She all but fell into the art room when she finally reached it. There were about twenty women present, most of them more or less familiar. Grade-school PTAs consisted of a beleaguered cross section of parents. By junior high, however, only the truly devoted club women were involved. These were the folks they should have called on to bail out Chrysler; they'd have staged international bake sales to boggle the mind. Small knots of conversation were breaking up, and the women were moving (with obscene eagerness, it seemed to Jane) toward desks so the meeting could commence.
“It positively reeks of hormones in this building," one of them was muttering to her friend.
“It isn't all hormones. It's dirty gym socks and chalk dust too. And cheap perfume," the friend replied.
Before Jane could contribute her opinion, Shelley appeared and dragged her to the back of the room, where she'd staked out two desks for them. "Thank God!" Jane exclaimed. "I thought you'd gotten me here and not shown up yourself. What is it?"
“Remember when Paul's mother died a year ago?" Shelley was talking fast, anxious to convey as much as possible before the group was called to order.
“Huh? Yes, but what on earth—?"
“Well, she left him — not me, mind you, but him — a strand of pearls that belonged to her mother. They're missing."
“Forgive me, but what in the world are you talking about? A strand of real pearls? But I thought—"
“—that Paul's people were dirt poor. Right. I don't know if the pearls are genuine or not. See, his mother emigrated from Poland just after World War I with her parents. The pearls were supposed to have been given to her folks during the war by some Russian soldier they helped escape a firing squad or some such thing. They were probably trash, but they might have been the result of some high-class looting. For all I know he might have ripped them off Anastasia's neck."
“You never told me."
“I never took the story seriously. They looked pretty ratty to me. Kinda discolored and lumpy.It crossed my mind that they were just tightly rolled dough lumps with a little varnish. Anyhow, Paul thought they were the family treasure, and said he was going to take them to New York sometime and have them appraised and cleaned and restrung. In the meantime, he told me to put them in the safe-deposit box."
“Ladies!let me have your attention…" a woman at the front of the room said, clapping her hands in a very school-teacherish way. She was an angular, hard-featured woman with a belligerent manner. The kid who tried to jostle her in the halls probably came away with serious bruises.
Jane lowered her voice. "Am I to assume you didn't bother to lock them up?"
“Exactly. I just forgot. They were in an envelope in the drawer with my bras and slips and now they're gone."
“Now, as you know, the carnival is our primary source of revenue for the purchase of an annual gift. Ladies? In the back! Could I please have your attention?”
Jane and Shelley pretended interest for a few moments, and when the speaker had lost interest in policing them, Jane whispered out of the side of her mouth, "Why is this a secret? Have you told VanDyne?"
“No. I don't want Paul to know."
“But, Shelley, the police have to know. It surely has a bearing on the motive for the murder."
“Maybe…"
“How many of you ladies have worked the annual carnival before?" the speaker was asking.
Jane obediently put her arm up and went on whispering to Shelley. "So why are you telling me this before you've told them?"
“I just can't have Paul knowing. It might be a mistake. I mean, maybe I did put them in the box at the bank and just forgot."
“You now better! Have you ever had amnesia before?"
“I can't remember," Shelley said, smiling feebly.
“I'm serious. You have to tell VanDyne, no matter how upset Paul might get. What's the worst he can do?"
“He won't do anything except be terribly hurt that I was so neglectful of something that meant so much to his whole family. Jane, I think you should—"
“Thank you, Mrs. Jeffry. I knew we could count on you.”
put your arm down."
“Count on me?" Jane asked, fearing the worst. "I think you just volunteered to run the cotton candy machine again."
“Shit!”
After this, in self-defense, she gave her full attention to the meeting in progress. It broke up moments before the final bell, and she and Shelley fled. No self-respecting adult would set themselves up for being in the building at the final bell on a Friday afternoon. "Jane, I want you to talk to the police for me," Shelley said, once they were breathing fresh, free air again.
“Shelley, I can't do that. For one thing, Van-Dyne already thinks I'm half-crazy and wouldn't believe me. He'd run straight to Paul to confirm the story and get a description of the pearls — or bread pellets or whatever they are."
“Then they just aren't going to know."
“The police have to know. It's important to their investigation."
“I'm not so sure. Jane, hasn't it struck you as odd? The whole thing? I mean, nobody knew I even had the damned things except Paul's family, and none of them live anywhere near. So why would some random thief come in my house, ignore the silver, the home computer, the stereo, the other jewelry — all that stuff they usually steal — and go straight to my underwear drawer to steal a string of highly questionable pearls?"
“Of course it's odd. But what do you think it means?"
“I have no idea.”
Further discussion was cut short by the clanging of the final bell. Within seconds they were buffeted by kids escaping the building. "There's Paul, parked up the street. I've got to go."
“But we haven't settled anything." Jane raised her voice over the sounds of chaos around her.
“No, but I'll figure out what to do. Don't worry," Shelley said. "See you later.”
Jane went back to the relative safety of her car to wait for Katie to emerge from school. She lit a cigarette and sat staring sightlessly at the crowd of kids swarming past. The whole situation was very strange. Why would someone ignore all the other obviously valuable things in Shelley's home and go straight to the possibly fake string of pearls? She had said Paul's family all lived somewhere else, but suppose one of them had slipped into town and taken the necklace? Still, even if that were true, how would anybody know where she kept them? Shelley certainly hadn't sat around after the funeral and said to Paul's family that she thought she'd just take the pearls home and put them in with her slips and bras.
The house hadn't shown any overt signs of ransacking. Even a subtle search would have been apparent to Shelley, considering the kind of meticulous housekeeper she was. No, it would seem that somebody knew exactly where to look. And nobody but Shelley herself knew where they were. Even Paul thought they were safely in the bank.
A nasty little thought was flitting around the back of her mind. If Shelley was the only one who knew where they were, could she be faking a theft? Jane shook her head as if to physically dispel the notion. Why in the world would Shelley do that, and what kind of friend would suspect her?
“What were you doing in the school?" Katie asked, flinging the door open and startling Jane.
“Wasting time. Inadvertently volunteering to work at the carnival," Jane replied sourly.
“Oh, Mother! Do you have to come?”
No, Jane thought, with any luck I'll die before then. Of course, that woman in charge would probably just prop her up behind the cotton candy booth and expect her to do her job anyway.