Mulch Ado About Nothing jj-12

by Jill Churchill

  And she had no idea what made Stefan Eckert's mind work. He seemed so charming and pleasant on the surface, but came nearest guilt by having sent the flower arrangement to Julie with a message he claimed was innocent, but sounded guilty.

  And who could guess what Geneva Jackson and her husband might be up to? They seemed the most likely to be the connection between Julie Jackson and Stewart Eastman. At least Julie, Geneva, and Stewart were in businesses that appeared to overlap. Could that be it? A business deal gone badly wrong? With Geneva the only one still standing and healthy? But strangely, Geneva seemed the most normal of the entire group of gardeners. Though she never spoke, that Jane could remember, of her own gardening tastes and was the only one not to attempt to force Stefan and Arnie to adopt her own tastes.

  The kitchen door opened and Mel called out, as he had so often, "Why don't you ever lock your doors? I know you're here somewhere because Shelley's van's in her driveway." As he came into the living room, he exclaimed, "Dear God, that's such a domestic scene!"

  “I'm only sewing buttonholes."

  “Why did you never tell me? I could use somehelp with buttons," he said, sitting down next to her so her thimble disappeared between the sofa cushions.

  “Are you through for the day? Want to reconsider going to a movie?" Jane asking, nipping off a loose thread and picking up the next shirt.

  “No, just wanting to share some information with your overly fertile imagination. I checked out the class members as well as I could. Stefan Eckert was once arrested for striking a woman student."

  “No!”

  Mel shrugged. "Never came to court. The girl finally admitted that her boyfriend was the one who blacked her eye and she blamed Stefan because he was her faculty adviser and was disappointed at her choice of classes. And Miss Winstead wasn't quite telling you the truth about her hatred of Dr. Eastman. She took him to court when her cousin died. Apparently the cousin had inherited a lot of money from an aunt and didn't have a will, so the money went to Eastman. Miss Winstead dragged out a lawsuit for so long that he finally just gave her the money to get her out of his hair. He must have been making a lot of his own money by then."

  “So much for an inheritance from an aunt," Jane said.

  “Was that what she told you? Cagey old gal." "What about Ursula?"

  “A few unproven drug charges and two arrests after she was sent back from Vietnam for not quite following the rules as closely as the army thought she should. The report is very vague. She had an excellent reputation there as a nurse. So I don't know why she was sent home in spite of her objections."

  “What about Charles Jones?"

  “No blots on his record whatsoever except one late income tax payment."

  “I thought he'd be the sort to send in his return early," Jane said, trying to fit a button into a buttonhole she'd made too small.

  “And the old boy Arnie had lots of commendations from his job with the fire department. Credited for saving lots of lives. Said to work up a real adrenaline rush at fires and take chances others wouldn't."

  “Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Jane said. "Say, Ursula wasn't taking care of Arnie's wife while she was dying, was she?"

  “I have no idea.”

  Jane said, "Oh, well. It doesn't compute anyway. Nothing happened to either of them. Nor did either make any bad comments about the other. Never mind.”

  Mel got up and stretched. "Well, back to the salt mines. You and Shelley apply your overactive imaginations to this information for a while. It'll keep you out of the pool halls."

  “Probably not," Jane said. "I might learn to shoot pool with my crutch. Is that legal?"

  “Probably not, but give it a shot. See you later. Lock your door." He gave her a slightly more serious kiss than the last time before he left.

  Jane was done with the shirts and decided to do what little cleaning she could in the kitchen before the girls started their dinner project. She scared the cats out of the house, trying to wield a floor mop and one crutch. Willard moved into the far end of the living room and woofed pitifully.

  She managed to knock over Arnie's flowers, but without breaking the little vase she'd put them in. She also made a tiny dent in the refrigerator door and almost toppled over a kitchen chair. And it didn't look any better when she was done.

  Her hands felt sticky and she smelled them.

  And a light dawned. Feeble, but a flicker of understanding took fire.

