“It could be anybody at or around that table," Shelley said. "What do we know about them? Lots of people can sign well enough to have gotten the gist of it. I'll bet you Katie knows the signing alphabet. There was quite a fad with the girls at school last year to learn it. They thought it was fun. Like a secret code.”
Mel said, "I've got my men asking around if any of the others at that table have anyone in their family with a hearing problem. But it still doesn't prove anything. It's possible that this has nothing to do with the murders. And even if it does, it's only a reason to kill Jake — and certainly not Lynette."
“I know," Jane said sadly.
“Jane, I appreciate your help. Really. It's not your fault this wasn't as useful as we'd all hoped."
“Mel, just rerun it one more time. I'm sure there's something there that will help.”
He obligingly rewound the tape and played it again. "Okay, who's able to see what he's doing?" Jane asked. "George is on his left. He might be able to see Jake's right hand. And Lynette is directly across from him acting like she doesn't notice either him or Olive standing behind her like a Secret Service agent. You can just see Butch at the edge of the frame, sitting on a folding chair with his lunch in his lap. But his face is out of the picture most of the time. We can't see what he's looking at."
“Cavagnari keeps looking Jake's way," Shelley said.
“Right, maybe because Jake's the only one who appears to be listening to him. Or maybe because he's 'listening' to Jake," Jane said.
“Angela and the intern are at the end of the table," Shelley went on. "It's hard to tell from this angle if they could see his right hand, what with all the drinking glasses that might have been in their line of sight."
“Angela must know signing," Jane said. "She was Jake's niece and it was one of his professional gimmicks. The intern had to learn it to work with him."
“The problem is, we have no way of knowing who else was just out of camera range," Shelley said. "No, the problem is that this gives Lynette a very slight, possible reason to have killed Jake, but nobody a reason to have killed Lynette," Mel said harshly. "I'm sorry, but it's really no help at all. Charlene, thanks for coming over so quickly," he added to the secretary.
She was a plump, pretty woman of about thirty. She sighed and picked up her purse and sweater. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help more. This is such a sad, sad thing, Lynette Harwell dying like that. I've sort of followed her career. Seen a couple of really bad movies just because she was in them and I kept hoping she'd be terrific again someday."
“Well, she was terrific yesterday," Jane said. "Shelley and I watched from a distance and really couldn't hear much, but everybody on the set said she gave her best performance ever."
“Well, at least she went out in style then," Charlene said. "Not all of us can lay claim to that much."
“I'm afraid that's true," Shelley said.
“And to think she was a—" Charlene stopped. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? She's got at least two really outstanding performances that will outlast her. Her family and friends and all her many fans will have to find a way to take comfort from that, I suppose. Mel, I've got some papers in the car for you. If you want to walk with me—”
They headed out through the kitchen, where two men were carefully taking fingerprints from every surface.
“Jane, I hope they clean up before they leave your house," Shelley said. "That black powder is making a mess. It's a good thing we had all the kids fingerprinted last year when they had the program at school. That way, you don't have to involve them any more than — Jane?"
“What?"
“I said — Jane, what's the matter with you?" "I think I know. It was what Charlene said." "Know what?"
“Everything. Why and who and even how!" She leaped up and ran after Mel. "Wait!" she shouted at him. "Come back. We have to talk!”
"All right, I'll admit you could be right," Mel said twenty minutes later.
“It all fits! What do you mean I 'could' be right?"
“It's all circumstantial, Jane."
“But the fingerprints in the kitchen will prove it, won't they?"
“The fingerprints will only prove that someone was in your kitchen. Not why or when or with what intent."
“But it's obvious! To find the tape and to pick up a handy weapon!"
“Jane, a trial lawyer would make mincemeat of that. He'd say his client just took an irrational, overwhelming dislike to you and trashed the kitchen as an expression of it. He'd say he was so sorry to have it brought out. It wasn't reasonable or nice to do, but still, we all do stupid, ugly things sometime in our lives and it doesn't make us murderers."
