Before they could ask what he meant by that, he added, "I have a man coming to fingerprint the two of you."
“Why us?" Shelley asked indignantly.
“Elimination. The envelope on the flower arrangement is covered with prints. I suspect they all belong to you and the proprietor of the flower shop. But the person who sent them might have handled the envelope as well. And we still have to figure out the scorch marks.”
Shelley sighed loudly and owned up. "I did that. I'd misread the name on the envelope and thought they were for Jane since they were delivered to her house. When I couldn't catch up with her, I tried to read the note by putting the envelope on a lightbulb."
“Now you tell me!"
“Mel, do you think that flower delivery had something to do with the crime?" Jane asked.
“I've no idea. But the message was cryptic and could be a threat. 'You're next' sounds ominous. Especially as it isn't signed."
“You must have checked with the florist," Shelley said, trying to ask the question tactfully.
It wasn't tactful enough. "Of course," Mel said irritably. "He was swamped with orders for a funeral of some big-deal politician. A man came in and paid cash for the flowers and delivery. No‑ body remembers what he looked like. No, that's not quite true. The florist, the clerk, and a witness all think they know his appearance and entirely disagree."
“But it was a man," Shelley said.
Mel grinned. "According to the clerk, it could have been a woman dressed like a man. He's young and has a vivid imagination."
“Get back to Julie. Do the doctors think she's seriously hurt?" Jane said, glancing down at her cast. She had things medical on her mind. She could have broken her leg, not just a bone in her foot.
“Anybody who's in a coma is in serious trouble," Mel said. "The sister's husband is with her. He's a neurologist and they were here visiting while he attended some sort of convention in the city.
“And the sister?"
“Geneva Jackson," Mel said. "Kept her own last name. She's in some kind of business related to Julie Jackson's, which I haven't quite figured out yet. The sister says Julie was a microbiologist, whatever that is, and reeled off a long list of academic credits. Apparently Julie Jackson had a doctorate."
“She was listed that way in the brochure. Dr. Julie Jackson," Jane said.
“What brochure?"
“The township and the junior college got some kind of grant to get speakers throughout the summer," Shelley explained. "Adult education classesin everything from weight loss to botany and accounting. The first ten people to sign up for each class get to take them for free. Jane and I are enthusiastic but not very knowledgeable gardeners, so we signed up for that one."
“And Ms. Jackson was to be the speaker?"
“ 'Group leader,' they called it," Shelley said with a sneer. "What's wrong with 'teacher,' anyway? If we all knew as much as she presumably does, we wouldn't be going. Teachers teach. At least they didn't call her a 'facilitator.' That was all the rage for a while. So stupid.”
Since this was obvious and one of Shelley's frequent rants, neither Mel nor Jane replied. A long silence fell and Mel finally stirred first. "I've got to get back to work. Jane, are Mike or Katie going to be around to help you?"
“I'm. around," Shelley said, "and I'll help her, but only as much as she actually needs." "That sounds like a threat," Jane said.
“It is. And the first thing I'm going to help you with is learning to use the crutches so you can't lollygag around being utterly helpless. You'd put on five pounds at least.”
Mel slipped away while they bickered.
Three
By Sunday morning, Jane had given up trying to influence the crutches. She was better off, she decided, using only one and having her left hand free to grab things when she lost her balance. This technique also allowed her to carry small objects, which she hadn't been able to with both hands wrestling with crutches. On Sunday afternoon Shelley bought her a pair of knee-length shorts that had lots of big pockets.
“Shelley, the last thing I need is pockets on my thighs. They already bulge and I'd look like one of those misshapen bodybuilders with the monster thighs if I put anything in the pockets."
“Okay by me, but where are you going to carry all the stuff that's normally in your purse when you go out?”
Jane thought a moment. "I could get a purse with a long strap and sling it over my shoulder."
“And have it flap around every time you lurch?"
“It's not me lurching. It's the crutches. The crutches have a mind of their own. I can't tell you how many times they've turned me left when I want to go straight ahead. Even one of them does that to me."
“Then just keep turning left and you'll eventually be facing the right way," Shelley said with a wicked laugh. "Anything you need?"
