“Your mother's new gigantic television, a VCR, and a table to put it on."
“Morn! You sprung for all this in one day? Have you gotten an inheritance you didn't tell us about? Some mysterious rich great-uncle you never told us about?" Mike asked.
“I just took it out of your inheritance," Jane said with a grin. "I deserve this stuff. I want to be a lady of leisure before it's too late. Call Scott and get him to help you carry it upstairs, would you? And I really need the lawn mowed."
“That's why I came home early. You knew I wouldn't forget. I'll even get Willard inside so he doesn't bark me to death. By the way, I brought home a couple bags of nice little river rocks so we can put them in Willard's path and make it look like it was a gardening choice."
“Mike, you are a wonder!" his mother said. "So are you going to buy me my own television?"
“No," Jane said succinctly.
Mike looked as if he was slightly put out. Jane wondered if she'd seriously spoiled her kids by always putting them first and scrimping on her own needs. It must have been a surprise to him to find her spending money on herself for a change.
But Mike did a terrific job with the yard, and the path almost looked like a good idea. To Jane, at least. Willard checked it out and decided it was a dangerous demarcation he didn't dare cross. "He'll cut a new path," Jane said dismally. "We'll end up with concentric rings of paths in the grass.”
Shelley was sitting down in the yard, examining the rocks. "This looks nice, Mike. Maybe later in the summer you can design a path for me with these rocks." She glanced at her watch and said, "I better go fetch the girls. I wonder what horror they learned to cook today.”
Mel called while Scott, Mike's best friend, and Mike were struggling to carry the television up the stairs. Jane almost didn't answer the phone. She was too busy driving the boys insane with her warnings to be careful, not to drop the TV, or let the corners make dents in the wall, or hurt themselves.
“Jane, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you'll see it on the evening news and I thought you should know in advance.”
She went cold, then hot all over. "What's happened?" she asked in a shaky voice. Her first thought was that Shelley had finally had the car accident Jane had anticipated for twenty years and she and the girls were all in a hospital.
“It's nothing personal. Don't worry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that we found Dr. Eastman.”
The silence that followed this was frigid. But Jane had to ask, "Is he all right?"
“No. He's dead. He'd been put in the compost pile that's hidden behind that stand of pines in his backyard. Fortunately a neighbor reported anawful smell, and the little boy and his mother weren't the ones that found him.”
Jane made a hearty sigh of relief. "I should be sorrier than I am. I hardly knew the man. I'm just glad it wasn't something awful about Shelley and Katie."
“I'm really sorry I frightened you, Janey." "How did he die?”
Mel paused. "Do you really want to know?" "I guess so."
“He was strangled to death with a tough green twine that he used to tie up plants.”
Twenty Four
“Omelettes!" Shelley said when she returned from '. picking up their daughters from the cooking class. "They learned how to make omelettes today. At least it was something more reasonable than a fancy chicken dish. Jane? Are you listen‑ ing?"
“I have something to tell you, but not with kids swarming the house. Come look at my television first.”
Mike and Scott had gotten it all set up and were lounging on Jane's bed, watching a movie of highly doubtful taste. They frantically flipped to a news channel when Jane and Shelley entered the room.
Shelley clasped her hands and exclaimed, "Isn't that wonderful? Terrific reception. A huge picture. And the cabinet looks great in here. Aren't you glad you decided to do this, Jane?"
“I'm not sure. There's going to be a big temptation to never get out of bed."
“Let's go outside while Mike and Scott dispose of all the rubble. Boys, put all the instructions and warranties in the drawer of the cabinet.”
Mike rolled his eyes. "We'd have never thought of that," he said with sarcasm, softened with a smile.
Shelley was so anxious to hear what Jane had to say that she carried Jane's iced tea out to the patio for her without being asked. Held the back door open for her. Even fluffed up the patio chair cushion.
When they were settled in where their conversation couldn't be overheard, Jane said, "Mel called while you were gone. They've found Eastman. He's dead."
