“It's too early to know more, Jane," Mel said, holding up his hand like a traffic cop trying to stop a runaway eighteen-wheeler and believing he could do it. "They only started this morning. You may be right and she has some dark secret that will come to light. But right now, the only suspects are the people who are here for the wedding."
“Swell," Jane said. "I suppose in view of those bruises, presumably from a strong malicious shove, the local police are going to be back here. Casting a pall. Questioning the guests. Making nuisances of themselves."
“Afraid so," Mel said.
“Okay," Jane said with a martyred sigh. "We can cope. I can get a grip. Figuring out a murder is, in the grand scale of things, more important than a picture-perfect wedding.”
Mel muttered something that sounded like, "And a lot more interesting.”
“What was that?" Jane asked.
Mel smiled. "Me? I didn't say anything.”
Shelley glanced at her watch. "Almost time for the bridal shower, Jane. Eat your lunch and then we'll go make sure it goes well."
“I'll consider it to have gone well enough if everybody comes out of it alive," Jane said.
Ten
The bridal shower had a brittle atmosphere of ·· forced festivity. The air crackled with high-pitched laughter. Few of the women attending really knew each other terribly well. Some of Jack's friends' trophy wives were acquainted and regretted it and snubbed one another in the nicest possible way. Only Layla and Eden seemed to have formed a friendly bond with Kitty on the fringes of it. The aunts were pretending that the whole plan had rested in their capable hands, and were playing the role of cohostesses with relish — which irritated the stuffing out of Jane.
She and Shelley had rounded up the guests and seen to it that the food and drinks were ready, then got out of the way. "I don't suppose we can hang around and eat?" Shelley asked. "Sort of lurk in the background and munch quietly?" The menu for the party included puff pastries with raspberry filling, rich little handmade chocolate wafers in the shape of bells, and champagne cocktails.
“There will be leftovers," Jane assured her. "And if we eat them in private, we can be much greedier. We can rub them straight onto our thighs if we want and skip the digestive process entirely. What a dismal party."
“Dismal-ish," Shelley admitted. "But that's not your fault. It's because the only thing they all have in common is poor Livvy. If you'd put on the exact same shower for Eden, for instance, it would have been fun because she has a personality. What were the little foil packages Livvy was carrying around?"
“Compacts. Really lovely things and the only decision Livvy seemed to have a strong opinion about," Jane said. "They're bridesmaid gifts. Real gold with Livvy and Dwayne's names and the date of the wedding beautifully engraved on the back. They must have cost her the earth."
“What a lovely memento," Shelley said. "At least she has good taste. Oh, that's bad of me. She's such a nice, Milquetoast sort of girl. I just want to give her a transfusion of spunk.”
Jane nodded. "I'd like to like her, too. I think everyone would. What's not to like? But she's a mannequin with a complex computer system that instructs her to talk and move and act with propriety, but no sparkle."
“What's all that noise outside?" Shelley asked.
"The groom and his friends, I assume," Jane
said as she and Shelley hauled themselves out of
their comfortable chairs and went to check. The
young men were playing touch football. Except for their size, they were indistinguishable from a bunch of fifteen-year-olds, although their language was a bit cleaner. Not much, though.
Somebody, perhaps the lethargic Uncle Joe, had dragged out a couple of lawn chairs and set them by the main door. Whether this was their destination for some reason, or they were just in transit, Jane couldn't guess. But Jane pulled one of them in front of the door. "Sit down, Shelley. If any of the bride's party needs me, they'll be able to spot us here."
“Sure you wouldn't really rather sit a little farther away? Like somewhere in Seattle?" Shelley asked.
As they got situated, Mel and Officer John Smith emerged from the woods. They had old Uncle Joe walking between them. It was impossible to hear the conversation they were attempting to have with him, but not hard to guess the gist. Mel or the local police officer would speak. Uncle Joe would instantly shrug incomprehension. Joe's part consisted entirely of hands outspread in ignorance, negative shakes of the head, glares, and halfhearted attempts to shake the other two men off.
“He knows something about this," Jane said. "What makes you think that?" Shelley asked, staring at the small group.
“Because he's pretending to know nothing. Nobody knows nothing."
“You can say that because you don't know my cousin Alfred.”
Jane laughed. "Shelley, if somebody asks you something and you haven't got the answer, don't you at least pause and consider whether you might have some bit of information, no matter how trivial?"
“Yes, I guess so. But I'm not a cranky old recluse who isn't enjoying having his turf invaded."
“That's the point," Jane said. "It is his turf. In his view, anyway. He's apparently lived here, quite alone most of the time, for years. And for all his crabbing around, acting too feeble to be of any use, I think he knows every stick of furniture in the dark."
“You think he was one of the people roaming around last night during the storm?"
“I'd bet anything on it," Jane said. "And I'll bet he saw or heard things he's keeping to himself. That's why he's so vehemently denying any knowledge of what's going on here to Mel and Officer Smith. He doesn't seem to even like having family around. Imagine how he feels about The Law invading.”
The cat Jane had met up with the night before came strolling around the corner and sat down to evaluate them for a long moment before taking a really serious stretch and then jumping on Jane's lap. She scritched him behind his ears.
Shelley was staring toward, but not at, the football game. She was thinking so hard, Jane could almost hear the gears grinding. Finally Shelley said, with uncharacteristic timidity, "Jane, I know this is nuts, but everybody seems to know something about this story of a hidden treasure. But nobody admits to believing in it. Don't you find that a bit suspicious?”
Jane kept petting the cat. "I guess so, but let's define 'everybody.' Layla vaguely remembered the story. Eden more so, and it was she who said the aunts came up with the theory and Jack checked it out and denies that there is one. But that's all.”
Shelley shook her head. "Larkspur is roaming around with spade and shovel and a wild, greedy, non-floral gleam in his eye."
“That's right. I'd forgotten about him. How would he know?"
“We must ask," Shelley said. "If he's heard it, there are probably hundreds of other people who also have."
“So where's this leading us?"
“Well—" Shelley hesitated. "Not that I think this is necessarily right, but suppose there really is a treasure here—"
“If there were a hidden treasure," Jane interrupted, "why would it necessarily be at the hunting lodge? If I had a treasure, I'd buy a big old safe and stick it in there."
“But then it wouldn't be hidden, just locked up," Shelley said irritably. "Just hear me out, will you? Suppose there was a treasure, and it was in Mrs. Crossthwait's room. If I'd been O. W. and wanted to hide something here, I'd have hidden it in my own room or the one next to it so I couldcheck on it while I was here, and be sure nobody else would be staying in the room when I wasn't here."
“Okay," Jane said. "I'll buy that. So you think Mrs. Crossthwait found it?"
“She seemed to be a bit on the deaf side, but her eyesight must have been a wonder. You've seen her work. All that meticulous, tiny handwork."