Jane didn't dare comment on Shelley's remark. Shelley herself was pretty obsessive. Instead, she asked Mel, "How do you know she was attacked? Maybe she just tripped and fell."
“Signs of a struggle," Mel said shortly. "Short and violent, as if the attacker was as surprised as she was."
“How did he — or she — get in the house?" Shelley asked.
“The back door was unlocked. Just like both of yours probably are.”
Jane and Shelley exchanged guilty glances.
“You said the attacker was probably surprised," Jane said. "How do you know that?"
“I don't know for sure. I'm speculating. Her sister and the sister's husband are staying with her and left the house this morning to go into Chicago. The sister looks a lot like Ms. Jackson. If someone were watching for the house to be empty, he might have thought it was Ms. Jackson leaving with a man."
“Was it just a burglary then?"
“Maybe it was intended to be, but there was no sign of anything missing from the rest of the house and she has a nice collection of expensive, hockable little things in open cabinets. The desk in the basement was messed up, papers strewn every which way, but that might have been a result of a struggle."
“Maybe the burglar got too scared to start his work," Shelley said.
“But who would go to the basement before scooping up the good stuff on the ground floor?" Jane asked.
“Exactly," Mel replied, helping himself to some of Jane's crackers and cheese.
Before they could ask what he meant by that, he added, "I have a man coming to fingerprint the two of you."
“Why us?" Shelley asked indignantly.
“Elimination. The envelope on the flower arrangement is covered with prints. I suspect they all belong to you and the proprietor of the flower shop. But the person who sent them might have handled the envelope as well. And we still have to figure out the scorch marks.”
Shelley sighed loudly and owned up. "I did that. I'd misread the name on the envelope and thought they were for Jane since they were delivered to her house. When I couldn't catch up with her, I tried to read the note by putting the envelope on a lightbulb."
“Now you tell me!"
“Mel, do you think that flower delivery had something to do with the crime?" Jane asked.
“I've no idea. But the message was cryptic and could be a threat. 'You're next' sounds ominous. Especially as it isn't signed."
“You must have checked with the florist," Shelley said, trying to ask the question tactfully.
It wasn't tactful enough. "Of course," Mel said irritably. "He was swamped with orders for a funeral of some big-deal politician. A man came in and paid cash for the flowers and delivery. No‑ body remembers what he looked like. No, that's not quite true. The florist, the clerk, and a witness all think they know his appearance and entirely disagree."
“But it was a man," Shelley said.
Mel grinned. "According to the clerk, it could have been a woman dressed like a man. He's young and has a vivid imagination."
“Get back to Julie. Do the doctors think she's seriously hurt?" Jane said, glancing down at her cast. She had things medical on her mind. She could have broken her leg, not just a bone in her foot.
“Anybody who's in a coma is in serious trouble," Mel said. "The sister's husband is with her. He's a neurologist and they were here visiting while he attended some sort of convention in the city.
“And the sister?"
“Geneva Jackson," Mel said. "Kept her own last name. She's in some kind of business related to Julie Jackson's, which I haven't quite figured out yet. The sister says Julie was a microbiologist, whatever that is, and reeled off a long list of academic credits. Apparently Julie Jackson had a doctorate."
“She was listed that way in the brochure. Dr. Julie Jackson," Jane said.
“What brochure?"
“The township and the junior college got some kind of grant to get speakers throughout the summer," Shelley explained. "Adult education classesin everything from weight loss to botany and accounting. The first ten people to sign up for each class get to take them for free. Jane and I are enthusiastic but not very knowledgeable gardeners, so we signed up for that one."
“And Ms. Jackson was to be the speaker?"
“ 'Group leader,' they called it," Shelley said with a sneer. "What's wrong with 'teacher,' anyway? If we all knew as much as she presumably does, we wouldn't be going. Teachers teach. At least they didn't call her a 'facilitator.' That was all the rage for a while. So stupid.”
Since this was obvious and one of Shelley's frequent rants, neither Mel nor Jane replied. A long silence fell and Mel finally stirred first. "I've got to get back to work. Jane, are Mike or Katie going to be around to help you?"
“I'm. around," Shelley said, "and I'll help her, but only as much as she actually needs." "That sounds like a threat," Jane said.
“It is. And the first thing I'm going to help you with is learning to use the crutches so you can't lollygag around being utterly helpless. You'd put on five pounds at least.”
Mel slipped away while they bickered.
Three
By Sunday morning, Jane had given up trying to influence the crutches. She was better off, she decided, using only one and having her left hand free to grab things when she lost her balance. This technique also allowed her to carry small objects, which she hadn't been able to with both hands wrestling with crutches. On Sunday afternoon Shelley bought her a pair of knee-length shorts that had lots of big pockets.
“Shelley, the last thing I need is pockets on my thighs. They already bulge and I'd look like one of those misshapen bodybuilders with the monster thighs if I put anything in the pockets."
“Okay by me, but where are you going to carry all the stuff that's normally in your purse when you go out?”
Jane thought a moment. "I could get a purse with a long strap and sling it over my shoulder."
“And have it flap around every time you lurch?"
“It's not me lurching. It's the crutches. The crutches have a mind of their own. I can't tell you how many times they've turned me left when I want to go straight ahead. Even one of them does that to me."
“Then just keep turning left and you'll eventually be facing the right way," Shelley said with a wicked laugh. "Anything you need?"
“A Sherpa," Jane said. "To fetch and carry for me. I keep dropping things and have to put the crutches down to pick the things up, then bend down and pick the crutches back up and usually drop the first thing again. Remember that movie we saw, Quest for Fire, and the Neanderthal who was trying to pick up all the melons at the same time and kept dropping them? I feel like that guy”
Early Monday morning, Shelley called on the phone. "Are we going to the botany class?"
“I assumed it wasn't happening," Jane said. "Mel told me Julie Jackson's still in a coma."
“But they might have scrambled and got a replacement teacher," Shelley said. "Let's run down to the community center and see.”
Jane had spent most of the weekend on the sofa, knocking back soft drinks and snacks. She'd weigh a ton if she kept that up. "You'll drive, or should I?"
“Have you checked your car insurance?" Shelley asked.
“My car insurance?"
“I'm told most insurance companies won't payfor an accident if the driver has a cast on the right foot."
“Are you really telling me I can't take myself anywhere at all? For weeks! I'll go mad!"
“Be ready in about ten minutes," Shelley said. "My cast is wet."
“Oh? Will that slow you down?"
“No, I'm just complaining. I put a plastic bag around it like you said to do before showering. Taped it up with masking tape that turned out not to be waterproof. When we go out, could we stop and let me get something better to tape it with?”