“No! You don't mean this!”
Jane repeated what Mel had told her.
“That's awful. And it really does point to someone in the class. I wouldn't have believed it," Shelley said.
“How do you figure that?"
“Two teachers of the same class in a row, Jane. One violently attacked, the other killed. You can't ignore the connection. And neither can the police."
“But, Shelley, all of the class are pretty normal pleasant people."
“Not exactly. You and I are normal pleasant people, but Charles Jones is an ironing board, Miss Martha Winstead had a long bitter history with Eastman and made no bones about it. And Ursula is a nutcase. And so is Arnie in a different way."
“You're right about Miss Winstead. But she's atiny thing and old. Can you see her overpowering a large man, then hoisting him bodily into a compost bin? And as far as we know, she had nothing against Julie Jackson."
“We don't know that. She knew a lot about Julie and followed her social life in the papers. She might have disliked Julie Jackson as much as she hated Eastman and had the sense to keep quiet about it."
“Maybe. But it still seems physically impossible that she could do it. She's tough-minded, but little and frail. You heard her explain that she has hired men to do the heavy work in her yard. It's not that she's been bulking up by hauling tons of those rocks around herself."
“What about Arnie then?" Shelley suggested.
“That doesn't play. He's very strange, I admit. And probably strong for his age, having once been a firefighter. They have to be fit. But his obsession has nothing to do with either teacher. He can't think about anything except his late wife and trying to pretend she's still alive. He doesn't appear to have any connection with either of the teachers."
“Charles Jones?"
“He comes to our minds because we don't like him, Shelley. He's so stuffy, prim, and dull, but that doesn't mean he's hateful enough to knock someone off. Eastman didn't even make criticisms of Jones's garden. In fact, Eastman seemed to be the only one who slightly approved of Edmund's style of gardening."
“But we have no idea what other relationship Charles and Dr. Eastman might have had, completely outside of gardening tastes."
“They didn't appear to have ever met."
“But maybe they were both concealing their acquaintance for some reason," Shelley said like a dog with a delectable bone to chew on.
Jane gave Shelley her due. "Charles Jones is a cold fish, I admit. A rigid perfectionist from what we've seen of his house and yard and his perfectly ironed and spit-polished personal appearance. And he's not very pleasant. He was complaining to me about Ursula and her garden. Swore there were ticks in her yard and wouldn't set foot beyond the patio. He isn't the least bit likeable, but I just don't see him doing something — anything — in a fit of passion. I don't see him as having the least passion about anything."
“Jane, just remember his garden. He's a very controlling person. Especially in the way he tortured and isolated those plants," Shelley said, getting up and jingling her car keys. "Think about this while I take the girls to the grocery store and show them how to buy eggs that aren't cracked or have dirty shells. They need to know about salmonella.”
Jane propped up her bad foot on a chair and thought about what Shelley said. From their limited knowledge of the class members, none of them was strictly normal. Ursula led the pack in sheer pers
onality disorder. Could she have developed some loony theory that Julie Jackson and Stewart Eastman were part of a dangerous conspiracy that she had to eliminate? It was certainly possible given her bizarre beliefs.
And she was a big woman. If she'd dug up and hauled around those tombstones in her garden by herself, she was strong enough to wrestle a body into a compost bin. On the other hand, she was perpetually cheerful and up front with her views and didn't seem to take the least offense when someone doubted that she was right. And her tending to Jane had been a kindness, however useless and unsolicited.
Jane often prided herself on being able to pierce the veil of people's personalities, but she was striking out this time. She'd spent more time with Ursula than she'd wanted or needed, but still had no idea what really made her tick.
Nor could she figure out Charles Jones. He was a stiff, cranky, overorganized man. Something of a prig, in fact. But what kind of concealed life he might have was entirely unknown to her. He might secretly love Mozart or Jackson Pollock. He could have a sexy lover of either sex. He could be a rabid right-wing fanatic or a secret agent for the Nazi underground. Who could guess what was under that haughty, prim facade?