“A Sherpa," Jane said. "To fetch and carry for me. I keep dropping things and have to put the crutches down to pick the things up, then bend down and pick the crutches back up and usually drop the first thing again. Remember that movie we saw, Quest for Fire, and the Neanderthal who was trying to pick up all the melons at the same time and kept dropping them? I feel like that guy”
Early Monday morning, Shelley called on the phone. "Are we going to the botany class?"
“I assumed it wasn't happening," Jane said. "Mel told me Julie Jackson's still in a coma."
“But they might have scrambled and got a replacement teacher," Shelley said. "Let's run down to the community center and see.”
Jane had spent most of the weekend on the sofa, knocking back soft drinks and snacks. She'd weigh a ton if she kept that up. "You'll drive, or should I?"
“Have you checked your car insurance?" Shelley asked.
“My car insurance?"
“I'm told most insurance companies won't payfor an accident if the driver has a cast on the right foot."
“Are you really telling me I can't take myself anywhere at all? For weeks! I'll go mad!"
“Be ready in about ten minutes," Shelley said. "My cast is wet."
“Oh? Will that slow you down?"
“No, I'm just complaining. I put a plastic bag around it like you said to do before showering. Taped it up with masking tape that turned out not to be waterproof. When we go out, could we stop and let me get something better to tape it with?”
Jane was waiting in the driveway in eight minutes. She'd experimented with an old purse with a long strap, and Shelley was right that it flapped around and unbalanced her. The pockets of the baggy, much-pocketed shorts Shelley had bought her were full. Checkbook, ballpoint pen, notepad, lipstick, billfold, a box of tissues, house keys, a bag of lemon drops in case she suddenly felt weak with hunger.
“You do look a bit like the Michelin Man," Shelley said, opening the car door for her. "Watch it. You just cracked my shin with that crutch. Want a boost? That step into the van is high."
“Sorry," Jane said. "Everybody in my house is afraid of me. Especially Willard the Cowardly Dog and the cats." She fumbled around for the seat belt to drag herself up. "I've accidently smacked all of them a couple times when they got underfoot, and Willard got goosed when he stepped in front of me. I think they've decided crutches are some sort of threshing machine and will never come near me again. Max and Meow still sleep at the foot of my bed, but when I get up to go to the bathroom at night, they scatter for shelter.”
There were quite a few cars parked at the community center and a large bus getting ready to haul off the twenty adults who were taking a Zoo Maintenance course. A truck from a craft store was unloading some rented sewing machines and sergers for another class that was being held in the building. And a number of women wearing remarkably unflattering gymnastic clothes were waiting for their ride to an aerobic dancing studio.
“If I ever dress like that, have me locked up," Jane said.
Shelley looked her up and down. "You're hardly better today. You're quite lumpy. Are you packed for a three-day camp-out?
"
“Just the everyday necessities. Oh, no. I'd forgotten there were stairs."
“There's a handicapped ramp around the side. I wouldn't be caught dead with you scooting backwards on your butt.”
There were only two people in the room when they found where they were supposed to be. One was a stocky, balding man in his early sixties, reading a magazine. The other was a rather perky-looking young man sitting behind the desk at the front. He got up when Jane and Shelley came in.
“I was hoping more of you would come," he said, flashing a handsome smile. "The article in the local paper about Ms. Jackson's accident must have made a lot of the sign-ups think the class was canceled. What did you do to your foot?"
“I tripped on a curb, " Jane said.
“Oh," the man replied. "I'm Stefan Eckert. I'm the director of the Arts and Crafts part of the community project."
“You're teaching the class?" Shelley asked.
“Oh, no! I'm not remotely qualified. But I've got a substitute. A very interesting man who just happened to be in town this week. I'm just here to catch people and assure them the class will go on. And sit in on as much of it as I can.”
Jane introduced herself and Shelley and asked, "Do you know anything about Ms. Jackson's condition?”
Stefan Eckert shrugged. "I'm not family and the hospital won't tell me a thing.”
