“Maybe it was."
“Come on, Jane. She just cnopped up something, happened to carry a bottle of it around with her, and accidentally poured it on Mrs. Pryce's quiche at the exact moment nobody was looking? Not too likely.”
Jane frowned. "You've got a point. Still, she can't really be as weird as she acts. Nobody could get through life that way. She might be really cunning and bright."
“Oh, I think she's smart. Some of the smartest people I know are the weirdest," Shelley said.
Jane arched an eyebrow "You aren't referring to me, are you? Listen, Shelley, I know what I'm talk‑ 1.11 ing about on this Paris thing. I grew up all over the world, and believe me, even in a big city like Paris, the Americans who actually live there all know about each other, even if they've never met."
“But you're talking about normal people, Jane. Desiree is the type who would have lived in a commune, trying to teach the French to speak Esperanto or raise freshwater oysters or whatever her current interest happened to be. I can't see the diplomatic community throwing their arms wide and pressing her to their collective bosoms, can you?"
“Lord, no! Maybe you're right. But—although I hesitate to mention the subject—you notice she didn't produce proof that the extra copy of Pryce's book wasn't hers?”
Shelley put her hands to her head in exasperation. "So what? Jane, you're getting obsessed with this book thing."
“I don't know. I just think this book means something."
“It means you have sticky fingers and a dismal memory." Shelley leaned on the horn, and at Jane's questioning look, she explained, "Denise has an orthodontist's appointment in ten minutes.”
Jane got out of the car just as Denise came flying out of the Nowacks' house and flung herself into the back of the minivan, saying, "Quick, Mom. Somebody might see me.”
Her own house was quiet when Jane went inside. She looked in the garage. The car was gone, which probably meant that both her mother and daughter were away. She yelled up the steps to be sure. The only answer was blessed quiet except for the furtive jingle of Willard's tags as he came creeping out from his hiding place behind the sofa.
“Let's go outside, Lionheart," she said. She picked up the folder with her story about Priscilla and her copy of Mrs. Pryce's book and, grabbing a canned cold drink from the refrigerator, went out to the patio.
Just as she stepped outside, Meow came hurtling up over the back fence with a bird in his mouth. Jane quickly set down her things and took out after him, but he saw her coming and took the fence going the other way in a single bound without losing a feather. The bird was still in his mouth. Jane gave up. She felt honor-bound to save as many creatures as she could from the bloodthirsty cat, but drew the line at climbing fences and fighting her way through the field behind her house in order to do it. As her son Mike reminded her so often, nature was nature. But she remembered when he was a very little boy and got upset about the cats bringing in trophies. Now he had a squirrel tail collection on his bulletin board. The cats ate the squirrels they caught, but always left the tails for Mike.
She missed her son. Both her sons. She'd enjoyed the week of relative peace, but it was getting eerie. Life wasn't real without a jockstrap slung over the stair rail and hamster food ground into the carpet someplace. As much as she enjoyed seeing her children grow up, the thought of this house without them was horrifying. But she didn't need to worry about it now, she told herself. The boys were both due home tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
After tomorrow, she'd be back in the full mother routine. Driving everybody to friends' houses and lessons, arguing with Mike about how much of the time he could have the car, doing a million loads of laundry a day, and cooking madly, trying to keep their giant appetites satisfied. She'd lose most of her free time and probably any chance she had to figure out who'd killed Mrs. Pryce. And yet, she'd go on living in the neighborhood with the killer. She and her children. Without being able to guess what triggered the murder, they'd never be safe. The more she thought about it, the more fearful and angry she became.
She looked over her garden and was appalled at how many new weeds had grown in the few days she'd neglected the patch. She sat down, halfheartedly picking at some crabgrass that was encroaching on the tomatoes. She suddenly had the thought that people were like gardens: some of them productive or beautiful or both, others noxious and greedy. Mrs. Pryce was one of the weeds in life. And yet, the other plants weren't allowed to destroy the weeds. Only the Gardener could do that. She got up, depressed at the thought. She'd think about Priscilla instead. Or maybe Mel VanDyne.
She picked up her notebook and drink from the ground where she'd set them to chase Meow and started piling things on the patio table. That was when she noticed the little birdcage. It must have been part of Katie's shopping binge. She picked it up, smiling. It was a cute little ornamental cage made of fine bamboo, not large enough for a real bird, but a sweet little object to place on a shelf or fill with candies. Jane set it out of the way and took her legal pad out of the folder.
The thing she most wanted to do was put her feet up and think back over those few delightful minutes last night in the parking lot of the mall. Six, maybe seven, really expert kisses, before Mel had remembered that he was supposed to be working. Pity, that.
But it had been wonderful to be in a man's arms again, even for such a short time. And it was great to be old enough to not care just where he'd learned to kiss so well. Age did have a few advantages.
She shook herself and said, "Get busy, Jane." She reread the last of what she'd written and had added another page of quickly scrawled work before she heard the car in the drive a few minutes later. It was probably Cecily and Katie returning. She put away her work and went back inside.
“Mom, I'm going to be late!" Katie shouted, flying through the kitchen.
Cecily was behind her, as placid and graceful as ever. "She didn't realize your car clock is slow, and I didn't know she needed to be at work at noon."
“It's okay. It's only three minutes away, and she's got four minutes. I'll take her. I've got to run to the store anyway," Jane said, taking the car keys and grabbing her purse. "That little cage is cute. I forgot to bring it in.”
Cecily looked at her. "What cage?"
“The miniature birdcage. The little bamboo thing. Didn't you and Katie buy it?"
“Not that I know of." Cecily stood back as Katie bounced back past. She was now in her swimming suit and was hopping and pulling on her shorts over it as she went.
On the way to the pool Jane said, "Is that little birdcage on the patio table yours?"
“I don't have a bird. What would I want with a birdcage? Mom, can't you go faster? I'll be late.”
Jane dropped her daughter, who walked across the parking lot as languidly as though she had hours to spare. Jane knew that was because Katie didn't want to jiggle. Jiggling wasn't cool in her crowd yet. Give them a few years.
Jane quickly consulted the list in her purse. She needed to get wine. She never drank it herself, but her mother was used to a glass with dinner, and she'd neglected this hostess duty so far. She also wanted to talk to Grady. She wasn't sure what she hoped to find out, but something interesting might slip.
Sadly, her visit to the liquor store put her in contact with one of the creeps who'd been asking her out ever since Steve died. She tried to avoid being noticed, but he spotted her and came oiling over where she was lurking behind the wine coolers. "Hey, Jane! Nice to see you. Lookin' good, honey. Lookin' good. Been gettin' any?" he said.
It was one of those moments Jane sincerely wished she were Katharine Hepburn. Kate would have known how to destroy this jerk with a look and a word or two. "Excuse me, Walt. I'm really in a frantic hurry.”