Free A Quiche Before Dying by Jill Churchill

killed someone in war. He’s probably old enough to have been in Korea and Vietnam.“
    “I see what you mean,“ Jane said. “Did you hear Mrs. Pryce yell something at him about serving his country?“
    “Yes. Suggesting that he was a pansy who got thrown out on his ear. Poor guy. He’d been about the only one who’d escaped her nasty tongue, and then she caught him at the end.“
    “Do you suppose it’s true?“ Jane asked. “Normally I wouldn’t give a damn, but under the circumstances, maybe it’s important. Did you tell the police about her saying that?“
    “I don’t know if it’s true, and no, I didn’t tell the police. I didn’t remember it until now. Listen, Jane, I don’t mean to sound callous—I’m truly concerned about this, but I actually came to talk to you about something else, and I don’t want it to get lost in this mess. I want to talk to you about your Priscilla project.“
    “Oh, yes?“ Had it suddenly gotten hotter or was it just her nerves coming to life? Missy looked at her over the top of her sunglasses. “Yes. Let me ask you something—are you having fun doing this or are you just being dutiful about class?“
    “I’m having fun. In fact, I’m embarrassed to admit how much fun it is...“ Jane paused. “No, that’s not entirely accurate. I’m enjoying it, but mostly I’m obsessing on it. I guess with two of my kids gone, I need another outlet for that maternal urge to try to run somebody’s life. The nice thing about Priscilla is that she has to do what I say. I wouldn’t tell this to anybody but you, but even as upset as I was last night, I sat down for a half an hour or so and scribbled a few notes on things I’d thought of for Priscilla to say and do. It’s weird, though. I’m not so sure she’ll be willing to say and do them—”
    Missy nodded. “That’s what I’d hoped—and was half-afraid—you’d say. Jane, I don’t want to shock you, but I think you’re coming down with a book. I know the signs.“
    “Coming down...? You mean writing a book?“ Jane scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to write a whole book.“
    “You write it one page at a time. Just like you’re doing.“
    “No, I’d never consider it. Really.”
    This whole concept was so revolutionary it almost took her breath away. Could ordinary, real people write books? Missy did. Wow! For a minute it was as if Mrs. Pryce had never existed, much less gotten herself murdered.
    “I’m sorry to have to tell you this: You don’t getto consider it,“ Missy was saying. “Writing is something you have to do. An obsession; you use your own word. The world is made up of people who can’t write and those who can’t help but write. Still, I won’t push you. I just wanted to tell you that if you decide to give a serious shot at writing a book, I’d be thrilled to help you.”
    Willard lumbered to his feet and put a paw on Jane’s knee. She absentmindedly fished an ice cube out of her tea and gave it to him. He settled back down, chewing noisily. “Do you mean you think this story of mine really could be a book?“ Jane asked.
    Missy nodded. “It’s remarkably good writing for a beginner. Of course, good writing isn’t everything—there’s structuring and marketing and a lot more. But good writing is the first essential.”
    They heard the gate squeak, and a moment later Shelley appeared. “Good. You’re still here. Mel VanDyne just called me. He said you didn’t answer your phone, and asked if I knew what had become of you. I told him I could see you and Missy out here, and he asked everybody to stay put.“
    “Pitcher of iced tea on the counter,“ Jane said, feeling this was adequate hostessing for Shelley. She was still trying to cope with what Missy had said.
    “Maybe later,“ Shelley said.
    “Not more questions from VanDyne,“ Missy said. “I’m getting real bored with the few facts I know. It’s only a matter of time before I start