Mulch Ado About Nothing jj-12

by Jill Churchill

  They got their favorite booth near the front window and made much of studying the menu, even though both of them had it pretty well memorized from their many previous visits.

  The waitress saw Jane's crutches and exclaimed, "What in the world did you do to yourself?" "I tripped on a curb.”

  The waitress looked blank for a minute and finally said, "Oh.”

  Jane got the taco salad with the chili mixed in, and Shelley let herself go with a chicken chimichanga. When the waitress had gone, Shelley asked, "Do you think the attack on Julie Jackson had anything to do with her job?"

  “I've been wondering the same thing," Jane said. "I'm not clear on exactly how she fits into this business, though. Geneva said they had a professional relationship as well as being sisters. Is Julie, like Dr. Eastman, a plant breeder?”

  Shelley shrugged. "Eastman suggested that she was some sort of patent cop. Checking out suspicious claims. Only he said 'questionable,' I think. She didn't appear to have anything especially interesting growing in her yard."

  “But we didn't see the backyard."

  “True. Do you think Mel knows exactly what it is that she does?"

  “You heard all he said," Jane replied. "She had a sort of laboratory/office in her basement with lots of filing cabinets and some plants under lights. I think that's what he said. I was too obsessed with my foot to pay much attention."

  “We need to find out exactly where Julie comes into the process. I might have misunderstood what Dr. Eastman was saying about her job. Maybe this attack on her comes back to money, like we were discussing before."

  “In what way?" Jane asked.

  “I don't know, because we have no idea what sort of money is involved. Or who gets it and how. I really want to know about that part of it. So many crimes come down to money."

  “Then why didn't her attacker take anything?" Jane asked.

  “We don't know he or she didn't," Shelley said. "And Geneva would be about the only one who could guess what might be missing. And even she might not be able to determine that."

  “Mom, why did you get such a boring cast?" Jane's daughter said with just a hint of a French accent as she came into the Jeffry living room later that afternoon.

  “I wasn't offered anything else," Jane said. "Would you get me a glass of iced tea, Katie? It's in the fridge."

  “I've got something better." There were a couple of faint z's in "something.”

  Katie rummaged in her jeans pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

  “What is this?" Jane said. "Oh, pretty flower stickers. They actually look like color photos. I could stick them around the screen of my computer.”

  Katie threw herself into an armchair and said, "Oh, Mom," in a highly critical tone.

  “Couldn't I?"

  “Mom, they're for your cast. Nobody has a boring cast. You have to have your friends sign it, and if you know an artist, you ask him to draw or paint a picture on it. And even if you don't, you put stickers on it." She'd temporarily lost her fake accent. "One guy at school with a broken arm had a really cool one. His mother wove ribbons like a plaid design on his and stuck them down somehow. So when do you get it off?"

  “Before it gets really filthy, I hope. The doctor didn't say. Just that I had to come back in two weeks to have it X-rayed again."

  “Cool. They'll have to cut it with a saw to do that," Katie said. "Can I come along?"

  “My leg or the cast? A real saw?"

  “I do not know, ma mère. I'll ask my friend.”

  Katie had spent the first two weeks of summer vacation in France with her best friend, Jenny, and Jenny's parents, who had begged to have Katie along so Jenny wouldn't be bored with the sightseeing they planned to do. Jane had been more than glad to spring for the plane fare to get Katie out of her hair for part of the summer. Katie'd made no effort to get a summer job, not even at her usual summer haunt, the town swimming pool. Something about the chlorine ruining her hair. Even before the trip idea came up, Jane had dreaded having her underfoot and at loose ends for the whole three months.

  The trip hadn't quite turned out as Jane imagined. Katie had fallen in love with all things French. The French were "civilized" and ate dinner at ten at night. She'd been saving up the dinners Jane made to warm back up and eat just before she went to bed. She wanted her mother to study wine sauces and get some good veal. Quite a change from her earlier views of meat, and veal in particular.

  “Katie, you're going to have to take over some of the cooking for us," Jane said. "It's too hard for me to get around the kitchen right now. But no veal. Why don't we make up some menus? It's time you learned how to cook."

