” Grace rose to her feet from a cross-legged position and stretched.

“We could play at our place,” Moira chimed in. She loved charades. “Are you up for a game, Ellen?”

Ellen nodded. “I’m terrible at charades, but I’ll play anyway. Walker?”

“Sure. How about you, Jayne?”

Jayne hesitated. There was something bothersome about Clayton and Rachael’s disappearance, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

“Come, Jayne.” Paul squeezed her shoulder. “You have always enjoyed the charades.”

Reluctantly, Jayne nodded. There would be time to think about Clayton and Rachael later. “All right. I’ll play if Hal’s on my team. He always guesses the ones I have to act out.”

“You want me?” Hal looked surprised. “The last time we played, you said I didn’t have the brains that God gave little green apples.”

“That was only a figure of speech, so don’t get your underwear in a bunch. Are you playing, Vanessa?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Is Laureen bringing brownies?”

Laureen began to smile. Vanessa loved her brownies and it was a perfect way of getting back at her. “Nope. I’ve only got one batch left in the freezer and I’m saving those for Alan.”

“In that case, I’ll pass.” Vanessa got up and yawned. “All this packing has given me a headache. I’m going to sit in the Jacuzzi for a while and then I’m going to bed.”

Hal couldn’t resist a parting shot. “What’s the matter, Vanessa? Afraid we’ll all find out what a lousy actress you are?”

Vanessa turned to give him a withering glance. “I told you, Hal, I have a headache. And don’t wake me when you come in. Not that you’d have any reason to.”

Everyone was silent until Vanessa had left. Then Grace broke the awkward moment.

“Hal? I know I’m butting my nose in, but why don’t you two just split up? You fight all the time.”

Hal nodded. “It’s complicated, Grace, but the bottom line is we can’t.”

“You can’t get a divorce?” Moira raised her eyebrows. “Come on, Hal. You certainly have enough grounds.”

Hal gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t I know! But I did a really stupid thing when we got married.”

“Don’t tell me.” Grace sighed. “You forgot to have her sign a prenuptial agreement?”

“No, I’m not quite that stupid. She signed one. I drew it up myself.”

“Uh, oh.” Marc groaned. “What did it say, Hal?”

“It said that if she filed for divorce, she’d end up with nothing but a small monthly allowance.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Absolutely nothing. But I neglected to put in what happens if I’m the one to file for divorce. And since I didn’t stipulate otherwise, the Nevada divorce laws apply.”

“I get it.” Marc nodded. “If you’re the one to file for divorce, Vanessa gets half of everything you earned during your marriage.”

Hal nodded. “And you all know I’ve made a lot of money since then. Naturally, Vanessa won’t file for divorce. And I can’t file either. So here we are, stuck together like glue, and there’s not a damn thing either one of us can do about it.”

Laureen gave a deep sigh. She finally understood why Hal hadn’t done anything drastic when she’d told him about Vanessa’s affair with Alan. “Well, don’t let it get to you, Hal. If she keeps on being so obnoxious, maybe somebody’ll help you get rid of her permanently.”

Alan looked shocked. “Laureen!”

Laureen got to her feet. “Come on, everybody. Let’s stop by our place so I can pick up my reading glasses.”

“Good idea, honey.” Alan grinned at her. “I remember when you got The Joy of Sex and you acted out The Joy of Cooking.”

“And I spent the entire five minutes trying to figure out what sex had to do with Laureen stirring something and licking her fingers.” Moira stopped and her face began to turn red. “Oh, sh . . . shucks! I don’t believe I said that!”

Marc laughed. “I don’t either. I’ve got a jug of wine I can bring, if you don’t mind stopping at my floor. And while I’m there, I’ll just check my . . .”

“Answer phone?”

They all spoke in unison and Marc laughed. “I keep forgetting. Well, I just hope you all can read my mind like that when it’s my turn to do a charade.”

There was a determined expression on Vanessa’s face as she pulled on a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks. The game of charades would keep everyone busy for at least two hours, which gave her plenty of time.

She reached up to take off her earrings and reconsidered as she caught her reflection in the mirror. The sparkling diamonds lent a touch of elegance to her all-black outfit. The heart-shaped earrings had been a present from Hal for their first anniversary, the last present he’d given her, but she was about to cash in for a whole lot more.

The call had come the morning the avalanche had hit. Since Hal was working, Vanessa had taken the message and she’d been immediately suspicious. When she’d asked, Hal had told her that a Swiss bank was handling some property he owned over there, but of course she’d heard all about those numbered Swiss bank accounts, and she was positive that Hal was hiding his money from her.

She’d spent all last night searching for some sort of evidence. She knew that if she found the number to Hal’s Swiss bank account, she could fly over there and clean it out. She’d seen a movie just like that. But she hadn’t found the number, even though she’d gone through everything in the apartment. And then, just this morning, while they were in Clayton’s unit, she’d realized that Hal might have given the number to Clayton to keep for him. Vanessa gave one last glance in the mirror and turned to go out the door. Clayton had given her a key before Rachael had moved in and he’d forgotten to ask for it back.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she reached for the elevator button. Then she remembered that the elevator shaft was right outside Moira and Grace’s living room. If Hal heard the elevator running, he’d realize that she was awake, and he might come up and find her.

