“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 personality 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.