Dear Miss Demeanor

“You happened to have cyanide with you-in your purse, I would guess-and you knew Pitts would eat anything that caught his fancy in the refrigerator in the teachers’ lounge.”

She gave me a beatific smile. “Very good, dear. I’m not sure that I intended to kill him; I hoped he would become very ill, and perhaps quit his job and go elsewhere. I crushed a dozen or so pills and mixed them in Emily’s little jar of compote. I never dreamed Mr. Weiss would eat it first… but he wasn’t a very nice man, either. He was supposed to set an example for the students, yet he was having an affair with Bernice fort. I was listening at my post when Pitts sold the information to Cheryl A

I felt an elbow in my back. I ground my heel on a convenient foot, then bent over the hospital bed and said, “No one saw you enter or leave the lounge, Miss Zuckerman.”

“No one ever noticed me. After all those years, I’m afraid I simply became part of the backdrop, a pathetic gray ghost who haunted the basement of the school. Once I made up my mind to teach Pitts a lesson, I assigned a lengthy paragraph to my Ad Sten class, slipped off to the lounge, and returned without my absence being noticed.”

“Was there anyone in the lounge?”

“Mrs. West’s student teacher was present, but she didn’t notice me, either. Young people tend to find the elderly invisible; it helps them avoid facing their own mortality.” She glanced away for a moment. “It hasn’t been a very exciting life, but it has been rewarding. I did take a trip to a foreign country once; it was dirty, yet the cultural differences intrigued me. I would have liked to travel more.”

“The clinic in Mexico?”

“Yes, but the doctors there said it was too late to control the malignancy. I followed the diet and took the vitamins, enzymes, and tablets, hoping for a miracle. It did not occur. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d better rest.” Her eyelids drifted down with a faint flutter. She began to snore in a quiet, ladylike way.

Peter moved forward, but I caught his arm and pulled him out of the room. “Would you explain?” he snapped as we started for the elevator. “Am I correct in assuming Tessa Zuckerman murdered Weiss?”

“She did, although she was actually after Pitts. It was her farewell gift to the school.”

“She ‘happened’ to have cyanide in her purse?”

“Laetrile, made from apricot pits. You remember the controversy about it in all the newspapers several years ago, don’t you? The proponents claimed it was the ultimate cure for cancer; the medical authorities claimed it was quackery to exploit those poor souls too terrified to pass up any possibility. Ultimately, those who chose to try it had to go to clinics in Mexico, where it was legal.”

“And Miss Zuckerman went to such an establishment, and brought home a supply of Laetrile tablets, along with a travel poster,” Peter said. “When she decided to rid the school of its dope dealer, she crushed a few tablets and popped them in the compote?”

I nodded. “She made the hole in the women’s rest room so that she could spy on Pitts to determine if he was indeed the villain he was rumored to be. He was telling the truth the day he claimed he hadn’t made the hole, although I imagine that once he discovered it, he did use it to eavesdrop and report to Weiss. He lacked the acumen to realize that it could be used two ways.

“So Miss Zuckerman observed a transaction and decided to poison him,” Peter said. “It didn’t work out as she intended, although she did not seem inordinately disturbed by the result.”

“Married men with families should not have affairs,” I said, shrugging. “It might prove dangerous-or fatal.”

“I’ll note that in the report,” he said. He rewarded me with a glimpse of his teeth. It was unsettling.

We drove hack to my apartment. As we reached the top of the stairs, Caron hobbled out the door, caught sight of Peter, and froze in a posture reminiscent of Pout’s lead guitarist in a moment of spasmodic bliss.

“Oh,” she breathed at us.

I tried to move around her, but she held her ground in the middle of the doorway. “You’re supposed to go to the station,” she said to Peter. “Right away, because of some emergency. They said to go right away.”

“I’d better call in and see what’s happening,” he said.

“You don’t have time to call. It’s a terrible emergency, and they want you to hurry there without wasting any time on the telephone. Besides, Inez is talking to her sick grandmother in Nebraska.”

He gave her a suspicious look, told me he’d call later, and left to face whatever dire trouble my Cassandra was so eager to predict. Once the front door closed below, said oracle stepped back and said, “Thank God we got rid of him, Mother. I wasn’t prepared for him to be with you, and I couldn’t think what to say.

“You made up that story? He’ll learn the truth in about ten minutes, Caron, and he won’t be amused.” I went into the living room and stared at Inez, who was huddled in the corner with the telephone. “Why did Inez find a sudden compulsion to talk to her grandmother in Nebraska, for that matter? What on earth is-?”

“Miss Parchester,” Inez whispered, pointing at the receiver. “Caron told me to keep her on the line until you got here, Mrs. Malloy. I think she’s getting suspicious; you’d better take over now.”

I grabbed the receiver. “Miss Parchester?”

“Mrs. Malloy, it’s so lovely to have this opportunity to speak with you again after all this time. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Miss Parchester. Where are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I’ve seen you here and there, but it’s been quite impossible to actually have a word in private. I seem to keep ru

“Where are you?” I repeated, determined to stay calm. “If you’ll tell me where you are, I’ll come right over and we can have many words in private. I have lots of things to tell you.”

“I’d be delighted to have a little conference with you, since I realize you’ve worked hard on the investigation, but”-there was a long pause, during which I prayed she wasn’t taking a discreet nip or two-”I do fear the presence of the police. They have been following me, and they may be following you, too. An undercover officer in a bizarre disguise literally attacked me at the hospital, but I was fortunate to elude him.”

I was worried that Peter would storm up the stairs at any moment to discuss deception with my daughter. If I could only find Miss Parchester and allay her fears, then I knew I could persuade her to present herself at the police station. My track record wasn’t very good, but I am an eternal optimist.

“Miss Parchester,” I said with great earnestness, “I know who murdered Mr. Weiss. I know who fiddled with the journalism ledgers, and I know why. Don’t you want me to come tell you about it?”

“I know all that, my dear,” she giggled. “I’m a trained reporter, as you know, and I’ve been doing a little snooping. I feel incredibly akin to Miss Jane Marple. We’re of a similar age.”

As I gaped at the receiver, Caron tapped me on the shoulder. “Ask her if I can have an exclusive interview, Mother. We can put it on the front page of the Falcon Crier, with a byline, naturally, and maybe a photograph.”

I made a face, took a breath, and searched my mind for the proper response to Miss Parchester’s blithe assurance that she knew all that, my dear. My mind failed me. “You do?” I said.

“I’ve enjoyed our chat, Mrs. Malloy, but I’d better run along now,” she said with the faintest hiccup. “I have an errand, and soon it will be teatime.”

Before I could wiggle my jaw, the line went dead.

“You didn’t even ask about the interview,” Caron said, her lip inching forward in preparation for a scene. “Aren’t you at all interested in my future in journalism?”