“Oh, Mel!" Jane felt like stamping her foot like a thwarted child. "Why are you countering everything I say?"
“Because I have to. If you can't even convince me a hundred-percent that this is the only possible explanation, how could I possibly convince a prosecutor to go to court with it? And if I don't know I can convince a prosecutor, I can't make an arrest. I don't dare!"
“Okay, okay. I see that. But Mel, just tell me unofficially, do you think I'm right?"
“I'm sure of it."
“So what are you going to do about it?"
“Everything I'm legally able to. Complete detailed questioning of all the suspects and witnesses, file a million reports, crawl over the evidence, look for new evidence to corroborate this theory — and hope for some damned good luck.”
Thelma was delighted at the prospect of having Katie and Todd spend the night with her. "I was going to call you anyway," she said. "I just saw on the noon news that that actress died practically in your yard. It's not a healthy environment for children.”
Jane couldn't imagine how Thelma could have heard about Lynette's death, still officially assumed to be a suicide, without also hearing about Jake's very definite murder the day before, but she cast her eyes heavenward and whispered, "Thanks."
“What was that?"
“Nothing. I'll bring them straight from school then. And pick them up in the morning?"
“Oh, Jane. Leave them all day. I want to take them shopping. I noticed that Todd's jeans are looking a tiny bit worn." That was Thelma's euphemism for "shabby." Jane didn't bother to tell her mother-in-law that Todd worked very hard at getting them that way.
“Then I'll pick them up around four.”
She got all their things together and headed out.
“Scott's got some little cousins visiting," Mike said when she got to the high school. "He promised to take them to the Museum of Science and Industry tomorrow, so it'll be an all-day thing. Give me my stuff and I'll just go home with him. Be back tomorrow for dinner unless I call first.”
That was when a couple of very disparate, but interlocked plans started to take shape in Jane's mind.
“Mom, don't you think you ought to go stay someplace else? A hotel or something?”
She smiled. "I'll be fine. Really fine. Don't worry about me. But if you call home and I'm not there, it's just because I decided to do that. In fact — oh, there's Scott's car. Here's your stuff.”
She checked that she had a credit card with her. made a couple of stops and smiled all the way home. She even smiled through a whole telephone conversation with Thelma. Then she went looking for Shelley to lay out her plan.
25
By seven o'clock much of the heavier equipment was gone. The props truck had been removed, as had the wardrobe trailer, the condor, the scenery trucks, and one of the electrical trucks. There were no cameras in sight, no microphones, and the heavy cables that once snaked all over the field had disappeared.
The wardrobe tent remained, however, and the center partition had been removed to make a large eating area. A dozen round tables and their chairs now filled the area and spilled out into the yard beyond. With the scenery flats gone and most of the big reflectors and the lighting equipment missing, the field behind the house was beginning to look like it did before the movie p
roduction company arrived.
Jane let the cats out to explore and put Willard in his dog run, where he could now bark his brains out if he wanted without disturbing the filming. Jane rescued her lawn chairs before they could be accidentally packed up and hauled away. According to her contract with the production company, by Monday evening everything would be gone and she and theneighbors would have new fences installed.
When she brought Willard back in, the catering truck was just arriving, as were some of the party attendees. The street in front of her house was starting to fill up with the cars of the extras and local crew members who were entitled to attend the wrap party and wanted to be there early to enjoy every minute of it.
But her plan, if it were to work at all, couldn't be executed until everyone had arrived. She took a long, soothing bath, washed her hair and took special care with drying and curling it, and put on a slinky peacock blue dress she'd bought to attend the theater on her weekend in New York with Mel. It was a remarkably flattering dress, which she wouldn't have even bothered to try on if Shelley hadn't insisted. Even on the hanger, she'd found the plunging neckline downright alarming. She had great shoes to go with it, but they were high heels and she couldn't walk around the yard in them without nailing herself into the ground, so she settled for some taupe flats that were decent enough as long as nobody looked too closely.