  Twenty-eight

  Jane sat clown in the living room, turned off the television, and just thought for a long time. Pieces started falling in place. But only if she was right about what she was remembering. She'd been a little obsessed with her foot all week, just like poor old Arnie was obsessed. Maybe she would be as weird as he was if she had to wear the cast for the rest of her life.

  It could be anyone, but the one she was thinking about could fit all the requirements if the things she'd seen — and smelled — were right.

  She could hardly wait for Shelley to return. Shelley would talk her out of this and she'd be glad. She went back to the kitchen where she could watch for the van to return. And waited. And waited. They must have been making another heavy hit at the grocery. God only knew what they'd fix for dinner tonight.

  Shelley came in with a bag of groceries. "Only dessert tonight. Black Forest cake. Had to stop at 241 the liquor store to get Cherry Heering. I've never heard of it."

  “We're only eating dessert?"

  “No, I'll make a salad and rolls for dinner." "Come outside. I need to run something by you. In private.”

  She started by telling Shelley what Mel had said he'd found out about the rest of the class.

  “Nothing really there, is there?" Shelley said.

  “But while I was tidying the kitchen, I noticed a smell."

  “Lysol, probably."

  “No. Smell my hand."

  “Do I have to?" Shelley sniffed delicately and asked, "Eucalyptus?"

  “Nope. Guess again. Close your eyes.”

  Shelley sniffed again, eyes closed. "Oh, I know. So what?”

  Jane explained.

  Shelley objected to every step of Jane's theory, as Jane thought she would.

  But Jane said, "All we need to do is make a short visit to Julie's house. A sympathy call. We'll take them some of the girls' cake after dinner. That might be a good get-well present."

  “We hardly know her. And your idea is insane. They'll throw us out."

  “But what if I'm right? Only Julie will know." "Julie Jackson has amnesia, in case you've forgotten."

  “Only about the attack on her. Mel says she re-members everything before she was hurt. And that's what we need to know.”

  Katie, Denise, and Jenny were already destroying the kitchen with their early stages of making the Black Forest cake. Jane tried to keep from watching what they were doing. She called Mel from her upstairs extension and confirmed that Julie remembered most things that happened before she was hurt.

  “What have you got on your mind?" Mel asked suspiciously.

  “Just a question and a look at her office. If I'm wrong, I'll shut up. Shelley is sure I'm wrong." "Jane, don't do anything stupid, okay?"

  “We won't be in the slightest danger. I prom‑ ise.”

  Mike turned up for dinner. "How'd your garden tour go?" he asked.

  “Everybody knew it was faked," Jane said. "Have you seen what Katie and her friends have done to the kitchen? What are they mak‑ ing?"

  “Black Forest cake. I'm afraid to see so much as a glimpse of the kitchen.”

  Mike loved the cake and so did the rest of them. The girls had even cleaned up the splattered batter and the smears of cherry juice they'd spilled down the front of a cabinet. It was a fight to keep Mike from finishing the cake up. Jane had to cut off three little token pieces to take to the Jackson house. Mike begged Katie to make it again over the weekend. "That will really impress Sandra," he said.

  Jane resisted, with great restraint,
asking who Sandra was. Had he ferreted out Kipsy's real name or was a new Sandra on the horizon?

  She called ahead and asked Geneva Jackson if she and Shelley could drop by with a dessert. Geneva was delighted. "We had take-out barbeque for dinner, which we all pretty much hated. We'd love a dessert. I'll start a big pot of coffee.”

  Fortunately, Julie was back in her basement office when they got there. "I'll call to her to come up," Geneva said.

  “Don't bother," Jane replied. "We'll go down to her.”

  When they got to the basement, Jane was pleasant but brisk. "Dr. Jackson, I'm Jane Jeffry. We've met before."

  “At the city hall flap about cats on leashes," Julie laughed.

  “And this is Shelley Nowack, my next-door neighbor and best friend. We were enrolled in the class you were to give on botany and gardening. I have three questions to ask you if you don't mind.”

  Julie looked surprised. "I guess that's all right. I hope I can answer them."

  “Okay. First, would you open one of your file drawers?”

