Dear Miss Demeanor

“Did he?” She studied me as if I had admitted poisoning the city water supply, then went into the ladies room and locked the door.

The bell rang (it was begi

I retreated to the journalism room for fourth period. When Caron sauntered in, I tossed the roster to Bambi and beckoned for Caron to join me in the darkroom.

“Can you go to Miss Parchester’s neighborhood after school?” I asked her. “I doubt she’ll show up, but I don’t want her to fall into the sticky arms of the law if she does.”

“I wasted an entire afternoon there yesterday, Mother. it was Utterly Boring, and I see no point in putting myself through that ordeal again. Besides, Inez and I have to work on the Homecoming float.”

“What Homecoming float? Is there to be a parade?”

“I was not referring to coke and ice cream,” she sniffed. “The parade is Friday afternoon at three o’clock, and each class has to enter a float. The freshman entry is ‘Broast the Bantams.’ It’s dumb, but no one could come up with anything remotely clever. We’re working on it, stuffing crepe paper in chicken wire and that sort of thing, in Rhonda Maguire’s garage.

“A float is not as important as Miss Parchester,” I began in a sternly maternal voice. I realized that Caron was about to insist that it certainly was, if not a good deal more so. “All right, go work on the float. But if Miss Parchester is arrested for murder, you will not be writing the Miss Demeanor column next week. Or next year, or eons down the road when you’re a senior. Keep that in mind while you’re ankle-deep in crepe paper.

I left her to mull over her thwarted career and sat down at the desk to mull over my thwarted scheme. And my next move. Bambi McQueen approached, a sly look on her face. “If you’ll write me a blue slip, I can take the absentee list to the office now, Mrs. Malloy. It’s supposed to be turned in right after the begi

“By all means,” I said. I opened the desk drawer and took out a pad of blue slips. I noticed a key among the pencil stubs, a rusty thing with a tag marked “mailbox-office.” “Does this open the Miss Demeanor box?” I asked with a flicker of interest.

Baxnbi said she thought it did, and I handed it to her with instructions to bring the contents of the box back with her. She waited until she had her trusty blue slip in pocket, then bounced away with a smug expression. Her expression was glum when she returned, however, and I was prepared for the a

Once school was over, I walked slowly to the parking lot, not sure where to go, or what to do when I got there. Miss Parchester was not likely to appear at her apartment, and I had no theories about where else to search for her. A policeman of certain familiarity hailed me before I could reach a decision and beat a retreat.

“I have a message for Miss Parchester,” said Peter. He leaned against my car, his arms folded and his smile deceptively bland. “Good news, actually.”

“I’ll be happy to pass it along when I see her,” I said, miffed that he would think I was hiding her. Did he think I had her stashed in the trunk-or tied up in the attic?

“I brought in an accountant do a quick audit of the journalism books.”

“Oh, did you? That was terribly clever of you.”

“Thank you. The fact that you were involved in the matter gave it more significance than one would normally give it.”

“Thank you. I didn’t realize my presence was quite so ominous.

“Your presence is always ominous. Ominous, omnipresent, and according to some rumors, omnipotent.”

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this repartee, I have more important things scheduled for the remainder of the afternoon,” I said through clenched teeth. “What did the accountant hid in the journalism books? If you’re not going to tell, do it now.”

“The accountant said that the books were basically in order. He said there had been crude attempts to make the account look short, but that the money was all there. He had a few other comments about Miss Parchester’s system, which he found peculiar yet amazingly sound. I suspect she’ll be relieved to find out that the embezzlement charges are going to be dismissed.”

Leaving the minor matter of murder. “Who fiddled the counts to make her look guilty?”

Peter shrugged. “I suppose I could hunt up a handwriting expert, but all he’d have to go on are a few smudgy numbers penciled in over the originals. Do you honestly think this has anything to do with the murders? A few dollars missing from a club account, easily located once the books are examined?”

“No, not really. It’s damned odd, that’s all… and it did result in Weiss’s death. If Miss Parchester hadn’t been accused and exiled, she wouldn’t have left the compote in the lounge, thus providing someone with the vehicle to poison Weiss. I keep thinking it had to be pla

Jorgeson appeared around the corner of the building and yelled at Peter.

“I’m needed,” he said, charmingly reluctant to desert me. “Will you swear you don’t have Miss Parchester tucked away somewhere?”

I dutifully swore (since I didn’t), and went so far as to invite him to come by later in the evening. We parted amiably. I drove to the hospital to visit Tessa Zuckerman, the only Fury I hadn’t questioned. I did not expect to find Miss Parchester hunched under a hospital bed, but I was ru

Miss Zuckerman resembled a limp, faded rag doll in the bed. Her arms were crowded with needles and tubes; her face was almost the color of the pillowcase that engulfed it. She appeared to be asleep, but as I started to tiptoe out of her room, her eyelids fluttered.

“Mrs. Malloy?”

“Hello, Miss Zuckerman. I came by to see how you were. Don’t let me disturb you if you need to rest.”

“No, it was so very kind of you to come, and I’m flattered by your concern. You must tell me the truth, Mrs. Malloy. Mae and Alexandria have taken it upon themselves to protect me from any outside news. Their decision is admirable but frustrating. They will tell me nothing about the dreadful-occurrence in the lounge. How is Mr. Weiss?”

I hedged for a moment, then told her. She closed her eyes for a long time, and I had decided she was asleep when she at last stirred. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I wondered as much; he looked so ill and the bluish cast to his skin made me think of cyanosis. Have the police arrested anyone for the crime?”

“No, but they would like very much to speak to Emily Parchester about the brandied peach compote. They have not been able to find her, however. Has she been to visit you in the last few days?”

She turned her face away from me, and her voice took on a guarded tone. “I get so confused, Mrs. Malloy, that I ca

No, Emily has not been here that I can recall. I doubt she intends to come.”

It was as convincing as Paula Hart’s explanation of why she was standing in the lounge reciting the alphabet. Jerry might have believed his beloved, but I knew a lie when I heard one. And I’d just been offered a whopper.

“Please tell her I have good news-should she come by,” I said. “I’ll see you when you come back to school.” Her eyes were closed again, but this time her breathing was deep enough to indicate that she had fallen asleep. I stopped at the nurse’s station. “How is Miss Zuckerman doing?” I asked a shiny-faced young thing.