Shelley was just coming out of her house as Jane exited her kitchen door. "My God! You do clean up good!" Shelley exclaimed. "That dress is terrific! Mel will fall down drooling."
“I hope so. I keep expecting the ghost of my great-grandmother to show up shouting, 'Cover your chest, girl!' "
“Mel's going to be here tonight, isn't he?" "Yes. I spoke to him this afternoon."
“You didn't tell him—"
“No, not all of it. Just that I had a couple things in mind that might help.”
They strolled over to the catering truck where a line had already formed to partake of the wrap party dinner. Shelley studied the menu scrawled on the chalkboard hung from the end of the truck. "Oh, great! Tex-Mex. Jane, if you get near anything with sauce, I'll smack you. I couldn't stand for something to get spilled on that dress."
“I'm too nervous to eat anyway," Jane said. "May I have a drink? Maybe I could ask for it in one of those cups with a lid."
“Don't be fresh," Shelley said with a smile, using her mother's favorite phrase.
Jane and Shelley got soft drinks, although there was beer available, the first time they'd seen any alcohol on the set. They drifted about, seemingly aimlessly for a while, exchanging pleasantries with various people. Actually they were taking roll, waiting for everyone they needed to arrive.
There were a surprising number of people they had difficulty recognizing. Instead of being in costume, as they had been all week, the extras were dressed in party clothes with makeup and their real hairstyles. Many of them looked vastly different as themselves. Most of the partygoers were dressed casually, but a few, like Jane and Shelley, had put on their best.
Mel's reaction to Jane was highly satisfactory. "Wow!" he said, looking her up and down lecherously when he arrived. "You look fantastic!”
In all the years of her marriage, her husband had never said anything to her in quite that tone of voice. Jane felt herself blushing and had to suppress a girlishgiggle that was forcing itself up her throat. "Thanks," she said, in a squeaky voice.
He stared at her a minute longer, then forced himself to say in a businesslike tone, "Now, about your call this afternoon—?"
“We just want to see if we can 'break the barrier' of secrecy. If it works, it'll be up to you to follow through."
“And if it doesn't, you'll have put yourselves in danger," Mel said.
“No, because there will be too many witnesses," Jane assured him. "Just sit down and look as inconspicuous as you can while Shelley and I gather people up."
“Where?" Mel asked, peering into the semidarkness of the tent.
“Over there." Jane tilted her head at the far corner where Olive Longabach had been sitting alone until Maisie took pity on her and sat down a moment before. "That table isn't going to fill up any time soon with Olive casting a pall of grief over it. Shelley, you join them and keep the table free, would you?”
When Shelley had gone, Mel leaned close to Jane and said, "I don't suppose I can stop you from doing this, can I?”
Jane shook her head.
“If my superiors had any idea I was going along with this crazy scheme—"
“You're not 'going along' with anything, Mel. You may, with luck, find yourself a fortunate accidental witness to a confession. That's all. And you may not," she added. "Go sit down and we'll see.”
Jane found Butch and the props intern deep in conversation and butted into it. "Butch, could I speak to the two of you in a few minutes?"
“Sheesh! Jane! You look bitchin'," he exclaimed.
“I guess that's good? Thanks. I really need to talk to you guys. It'll only take a minute. Go to the table in the corner where Maisie is sitting. I'll be there in a sec.”
Jane then extracted, with some difficulty, Angela Smith from a tête-a-tête with a handsome electrician and sent her to the table. It took her only a minute more to locate George Abington, who was standing in front of the catering truck, studying his options grimly. Grousing about the trendiness of the menu, he went compliantly.
Roberto Cavagnari was almost as easy.
“Could I have a few minutes of your time?" she asked him, putting her hand on his arm.
“Who are you?" he exclaimed dramatically, leering at her.
“The Spirit of Justice!" Jane responded theatrically.
