Read A Quiche Before Dying for Free Online

duties.“
    “Mrs. Pryce,“ he said patiently, “I’m not here as mayor. Bring your concerns to the council meeting if you must.“
    “Oh, yes! To your paid toadies!“
    “Mrs. Pryce, the council isn’t paid anything. And I only get a hundred dollars a year. That’s about a nickel an hour for my time.“ His patience was obviously wearing thin, but he still looked cheerful. Grady always looked cheerful.
    “That may be your salary, but I have good reason to think you make a good deal more.”
    All the amusement had faded from Grady’s face. “What are you talking about?“
    “Let’s not mince words. Embezzlement. That’s what I’m talking about.“
    “Embezzlement?“ Grady’s always pink face had grown alarmingly red.
    “Yes. We all pay a hefty amount in taxes, but there never seems to be any money for necessary pro- grams. I believe that large sums of money are missing.“
    “Mrs. Pryce, I invite you to look over the city’s financial statement any time you want. In fact, I insist on it. I’ll have our treasurer explain it all to you. But I warn you—if there’s any more of this loose talk, I’ll have to discuss you with the city’s attorney. This is slander and could damage a number of reputations. I won’t have it.”
    Missy cleared her throat loudly. “I believe we had better begin our class.”
    Jane scuttled back to her place between her mother and Shelley and sat down, shaking her head in disgust.
    “Do you think she’s gone gaga?“ Shelley whispered.
    “God! Can you imagine saying a thing like that to Grady?”
    Missy glanced at them, silently ordering them to be quiet. “Now, we’re all here to learn to write an autobiography—“
    “Some of us already know how,“ Mrs. Pryce said.
    Missy ignored her. “I’ll be giving you a lot of instructions—rules, if you wish—but I want to make a disclaimer right now. Rules are, as trite as it may be, made to be broken. But the secret to any good writing is in breaking the rules selectively. I believe—“
    “Why are you teaching this class?“ Mrs. Pryce interrupted.
    “Because I want to,“ Missy snapped back.
    “I hardly think you’re a suitable teacher. A woman who writes those dirty books.”
    Missy drew herself up and looked dangerously composed. “Have you ever read one of my books, Mrs. Pryce?“
    “I wouldn’t demean myself.“
    “Then you have no right to comment on their content, quality, or morality. I’m sorry to say this, Mrs. Pryce, but if you can’t keep quiet until you’re called on, I’ll have to ask you to drop out of this class.“
    “I’ve paid my money and I’ll stay as long as I wish. That is my right as a citizen.“ She turned and looked around smugly, as if daring any of them to dispute this.
    “Now see here—“ Missy began, then caught herself. She looked down at her notes, took a long breath, and went on with her lecture. “The first thing you must determine is the purpose your autobiography is to serve. There are many reasons for writing one, some therapeutic, some instructional....”
    Jane was making notes. Why is Priscilla writing this autobiography? To explain herself to her descendants? To clear her conscience? To plead her cause in the eyes of the world? Or to prove a point to the woman she believed to be her mother for so many years? For a little while she was able to put aside the suffocating tensions in the room. Mrs. Pryce didn’t exist in Priscilla’s world, nor did any of Mrs. Pryce’s victims.
     

5
     
    “So how did it go?“ Jim Spelling asked Jane, Cecily, and Shelley as they trooped in the door. He was at the kitchen sink washing grease off his hands.
    “Not bad—“ Jane said, preoccupied.
    “Not bad?“ her mother and Shelley said in unison. “Jane! Have you gone mad?“ Shelley finished. “What?“
    “Earth to Jane. Do I need to get the jumper cables?”
    Jane laughed. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else. The class was ghastly, at least Mrs.