"That is a bit strange, I'll admit. We both have obsessions nearly as strange as hers, come to think of it. You're obsessed with the IRS and I'm currently obsessed about my new car. But how was LaLane a threat to Sophie or Zac?"
"She was certainly a threat to Sophie with the records she'd kept and her phenomenal memory. In fact, if she hadn't been here, you'd never have guessed that page you had copied was Zac's work."
"But Shelley, she didn't really know," Jane reminded her. "And I was the one who initiated the question to her about whether it might be Zac's work. If she were the perp, she would have told me it was probably someone other than Zac to cover her tracks."
"I'll buy that," Shelley said after thinking over this convoluted reasoning. "But I still think we don't know nearly enough about at least ninety-eight percent of the people who are here. And I can't quite believe Vernetta and Gaylord are as stupid as they behave."
"Zac said that, too," Jane said. "That Vernetta had the common sense to look up his book to see if it was out of print. Not that it matters. But she thought it did. Maybe I was wrong to say anything about plagiarism and then get my knickers in a twist for speaking up."
They were both quiet and thoughtful for a few
minutes. Then Jane said, "But don't you wish we did know for sure?"
"We may never know."
"Don't say so. I want to know. If not now, someday. I invested a lot of mental energy in this and even made Mel seriously annoyed with me about my effort to sort it out."
"It's not your responsibility to sort it out, Jane. Nor are we obligated to keep what we know a secret."
"That's true. Why should we? It might be that the other author who was plagiarized is also here. If word leaked out, she might check out Vernetta's web page and find her own work there. Wouldn't that stir the stew?"
"Wouldn't it make us look gossipy and nasty, though?"
"You have a point. But I did promise LaLane to report on what I found out. I have to keep that promise. Let's go look for her."
They finally found her in the food court in the underground shopping area, eating a turkey sandwich. "May we sit down with you, Ms. Jones?" Jane asked. "This my friend and roommate. We have something to tell you."
LaLane's face lit up. "Please do."
"It was Zac who wrote that page," Jane said. Shelley said, "And I'm the one who discovered that Vernetta plagiarized his work."
"Vernetta? Who's that?"
"The big noisy woman who's always wearing acostume. She e-pubbed a book that Sophie Smith contracted her to publish for real."
"That's horrible. Stealing someone else's work is the most unethical thing a writer can do. And it's illegal."
"We know that."
"But does Sophie Smith know it yet?"
"We made sure she did," Jane said. "And so did Zac after he recognized that the page I showed you was from a book of his."
"I've never liked Zac's writing or his reviews, nor his attitude about women mystery writers, but I feel a little bit sorry for him," LaLane said.
"I don't think you need to be," Shelley said. "Zac knows how to take care of himself." She indicated Jane and said, "She had promised to tell you what we learned, and neither of us wanted to break that promise. That's why we told you this."
"I'm glad you did. I'd have hated never knowing."
"Me, too," Jane said. "And now we'll leave you to finish your lunch. But I wanted to thank you for helping us figure this out."
"Please let me know if you learn any more about this," LaLane said. "And I promise I won't tell anyone."
"We will keep in touch if we learn anything else, but we, too, aren't blabbing it elsewhere," Jane assured her.
As they walked back down the hallway toward
the hotel, Jane said, "I'm glad this worked out this way. Our consciences can be clear."
The thing that none of the three women noticed was the woman at the next table to them, sitting with her back to the threesome, and taking copious notes on every word they'd said.
Twenty-two
"Watching LaLane eat her lunch has made me hungry," Jane said. "Let's follow her example and have an early lunch."
"Good idea. Where?"
"Not in the hotel. That mall across the highway is supposed to have a nice restaurant with a spectacular salad bar. Have you been there yet?" Jane asked.
"No, but I've been told the same thing. It would be good to leave here. But I don't want to walk on that overpass between here and there. Would you mind driving us over there?" Shelley asked.
"Okay, but I think we should both check on what our kids are up to before we leave. I don't like using the cell phone in a restaurant. For some weird reason I feel as if it's like using it in church."
When all their children were accounted for, they set out for lunch.
Jane managed the highway interchange with-
out even getting lost or in the wrong lane and felt very smug. But Shelley wouldn't let her park on the outer fringes of the parking lot this time. "I'm much too hungry to walk half a mile," she told Jane firmly.
The restaurant lived up to its reputation. They ordered one sandwich to share and hit the salad bar, which was every bit as good as they'd heard. You could select between ready-made Caesar salads with croutons and capers instead of anchovies, and butter-lettuce ones with big chunks of blue cheese. Or you could build your own salad on a generous plate with a selection of interesting pastas, flavored rice mixes, veggies cut very fine, eggs, and real crumbled bacon instead of the kind that came out of a bottle. There were a multitude of croutons, nuts of every kind, six salad dressings, and eight kinds of thinly sliced cheeses, including Jane's favorite, Gorgonzola. Cottage cheese, crackers, and other mysterious crunchy things were grouped together.
"I'm sorry we even ordered the sandwich now," Jane said, her plate as full as it could be.
So was Shelley's plate. "I can see that we're going to have to come here often," Shelley said. "You could do this ten times without duplicating what you'd had before."
When they returned to their table, their toasted ham and cheese sandwich was divided neatly between two plates, with parsley artfully adorning the rest of each plate.
"You're not going to eat your parsley in a nice place like this, are you?" Shelley asked.
"I certainly am," Jane replied. "I know it's meant to be decorative, but I love the taste. I'm going to grow a lot of it in my garden this year so I can munch on it anytime I want."
"I've already planted a big pot of basil, the red and green kind," Shelley replied, taking a bite of the sandwich and smiling. "I can bring it in the house or garage if a late freeze threatens."
"What a good idea. I'll buy my parsley and big pot Monday when we're back home. I think I'll try the flat leaf kind, too. I hear it tastes even better. I may purchase enough to chop it up and freeze it in little ice cubes so it lasts through the winter."
They fell to trying to finish their sandwiches and salads, and neither could polish off everything they'd chosen so generously. It was nice to talk about ordinary day-to-day household matters instead of books and plagiarism and advances and viewpoints.
"I'm so glad we came here," Jane said, pushing her plates away and stifling a burp. "Do we really have to go back to the conference? Couldn't we just pack up and hit a garden place?"
"There's always time for garden shopping. But we've paid for this and I'm forcing you to stay to the bitter end. I understand there's a final party that ought to be fun tomorrow morning and a breakfast buffet that ought to be good. Then the out-of-towners can catch a lunch flight home."