“Thanks, Mom. Listen—" he said, taking her aside and lowering his voice. "Something weird. I parked here this morning about an hour ago, went inside to help out, and when I came back out, I realized somebody had been in the truck."
“What?"
“They didn't take anything. There's nothing to take. I left my portable CD player at home today. I guess maybe somebody knew I had one and was going to grab it."
“If nothing's missing, how do you know somebody got into the truck?"
“Because the seat was pushed back as far as it can go."
“Good Lord! Do you think someone was trying to steal it?"
“I don't know, but I'm locking it up every time I get out now. And if you park back here again, you should, too."
“Mike, I'd pay somebody to steal the station wagon," she joked.
“Lock it up anyway," he said seriously. "There's lots of kids around here and they were probably just looking over the truck, but still — come inside. Conrad has something he wants you to try. I've got to go. See you later.”
Jane did as he suggested, then knocked on the back door to the kitchen. Sarah opened the door. "Oh, Jane. Good. Conrad wants you to try the artichoke dip. It's a new recipe."
“Sarah?" Conrad said, "What are you doing down here? I told you I don't need any help. You should be upstairs resting. Hi, Jane. Come on in.”
Grace was cutting up spring onions. "Conrad, she's rested all morning," she said.
“Yes, honey. I need something to do," Sarah said.
“Not until you're back up to speed," he said firmly, giving her a light kiss and a gentle shove toward the stairway.
Sarah went without any more protest, but Jane saw Grace's back stiffen.
Conrad gestured to Jane to sit at the small desk by the phone. He brought over a plate with an assortment of crackers and a little dish of steaming dip. "Careful. It's still hot.”
Jane tested the dip. "Wonderful! What's in it?"
“Artichokes, beer, cream cheese, and some seasonings," he said, pleased. "The trick is keeping it from getting too runny. Now here's some from the same batch that's cooled."
“Conrad, I think it's even better warm than hot," Jane decided.
Grace, finished with her job, came and sat down. "That's what I think, too. But Conrad's fretting about keeping it hot.”
He shrugged. "Two to one against me. I guess I'm beaten."
“What does Sarah think?" Jane asked. "Oh, Sarah doesn't like artichokes," he said. "She loved them when we were kids,”
Grace said with surprise.
“People change," he replied.
Grace started to say something, but, sensing tension, Jane changed the subject. "Mike was sure loaded down with luncheons. It's going well?"
“Wonderfully well. Except for the raccoons," Grace said with a smile. "They dumped all the trash out of the barrels last night. We're going to have to get something with locked lids.”
Jane almost mentioned someone getting into Mike's truck, planning to make a joke about raccoons being smart enough to drive, but decided against it. Conrad had enough on his mind without worrying about neighborhood kids prowling around behind the deli.
When Jane returned home, Shelley was wrestling her hose and sprinkler around from the back yard to the front. "Are you trying to make it rain?" Jane asked. "I know where you could get a nice little pamphlet on lawn care."
“If that old bastard tries to give me one of his pamphlets, he'll find it stuck up his nose in seconds," Shelley said, bending down and studying the dial setting on the sprinkler. She adjusted it, went back to the faucet, and turned it on. "Where have you been?”
Jane explained her trip to the deli. "Conrad sent home some dip. Come in and try it while I change my clothes.”
When she was comfortably clad in jeans and a T-shirt that said, "World's Greatest Mom," she found Shelley sitting on the sofa, making dainty smacking noises with her eyes closed. "Paprika, I think," she said, analyzing the dip. "I don't suppose he told you what the seasonings were."
“I didn't ask. Shelley, it's a little tense there."
“What do you mean?”
Shelley picked up the little Styrofoam carton of dip and followed Jane to the kitchen, where Jane poured them both a glass of iced tea, then nipped out the back door to pluck some mint leaves to put in it.
