“I've been wondering the same thing," Jane said. "I'm not clear on exactly how she fits into this business, though. Geneva said they had a professional relationship as well as being sisters. Is Julie, like Dr. Eastman, a plant breeder?”
Shelley shrugged. "Eastman suggested that she was some sort of patent cop. Checking out suspicious claims. Only he said 'questionable,' I think. She didn't appear to have anything especially interesting growing in her yard."
“But we didn't see the backyard."
“True. Do you think Mel knows exactly what it is that she does?"
“You heard all he said," Jane replied. "She had a sort of laboratory/office in her basement with lots of filing cabinets and some plants under lights. I think that's what he said. I was too obsessed with my foot to pay much attention."
“We need to find out exactly where Julie comes into the process. I might have misunderstood what Dr. Eastman was saying about her job. Maybe this attack on her comes back to money, like we were discussing before."
“In what way?" Jane asked.
“I don't know, because we have no idea what sort of money is involved. Or who gets it and how. I really want to know about that part of it. So many crimes come down to money."
“Then why didn't her attacker take anything?" Jane asked.
“We don't know he or she didn't," Shelley said. "And Geneva would be about the only one who could guess what might be missing. And even she might not be able to determine that."
“Mom, why did you get such a boring cast?" Jane's daughter said with just a hint of a French accent as she came into the Jeffry living room later that afternoon.
“I wasn't offered anything else," Jane said. "Would you get me a glass of iced tea, Katie? It's in the fridge."
“I've got something better." There were a couple of faint z's in "something.”
Katie rummaged in her jeans pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“What is this?" Jane said. "Oh, pretty flower stickers. They actually look like color photos. I could stick them around the screen of my computer.”
Katie threw herself into an armchair and said, "Oh, Mom," in a highly critical tone.
“Couldn't I?"
“Mom, they're for your cast. Nobody has a boring cast. You have to have your friends sign it, and if you know an artist, you ask him to draw or paint a picture on it. And even if you don't, you put stickers on it." She'd temporarily lost her fake accent. "One guy at school with a broken arm had a really cool one. His mother wove ribbons like a plaid design on his and stuck them down somehow. So when do you get it off?"
“Before it gets really filthy, I hope. The doctor didn't say. Just that I had to come back in two weeks to have it X-rayed again."
“Cool. They'll have to cut it with a saw to do that," Katie said. "Can I come along?"
“My leg or the cast? A real saw?"
“I do not know, ma mère. I'll ask my friend.”
Katie had spent the first two weeks of summer vacation in France with her best friend, Jenny, and Jenny's parents, who had begged to have Katie along so Jenny wouldn't be bored with the sightseeing they planned to do. Jane had been more than glad to spring for the plane fare to get Katie out of her hair for part of the summer. Katie'd made no effort to get a summer job, not even at her usual summer haunt, the town swimming pool. Something about the chlorine ruining her hair. Even before the trip idea came up, Jane had dreaded having her underfoot and at loose ends for the whole three months.
The trip hadn't quite turned out as Jane imagined. Katie had fallen in love with all things French. The French were "civilized" and ate dinner at ten at night. She'd been saving up the dinners Jane made to warm back up and eat just before she went to bed. She wanted her mother to study wine sauces and get some good veal. Quite a change from her earlier views of meat, and veal in particular.
“Katie, you're going to have to take over some of the cooking for us," Jane said. "It's too hard for me to get around the kitchen right now. But no veal. Why don't we make up some menus? It's time you learned how to cook."
“What about Mike? He's older than I am. Make him learn to cook."
“He doesn't care what he eats.”
The kitchen door had opened and closed while they were discussing this. "Are you talking about me?" Mike said, coming in the living room with a girl in tow. "Mom, this is Kipsy Topper. We met today at the garden place where I'm working for the summer.”
Jane had to make a serious effort to keep her jaw from dropping. Kipsy Topper, if that was really her name, which Jane was certain it wasn't, was the last thing she'd ever expected Mike to bring home. She had flame-colored hair. Or maybe it was a wig. Sort of like a big Raggedy Ann doll. Her eyebrows and nose were pierced and she was wearing what looked like a very flimsy slip over baggy jeans. There was a snaketattoo on her skinny shoulder. She could have been fourteen or twenty-four. Either way, too young or too old for Mike. And much too bizarre. He'd always gone for the blond cheerleader types.
“Kipsy…" Jane said, gulped, and went on, "how nice to meet you.”
She was looking at Mike as she spoke. He was smiling blandly.
“If you're talking about food," he said, "Kipsy and I are going to a Thai restaurant this evening where she works part-time. She was buying plants for the owner to decorate the place. They're in my truck. We're taking them over now. Be back late probably.”
Jane sat thunderstruck as Mike whisked Kipsy out of the house.
“Wow!" Katie said.
“Is that a good wow or a bad one?" Jane asked.
“Mom," Katie said critically, "you can't go on judging people by how they look. That's so frumpy and it's bigoted besides."
“I certainly can judge people when they make an effort to look like freaks," Jane said. "That says something about their personality.”
Katie couldn't answer this, so she just sniffed with contempt and said, "I thought she looked cool. I might do that to my hair."
“Over my dead body," Jane said. "Or yours. I'll let you drive us to the grocery store on your learner's permit if you promise not to scare me."
“I think Mike has gone over the edge," Jane said to Shelley later. "You should have seen this girl."
“I did," Shelley said. "Through my kitchen window as they came in your house. I wanted to go find my Denise and lock her in a closet until she's twenty-five. Maybe thirty. Where did Mike find her?"
“At the nursery where he's working. She was buying plants for the restaurant where she works. The owner must have taste as bad as hers to turn her loose to make decorating decisions, considering how she's decorated herself."
“Don't worry. Mike's a bright kid. He won't fall for her," Shelley said.
“What if you're wrong?" Jane whined. "Can you imagine having a daughter-in-law like that? Think of the wedding. Probably held in a Thai restaurant with bridesmaids in underwear or saris. Or under some bridge downtown next door to a body-piercing emporium."
“Maybe he just dragged her in to show you a novelty," Shelley said.
“Dear God, I hope so."
“Jane, you're the one going over the edge. He apparently just met her. Don't go worrying about a wedding. You'll see that he doesn't marry until he finishes college.”
Seven
Jane puttered around in the kitchen awkwardly, trying to think what would be easiest to cook for dinner. A roast maybe. Just put it in a bag and drag it out later. But that would take two hands. Could she balance herself well enough without at least one crutch to do that? Hamburgers on the grill? Nope, too many steps down to the patio.
As she cruised the fridge, there was a banging on her kitchen door and Ursula Appledorn walked in. Jane wished she weren't so careless about locking up and that non-family members or close friends would not assume an unlocked door meant you didn't have to knock. But she put on a welcoming smile because that was how she'd been raised.