“All of them?" Jane said sarcastically. "Katie, you were only in Paris with rich friends. And I doubt you got to go in the kitchen of the restaurants."
“But we did." Katie reverted momentarily to plain English. "Jenny's dad had gone to culinary school when he was young, and he always asked to see the kitchen before we ordered.”
Jane was appalled. "Jenny's dad is a banker. Culinary was twenty years in his past, and I remember him telling me it made him gain weight and he quit after the first year and took business courses. And what's more, 'nice' people from America don't insist on seeing the kitchens of restaurants. It's a wonder you weren't all thrown out.”
The argument was put on hold when Mel rang the front doorbell. Katie flounced to the hall and let him in, saying in bored tones, "She's in the kitchen criticizing my friends." She continued the flounce clear upstairs where she turned her radio on full blast.
Mel came in the kitchen smiling. "Who are you raking over the coals now?"
“No one you know," Jane said with a grin. "Sit down. There are tons of leftovers. I'll bet you haven't had dinner."
“Or lunch for that matter. Thanks.”
Jane had learned early on that you didn't try to talk to Mel when he was hungry. If he answered at all, it was merely "uh-huh" or "no." But she was anxious to pick his mind about Julie Jackson. She sat patiently as he ate four slices of the roast, and two helpings of potatoes and gravy, and passed on the broccoli au gratin.
While he was making inroads on the leftovers, she told him about Shelley renting plants. "It wasn't fair. Our yards are on the same day and it would make me look like a piker."
“But you've got more sense than to do a silly thing like that," he managed to say between bites.
“Not exactly…" Jane said softly. "Mine are coming tomorrow afternoon. And I even got a water feature to one-up her. It's only a little birdbath waterfall that I wanted anyway and actually bought outright."
“Is it the broken foot that's making you so competitive? Or something else?" Mel asked, setting down his silverware at last and really looking at Jane.
She looked at him for a long time. "It's more. And stupider. See, I've never broken any bone. It makes me feel as if I'm suddenly vulnerable and — well, getting older."
“But you might as well have broken your foot when you were eight or nine and you wouldn't have felt that way. I broke my arm about that age, and I thought it was sort of neat and made me stand out in the crowd, as I remember. Everybody breaks something, sometime. You've just been lucky."
“Yes, but there's a difference between eight and forty-something. And it reminds me, too, that I'm older than you.”
Mel looked genuinely stunned. "When has that ever mattered? It's only a couple of years and you've aged far better than I have.”
Jane got teary and reached across the table, putting her hands to his cheeks. "I sometimes forget what a good man you are.”
Mel took one of her hands and kissed the palm, grinning. "You just want to pry information out of me, don't you?"
“NO! I wasn't even thinking of that. But now that you mention it—"
“Let's go sit in the living room where you'd be more comfortable, then.”
When Mel had gallantly seated Jane and put sofa pillows behind her back and was assured she was comfortable, he sat down and took her plastered leg on his lap and said, "Frankly, we're getting nowhere fast with the Jackson case. Too many suspects, too little evidence."
“What suspects?" Jane asked, glancing around for something long she could stick down her cast to scratch an itch on the back of her leg. She set‑ tied on an emery board she found in the side table.
“Lots of men. Dr. Jackson was quite the socialite. She'd married young, twice in a row, then went off men as marriage partners, apparently. But she had quite a social life. She was on all sorts of high-tone charity boards and went to lots of fancy dinners. Always with an escort. Her bankbook and closet are both things you'd envy. Lots of money and lots of very elegant clothes." He took the emery board away from her. "You don't want to do that."
“What about the ex-husbands?"
“No go. One was at a business meeting in Hong Kong and the other was on vacation with his third wife and four children in Martha's Vineyard. Lots of creditable witnesses. And both exes expressed what sounded like genuine sorrow that she'd been injured and asked if there was anything they could do for her."
“What about the other men? The ones that wine and dine her at the charity dinners?"
“It's quite a list. And they're all successful men who are at the top of their fields and know how to keep their heads when questioned by the police. They all also expressed their concern and sounded quite sincere. Her hospital room would be crammed with flowers and fruit baskets if they were allowed in the intensive care area.”
Jane brushed this off. "Any of them have alibis?"
“Some have good ones, a few have none. Butthat doesn't mean much. Lots of those sorts of executives work from home these days, at least part of the time, and since many of them are single or divorced, there's nobody to alibi them, and it doesn't make them guilty of anything."
“How is Julie doing, really?"
“She's coming around pretty well. Her brother-in-law says it's amazing that she was semiconscious for so long and there doesn't seem to be any permanent brain damage. She's pretty alert now."
“What has she to say about what happened to her?”
Just then the phone rang. "Want me to get it?" Mel asked. "It could be for me."
“Please, and if it's Mike, I want to talk to him.”
Mel picked up the phone and said, "VanDyne here." Then, "Yes, I am… yes, she's fine. She finished her dinner… Tofu? I don't think so.”
He came back shaking his head. "It was an Ursula asking if you'd finished the tofu. Who on earth is Ursula? And why would you eat tofu?”
Fourteen
“I'll tell you about Ursula later. Go back to where we were. If Julie's so alert, what is she telling you about the perp and what happened?"
“Absolutely nothing. She can't remember anything beyond having steak on the grill with her sister and sister 's husband the night before she was attacked."
“But she will, though, sooner or later," Jane said.
Mel shook his head. "Her brother-in-law says in a serious accident, the immediate memory of it sometimes never comes back. He explained it's natural for the brain to file it away somewhere literally unreachable. A self-defense fear mechanism, if I understood him. Sort of a self-hypnotism for protection from the memory."
“Couldn't she be hypnotized for real when she recovers?”
Mel had sat back down and was idly tapping his fingers on her cast. "Only if she would agree to it. And it might be something she can't bear to remember, or perhaps she can't be hypnotized. Some people can't, you know. And anyway, she'll have a pretty long recovery time. She's got a touch of amnesia about other things as well. The neurologist thinks the nonthreatening memories will return pretty fast."
“I guess you've taken fingerprints from her office?”
Mel raised his eyebrows and said, "You doubted that? Of course we did. But most of her files seem to have been handled by other people somewhere along the line. Lots of prints, but none matching her sister or her brother-in-law except on innocuous personal letters. And even the letters were filed in the color-coded booklets."
“So you suspect her sister or brother-in-law?"
“It's routine to suspect family members, Jane. Most violent crimes are within the family."
“Do you still think either one of them could have done it?”
Mel shook his head. "The sister had time-stamped receipts from her shopping that matched the tags on the clothes she'd bought. Her husband had a parking ticket at a garage in Chicago that covered most of the time they say they were gone, allowing for the travel back and forth."