  “What about Mike? He's older than I am. Make him learn to cook."

  “He doesn't care what he eats.”

  The kitchen door had opened and closed while they were discussing this. "Are you talking about me?" Mike said, coming in the living room with a girl in tow. "Mom, this is Kipsy Topper. We met today at the garden place where I'm working for the summer.”

  Jane had to make a serious effort to keep her jaw from dropping. Kipsy Topper, if that was really her name, which Jane was certain it wasn't, was the last thing she'd ever expected Mike to bring home. She had flame-colored hair. Or maybe it was a wig. Sort of like a big Raggedy Ann doll. Her eyebrows and nose were pierced and she was wearing what looked like a very flimsy slip over baggy jeans. There was a snaketattoo on her skinny shoulder. She could have been fourteen or twenty-four. Either way, too young or too old for Mike. And much too bizarre. He'd always gone for the blond cheerleader types.

  “Kipsy…" Jane said, gulped, and went on, "how nice to meet you.”

  She was looking at Mike as she spoke. He was smiling blandly.

  “If you're talking about food," he said, "Kipsy and I are going to a Thai restaurant this evening where she works part-time. She was buying plants for the owner to decorate the place. They're in my truck. We're taking them over now. Be back late probably.”

  Jane sat thunderstruck as Mike whisked Kipsy out of the house.

  “Wow!" Katie said.

  “Is that a good wow or a bad one?" Jane asked.

  “Mom," Katie said critically, "you can't go on judging people by how they look. That's so frumpy and it's bigoted besides."

  “I certainly can judge people when they make an effort to look like freaks," Jane said. "That says something about their personality.”

  Katie couldn't answer this, so she just sniffed with contempt and said, "I thought she looked cool. I might do that to my hair."

  “Over my dead body," Jane said. "Or yours. I'll let you drive us to the grocery store on your learner's permit if you promise not to scare me."

  “I think Mike has gone over the edge," Jane said to Shelley later. "You should have seen this girl."

  “I did," Shelley said. "Through my kitchen window as they came in your house. I wanted to go find my Denise and lock her in a closet until she's twenty-five. Maybe thirty. Where did Mike find her?"

  “At the nursery where he's working. She was buying plants for the restaurant where she works. The owner must have taste as bad as hers to turn her loose to make decorating decisions, considering how she's decorated herself."

  “Don't worry. Mike's a bright kid. He won't fall for her," Shelley said.

  “What if you're wrong?" Jane whined. "Can you imagine having a daughter-in-law like that? Think of the wedding. Probably held in a Thai restaurant with bridesmaids in underwear or saris. Or under some bridge downtown next door to a body-piercing emporium."

  “Maybe he just dragged her in to show you a novelty," Shelley said.

  “Dear God, I hope so."

  “Jane, you're the one going over the edge. He apparently just met her. Don't go worrying about a wedding. You'll see that he doesn't marry until he finishes college.”

  Seven

  Jane puttered around in the kitchen awkwardly, trying to think what would be easiest to cook for dinner. A roast maybe. Just put it in a
bag and drag it out later. But that would take two hands. Could she balance herself well enough without at least one crutch to do that? Hamburgers on the grill? Nope, too many steps down to the patio.

  As she cruised the fridge, there was a banging on her kitchen door and Ursula Appledorn walked in. Jane wished she weren't so careless about locking up and that non-family members or close friends would not assume an unlocked door meant you didn't have to knock. But she put on a welcoming smile because that was how she'd been raised.

  “You need good food and I've brought it to you. Hold the screen door for me," Ursula said, going back to an even more disreputable station wagon than Jane's.

  In a moment she was back with a large paper carton that she started unloading on Jane's kitchen counter.

  “Hominy," she said of a covered dish she slapped down. "Lots of nutrients. Some dandelion greens from my own yard, barely cooked so the vitamins are still in them. Be sure to drink the juice. Tons of calcium and potassium. Good for broken bones."

