Keeping a firm grip on the sheet cake, Jane went to the side entrance of Shelley's house next door and leaned her elbow on the doorbell. Just then a van pulled up in front. Across the side of it in blue letters was the message: Happy Helper Cleaning Service. A thin woman in her thirties with frizzy blond hair got out and waved good-bye to the driver and other passengers. She was wearing something polyester that looked like a nurse's pantsuit dyed light blue. Across the breast pocket it said Happy Helper.

“You must be Edith," Jane said as the woman joined her on the porch.

“No, I'm Ramona. Are you Mrs. Nowack?"

“No, but this is her house. I'm Mrs. Jeffry from next door. Ring the bell again, would you?”

Shelley, immaculately turned out as always, opened the door a moment later. Her sleek, dark hair looked like she'd just stepped out of a very expensive beauty shop, and her navy-blue sweats—which Jane had seen her purchase at K mart—looked like something a designer had whipped up especially for her. Shelley had a way of doing that to clothes.

“Mrs. Nowack?" the Happy Helper asked.

“Yes? I was expecting Edith. Hi, Jane."

“I know, ma'am, but Edith took sick and they sent me instead. They tried to call you from about six this morning, and the line was busy. If it's not okay, I can call and the van'll come back for me.”

Shelley obviously wasn't pleased, but said, "No, I need the help today and I'm sure you'll do a fine job. Come in. I wonder what's the matter with the phone. The dog must have pulled the basement extension off the table again.”

Both Shelley and the Happy Helper stood aside and allowed Jane room to safely negotiate the door with the unwieldy cake. "I didn't get your name," Shelley said to the cleaning lady.

“Ramona Thurgood, ma'am."

“I'll show you where everything is, Ramona, so you can get started.”

Jane leaned against the counter, studying the kitchen and wondering how it could possibly look cleaner. Shelley had the sort of house that Jane's mother would have said you could eat off the floors in—if you didn't mind the taint of fresh wax and Lysol. As many years as she'd known Shelley, Jane had never figured out just when Shelley did all that cleaning. She'd never caught her at it. Once she'd appeared at the door with a dustrag in her hand, and occasionally Jane was able to discern the scent of fresh furniture polish, but she never actually saw Shelley clean anything.