Vanessa turned on her heel and headed for the stairwell. Clayton’s unit was only two floors up. She felt proud of herself for thinking it through. Maybe her luck was changing and she’d find what she needed to get away from Hal for good.

THIRTEEN

Jayne was watching the oven timer impatiently when Paul came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

“Do not look at it, Jayne. A watched clock never ticks.”

“It’s a watched pot that never boils, but you’ve got the right idea.” Jayne turned and kissed him. “The smell’s killing me and my stomach’s growling worse than a grizzly in heat.”

They both turned to look through the oven window. It had all started when Marc said he was dying for pizza and wished a delivery truck could get through. Laureen had remembered the refrigerated pizza dough she was testing for her cooking show, and offered each of them a batch for individual pizzas with toppings of their choice. If anyone was interested, they could have a contest to see who could come up with the best pizza. Laureen would be the judge, along with Alan. There were no hard-and-fast rules. If you didn’t have what you needed, you could borrow from someone else. And everyone would have plenty to eat.

“Your pizza is giving a delicious aroma.” Paul studied Jayne’s entry, which was browning nicely. “I think you will surely win the contest.”

Jayne shrugged. “I doubt it, not with plain old sausage and cheese. But I figured somebody in this family had to make a pizza that’s edible.”

“Is this a personal criticism, Jayne?”

Jayne giggled. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a sardine and cream cheese pizza before.”

“But you say you like lox and bagels. My pizza is almost similar, except for the difference in fish.”

“Some difference!” Jayne giggled again. “And lox and bagels aren’t served hot.”

“I fail to see why they could not be. And this will not squeeze from the sides when it is bitten. Is it baked enough, Jayne?”

“Two minutes to go. Why don’t you get out that big basket in the cupboard?”

Paul had just finished lining the basket with towels when the stove timer rang. Jayne lifted out the pizzas and set them inside. “All set and rarin’ to go. Let’s hustle over before they get cold.”

As they walked down the hallway, Paul was smiling. “What type of pizza will Ellen and Walker bake?”

“Ellen’ll bring pineapple and Canadian bacon. She told me that was her favorite. I don’t know about Walker, though.”

“Watermelon pizza?”

“Paul!” Jayne was shocked. “You shouldn’t say things like that!”

“I do not understand why. Walker does not seem to be sensitive about his race. I am sure he would smash up if I told him that joke.”

“Crack up, not smash up, and no, he wouldn’t. That’s how racial problems get perpetuated. Everyone starts believing those awful stereotypes.”

The elevator stopped at the eighth floor, and Walker and Ellen got on, bearing two pizzas wrapped in a towel.

Jayne inhaled as the elevator started to descend again. “Whatever that is, it really smells good. What did you bring, Ellen?”

“Canadian bacon and pineapple. Walker made his own creation with his favorite things on top.”

Jayne gave Paul a warning glance. “Like what?”

“Oh, the usual.” Walker grinned at her. “Chitlins and collard greens. I was going for the watermelon when Ellen stopped me.”

Paul laughed and turned to Jayne. “You see? I was correct.”

Both Walker and Ellen looked puzzled and Jayne sighed. “It’s a little complicated. Paul was going to tease Walker about watermelon pizza, but I assured him that it was in bad taste.”

Walker nodded solemnly. “It certainly would have been. I tried watermelon pizza once and it was awful.”

At the sound of a key in the lock, the Caretaker flicked off the light and pressed himself against the kitchen wall. The footsteps headed down the hallway toward Clayton’s office and he followed silently in the semidarkness. The hallway had floor-to-ceiling windows and the lights from Betty’s suite above reflected harshly against the freshly fallen snow.

The figure darted into Clayton’s office and when he reached the door, he saw the glimmer of a penlight traveling across the floor, stopping at Clayton’s file cabinet. The drawer opened almost noiselessly and the intruder propped the light on the handle of the drawer above to shine down on the files below.

Delicate hands, small-boned. It was a woman, but which one? And what did she want?

They’d all gone to their own kitchens to bake the pizzas, and any one of them could have come here on the pretext of borrowing something from Clayton’s refrigerator. Then he noticed a wedding ring, which eliminated Ellen. And Grace and Moira. Jayne had long, strong fingers from years of practicing the piano. And Laureen’s hands were larger, he recalled from close-ups on her cooking show. It certainly wasn’t Betty, which left the nurse and Vanessa.

He watched as she located a file and flipped through the contents, pulling out a single piece of paper. As she sat down in Clayton’s chair to study it, he could almost make out her face. Something glittered by her left ear, reflecting the tiny glow from the penlight. It was a diamond earring shaped like a heart. Vanessa had heart-shaped diamond earrings. But why was she so interested in Clayton’s files? He took one step closer, and then another. When he got close enough to make out the label on the file, he smiled. Vanessa was going through Hal’s papers. That was nothing to worry about, but he’d keep an eye on her until she left.