The older man sitting at the back of the room was reading a copy of Modern Maturity. He closed the magazine and looked up at the others. "Hello. Glad to see other people here. I've really been looking forward to this class.”
There was a faintly clanging noise in the hall and a fourth student arrived. A slightly heavy woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties, draped in layers of clattering beads, carrying a number of bags, and wearing clothes she must have had since the early seventies. Her neck and head were swathed in tie-dyed scarves. Pierced earrings made of a variety of feathers flapped at her ears. Copper bracelets banged against beaded bracelets and something looking like an old-fashioned charm bracelet. She carried a huge purse slung over her shoulder, a pack tied around her waist, and a violently colored canvas bag.
“Hello, Hello! Oh!" she bellowed as she spotted Jane and rushed over. "You poor darling! What have you done to yourself? A cast and everything. Are you in pain? Here, let me help you sit down and get the weight off that foot."
“No, no. I'm fine. Really. It doesn't hurt very much at all," Jane said, alarmed by the attention.
But her protestations did her no good. The woman dropped her purse and canvas bag on a chair, both of which instantly spilled out paperback books, most of which seemed to have the word "conspiracy" in the title, pamphlets, paper napkins, three matchbooks, several flower seed packets, half a dozen colored pens, a sketchbook, more odd jewelry, prescription blanks, receipts, nail files, one very dirty gardening glove, a small wrench, a computer cord, a small box of Q-tips, and what looked like an adult-sized version of a child's sippy cup half-full of a purple liquid.
Ignoring the mess around her feet, she said, "Here, darling. Sit down. I'll get you a chair to put your foot up and you'll tell me how you did this to yourself. Ursula Appledorn at your service.”
Jane was somewhat roughly thrust into a folding chair and Ursula grabbed her leg andplopped it on another chair, and pulled up yet another chair facing Jane and flung herself into it and leaned forward.
“So?" she said.
“I tripped over a curbing," Jane said, thoroughly cowed.
Ursula shook her head. "No, darling. There has to be more to the story. And if there isn't, there should be. These things happen for a reason, you know. Everything is part of a vast chain of events that weaves us all together. Nice casting job, but a bit tight around the toes," she said, looking at Jane's foot as she started gathering up her belongings from the floor.
Jane cast a helpless look at Shelley, who just grinned and said, "I was with her and it was sheer clumsiness."
“But even so, there was a reason," Ursula insisted. "I was a nurse in 'Nam," she added, as if this explained everything. "And I can tell you there's a LOT the government is concealing. Why, the Denver airport alone—”
Fortunately, two more people came into the room, and Ursula turned her attention to them, though less enthusiastically than when she'd spotted Jane.
The first was a small, slim, precise woman with permed gray hair and a very upright carriage in a trim navy blue and white polka-dot dress. She glanced around at the small group, instinctively identified Stefan as the person in charge and said, "Is the class to take place?" in a tone that sug‑ gested that a simple, straightforward answer was required. "I'm Martha Winstead," she said to those assembled. "Miss Martha Winstead and I'm signed up.”
Stefan knew his place and when he'd met his match. "Yes, Miss Winstead. We've met before," he said obediently.
Miss Winstead said, "Of course we have." She nodded curtly and sat down primly in the front, folding her small, somewhat knobby hands neatly over her handbag. Her exposed forearms were tan, but the hands were white. Apparently a gardener who always wore gloves.
The man who followed her in obviously wasn't with her. He was tall, wore serious spectacles, and had a professorial stoop that went with his leather-elbow-patched jacket. "You're Eckert?"
“Yessir. You must be Dr. Eastman. We're all so glad you were able to interrupt your busy schedule to fill in for Ms. Jackson."
“While I was surprised you didn't contact me first," he said, "I've known Julie for years and couldn't refuse to fill in for her at this terrible time. I'm used to lecturing knowledgeable graduate students, however, not amateurs.”
Jane bridled at the way he said "amateurs," as if it were a slightly obscene word. Someone gave a small and very ladylike snort. Jane guessed it was Miss Martha Winstead. It wasn't nearly raucous enough to be Ursula.
