When she'd hung up, Jane went to the window and looked out at Shelley's house. The red MG was there again. Poor Detective VanDynehe was probably bored and hungry. Maybe she could make a decent dinner and invite him over. She glanced in the refrigerator. There were possibilities there. But as she closed the door, she caught sight of her reflection in the microwave door.
“Katie!" she called up the stairs. "Buy me some of those fingernails while you're out, would you? And some mascara and blusher…”
Nine
Jane had planned to spend a quiet evening Y with the kids, but it didn't work out that way. Todd got an invitation to spend the night with Elliot Wallenberg, an invitation he was dying to accept because of Elliot's new toys from his birthday earlier in the week. Katie was asked to sleep over with Jenny after their shopping trip. Jenny, a chunky girl who ate like part of a starving nation, had spent the night with the Jeffrys a half dozen times over the summer, and Jane felt it would help even the score.
Mike's marching band was playing at the first football game of the season. Both the musicians and the athletes had been practicing since weeks before school started and were chomping at the bit. He was going out for pizza afterwards with a friend whose parents had rashly bought him a car for his birthday. Mike was making noises as if he was expecting the same bounty to befall him. Jane had tried to make him understand that she could hardly afford to keep her station wagon running now that he was on the insurance. Another vehicle wasn't possible. Of course, there was always the possibility that Thelma would step into the breach, checkbook in hand. The thought made Jane mad, but she could never figure out quite why.
Their departure left Jane alone and at the mercy of the phone. Everyone seemed to feel it was tacky to call Shelley and ask for the gruesome details of the murder. A few had no such delicate feelings, but simply couldn't reach her. They all called Jane. By ten o'clock her mouth felt cottony from talking, and her brain was stewed from repeating the few things she did know over and over. There was really so little to say, so little known.
Each caller seemed to have a theory of her own. The vagrant maniac was a popular theme, possibly because that meant they were safe — how many vagrant maniacs are there, after all? And a vagrant maniac doesn't hang around the neighborhood. He moves on to Dubuque, or Fargo.
A woman from the next block who was active in the John Birch Society was certain it was a Communist plot. Her theory had something to do with oppressed workers, though Jane refrained from pointing out that accusing the 'commies' of killing one of the oppressed hardly made sense.
Another neighbor, having read in the paper that the victim had previously lived in Montana, figured it all had to do with a survivalist group from which Ramona Thurgood had very likely escaped with some kind of secret information.
“But she had a newspaper route and taught Sunday school," Jane protested to this one. "Survivalists don't do things like that."
“Jane, dear, you're too, too naïve. They have people in every walk of life. That's what's so insidious. Why, all you have to do is watch the children's cartoons to see that they've infiltrated the toy industry. The cartoons themselves are rife with violence, and then the commercials are for toy soldiers and tanks. Who do you suppose provided the money to make "Rambo"? They're poisoning the minds of a whole generation. It's pitiful. I suspect we may someday regard this poor woman, who died trying to warn us of their plans, as a genuine heroine.”
Jane hung up, shaking her head in wonder.
The last call was Joyce Greenway. "I'm so worried about you and the children staying in the house alone."
“We're not alone. There is a whole mob of us."
“I mean without a man to protect you. Won't you please come stay with us until this is over?”
I'm sick to death of Joyce's well-meant sympathy, Jane thought, but managed to put a smile in her voice. "That's really nice of you, Joyce. But we're really just fine.”
Finally, at ten, the phone stopped ringing and Jane was able to settle in to watching an old Katharine Hepburn movie, until Mike got home and bored her with a detailed account of the school football game. She slept soundly that night — no dreams of murder, no dreams at all.
Jane tried to sneak out in the morning to pick Katie and Todd up, but at the first muted jingle of car keys, Mike appeared. "I'll drive!" he said blearily.
“I thought you were still asleep. In fact, I still think you are." She gave him a light punch on the arm and he collapsed against the counter.
“Just give me a sec, Mom. I'll be ready.”
The pickups were completed without incident. Todd gave an enthusiastic but exceedingly tedious rundown of Elliot's new acquisitions, with strong suggestions as to which of the same he needed for Christmas. Jane listened patiently, knowing he'd be tired of them by then and have a new list. Then, by February, he'd start compiling yet another. Mike graciously made no critical older-brother comments about the length or content of Todd's accounting.
Katie's fingernails were hideous, and she was positively thrilled with them. "I think they make my hands look so thin — don't you, Mom?”
Jane thought they looked more like a medical condition than a beauty aid, but took note of the "Mom" instead of "Mother" and was effusive in her compliments. Again Mike said nothing. He made a perfectly repulsive noise through his nose, but didn't actually speak.
By the time they pulled in the drive, Jane was thoroughly mellowed by how nice and familyish they were being. They had a late-morning snack that was a cross between breakfast and lunch, then Jane took Todd to his last baseball game of the season.
“You don't need to stay, Mom," he offered. "I always stay. Aren't you pitching?"
“Only the first inning. The coach said since we don't have any chance of the championship, he's gonna let everybody pitch."
“Well, I'll probably stay anyway.""You don't need to," he insisted.
The problem was suddenly clear. They were having a big picnic after the game, and Todd didn't want his freedom to enjoy himself hampered by her presence. Since it was already arranged that another mother would bring the car pool home, he'd counted on attending as a "bachelor," so to speak.
“Okay, I'll just watch your inning.”
He smiled. "Thanks, Mom-Old-Thing.”
When they reached the field, he and the three boys they'd picked up fled and Jane hung back, checking out who was there. There were mothers one never got near at these games, women who made George Steinbrenner look like Heidi. Happily, she spotted Suzie Williams and picked her way up the bleachers to join her.
Suzie was one of her favorite people. She was a big divorcée who would have been called "handsome" in an earlier age. She had long, platinum-blond hair and a gorgeous complexion. Her cheeks were always naturally pink, and her eyes were glacial-blue. She looked like an earthy Swedish queen who'd been hitting the smorgasbord a little too heavily.
She saw Jane coming and put down the blood-and-guts paperback novel she'd been reading. "Good God, it's Jane Jeffry, font of murderous gossip. I imagine you're being driven mad by nosy neighbors callously invading your privacy and peace of mind? Most people are so insensitive."
“What do you want to know?"
“Everything!Every bloody detail!”
Jane gave her account by rote. She'd told it so many times it hardly seemed real anymore. The one thing she didn't mention was the missing pearls. That was, unfortunately, Shelley's secret, and Jane felt bound to honor it, even if she disapproved.
“Shelley might have talked to the police again by now and found out something more, but she wasn't home when I came out. She and Paul are staying at a hotel."