They sat down at the kitchen table. Shelley had been clipping grocery store coupons and started gathering them up and putting them into the small cardboard file she kept in her purse. "Here's one for cat food I saved for you," she said.
Jane folded it and stuffed it in her jeans pocket. She was still brooding over secrets told and secrets kept. "Do you have any awful secrets, Shelley? I don't mean I'm asking what they are, just if you have any."
“You know them all," Shelley said. "Except for some stupid, embarrassing things, most of which I've mercifully forgotten."
“My secrets are petty in the world's scheme of things," Jane said. "Once I forgot to pay for a loaf of bread at a market in France, and deliberately didn't go back to pay when I realized it. My worst was chipping a tiny flake of rock off one of the stones at Stonehenge. I was dared on a school outing. I felt horrible about it for months, and tried to figure out how I could send it back, but I was only twelve and I was scared that they'd get my fingerprints off the envelope and trace me to my father and he'd lose his job in the State Department for having such a wicked daughter."
“My worst was shoplifting a bikini. I must have been about sixteen, and of course my mother wouldn't give me the money to buy a thing like that, so, in desperation, I stole it. Of course, then I was faced not only with the guilt,but with the knowledge that I didn't ever dare wear it."
“But Shelley, those are stupid things that all kids do in some variation. Not grown-up, horrible secrets."
“Well, you do have one grown-up, horrible secret. .
“You mean about Steve and whoever the bitch was? Even that doesn't really qualify. I couldn't be blackmailed about it. It's not something awful I did. Just something that would make me feel embarrassed if people knew. I certainly wouldn't kill anybody to keep it quiet.”
Shelley's phone rang. "Yes? Oh, hello, Detective VanDyne. Yes, that would be fine. Yes, she's right here with me. I'll ask. Jane, could you stay here for a while? Yes, that's fine. Ten minutes, then.”
She hung up and said, "He wants to tell me how things are coming along and double check with you about the times you saw people coming and going. He'll be right over.
“Oh, God! I look like I've been pulled through a knothole!"
“I thought you didn't like him?"
“I didn't like him thinking I was a frumpy housewife and I'm sitting here the living proof of it!"
“You've got time to run home. Put on that cherry sweater you bought last week."
“Not the green one with the navy trim?”
Shelley paused a moment, then grinned. "Jane, I wouldn't be your friend if I continued to keep this from you. That green sweater makes you look like you just gave six quarts of blood.”
Jane laughed. "That must be why people are always so solicitous when I wear it. Always asking how I feel.”
She made it just moments before the detective, and was sitting calmly at the kitchen table wearing the cherry sweater and crisp, black slacks when his MG purred to a stop in the driveway. Shelley had been on the phone when she returned and was still talking. Jane had the impression she was talking to Paul, but wasn't sure. As the doorbell rang, Shelley said, "Right, honey. Thanks for telling me. I was worried. Bye-bye." She hung up and said quickly, "Jane, don't mention those pearls to VanDyne. I know who took them."
“Who—?"
“Please, come in," Shelley was saying to the detective.
Jane studied him as Shelley invited him in and fixed him a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies. He was just as good-looking as Jane remembered. He was probably a few years younger than she, but, according to the gossip columns, that didn't matter these days. She wondered briefly what sort of money he made, but then quickly reminded herself she wasn't looking for someone to marry, just someone to date occasionally.
Maybe.
She hadn't been on a date since she met Steve. Eighteen years ago! What did people do on dates these days? She was pretty sure the old kiss-on-the-third-date rule didn't apply, but did everybody just hop into bed with everyone now? Oh, dear. That would put her at a real disadvantage. She'd be a Victorian in a time warp. Imagine letting someone you hadn't known intimately for years see your stretch marks. Horrors! Besides, if she ever did go out with somebody like this, the fun of it would be in being seen with him. And then there were the kids to consider..
“Mrs. Jeffry?”
She had the feeling he'd spoken to her more than once. "Sorry, I was just thinking about — something."
“I know this must be very upsetting to you both," he said.
Let him think it was murder on her mind, not sex. "Of course. But you must call me Jane. 'Mrs. Jeffry' makes me feel very old."
“Okay," he said with a charming smile, but he didn't offer his first name. "And you're Shelley, aren't you?"
“Yes," Shelley answered, but the look in her eyes said, "Mrs. Nowack to you, buddy.”
Oh, dear. If Shelley had taken a dislike to him, Jane figured she'd better give up on him. It wouldn't be a bit of fun giggling girlishly over a conquest that your friend didn't approve of. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked him.
“First, I wanted to fill Mrs. Nowack in on what we've learned.”
So he had caught that expression and duly noted it. Good for him.
“Mrs. Jeffry suggested that the regular cleaning woman probably was the intended target. That's simply a theory, of course. She has no proof. But it is something to consider and discard—"
“Discard!" Jane exclaimed. "You know perfectly well there's absolutely nothing questionable about Mrs. Thurgood's past. Unless you're lying to us and the newspapers about her. Are you?"
“Why would we need to do that?"
