"I said almost the same thing. In the arts, especially, everyone thinks you're a public charity and owe it to them to help them. Mediocre singers want good singers to teach them for the sheer joy of it. I know graphic artists whose local grade schools expect them to decorate their blackboards just because they should contribute to the public welfare. And some of them actually do it. Poor dolts."
Tazz didn't speak to or look at anyone while she picked up her snacks and took them back to her seat in the theater to eat alone. Jane took a teaspoon of everything and pronounced it slightly better than okay. Shelley nodded her agreement. "Out of all I've tried, only one was superior. I'll probably hire them for Paul's next employee dinner. Now, Jane, run on home and dress up. Forget Tazz. She's not the nice person we thought she was. We were simply misled."
*Mel picked up Jane, saying how glamorous she looked in emerald green as he opened the door of his red MG for her. "You sounded so excited this afternoon. Why aren't you now?" he asked as they started out.
"I'll tell you when we get to the restaurant. Somebody hurt my feelings. I'm almost over it. I'll talk about it once more, then cast it out of my mind."
When they reached the most elegant restaurant in town, the owner himself showed them to a lovely private booth. Mel ordered wine, the maître d' showed up next to welcome them, and a waiter snapped open huge napkins and flipped them on their laps.
Mel leaned forward, gestured for her to hold his hand, and said, "Tell me."
Jane recounted her conversation with Tazz. Mel frowned and said, "Forget she exists. I was frankly surprised that you claimed to like her. I didn't."
"You have better judgment than I do, I guess," she said curtly, then put her other hand over her mouth for a moment before apologizing. "I'm sorry. That was snarky."
"Oh, I don't blame you for feeling snarky, Janey. But I do have better judgment about nasty people, because in my job I meet so many of them. It sounds to me like you won the battle, not her. I'm glad you put her in her place."
Jane smiled. "You're right. She's not worth fretting about. She was trying to take outrageous advantage of me, and I did put her down firmly. I did win. Thank you for your opinion. Shelley and Ms. Bunting said sort of the same thing, but it means more coming from you."
Their wine arrived. The waiter had been watching closely for them to disengage their hands and finish whatever they were talking about that seemed so intense. The first second he could, he brought their wine and returned immediately with menus the size of Rhode Island. A moment later he delivered crusty rye rolls with a frigid plate of fancy curls of butter. Jane and Mel were invisible to each other as they studied the menus.
"Let's decide now so we can get rid of these monster menus," Mel said. "Let's go all out. Appetizers, salads, entrées, and desserts."
"I don't think I could eat that much. Could we drop either the appetizers or the salads? I'd prefer salad."
Mel signaled the waiter and placed their order, then took a roll and slathered it with butter. "I don't have to eat this immediately. I'm just buttering it while it's hot."
"Good idea," Jane said, doing the same. "Can you explain yet what you said you'd discovered and didn't know what it meant?"
"I still don't know what it means, but I can tellyou the details. Maybe something will ring a bell and you'll solve the mystery of the janitor and his sister, the janitor 's shoes, and jigsaw puzzles."
Jane laughed. "I'll give it a try."
Seventeen
Start at the beginning," Jane said.
Mel thought for a moment. "The janitor, Sven Turner, called in to his supervisor the night he was supposed to clean the theater late at night. He said he'd heard two men talking, so he decided to go back early in the morning."
"What difference did it make if two people were there?"
"First, one of them was Denny, and it was the night he died. I have no idea who the other was. But most important to Sven was that he didn't like being around people. That's why he took the night shift almost all of the time."
"A misanthrope?" Jane asked.
"Not really. I don't think he hated anyone. He was simply too shy and timid to want to talk to strangers."
"How do you know this?"
"Both his boss and his sister, who were virtually the only people he felt comfortable speakingto, said so and clearly meant it. So far nobody but the local cop on the beat even knew who he was. And he'd seldom even seen Sven. Officer Jones would drop in to check on Sven's sister, who lost both her lower legs to diabetes."
"Oh, how awful for her. How will she manage without her brother?"
"It's a problem they're going to have to deal with, especially if he doesn't survive. But you'll understand better when I get to the end of this story.
"So what happened to Sven?"
"He came back the next morning, and as he was unloading his cleaning supplies from the back of his truck, he was struck hard on the side of his head."
"Did he see who did it?"
"No, probably not. By the time he was found, he was in a coma. He still is. That's why I called on his sister, to learn more about him. I asked if I could see his bedroom, thinking that bedrooms often tell you about a person's interests. Some, like you, have more books than anyone I know. I am, as you've seen, a slob who has never made his own bed."
"What was Sven's room like?"
The salads arrived, and after eating a few bites and pronouncing it a great dressing, but on too much lettuce, Mel went on, "Sven's room was neat and tidy. The house must have been where
both Sven and his sister, Hilda, grew up. Nothing had changed since the 1970s, when Sven's parents put cowboy wallpaper up. You could have bounced a dime off the bed, it was so well made. A really huge, dreary, mostly brown jigsaw puzzle was set up near the window."
He took a few more bites of the salad as Jane was eating hers.
"I looked in his closet. Closets tell you things, too. Terribly neat. The whole bottom was filled with puzzle boxes, and on the back of the door was one of those pocket things for shoes. He had at least a dozen. One pair of loafers looked as if it had never been worn. So I pulled a shoe out and a neat roll of one-hundred-dollar bills with a rubber band around it fell out."
Jane gasped. "Blackmail! Remember I mentioned that as possible motive for trying to kill a janitor?"
"I'd given it some thought as well," Mel admitted. "But I don't believe he had the courage to blackmail strangers. You have to be very brazen and talk scary. 'I'll come after your family if you don't come up with the money' and so forth. It's also dangerous being a blackmailer. You don't know when your victim will meet you with a mob of cops hidden behind cars and vans. From hearing what his boss and his sister said, he simply couldn't have faced any stranger and been forceful and tough."
"You're really convinced about this," Jane said. She wasn't questioning his judgment. She knew it was a result of his experience and skills.
"Yes. But, Jane, when I came back with a warrant to search legally, the total hidden in his room was more than a hundred thousand dollars."
Jane lost her grip on her salad fork, which flipped over and fell on the floor. A waiter instantly replaced it.
Jane, embarrassed, thanked the waiter and, when he was gone, asked, "Did his sister know about the money?"
Mel nodded. "Apparently some, perhaps a lot, of the money is hers. While I was snooping before I got the warrant to search, she was chatting with Officer Jones, the cop who checks on her from time to time. She's considerably older than her brother and for a long time had a very well-paying job. When she had to leave because of the problems with her legs, she had a lot of pension money built up that's still being paid. She had also received disability payments from social security."