  Julie, looking a bit like she was concerned for Jane's mental health, pulled a drawer open. Jane nodded, thanked her, and asked the second question. "Here's a list of the people in the class. Do you recognize any of the names?”

  Julie studied the list. "Most of them," she said.

  “Have you done whatever you do, which I'm sorry I don't quite grasp, for any of them?"

  “I was called in to analyze material regarding a patent for these two." She picked up a pencil and checked off two names.

  Jane nudged Shelley. "I think I'm right. Thank you so much, Dr. Jackson. There's Black Forest cake and coffee upstairs. Are you feeling well enough to have some?”

  Julie smiled. "After nearly five days of hospital food? Of course I am.”

  Jane and Shelley made small talk, knocked back a cup of coffee each, and made their escape.

  As soon as they were on their way home, Shelley said, "It isn't proof of anything."

  “But there is proof. And Mel can get to it if it hasn't been destroyed yet.”

  Jane went straight home and called Mel and outlined her case. He, like Shelley, scoffed at her crazy reasoning. But having hashed it out with Shelley and squashed her objections, Jane was ready with her ammunition.

  “Jane, I don't pretend to believe this story." "But you'll check it out anyway."

  “I guess I have to.”

  On Saturday, Jane was never away from the phone, but Mel didn't call. He'd either found a lead of his own, or was still chewing over what she'd said. She knew better than to run him down and ask which it was.

  Sunday morning he called and said, "May I run by and take you for a ride? Maybe somewhere out in the country where you can't hurt anyone with your crutches?”

  It was a rehearsed line. Meant to be funny, but failing.

  She was ready and waiting outside when he drove up. She squashed herself into his little MG, being very careful not to dent it with the crutch. They were well out of town when he finally said, "You were right. He admitted all you imagined, and more."

  “You probably won't believe me, but I'm sorry I was right," Jane said sadly.

  “You might not be when you hear all of it. You were right about the flowers he gave you. Dr. Jackson explained it all, even though the files were missing from her office. Darlene Waring had nursed along what Dr. Jackson called a 'sport,' a natural mutation of a marigold. Those pitiful plants Arnie gave you were descendants of her seeds. A year before she died, she sent seeds to Dr. Eastman. She'd heard him speak and thought he might be interested in what she'd found. He replied that the plants he'd grown with the seeds were useless. Too sprawling, unreliable colors, too fragile stems, and a bunch of other criticisms. Or words she took to be criticisms."

  “But he admitted he'd grown them?" Jane asked. "Yes, and Arnie in his own distinctive way in‑ terpreted it as a devastating insult to her that weakened her to the point that she didn't take care of herself when she became ill. He blamed Eastman for her death."

  “That's unreasonable. It's why I doubted what I saw and smelled on my hands when I dropped the vase and handled the plants he'd given me."

  “Not unreasonable to him. He's never accepted that she was ill simply because she had a fatal disease. We'll never know, of course, whether she was really as upset as he thought she was. But when he got his computer and started to cruise the Internet, one of the first things he looked up was any references to Dr. Stewart Eastman."

  “That's something I hadn't thought about," Jane admitted. "I just thought he was a pretty up-to-date old guy to even have a computer."

  “He found lots of references to Eastman's patents. And a piece from a plantsmen's journal hinting that Eastman was working on a marigold."

  “Eastman told us nobody developing a new patent plant should ever talk to anyone but a reliable trialler."

  “Apparently he hadn't taken his own good advice."

  “How did Arnie come to consult with Julie Jackson?"

  “She'd had a kitchen fire years ago, and being a good fireman, he went back the next day to instruct her in fire safety. He walked through her house, showing her dangers. That's how he knew her office was in the basement. He asked what she did and she explained her job. Part of it, as you suspected, was giving reports on plants to be patented. She'd worked with Eastman when he got ready to patent his marigold, so Arnie paid her to grow his seeds and compare the results."

  “Which weren't favorable, I assume."

