“Jane, she's in a mental ward! They don't put you in those places for no reason."
“I don't mean this minute, but in general. If you'd had something that emotionally wrenching in your past, it would be bound to change your personality. Likely make you more quiet and private."
“But she's shy, and as a former shy person, I can tell you it's not a happy state."
“I'll never believe this story that you were a shy kid."
“I got over it," Shelley said firmly. "All of which is beside the point. We set out to dig up information about Robert Stonecipher's death, and never talked to Grace about it at all."
“I know. As detectives, we're pretty lousy. We haven't learned anything today, except that Rhonda Stonecipher is a fake person with excellent taste, a lot of money, and the hots for her deceased husband's law partner, and she had a good motive for getting rid of him. And that motive — the desire to be a rich widow — was a given anyway. All we've added to the mix is the part about Tony Belton and we aren't going on anything but instinct on that."
“I'm not sure motive is all that important," Shelley said. "Well, it's important of course, but think about it — if you wanted to bump off your husband so you could get your hands on his money and his protege, wouldn't you plan it better? If you were Rhonda, I certainly think you would. She doesn't leave anything to chance."
“Hmm. You've got a point. But why would you choose unfamiliar territory, a really weird 'weapon,' and do it in the midst of a mob of people, any one of whom might walk in on you and catch you?"
“For that matter, why would anybody commit a murder that way?" Shelley added.
“Nobody'd plan one that way, so it had to be spontaneous, didn't it? The heat of passion? Hot words, flouncing around, maybe some shoving."
“And anybody might succumb to the passion of a moment.”
Jane rummaged in her purse for her car keys. "Almost anybody but Rhonda. I can't imagine she has an ounce of passion in her. She can probably make love and polish her nails at the same time.”
They paid their bill and headed back to the hospital parking lot, where they wasted ten minutes searching for the car on the wrong parking level before discovering where they were.
“Jeez! I thought a really demented car thief had taken the old station wagon," Jane said when they found it. "What a pity it wasn't true.”
When they were back into traffic, Shelley said, "But what about Tony Belton?"
“What about him?"
“Maybe he's passionate. Hot-tempered.”
“Naw, he's too pretty. Those GQ-looking guys have ice water for blood.”
Shelley turned and stared at her. "What in the world do you know about that?"
“Nothing," Jane admitted cheerfully. "You could be right. We don't know much of anything about him. And with a scheming older woman shoving him along — who knows what he might be goaded into doing. She's a prize schemer."
“So how can we find out more about him?”
Jane pulled into her driveway. "I don't know, but if it involves attending more soccer practices, I'm out. I can hardly sit through the games without going into a coma.”
They got out of the car and Shelley picked up the local combination newspaper/shopper that was lying in the grass between their driveways. She opened it first, as always, to the "Vital Statistics" section with the births, deaths, marriages, and divorces. "Is this yours or mine?" she asked.
“Doesn't matter. I don't read it anyway. I used to check the school lunch menus so I could pack lunches on the days they had things the kids despised, but then one memorable day I had a blinding flash of realization that the kids were capable of opening a paper and reading it themselves, not to mention packing a lunch. It was like getting religion."
“Good God! Jack and Chelley O'Brien had another baby. She's our age and Jack's nearly fifty!”
Jane shuddered. "That would be like having your own grandchildren. Nursing bras and Geritol at the same time."
“Pacifiers and walkers."
“Diapers and Depends.”
Shelley laughed. "You win."
“And the prize is a nap," Jane said, heading for the kitchen door. "I have to do a big family dinner, attend the graduation, then stay up all night as chaperone at—"
“Oh!" Shelley exclaimed. She rattled the newspaper pages. "Look at this!"
“What? Hold it still!"
“There. Right there. Under 'Divorces Filed.' Rhonda against Robert Stonecipher. Filed the day before yesterday. The day before she was widowed!”
A car was coming up the street and pulled into Jane's driveway. Suzie Williams got out and moved toward them like a warship under full sail, her platinum hair shining in the sunlight. Her face fell when she saw the shopping paper. "No! You've already seen it, haven't you?" she asked, prodding with a long, scarlet fingernail at the newspaper in Shelley's hands. "I thought for once in my life I might get ahead of Gossip Central. Damn!”
Shelley was still staring at the paper. "Filing for divorce the day before he died! Talk about feeling guilty."
“Guilty, hell," Suzie scoffed. "Think of the relief. You aren't the kind of Pollyanna who believes you divorce a bad-tempered lawyer and come out of it with anything but your second-best underwear, do you? Take it from somebody who's been there, done that, and got the T-shirt to prove it. But with him dying, there's no alimony, no nasty little settlements. She just walks with the whole wad.”
Jane almost missed her nap. There was no way she could sleep without thrashing out this news. First she called Mel, who said curtly that he already knew about the divorce and would she please mind her own business and stay out of it.
“I think I've blighted my evening," Jane said, hanging up.
“An evening of chaperoning high school graduates is blighted by definition."
“But what does this do to her motive — or Tony Belton's? If she was divorcing her husband anyway, why would she need to kill him?"
“I can think of a lot of good reasons," Shelley said, perusing the inside of Jane's refrigerator. "Starting with the obvious ones Suzie mentioned. Oh, you're doing a turkey breast for dinner. Good idea."
“The whole meal is Mike's favorites. We're having Thanksgiving in June tonight. What are you looking for? The cream's already out." Shelley sat down, casting a quick, longing look at the coffeemaker, which was burbling along at its own slow pace. "Okay, Rhonda filed for divorce, told her husband, and he said the dreaded words—'No money.' They argued about it all day and the flames burst out again while they were in the deli. Suddenly it crossed her mind that she'd come out a lot better as a widow than as a divorcee.”
Jane considered it. "Yeah, maybe. But could she possibly be naive enough to think he'd just open his checkbook and say, 'Go in peace, my child'? I don't think so. She's not stupid and she knew him well. As smart as she is, she'd probably changed all their bank accounts to her name only before she ever told him about the divorce."
“But there might not have been much free cash to convert to her name," Shelley said. "If all their assets were in stocks or bonds or something, it wouldn't be possible for her to latch on to much of it. And from what we know about Stonecipher, he seems the compulsive type who'd stash his money away pretty carefully in blue-chip investments the minute it came in."
“The thing wrong with this is that it goes back to planning. In the first place, I can't imagine Rhonda letting go of the source of her funds. She had to know that divorcing him was really going to cut into her budget. So she'd be better off financially if he were dead.
If we suppose that she's capable of murder, why didn't she make a good plan to start with and kill him off?”