“It's like Conrad and Grace are having a tug of war with Sarah," Jane said. "They both adore her and want what's best, but they seem to have different ideas of what that is. Conrad treats her like a piece of porcelain that has to be protected from everything — including herself. Grace seems to be more down-to-earth and practical, wanting to let Sarah take care of herself. At least a little bit."
“That's too bad," Shelley said. "I'm on Grace's side, but I can see how it's awkward. Conrad is her husband, after all, and knows her best. Even Grace admitted that Sarah's a different person whom she hardly knows anymore. Sarah might be a whole lot more fragile than Grace realizes."
“True. And I imagine Grace has thought of that, but it's awkward for her. It's always awkward being a fifth wheel anyway.”
Shelley waited for Jane to go on, and when she didn't, said, "There's something else on your mind, too, isn't there?"
“That obvious? Okay, this makes me feel like a real traitor, but I've been wondering about Grace. That nasty divorce of hers — how long ago was it?"
“I don't know. Years and years, I imagine.”
“Before Stonecipher moved here?”
Shelley was silent for a few minutes. "I seewhat you mean. She might have been another client like LeAnne. I'll have to think about this. I believe it was much longer ago than that, but then I don't really know when Stonecipher first turned up."
“How can we find out?" Jane asked.
“Didn't you say Patsy Mallett was an old friend of Grace's? She'd know who handled her divorce."
“You're not thinking of just asking her outright, are you? She'd see through what you were getting at in a minute. Patsy's no dummy."
“Jane! Don't you think I can be subtle?" Shelley said with a grin.
“I merely think you've met your match in Patsy. But I look forward to watching — at a safe distance.”
17.
Jane was thrilled to discover that Patsy Mallett lived in the messiest house in the world. It wasn't dirty though. Clean windows, floors, curtains, no used dishes sitting out on the sink. But for sheer numbers of "things" out and about, Patsy took the prize. There were piles of books and papers everywhere. Tidy piles, but a lot of them. Plastic bags bulged with needlework, model airplanes, electronic kits. There were a dozen different rosters on the — telephone table, half a dozen notepads. Children's artwork, some yellowed and curling, adorned the front of the refrigerators and the walls. A stack of recipe books was feathered with notes and file cards sticking out every which way.
Patsy ushered Jane and Shelley into a huge family room with a picnic-sized table in the middle, nearly covered with other projects in various stages of completion. A clay model, sketchpads, some colored chalk, and poster-board took up most of the surface. Three sides of the rooms were windows and had glass shelving with plants everywhere. One whole large window had spectacular African violets. Another was cacti and succulents. There were bonsai trees, radishes growing in cut-down milk cartons, and something that looked like an experiment in hydroponics. A sweet-potato vine started near the kitchen door and worked its way entirely around the room.
They had to make their way around a sewing table, spinning wheel, and loom to get to the table, where Patsy was hastily clearing a spot for them to sit without their elbows in a project. It was a fascinating house reflecting an enormous variety of interests and skills.
“I know it's a mess, but it's my house," Patsy said with a laugh. "When I turned fifty, I decided I was entitled to live any way I wanted without apology. It was tremendously liberating. My late mother-in-law used to give me a cleaning service every year for my birthday and
they always quit within the month because they couldn't stand all the stuff. There, I think that will give us a little space. Jane, you can sit over here, just watch where you step.”
Alarmed for a second, Jane glanced down. Pushed up against the wall by the chair was a cardboard box containing a fluffy towel, a big tawny cat, and four of the cutest kittens Jane had ever seen. "Oh, how pretty they are!" she said, squatting on the floor. "Will the mother let me touch them?"
“Only if you give her a good petting first," Patsy said. "They're Abyssinians. Aren't they lush little guys?”
Jane sat down cross-legged on the floor and played with the kittens while Shelley and Patsy started going over the basic outline of the high school graduation night party. Patsy had charts showing who reported to whom, a day-by-day plan for the year that put the most elaborate "Plan Your Wedding" chart to shame. She had notebooks for each committee and subcommittee, which gave the entire history of their work from inception, all suppliers they'd ever used with assessments of each, and annual budgets balanced down to the last penny. There were scrapbooks that captured each graduation party in pictures, boxes of ribbons and buttons that identified the workers, and small plastic containers of attractive tiny lapel pins to reward the workers. Patsy had had her collection of pins made into charms on a bracelet, which she showed them with. well-deserved pride.
