“I guess I should check on how the shower is going," Jane said lethargically.
“They'd find you if they needed anything.”
“Still, I need to appear to be earning my keep. Be right back. If Jack Thatcher catches me sitting down, he'll probably take a hundred bucks off my fee.”
“Where is he, anyway?"
“He and his pals are off looking at a lake somewhere on the grounds, I think," Jane said. "Probably planning where the ninth green ought to be. Wait here."
“You plan to leave me here watching an amateur football game? No way," Shelley said.
As they approached the side room, Jane was pleased to hear lots of chatter that sounded downright friendly. Apparently the earlier ice had been broken. Eden and Layla were coming out the door. Eden was heading toward the hallway to the monks' rooms, presumably for a potty break, and Layla was halfway to the kitchen. "Do you need something?" Jane asked Layla.
As she was speaking, Mr. Willis shoved open the kitchen door, balancing a tray of more champagne cocktails. "That's what I was looking for," Layla said. "We're all getting giggly-tipsy. Aunt Marguerite is telling what she considers risqué stories.”
Layla looked so girlish and happy Jane had the urge to hug her. "You're having fun, aren't you?"
“If it weren't for Mrs. Crossthwait, this would have been my best weekend in years."
“You're not missing your children?”
Layla laughed. "No, not a bit. Should I feel guilty?"
“Absolutely not," Jane said.
Jane and Shelley oozed in the door and caught Livvy's eye. "Anything you need?" Jane mouthed.
Livvy was surrounded by a pile of wrapping paper and ribbons. Somebody had fetched a rather wicked-looking knife from the kitchen to help open gifts. Jane guessed nobody wanted to go to Mrs. Crossthwait's room for scissors.
Livvy pushed the paper and ribbon aside, got up, and came over. "I need a box to put everything in so none of the little things get lost. There might be some in the attic. Would you mind—?”
“Not at all," Jane said.
As she and Shelley went up the stairs, Shelley said, "She was actually smiling slightly. And it looked like a real smile."
“I can't wait for this to be over," Jane said. "Things seem to be going well now and maybe we'll just coast on through the rest.”
Jane reached out to push the attic door. It wouldn't open. She tried again, thinking it was just stuck, maybe from all the rain and humidity. "That's strange. It seems to be locked."
“Locked? It wasn't locked yesterday. We looked in here, remember?”
Jane stared at the door. "How very odd. I'll see if there's a seam ripper in Mrs. Crossthwait's room."
“Is there a connection between those thoughts?" Shelley asked, trailing along.
Mrs. Crossthwait's room was a bit of a mess. The police had gone through her luggage and all her sewing materials. They hadn't deliberately vandalized the room, but it was pretty untidy. "We'll have to come back here later and pack everything up," Jane said. "Ah, here's the seam ripper. I can open the lock with it."
“What a peculiar skill," Shelley said.
“Doesn't every mother know how to get a little kid out of a bathroom when he's locked himself in?" Jane asked.
“After I had to crawl in the ground floor bath‑ room once to rescue Denise, I had the locks taken off," Shelley said, "and put little hooks up high so I could lock myself in, but they couldn't.”
Jane took the seam ripper, went back into the hall, and sat down in front of the door, studying the lock.
“Where did you ever learn a skill like this?" Jane smiled. "From a Frenchman that I was desperately, madly in love with."
“And you didn't marry him?"
“Couldn't. He was thirty and I was ten. My dad was attached to the embassy in Paris and we had a house outside the city. My folks wanted my sister and me to attend the local school to improve our French. A lost cause in both our cases. Monsieur Baptiste LeClerc was the math teacher. He taught us to pick locks. It was supposed to illustrate some mathematical principle, in theory. Actually, I think he was teaching us to be his accomplices. Halfway through the term, he disappeared. My mother later told me he'd been arrested for breaking into houses.”
Shelley laughed. "Training you girls to be little Oliver Twists, huh?"
“He was divine. A dark sweep of hair he was always tossing back artistically. The longest, most beautiful eyelashes I've ever seen. If I'd met him as an adult, I'd have wanted to smack him into shape. But when I was ten, he was so romantic." She prodded gently at the lock for a moment and there was a snick. Jane opened the door. "Don't ever mention to Mel that I know how to do this.”
There was a primitive path through the junk in the attic and some fairly fresh-looking cardboard boxes at the far end. The two women gingerly picked their way through and selected two boxes, then paused to examine a few other things. There was a wooden box full of shotgun shells, some shotguns that had been shamefully neglected, and a large old wooden crate full of clothing at the far end of the room. Mostly outdoor stuff. Wellington boots so ancient they were cracked, plaid wool coats, furry hats, lots of gloves and mittens, none of which appeared to have mates. Shelley picked up a pair of old-fashioned jodhpurs with the tips of her fingers. "These might be useable if they were cleaned."
“Perfect for a jaunt to the grocery store," Jane said. "Doorknobs."
“What?"
“A whole box of mixed doorknobs," Jane said, squatting down to look into another wooden box halfway along the path. "Why would anyone collect doorknobs? They're not even interesting or nice ones."
“Oh, look. Croquet sets. Two or three of them," Shelley said. "Let's take one set out and put it up on the lawn. I was a whiz at croquet when I was a kid. I cheated like mad.”
They'd made their way to what appeared to be the "sports section" of the attic. There were baseballs with their coverings coming off, bats that had seen better days, a couple of footballs, and a snarl of badminton nets.
“People used to have very different ideas about leisure time," Jane said. "Now when we sit around relaxing together, it's usually in front of a television set or computer screen. It must have been fun to come out here in the summers."
“We better get these boxes down to Livvy. What's that black stuff?"
“Electrical tape?" Jane guessed, glancing down at what looked like a snake nest next to the doorway. "No, it's fabric. Seam binding. How odd. Are you taking the croquet set down?"
“I'll come back with some rags and clean it up a little later," Shelley said.
They closed the attic back up and delivered the boxes to Livvy. The party was showing signs of breaking up. The ladies were tossing back last drinks and looking for their purses. Kitty was being practical and sorting out the gifts and neatly folding the salvageable wrapping paper. Layla was leaning back in a comfortable chair, smiling and looking like she might just fall asleep right there. Eden, who was wearing a loose, colorful tiara of discarded package ribbons, was trying to get the aunts moving along.
“We're going to dinner in a bit. Don't you two need little naps first?" she was asking. Iva's wig appeared to be trying to turn itself around backwards on her head and Marguerite was hanging onto a table as if were the only stable thing in the world. Eden glanced at Jane and grinned. "Those were very good champagne cocktails.”
Eventually the room cleared. The trophy wiveswere gathered up by their husbands and taken back to the local motel. The aunts were tucked away in their rooms to sleep it off. Layla hoisted herself out of the chair, staggering only slightly, and went to take a nap, too. Kitty had put away the pretty negligees, slippers, underwear, and more conventional kitchen and bath gifts. Mrs. Hessling was looking extremely sober and very relieved that it was over and was making noises about finding Errol to take her back to the motel. When she'd gone, the only one left was Livvy, who looked tired.