  “Uh… Ursula, I'm planning to have hamburgers for dinner."

  “Meat?" Ursula was stunned. "I didn't think anyone actually ate meat these days. The government demands that so many cancer-causing chemicals are in it."

  “I think you might have that backwards. The government tries to make the farmers take out the chemicals," Jane said, examining the dandelion greens, which seemed to have a good many foreign objects that looked like insects cooked up with the greens. She hoped they were just flowers that had wilted to that stage.

  “No, dear. The government is responsible for poisoning us. At the very least, you have to admit they allow it. Look at the strawberries that they let into this country. Death on a stem. And here's some totally natural bread. I made it myself out of organically grown potato flour and free-range eggs." The bread made a thunk like a brick being dropped.

  “Ursula, I'm really not entirely helpless. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but—"

  “Think nothing of it, Jane. We're all in this together. I'm a nurse, you know. Well, I was a nurseuntil the government took away my license on a foolish pretense."

  “What was the pretense?" Jane couldn't help but ask.

  “Drug dealing," Ursula said calmly, taking the lid off a bowl of soybean curd with a greenish blue gravy over it that looked suspiciously like algae. "Ridiculous, of course. I didn't use any of the so-called controlled substances. Only natural herbs, spices, and minerals for my private patients. And they all thrived. Why, one got to be a hundred and one years old and left me all her money out of gratitude for making her last two years so stimulating. Now, sit down at the table and let me dish this all up for you.”

  By now Jane needed to sit down, but not to eat. Was this, she hoped, a onetime visit or did Ursula plan on forcing revolting food on her until her foot healed? Horrors!

  Ursula rummaged in a drawer and brought up a battered kitchen spoon to ladle her creations onto a plate sitting on the counter. "There now, just taste. You'll feel ever so much better.”

  There was another knock on the door and Ursula ran to let Shelley in.

  “Oh, Ms. Appledorn. I didn't know you were here." When Ursula turned away from her, Shelley winked at Jane.

  Jane gave Shelley a HELP ME! look.

  “I'm just giving Jane her dinner," Ursula said. "What is that stuff?" Shelley asked, not disguising her distaste at the sight.

  Ursula, more in pity than anger, explained all the items. Shelley listened and nodded and tried to hide a smile. "I'm not sure it's a good time for Jane to completely change her diet. She's under considerable stress, you know.”

  Ursula nodded. "That's why I brought the caraway-flavored hummus. Excellent for stress."

  “Dear God," Jane whispered to herself.

  “Actually, I was just coming to fetch Jane to come to my house for dinner. I thought we'd have carryout Chinese."

  “All that MSG!" Ursula said with terror. "That stuff can kill you."

  “It hasn't yet," Shelley said calmly. "Jane and I thrive on it."

  “I'm not really hungry," Jane said. "Why don't you put this in the fridge for later? A midnight snack, perhaps?”

  By midnight she could probably hobble out to dump the stuff in the trash and pretend she'd polished it all off.

  “Excellent idea. Just don't eat that Chinese stuff. Let's just sit down and get to know each other.”

  Shelley, standing behind Ursula, rolled her eyes. Jane sighed.

  Ursula insisted on settling Jane on the couch in the living room and putting an afghan around her. "Ursula, it's summer," Shelley mentioned.

  “But extra heat is good for almost every ailment. Take my word on this.”

  Shelley took a chair and so did Ursula. Then the three of them sat and stared at each other.

  Ursula was the first to break the silence. "You do know about the Denver airport, don't you? The new one?"

  “What's to know?" Jane asked. "Except that's a big place.”

  Ursula laughed bitterly. "Have you seen the murals?"

  “The bright-colored ones near the baggage pickup? Yes, I saw them a couple years ago," Jane said.

  “And they didn't disturb you?" Ursula asked.

  Jane shrugged. "I wouldn't want them in my living room, but I wasn't disturbed by them."

  “You should have studied them. They're all about Satanism." Ursula leaned forward and a paper clip fell off her from somewhere.