“And you know by now what mixed reviews Edith gets," she went on.
“Mixed reviews?"
“Some of our friends who are very good housekeepers think the world of her," Shelley explained, "and others who are… well, slobs, to be honest, didn't think she did a very good job."
“And which are you, Mrs. Nowack?"
“She's only worked for me once and I didn't think she did a very good job."
“And you?" he asked Jane. "I understand she was at your house the day after the murder."
“I'm one of the slobs who didn't think she did a terribly good job," Jane replied honestly. "I mean, she did the minimum well enough, but no more." He hadn't admitted that her theory had any merit, but at least he was asking questions about Edith. Certainly that meant he was coming around to her way of thinking.
“What conclusions do you draw from this discrepancy?" he asked.
“What an odd question," Shelley said. "Why should our conclusions matter? It's yours that count. What do you think — or aren't you allowed to say?”
That put him in an obviously uncomfortableposition. He stirred his coffee, cocking his head at her as if considering how much he ought to say. The silence grew longer, and Shelley's original animosity seemed to be growing.
Jane — wisely or not — took matters in her own hands. "I can't speak for anybody, but I think she was blackmailing customers — or ex-customers. I haven't figured out which."
“Why do you think that?" His tone was pleasant. Almost amused. Or did Jane just imagine a patronizing tone?
“Because the one time she did work for me, I believe she broke into a locked drawer in a room I asked her not to go into.”
She was rewarded with a smile. A genuine, dimple-flashing smile. She nearly slipped off her chair.
“Tell me more about it," he said.
Jane did. She tried to go easy on the domestic aspects of glasses repair kits and files of report cards and envelopes with baby teeth the tooth fairy had brought. He listened in silence.
“So nothing was missing, but you're sure the contents were disturbed?"
“Fairly sure. But there's no proof."
“We could fingerprint the drawer, but you probably smudged any that might have been there."
&nbs
p; “Sorry," Jane said automatically.
“It's all right. It wouldn't have proved anything anyway. Just confirmation of your suspicion. By the way, you might be interested in knowing that Edith isn't doing any of her jobs this week. She called in and said she was having a bad spell with a wisdom tooth."
“Ahh, so you think she's figured the same thing and is scared?" Jane asked.
He acted as if he hadn't heard the question. Turning his attention back to Shelley, who'd started tapping her spoon lightly on the table while staring thoughtfully out the kitchen door, he said, "We've checked on all the service vehicles seen that day in the neighborhood. All were legitimate. Furniture deliveries, plumbing repairs, and so forth. There were also three people seen walking the block that we know of. One was a woman collecting for charity, another was an insurance adjuster working a fire-damage claim, and the third was a paper boy home from school with chicken pox, but out making his collections. All of them were exactly what they claimed to be. The only other people known to be near this house were the ladies who brought the food.”
He left it at that for the moment, giving them time to draw the obvious conclusion.
In an intellectual way, Jane was gratified to have her own suspicions confirmed. At the same time, she felt her heart constrict. It was one thing to jabber about something like this with Shelley; it was altogether a different matter when an officer of the law all but told them one of their acquaintances was a potential murderer. She wanted badly to go back to the old wandering-maniac theory.
In spite of the cherry sweater and the bright shaft of sunlight coming through Shelley's sparkling windows, Jane began to shiver. This wasn't a game and it didn't matter if VanDyneliked them or not. He had to know the truth. "Shelley, tell him about the pearls."
“No, Jane."
“What pearls?" VanDyne asked.
“Shelley had a strand of pearls that were stolen," Jane said. "She didn't want you to know because she didn't want her husband to know they were gone."
“Jane, I wish you hadn't said that. I told you I knew who took the pearls."
“Who?"
“Paul.”
Fourteen
"Your husband stole your pearls?" VanDyne asked.
“Technically, they are his and no, he didn't steal them. He took them — to be cleaned and appraised," Shelley explained. She was actually blushing, something Jane had never seen happen. "I told Jane earlier I was supposed to have put them in the safe-deposit box and I didn't. I discovered after the murder that they were missing, and I didn't want my husband to know I hadn't taken care of them."
“That's why you didn't tell me when I asked if anything was missing?" VanDyne asked. He was a little curt. Almost disgusted.
“Because of that and because I had no idea when they disappeared. They could have been gone for a year. Jane, that's what Paul was calling about a few minutes ago. I guess I kept staring at that drawer, and he noticed. He called to tell me not to worry."
“Were they real?" Jane asked.
“No. High-grade fakes, though. With some value just because they're good antique imitations."
“I beg your pardon, ladies. But is this really pertinent?" VanDyne asked.
“It is to me," Shelley replied sharply.
After a long pause, he bent and picked up a briefcase and removed a stack of papers. "Now, I'd like to go over these statements with you—"
“Statements?" Jane asked.
“From the women who came here that day. You were a witness to some of them arriving."
“I've already told you everything I know."
“Yes, but I thought going over it might help you remember more. Something insignificant you didn't think to tell us maybe? Now, I spoke to Mrs. Williams last night—”
Something about the awestruck tone in his voice when he mentioned Suzie's name made Jane and Shelley both smile. "Did you learn any new words?" Shelley asked.