Ursula herself promptly spoke up, though she hadn't been addressed. "My good sir, most of thegreat discoveries of mankind were made by amateurs, though that fact is often covered up." She waved her arm victoriously and an eyeglass repair kit fell out of her sleeve. "Intelligent amateurs can often see on overview what experts are too deeply into precious details to see. 'Amateur' is a flattering term."
“This isn't getting off to a good start," Jane whispered to Shelley.
“Probably more interesting than a 'lecture,' though," Shelley replied just as quietly. "This looks like a man who could bore us to sleep in five minutes or less.”
Another man entered the room and aborted any reply the professor might have made by asking, "Is this the botany class?" He was around forty years old and looked as if his slacks and shirt, as well as his thinning hair, had just been starched and ironed a moment ago. He had a round, shining clean face, eyeglasses that gleamed, and highly polished shoes.
Stefan Eckert said, "It is. But our scheduled instructor has been injured and we have a wonderful substitute who has graciously volunteered to fill in. Time is getting away from us, folks. I suggest we start and if anyone else joins us, they can just slip in and catch up. I want to introduce our guest speaker and then each of you will give your name and a brief explanation of why you're interested in this course.”
The well-groomed newcomer took a chair at the front of the room and found himself next to Martha Winstead. "Miss Winstead!" he exclaimed. "I never expected to find you here."
“Why is that, Mr. Jones?" she asked curtly. Jane noticed that the woman's hands tightened on the handle of her purse.
He looked confused for a moment as to how to reply, then said, "Well, your gardening is so… so haphazard… I just thought you wouldn't really be interested.”
Miss Martha Winstead gave him a smile that could have frozen over a volcano and said, "Haphazard. How very interesting."
“If you wish to take notes, I have a few spiral notebooks here that the local nursery contributed," Stefan said in a shaky voice. "And some pens from my father's office supply store," he added with desperate good cheer.
> Four
Stefan took a protective stance behind the desk ': at the front of the room and read off an introduction to the speaker. It was a long list, obviously prepared by the professor himself, of incomprehensible degrees and honors, initials of presumably high-status organizations Dr. Stewart Eastman belonged to or founded or served as president of, and awards Jane had never heard of. Stefan must have pronounced a number of them incorrectly, because every now and then Dr. Eastman, standing next to the desk, cringed ever so slightly.
When Stefan stepped aside with a little bow, Dr. Eastman took his place, saying, "Since Mr. Eckert suggested introductions, we might as well proceed with them. Tell us who you are and why you signed on for this class. You first," he said, pointing to Jane.
She gave her name and added, somewhat idiotically in her own view, "I've spent most of my adult life raising children and pets, but as a once‑ upon-a-time child of a member of the diplomatic corps, I lived my childhood all over the world and saw many gardens and have always thought I'd like very much to have one of my own. So far I've only taken the slightest stab at it and want to learn more.”
Shelley was next. "My adult life has been much like Jane's, but my children are growing older and more independent, giving me time to develop other interests. Gardening is high on my list of priorities. I'm Jane's next-door neighbor.”
Jane smiled to herself. This was a surprisingly meek self-description of Shelley. Shelley had finally been caught out in something she knew very little about and couldn't even fake the dominant role that normally suited and served her so very well. Shelley made a tiny shoulder movement like a shrug or shiver, as if she were reading Jane's mind.
Charles Jones, the terribly neat, clean, freshly pressed man, was next. He stood up like a good student and explained that he was a computer programmer and spent his leisure time in botanical pursuits and hoped they all lived close enough to form car pools and take a look at each other's gardens this week as a part of their studies.
There was a low mumble of agreement. Jane, however, was horrified. Her yard was very nearly a blank canvas. Every spring she swore she'd plant some gardens and fertilize the lawn. She never quite got around to it soon enough. She'dhave to get Mike to clean up after Willard since she hadn't been outside with the pooper-scooper lately, and she'd have to bring in a bunch of potted annuals to look as if she had actually made an attempt at gardening this year. Mike could help her plant a few things since his summer job was at a plant nursery.
Mulch Ado About Nothing jj-12 Page 2