Jane was far more interested in the kittens, who were now climbing around on her, but got the impression from what she overheard of the conversation between the other two women that Patsy thought all this organization was not only easy but fun. And Shelley agreed. The strongest of the kittens had climbed up the front of Jane's T-shirt to her shoulder, and after studying her ear with great concentration, licked her earlobe with its tiny emery-board tongue. Jane's heart turned into marshmallow goo.
By the time the kittens started to tire, nearly an hour had passed. Shelley and Patsy were winding up their overview of the graduation night party's history and methods. Jane tucked the exhausted kittens into the box where the mother cat had been calmly sleeping, and joined Shelley at the table. Patsy was putting away notebooks. "What did I miss?" Jane asked with a guilty grin.
“I signed you up for six committees," Shelley said. "You don't need a personal life, do you?"
“You've been talking to my kids if you think that."
“Actually, Patsy thinks I might be good as junior co-chairman of the food committee and you've agreed to assist me," Shelley said. "You do agree?"
“I wouldn't think of disagreeing with the two of you. Patsy, there are people like you and Shelley who like running things, and people like me who will do anything Shelley tells me to—"
“Not quite anything," Shelley murmured. "I told you a white winter coat was a waste of money."
“—but," Jane continued, "there are a lot of people who can't stand being told what to do by anybody. How on earth do you manage? Everybody seems to come out of this still liking you."
“Kindness," Patsy answered. "Deadly kindness. There are plenty of people who don't like me, but since I'm so terribly, terribly nice to them, they can't quite figure out why and are embarrassed to say so. Being kind to someone puts them in your power."
“Are you being kind to us?" Jane asked.
Patsy laughed. "I hope so, but it's because I like you two so much. How about some cookies and coffee?”
Jane glanced around the busy room. "If you're a good cook, too, I might have to kill you.”
Patsy laughed heartily. "Don't worry. My family has nearly banned me from the kitchen. My kids are all good cooks out of self-defense. They'd have starved otherwise. I've mastered egg salad sandwiches and that's about it. But my oldest daughter came by last night and made the cookies. Stay where you are.”
She bustled off to the kitchen while Shelley studied the one notebook that was left on the table. As Jane watched her, Shelley suddenly did something very odd. Her eyes widened, she looked down and said, in the sappiest voice Jane had ever heard, "O000h, my.”
Jane stood up and leaned over the table to look. The mother cat had deposited a sleeping, milk-sated kitten in Shelley's lap.
Shelley, who despised cats, looked up at Jane and said in a tiny voice, "That's so sweet I think I'm going to cry." She gathered the kitten up tenderly and held its little soft body to her face. "What a baby!”
Patsy came back in with a tray. "She wants you to have that one," she said.
“No, no. I hate cats," Shelley said. She had her eyes closed and the kitten against her cheek.
“They'll be ready for new homes in about two more weeks," Patsy said as she poured coffee. "Jane, you need one, too.”
Jane shook her head regretfully. "I have two cats already who would probably consider these little guys chipmunks. And my dog would either be afraid of them or think they were snacks. These cookies are wonderful! And the coffee is — well, hot.”
Patsy didn't take offense. "Best I can do. Would you prefer tea? I boil water well and you could drop the tea bag into the cup your‑ The sludgy coffee was removed, Shelley reluctantly put the kitten back in its box, and thethree women applied themselves to cookies and Earl Grey tea. "Strangely impersonal funeral this morning, wasn't it?" Patsy said. "I felt sorry for Tony Belton."
“Me, too," Jane said. "He didn't seem pleased at the way Rhonda latched on to him. What do you suppose the nature of their relationship really is?"
