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."
“Arnie…" Jane said hesitantly. "We want to ask you about something."
“Ask away, not that I'll know the answer. I wasn't as well educated as my wife."
“It's not an educational question, it's an observation thing. I imagine that, living alone, you keep a pretty good eye on what's going on around the neighborhood. Single people living alone really need to look after themselves. At least I feel that way when my kids are in school or away.”
Jane hoped this was tactful wording and was glad when Arnie nodded agreement.
“With all the awful things that go on today, everybody must be wary," he said.
“Well, we were wondering, since you live so close to Dr. Jackson's house, whether you noticed anything odd the morning she was attacked.”
There it was, out in the open. Jane held her breath, hoping he wasn't going to take offense at her suggesting he was nosy.
“The police asked me that the day they were around," Arnie said. "I guess they asked everyone on the block. I couldn't think of anything.. then."
“But you've remembered something?" Shelley asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“It was just a car I hadn't seen before. An old one. A Ford, I think. Black or dark blue." "Where did you see it?"
“Right in front of Dr. Jackson's house. I didn't really make anything of it at the time. She often has company."
“On the street or the driveway?" Jane asked.
“Oh, on the street. It might have been somebody visiting the house across from her, of course." He thought for a moment. "No, I guess not. Those folks were off on a trip to Disney World with their kids if I remember right. The kids brought back a pillow for me with a Mickey Mouse face last Sunday. Nice kids. Being raised right. They come over and I tell them stories of my days at the firehouse.”