  “Not at all. She told me a lot of details of the differences, most of which I don't understand, but some other expert would. Something about cell-wall structures and DNA comparisons. It must have cost Arnie a bundle for her tests. And the results showed that even if Eastman had developed his marigold from Darlene Waring's seeds, he'd spent years culling the best and raising a much superior plant, and Arnie shouldn't pursue it in court because he'd surely lose."

  “Another insult to Darlene," Jane said.

  “So when Arnie learned she was teaching this class, it scared him. This is only a sideline to whatever she normally does, but he thought it was the only thing she did and she might mention it in the class. He knew her house. He knew her office. He mistook her sister for her leaving that morning and thought the house was empty. He swears he was only going to filch the files, but she came out of the little bathroom in the basement and caught him at it. He swears he didn't mean to hurt her, he was only trying to get away from her with the files and she pursued him."

  “And then he was angrier than ever at Eastman for putting this over on his late wife. I'll bet he blamed Eastman for making him do such an awful thing," Jane speculated.

  “Almost word for word for what he said in the interview room. He'd seen pretty serious injuries in his time that the people recovered from and was afraid she'd tell Eastman about him. So he had to kill Eastman."

  “How did he get Eastman out of the house?"

  “He lurked in the backyard in the dark until Eastman came outside to smoke a cigar. Apparently he'd seen him do it before out in front and figured if he waited long enough, he'd catch up with him and ask about the construction of the compost heap. And the ploy worked. Eastman was a large man, but not a strong one. Arnie worked hard all his life and went to the gym every other day to keep fit after he retired. It must have been easy for him to overpower Eastman."

  “This makes me so sad. I hate to think of that poor old man having to undergo a trial.”

  Mel took her hand and was quiet for a long moment. "He won't have to do that. He had a stroke an hour ago and died before they got him to the hospital.”

  Jane was shocked. "It was my fault."

  “No, it wasn't. We'd found some fibers on Eastman's clothes and the rough wood the compost bin was made of that weren't from anything in his own wardrobe at his Chicago home or his home upstate. Nor were they from anything the house‑ keeper's son had. They were distinct enough to identify easily as soon as we narrowed the field of
suspects. He'd have been found out eventually."

  “I'm sorry I snooped this time. I wish I'd never signed up for the class or let my mind dwell on things that were none of my business."

  “Murders need to be solved, Janey. No matter how the information comes about. The family and friends of victims need to know how and why it happened. It doesn't bring their loved ones back, but it helps settle their minds. And the only person in the world who contributed to Arnie's crimes was Arnie himself."

  “You're just saying that to make me feel better." "No, I'm not. It's part of what I do for a living. I understand how you feel, but you're wrong to blame yourself in any way. Arnie was very de‑ voted to his wife, but he turned that devotion into evil acts that were entirely his own responsibility.”

  Sunday afternoon Katie made the same cake again. Mike came home about five o'clock all sweaty and dirty. "I put in some overtime today moving around a load of cow manure. I had Black Forest cake with Kipsy the other night. It was excellent, but not as good as the one Katie made. I guess I'll stick around tonight."

  “No date with Kipsy?" Jane said with hope in her voice.

  Mike grinned. "It's none of your business, you know. But no."

  “Have you fallen out with her?"

  “I never fell in with her. Dating for a couple nights was her idea and it worked like she said it would. I've got to get a shower before dinner.”

  Jane trailed him upstairs. "Explain!" she demanded.

  He was laughing at her as he sat down on the top step. "See, Kipsy had this theory. When guys of her type, the rebellious ones, see her out with a boring, clean-cut, straight-arrow guy like me, they can't understand it and want to bring her back into the fold."

  “Oh, yeah?" Jane said. Where was this leading?

  “And when cheerleader types of girls see a guy like me with a freaky-looking girl, they want to save me from her. So Kipsy said. So we tried it out for a couple nights in a row. Went to places where there were both kinds of people. And it worked. I've been 'redeemed' by a gorgeous blonde and Kipsy met a biker she likes.”

  Jane stared at him. "That's the most cynical thing I've ever heard. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"