  Shelley lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

  “Yes, it's a conspiracy that was started by the Dauphin when he escaped to America and set up the Virginia Company, which meant all the money made in America would eventually go to England.”

  Jane cleared her throat. "Uh. . wasn't the Dauphin French?" She almost added, And wasn't the Virginia Company set up several centuries earlier? But she was curious about where this was leading.

  “By birth, of course, but he'd been rescued by Englishmen and owed his allegiance to them. So this trust has operated with the consent and encouragement of the Windsor family ever since then. The Queen of England actually owns most of Colorado, you know. Under a false name, of course. And she owns the land the Denver airport is on.”

  Shelley mumbled through the hand she was holding to her mouth to keep from laughing, "What's the false name?"

  “Nobody knows," Ursula said. "Probably there are many false names for her.”

  Jane was having trouble keeping a straight face as well. "Does the IRS know about this?"

  “Naturally. They're part of the conspiracy. As is the CIA. And the Masons. They've been involved ever since the Templars were killed in France in the fifteenth century. But a few escaped and went to Ireland and started the Masonic order. The King of France wanted to kill them to get their fortune, and the fortune disappeared as well."

  “I think you mean the fourteenth century," Jane said. "Thirteen oh nine or so?"

  “Fourteenth or fifteenth, whatever. The capstone at the airport is a Masonic symbol, just like that one that is on our money. I don't know why people can't see the connection. All our so-called Founding Fathers were Masons. On the original architectural drawings of the airport, it said it was a 'control center for New World control.' "

  “An awkward sentence to be sure. You've seen the plans?" Jane said. This was spinning out of control and no longer funny.

  “Not personally," Ursula said, picking up a barrette that had worked its way out of her hair, "but I know people who know other people whohave seen them. And then when you put this together with Cecil Rhodes—”

  Shelley made a choking noise and hurried into the kitchen.

  “Cecil Rhodes?" Jane repeated dimly.

  “Yes, that was the whole idea of the Rhodes scholarships. To train Americans to think like Brits."

  “I never knew," Jane said. "Ursula, it's awfully nice of you to have visited, but you'll have to excuse me. I have some letters to write and a couple birthday cards that have to go in the mail this evening."

  “I'll run you
to the post office — and speaking of the post office, they're part of it, too. Do you have any idea how many postal workers are Masons?”

  Shelley was back, still pretending she had a little coughing fit. "I don't think Jane should really go anywhere right now. She needs to rest. I'll take her mail for her.”

  Ursula took this with good grace. Gathering up the huge purse and only dropping two cigarette lighters and a receipt, she said, "Get a good night's sleep and I'll see you two in the morning at class." She barged out, forgetting to even close the kitchen door.

  Jane and Shelley sat back, not speaking, only sighing in unison.

  A few seconds later, the screen door opened again and Ursula was back with three of the scrappiest paperback books Jane had ever seen. One was held together along the spine with strap‑ ping tape. All were stained and creased with crumbling covers.

  “Here, ladies, read up. You'll find them fascinating." She dumped them on the coffee table and went off again, tossing a remark over her shoulder about needing to get them back someday.

  This time Shelley followed her and, when Ursula's battered vehicle was out of sight, closed and locked the door.

  “I've heard of people like her," Shelley said, sitting back down by Jane, "but never really believed the descriptions of them. Now we know that there are true nutcases roaming our very own neighborhood."

  “She's really sort of frightening, isn't she?" Jane said seriously. "I mean, isn't she exactly the kind of nut who decides that a bunch of Boy Scouts are Nazi spies and poisons their milk to save the world?"

  “I'm not sure. But she frightens me just the same. And if I weren't a bit scared of her, I'd still dislike her. She's one of those people who get everything wrong, and when corrected, merely ignore the correction. Not that I go around correcting people if I can help it," she added with a smile.

  “Funny. I hadn't noticed that about you." Jane smiled back.

  “You've absolutely got to keep all your doors locked and stay in the back of the house where nobody can see you tottering around," Shelleywarned. "She's latched on to you and will be back."

  “Maybe I can make it clear that I don't want help?"