As she hoped, this caught his interest. That, and (she suspected) her cleavage, seemed enough to get his attention for a moment. Which was all she needed.
She led him into the cavern of the tent, steering him through the tables to where the rest had gathered.
“How nice of you all to join us," Maisie said, looking perplexed. "I was just telling Olive—" her voice trailed off as she looked around the table.
Nobody was listening to her. They were all looking expectantly at Jane.
“I want to ask you all a few questions," Jane said. She glanced around and didn't see Mel. He'd hidden himself a little too well for her liking. But she noticed one of the other police officers, out of uniform and, likewise, almost unrecognizable, at the adjoining table.
“Yeah?" Butch asked. "What kinda questions?”
Jane leaned on the back of a chair to help steady herself. Her knees were shaking. What if she'd come this far and was utterly wrong and about to make a prize ass of herself? "Maisie? You told me something interesting the first day of work here.”
Maisie looked startled. "I did?"
“You said Lynette Harwell had been on sets that had bad luck. Remember? Tell me again what kind of bad luck you mentioned."
“I–I don't know — uh, accidents, injuries of various kinds, illnesses—"
“—and thefts, you said."
“Yes, I guess I did."
“Important thefts?”
Maisie shrugged. "I don't know.”
Roberto was deep in thought. He muttered to himself for a few minutes and said, "Yes. I heard—"
“What did you hear?" Jane prodded.
“Lynette's last film. Before this one. There was talk of a man who almost died because his medicine was taken from the set. I do not know what the illness was, but the pills were important to him.”
Jane nodded. "And on this set, too, there were thefts. Mr. Cavagnari's watch—"
“No, no, no. This was not stolen," Roberto said. "This I misplaced among the food."
“But Jake had looked on that table only minutes before and he didn't see it there," Jane said. "Is that likely?"
“Impossible!" Butch said. "Jake couldn't miss seeing something he was lookin' for if it was right in front of his eyes. Anybody else could, but not Jake."
“So whoe
ver stole it must have put it there," Jane said. "Just as whoever stole the cash put it in the cup in the makeup trailer?"
“Jokes! You mean these were jokes?" Cavagnari said. "This is not a thing of good taste to do!"
“Oh, they weren't jokes," Jane assured him. "And I misspoke a moment ago when I said the person who stole the things put them back. Butch's medallion and Angela's ring were also stolen, but there wasn't time to put them back. Was there?”
She looked slowly around the table, meeting the eyes of each person in turn.
“Was there, Olive?" she finally said softly.
2 6
A babble of conversation broke out and Butch's voice finally cut through it. "You mean Olive stole that stuff?"
“No, Olive didn't steal things. Olive returned them," Jane said.
Olive had started to rise, but Shelley was standing behind her and had laid a firm, but gentle, hand on her shoulder.
“You see, Lynette Harwell was a kleptomaniac," Jane said. "That's probably what she was treated for at the psychiatric hospital. Not substance abuse like everyone assumed. And what Mr. Cavagnari said about her last film before this probably explains why. My guess is that the medicine the man needed to take was very likely in an attractive container. A container Lynette stole. When Olive Longabach realized how close her mistress had come to killing someone, she persuaded her to get help. Or perhaps forced her to get help. Is that right, Olive?”
The older woman sat with her head down, staring at the table, and didn't respond.
“But it didn't work. The treatment didn't stick. In fact, she might have been worse than ever. The watch, the ring, the money, the religious medallion. Olive was being run ragged trying to keep track of the things Lynette was lifting whenever she got a chance. That's what Jake realized and it led to his death. He had a phenomenal memory for objects. He knew the watch wasn't on the table when he looked for it. A moment later, after Olive had been there getting tea for Lynette, the watch appeared. To someone with a suspicious mind like his, it didn't take any more to make him realize what had happened."
“How did he know Olive hadn't stolen it herself?" Maisie asked Jane the question, but was looking at Olive, who still had not acknowledged the conversation.
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