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might be a heart attack or something. Maybe she just looks dead.“
    “Jane, believe me—“ Shelley turned away and put her hand over her mouth, retching.
    Jane ran up the stairs, skidding to a halt just inside the door to the guest room. She suddenly realized what Shelley meant. The cleaning lady was lying sprawled beside the bed, just inside the doorway. Feet toward the door, face down, her head was turned sideways, and what Jane could see was sickening. The woman’s skin was a mottled purple, her eyes bulged, and some- thing fat and purplish and repulsive was sticking out of her mouth. It took Jane a few seconds to realize it was the woman’s tongue.
    The vacuum cleaner cord was twisted savagely around her bruised throat.
    Jane’s stomach heaved and she dashed for the bathroom. She clung to the sink, steeling herself. Then she rinsed her mouth, slapped some cold water on her face, and—carefully not looking toward the guest room—started downstairs. She had to lean on the banister for support. Her knees were shaking so badly she nearly tumbled forward twice.
    Shelley was at the bottom of the stairs, and they fell into each other’s arms. “Oh, my God, Shelley—“ Jane whimpered. Shelley was crying. “We have to call the police. They’ll take care of—of everything.“ She knew she was babbling, but she needed to say something.
    “Oh, Jane...“ Shelley moaned. “Take care of it? This is too awful. How could something so terrible happen?“
    “That’s for the police to figure out,“ Jane said. Since the normally bossy Shelley was on the verge of going to pieces, Jane felt the need to be confident. But her voice came out in a croaking manner that didn’t sound like herself.
    “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’ll call,“ Shelley said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her elegant maroon suit. In other circumstances, Jane would have fainted from astonishment at seeing such a thing. Of course, in other circumstances, Shelley would never have done that.
    “What shall I say?“
    “I don’t know,“ Jane said, following her back to the kitchen. They were moving along like children, clinging to each other as if afraid to let go.
    Shelley picked up the phone, then put it back down. “I can’t hear with that dishwasher going,“ she said. She looked down at the little light indicating the cycle. She went even whiter than before. “It’s just on prewash...“ she said tonelessly.
    “So what? Just cancel the cycle— My God, Shelley!“ Jane said, suddenly realizing the implications of this. “Did you start it before you found her?“
    “No, she“—she gestured helplessly toward the stairs—“must have.“
    “Then that means she’s only been dead a few minutes. Whoever did it might still be here.”
    They looked toward the family room, and suddenly the chairs and sofas became menacing—hiding places where murderers might be lurking. Jane grabbed Shelley’s arm. “We’ll call from my house.“
    “We shouldn’t leave her. It doesn’t seem decent.“
    “Decent! Nothing about this is decent, Shelley Anyway, we can’t do her any good now.”
    Holding hands like terrified schoolgirls, they ran across the adjoining drives and into Jane’s kitchen. Willard greeted them, then ran for cover, sensing that something was very wrong. After misdialing twice, Shelley finally managed to convey to the police that someone had been murdered in her house and that she was safely waiting at her neighbor’s house. She gave her address and Jane’s, and was barely through talking when the faint wail of a siren sounded on the main thoroughfare a few blocks over.
    They stood looking at each other. “What do I do now?“ Shelley asked.
    “Nothing. Just wait. Want a cigarette?”
    Shelley had quit nearly a year before, but accepted the offer with gratitude. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?“ she said, coughing a little as she took the first drag.
    “Yes, of course. I’ve got to take care of car pools.“ In