“A few," he admitted. "She's quite a woman, isn't she?" There was both admiration and something like fear in the statement. "She says she's a buyer for the local branch of Marshall Fields."
“Lingerie and foundations, as I suppose she told you," Shelley said.
“Yes — ah, well, uh. Now, Mrs. Williams says she forgot to bring her dish over before she went to work, so she took an early lunch hour and ran home and then over here. She thinks that was about eleven."
“I wouldn't know," Jane said. "I was out shopping from around ten to about twelve."
“She told me Edith had cleaned her house once, but that she didn't like her. Do you know anything about that?"
“Nothing, except that's what she told me too."
“Oh, you've discussed this with her?"
“At a ball game Saturday. In fact, she's the one who first gave me the idea that it might be the wrong cleaning lady who was killed."
“She suggested that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“No, she was talking about the boys in their uniforms and said all the cute little bastards looked alike in them."
“Yes, I imagine that is how she'd put it. Now, Mary Ellen Revere, your neighbor across the street. She said she came over just after that. She saw Mrs. Williams leaving and that reminded her to bring over her food.”
Jane shrugged. "I don't know."
“She says she works at home except on Wednesdays, when she goes into the city for a weekly meeting with her other investors."
“I've never known what it is she does, but I see her leaving in city clothes from time to time," Jane said. "What is it she does, exactly?"
“It's odd that you wouldn't know. All of you seem to know so much about each other."
“She doesn't have children," Shelley said. At his perplexed look, she elaborated. "Most of us know each other through our children. School things, sports, swimming pool, car pools to various activities. We only know Mary Ellen because she lives so close. When we have adult neighborhood parties we invite the Reveres, of course. They don't usually stick it out to the end, though."
“Antisocial?"
“No, but conversation eventually gets around to the kids' teachers and teams and baby-sitters and such and, naturally, that bores them."
“I see," he said, as if being instructed in some esoteric habits of a foreign country and finding them excessively tedious. "Mrs. Revere said she wasn't out of the house anytime except to bring—" he consulted his notes " — potato salad over here. Would you know anything to the contrary or anything that would confirm that?" He looked from Shelley to Jane.
“No, except that I know she wasn't feeling well. She's just broken her arm and it's very painful. I didn't ask, but I assume she can't drive, so she's probably stranded," Jane said. "I hadn't thought about that. I guess I ought to offer to take her to the store or something, but I imagine her husband's taking care of all that.”
VanDyne was looking away, waiting for her to get over this little outburst of suburban trivia. "Now, Mrs. Wallenberg says she brought a cake over and you brought it in. You confirmed that the first time we talked. Did you see her again the rest of the day?"
“Not until after — after Mrs. Thurgood was killed. I phoned her as soon as we discovered the body and came back here. She picked my son up from school and dropped him off home after dinner. Come to think of it, I didn't see her then."
“She said she was playing tennis — all day." It was clear that he found this hard to believe.
“I'm certain she was. Dorothy lives for it. She was a pro or almost a pro when she was young, and she married a man who's a sporting goods distributor. She's also a nurse, and does part-time volunteer work in a birth control clinic."
“Yes, she told me that. She said she'd had Edith clean for her once and didn't like her. Is she one of — well, you called them 'slobs'?"
“I'll say," Shelley put in. She'd been quiet for quite a while, but now she became talkative about Easter eggs in sofa cushions and elicited the dimpled smile again.
“Mrs. Jones said
she brought her dish a little after noon. But you didn't see her?”
There was a note of skepticism in this that Jane found irritating. "Believe it or not, I really don't spend my days spying on Shelley's driveway. I was probably down looking at the furnace then."
“I see. Looking at the furnace. Mrs. Jones said she saw you earlier in the day."
“At the dry cleaners," Jane said curtly. Why couldn't it have been at a travel agency where she was picking up tickets for an exotic trip, or at a jeweler having a diamond necklace clasp fixed — at the very least a health club? The man would think she never went anywhere interesting. Unfortunately, it was true.
He waited to see if she'd go on. When she didn't, he said, "Let's see who else — Laura Stapler, the woman next door to Mrs. Nowack's on the other side. She says she brought her salad over around one-thirty and spoke to you?"
“I think it was a little bit before that. Ten or fifteen minutes, probably. I started the carrots at one and—" She was about to do it again, gab about telling time by carrot cookedness.
“You didn't start the carrots until that afternoon?" Shelley interrupted.
“I didn't see her leave, though," Jane went on hurriedly. "I was leaving when she came. She must have been the last one in the house. Let's see—" Jane got up and opened the refrigerator door. "Shelley, you haven't moved any of this since then, have you?"
“Well, I — the kids aren't home and we ate out—"
“I'm not accusing you of keeping a piggy kitchen. I just wonder if you got these potluck dishes out of order. Isn't this Laura's bowl on the top of the stack?”
She shut the door and thought a minute. "That doesn't matter. I mean, it doesn't tell us anything that's necessary to know."
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