Free The Merchant of Menace by Jill Churchill

way she'd intended. As soon as everyone had been through the line once, Jane was going to put the desserts out on the kitchen table and counter. Mel had better be there by then to keep his mother out of her hair.
    Ginger found Jane in the kitchen. "I think we can set up in a way that won't completely destroy your party. Lance will be doing a short commercial feed live at eight. Just a fifteen-second bit. Then later he'll open the news live with a two-minute piece. Of course, we can pray there's real news by then that'll take precedence."
    “A nice plane wreck or a bomb going off somewhere?" Jane said.
    Ginger grinned. "Something like that. Think you could arrange it?”
    People started coming in the front door, shaking snow off their clothes, piling coats, hats, and mittens on the stairs, the banister, and the coat-rack Jane had borrowed from Shelley. Pet was among the first to arrive, and being a model child, she assigned herself the job of making sure the hats and gloves stayed with the right coats.
    “I'm hiring that child the next time I put on a do," Jane said as Shelley came inside.
    “It's starting to rain," Shelley said. "All the snow will have melted by morning.”
    Jane looked at her with amazement. "Are you actually making light meaningless chitchat to take my mind off that horrible man who's going to invade my house any second?”
    Shelley grinned.I guess I am. Listen, Jane, you have to think about this like I do about getting a Pap test. No matter how awful it's going to be, in X number of hours it's going to be over."
    “Well, X number of hours can't pass fast enough for me," Jane said grimly.
    The party got off to a rousing start, everybody being glad to get out of the cold and eat themselves silly. But when Lance King finally re- j oined the group, with his cameraman, lighting people, and equipment, the crowd in Jane's house grew significantly quieter and more subdued. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to attract his attention except a couple malcontents who fell on him with suggestions for individuals they personally wanted skewered.
    Jane lurked at the kitchen door, watching Lance move through the room like a bad smell. Nobody actually recoiled, hand over nose, but they looked away, got very interested in minute items on their plates, or struck up quietly animated conversations with each other.
    Lance didn't seem to care. He strolled about the room as if he were a rock star and the rest were adoring fans. He carried a bag, which Jane assumed was a laptop computer, and carelesslybanged it into several pieces of furniture. His Santa suit was open at the neck and he'd discarded his false beard somewhere. Probably in the middle of the dining room table where it could remain a revolting reminder of his presence, Jane thought nastily.
    “Ho! Ho! Ho!" he suddenly bellowed. There was a soft clatter of plastic utensils as several startled party-goers lost their grips on forks and spoons. "This looks more like a wake than a holiday party. Ah, life in the suburbs. Ever exciting.”
    He gazed around for a moment, then noticed Jane at the kitchen door. He called across the room, "You must be Mrs. Jeffry. Thanks for inviting us to your happy little home." He flung himself into Jane's favorite chair, the squashy, overstuffed one that was so comfortable that she considered sitting in it as going back to the womb. It was where she sat to watch television, to play with her laptop, to do double-crostics. Her chair had been violated.
    “I didn't," Jane muttered.
    “What was that? Speak up, honey.”
    Jane balled her fists as she felt a flush flood her face and she turned away. She headed for the guest bathroom in the little hall leading to the garage, considering the possibility that she could just keep going. Get in the car, drive away, and come back later. Instead, she shut herself in the bathroom for a few quiet minutes of rage. But training eventually overcame emotions. Jane's father was in the State Department and she'd