As for Miss Martha Winstead, she was just as much of a mystery. Had she ever married? Had children? Traveled? What was her background? And most of all, was her hatred of Stewart Eastman legitimate? There was always another side to any story, and maybe his actions had been justified. They'd never hear his version, though.
Miss Winstead's beloved cousin, whom she'd characterized as so meek and sweet, might have actually been a tartar of a woman who was set on dragging her husband's career into the dust out of sheer stupidity or spite. Even the account of his serving divorce papers on her when she was ill could be an exaggeration or even downright untrue. They'd only heard Miss Winstead's highly colored account of the marriage.
Miss Winstead had a steel spine, was highly opinionated, and believed she was always right. And she was also a snoop, not that Jane hadn't done her own share of snooping. But Jane didn't share her gossip and opinions with strangers, only with Shelley. Miss Winstead told them a lot of gossip about the other classmates when she was virtually a stranger to Jane and Shelley.
Still, she was a little woman, probably in her mid-sixties at least, with those small knobby hands and thin arms. How could she possibly have overpowered two larger people?
Come to think about it, what did Julie Jackson and Stewart Eastman have in common? They were both in the plant business in a similar way. They both had local connections, though Eastman spent most of his time elsewhere. They were highly educated and apparently were respected in their fields of endeavor. And Julie Jackson had agreed to lecture, and Stewart Eastman had taken over the class for her.
Was someone suspicious of their relationship, or jealous? Could they have actually conspired against someone? Or did somebody mistakenly assume they had? Jane asked herself, but came up blank. Nobody but Miss Winstead and Charles Jones took gardening seriously. But they weren't entirely obsessed with it. Miss Winstead still volunteered at the library and read the papers and went to lunch with new acquaintances like her and Shelley. Charles had a job that had to do with computers, if Jane was remembering correctly.
Even Ursula had interests that went far beyond mere plants and flowers. Way beyond. Her little old ladies she periodically took care of. Her pets. Feeding birds. Reading every conspiracy book ever published.
And Arnie Waring wasn't the least interested in gardening. He didn't even know the basics. He was concerned only with maintaining his lost wife's life as if she were going to come back someday and chide him for forgetting her. He had only an obligation to plants, not a love of horticulture. And he apparently kept himself busy with a few other things. Cooking. Feeding what he assumed was an invalid. Presumably, working with his computer and maybe those papers on his desk had to do with some special interest he pursued.
Who did that leave? Only Stefan. He was connected to Julie by having had a few impersonal dates with her. If he was telling the truth. And maybe he was. Mel was half-convinced that Ste‑ fan was open with them when questioned and even stupidly provided another motive for himself. He'd been the very picture of helpful innocence when Mel came to fetch him to the police station. As if he had nothing whatsoever to hide. Maybe Shelley was right that he was a fabulous actor, but Jane doubted it. He'd been clearly intimidated by Dr. Eastman on the first day of class. He hadn't been able to hide his feelings that day.
Mike and Scott finally abandoned the television and came out with the lawn mower and weed whacker and started making a lot of noise and a great show of being good kids working on the yard.
Jane stayed where she was, still brooding over the attack and the murder. Who was left to consider? No one.
Except Geneva Jackson and her husband.
They not only knew Julie well, but were related. And Jane had the impression that Geneva was well acquainted with Dr. Eastman as well.
Twenty-five
Shelley's daughter, Denise, Katie, and Katie's best friend, Jenny, produced a fine dinner that evening. They made little individual omelettes that were really good. Jane chose the one with chives and sour cream. Shelley went for the crumbled bacon and chopped tomatoes. As per the cooking teacher's suggestion, they served a mixed-fruit dessert that was the perfect finish. Except for the tiny marshmallows they decided to add on their own. They were a bit slimy by the time the fruit was served.
Mike and his friend Scott had worked up considerable appetites working on the yard and consumed vast quantities of dinner.