“I don't know. I've only seen Tony at the office when I went in to pick up paperwork," Patsy said. "I've always thought he was a nice young man. I wonder what Rhonda has in store for him."
“What do you mean?" Shelley asked.
“Just that I assume her interest in him is self-interest, because she's that kind of person. He's handsome, young, and apparently pretty pliable judging from the fact that he sat up front with the family even though he and they were obviously unhappy about it," Patsy said. "But does she plan to marry him or does she think she can profit from him financially?"
“How would she do that?" Jane asked.
“I'm not sure, but Rhonda never lets a penny go without making it scream for mercy. Depending on what kind of partnership agreement Stonecipher and Tony had, she might stand to profit from stringing him along."
“Might they both have profited from her husband's death?" Jane asked.
Patsy shrugged. "I guess it's possible. But I only handled the client billing. How the money was distributed once it came in is anybody's guess."
“But Emma would have known," Jane said. "Are you thinking they conspired to bump her off?" Patsy asked bluntly.
“Not thinking, exactly, just wondering. After all, somebody did kill her."
“Isn't that odd?" Patsy said. "If you divide people into potential victims and potential perpetrators, I'd have put her firmly on the perpetrator side. I didn't have many dealings with her, but I had the feeling she had a strong instinct for the main chance."
“But she was victimized by Stonecipher, apparently, and for a long time," Shelley said.
“Yes, but that was sex," Patsy said. "Whole different category. How are the police getting along with their investigation of her death? The article in the paper this morning was awfully vague."
“Badly," Jane said. "There were two other things going on at the apartment building at the same time. A party and a garage sale. Apparently half the town was in and out all afternoon. They need someone like you to organize all the information," she added with a smile.
“I hear she was blackmailing people," Patsy said.
“Where did you hear that?" Jane said, surprised.
“Oh, here and there," Patsy said with a smile. "I have my sources. Actually, the police must have been asking people about some kind of file folders. File folders contain information and information is a saleable commodity. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to make the connection.”
Shelley had been quiet. Now she said, "I was surprised to see Grace Axton at the funeral this morning. You'd think as much grief as Stone
cipher had given them, she'd have just been glad he was gone."
“Grace feels strongly about appearances and manners," Patsy said. "Some Puritan strain in her. Most of us would have thought we should show up and then thought up excuses not to. But Grace doesn't give herself excuses. She's a tough lady. Tougher with herself than anyone else. At least since her divorce, which was about the same time we met in an accounting class. She had to be strong to get out of that marriage in the first place, and then make a life and profession for herself. I really admire her."
“How long ago was the divorce?" Shelley asked.
“Oh, a good ten years ago, I think. Maybe only eight or nine. And she was just starting out with her accounting business when Sarah went to pieces. She had to drop everything. Grace's ex-husband had disappeared and wasn't making the house payments like the settlement ordered. Grace gave up the house, her fledgling business, and everything to go to her sister. That's how she ended up living with her grandmother when it was all over. But I never once heard her complain."
“Poor Grace. And poor Sarah," Jane said. "I can't imagine having only the one child and never even getting to take it home.”
Patsy looked at her curiously. "What do you mean, never take it home?"
“Wasn't it born with brain damage? That's what Grace said.”
Patsy shook her head. "I think you misunderstood. The baby was born normal. He was a year old when he died."
“Oh. I guess I did."
“I misunderstood, too," Shelley added. "But now that I think about it, Grace just said they had a child who was severely brain damaged. She didn't say it was born that way. What happened to the child?"
“It drowned in the bathtub," Patsy said. "Well, didn't quite drown. Sarah had forgotten and left something on the stove, smelled it burning, and dashed to turn off the burner. She was only gone a few seconds, but it was long enough. The paramedics did their job too well. It would have been better if they hadn'trevived — oh, well. Not for me to say, I guess. Anyway, the baby never regained consciousness, was on life support. It must have been horrible. About the only thing in its little brain that didn't die was whatever triggered convulsions.”
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