Vanessa almost laughed out loud. Hal had moved over four million dollars into his numbered Swiss account. He was a real bastard, and a dumb one at that. His birth date was the access code. Jack had once told her how common that was, when she’d asked him about the security business.

She put the file back in the drawer and closed it. Now she’d act perfectly normal until the access road was cleared, then take off for Switzerland on the very first flight.

Vanessa smiled. Switzerland. She’d always wanted to go there and she might just do that once she’d gone to the bank and cleaned out Hal’s account. They had wonderful skiing, and she’d always wanted to shop in the boutiques at St. Moritz. Best of all, there wasn’t a thing Hal could do. There was nothing illegal about a wife making a withdrawal from her husband’s Swiss bank account. That’s exactly what had happened in the movie she’d seen.

She shined the penlight all around the office, checking to make sure she hadn’t left anything out of place and then she headed for the door. If Hal decided to check up on her, she wanted to be in bed, sleeping like a baby.

Vanessa was nearing the end of the hallway when the lights in the rose garden came on. She whirled and bolted for the door before remembering that Clayton had them on a timer. There was no need to be so jumpy. She stopped and took a calming breath as she looked out at the garden. It had been beautiful the first time she’d seen it, with tiny sparkling lights and a white latticework gazebo. Two round wrought-iron tables, painted dazzling white, were surrounded by eight matching chairs. Darby had been fond of having her morning coffee in the garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of her beautiful roses.

Things were a lot different now that Darby was dead. The paint was peeling off the wrought-iron tables and the roses looked as if they were growing wild. Nevertheless, one perfect pink rose bloomed on a bush in the back. It would look lovely in the silver vase she had in her bedroom. Hal hadn’t given her roses in at least a year and they were her favorite.

Opening the French doors, Vanessa stepped into the garden. It was lovely out here in the climate-controlled dome. There was something magical about flowers blooming in the dead of winter. Roses in the snow. A great title for a movie and now that she was about to become a wealthy woman, she might just decide to finance it.

She grabbed the clippers from the nail in the gazebo and headed for the perfect rose. It would only take a moment. As she took a detour around two bushes that had grown together in a tangle of branches, her sandal sank into a patch of soft ground. Someone had been digging out here and the soil was loose. Had Clayton hired a new gardener? Vanessa bent over for a closer look.

Lines of concentration creased Betty’s forehead as she tried to make sense out of the talk show. The host had a towel wrapped around his head and the audience laughed every time he spoke. Betty didn’t think he was very funny, but the people did. Perhaps you couldn’t appreciate him when you had a disease like hers.

She was watching the regular channels now because Nurse would be back in a minute to give her the needle and put her to bed. It had been a pretty good night for television, and she’d enjoyed the charades on forbidden channel two. The cowgirl had been very good and so had that nice colored man. Betty seemed to remember that colored was an obsolete term. Now they wanted to be called black, or maybe Afro-American, she wasn’t sure which. When the colored man came to visit her, she’d just say hello and avoid calling him anything. That was the smart thing to do.

When the charades had stopped, Betty had switched through the other forbidden channels. There had been a lot of cooking shows on tonight and she didn’t feel like watching those, but she’d found something very interesting on channel five.

That pretty young actress was back, searching for something. She seemed to be typecast in the role of searcher. When she left the room where the papers were kept, Betty had assumed the movie was over. She had been about to switch the channel when she’d seen the actress open the doors to the garden, the same one she’d seen in the funeral movie. Would the undertaker appear? Betty hoped so.

There he was! Betty had clapped her hands together in delight. He was her very favorite actor, unless you counted Jack, who was in the hospital. They didn’t run many hospital movies now.

Betty reached for a blank disk and put it into the machine, pushing the button to record. She’d start a collection to show Jack when he came back home. While the undertaker series wasn’t as funny as the movies that Jack had recorded for her, it was still very exciting. She gasped as the sharp metal thing crashed down. You’d never guess they made those things out of Styrofoam so they couldn’t hurt anybody. Then the actress had crumpled to the ground very gracefully, and since she was pretending to be dead, she hadn’t moved at all.

Would the undertaker bury her in another funeral? Betty had leaned forward to peer at the screen intently. No, he just put the Styrofoam shovel back in the gazebo, wrapped the pretty actress in a big plastic tarp, and carried her down the hall to the stairwell. Once they’d gone through the door, Betty had known that the forbidden channel five movie-of-the-night was over, but she might be able to catch the rest of the film on another channel.

She had been looking for the ending of the movie when she’d heard Nurse coming with the warm milk and cookies she always had before bedtime. She’d barely had time to switch to a talk show before Nurse had come into her room with the tray. It had been a close call. Very close. She had to remember to be more careful in the future now that Jack wasn’t here to remind her.