“Don't supervise the cleaning up this time," Jane warned Shelley. "See if they remember to get to it on their own.”
The two women were sitting in Jane's bedroom, feeling bloated and satisfied. Shelley was perched on the corner of Jane's bed. Jane was at the head of the bed with her bad foot propped up on a pillow. It had been a bit more painful this evening and she thought it needed a little pampering. They were watching a garden show.
“This guy is claiming he takes care of this ten-acre garden entirely on his own," Shelley said. "I don't believe him."
“I've been thinking over the members of the class," Jane said, not caring much whether the gardener on the show did his own work. It was the sort of thing only Shelley could get cranky about.
“And the murder?" Shelley asked.
“I sat outside while you were gone and ran down the list of suspects from the class. I could think of feeble motives for a few of them, none of which are very convincing. Then I got to Geneva and her husband. We've both forgotten about them. But they're the most likely. Most violent acts occur within families, I think. That's what Mel said."
“I've heard that, too," Shelley said. "What's your reasoning?"
“First, Geneva is Dr. Jackson's sister. Maybe they didn't get along. Perhaps there was a longterm hostility between them. And unless Julie has a child we don't know about or other siblings, Geneva is probably her heir."
“You think Julie Jackson is rich?"
“She must be if she's always going to these charity functions. You don't get invited if you haven't contributed wads of money and can afford to dress to the nines."
“I hadn't thought about it that way," Shelley admitted.
“And remember that Mel told us she had a lot of valuable knickknacks and expensive artsy stuff in her house and he was wondering why the person who came in her house didn't steal them."
“If it was Geneva or her husband who attacked her, they wouldn't have bothered to take anything away because it would come to them anyway if she died. I see where you're going. But why would they need her money? Geneva's husband is a neurology something. I'd imagine they make money hand over fist.”
Jane shrugged. "Maybe he's not a very good one, or not in a good practice."
“But Geneva has a job as a trialler, it seems. At least that's the impression I got."
“I don't suppose you get rich doing that," Jane said. "And it
must be a lot of work.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the man on the television show brag about his extensive hosta garden and rare plants he grew. Shelley finally said, "There was something that crossed my mind a while ago. I think I mentioned it already. It's about Arnie. Lots of older people keep a close eye out for what's going on in their neighborhood. It seems to keep them alert to both danger and gossip. Did Arnie's office have windows at the front of the house?"
“Two large ones with an easy chair and a side table in front of them."
“So maybe he noticed something or some‑ body that didn't belong, or seemed suspicious but just hasn't put it together with the attack on Dr. Jackson."
“You're suggesting that we question him? Mel won't like that."
“He will if we prod a valuable memory out of him."
“What's our excuse for going to his house?" Jane asked, swinging her cast-bound foot off the bed.
“We'll take him the girls' recipes for the omelettes since he likes to cook. Maybe he'd like to branch out from Darlene's."
“I doubt it, but it is a good excuse.”
Jane went downstairs to ask Katie to write up the recipe for the basic omelette and a list of possible fillings while Shelley went home to check her answering machine and freshen her makeup. Then they drove to Arnold Waring's house.
He greeted them with surprise and pleasure. He probably didn't get much drop-in company. "Come in, ladies. What are you up to?"
“We have a recipe to share with you. We'd have brought the actual food along with it except that omelettes don't travel well," Shelley told him.
He invited them into his living room and settled Jane in a comfy chair with an ottoman to put her bad foot on. He and Shelley sat on the long sofa across the front window. He looked over the recipe and said he'd try it and that it sounded good. Shelley was staring at the rocking chair withthe half-finished afghan beside it and the pink sweater draped over the back.
Jane told Arnie about their daughters taking a cooking class. He liked this. "Most young women these days don't learn how to cook. They all go to restaurants or get take-out food. Darlene wouldn't have heard of doing that. You're doing the right thing for your daughters."
Mulch Ado About Nothing jj-12 Page 14
