“If nothing's missing, how do you know somebody got into the truck?"
“Because the seat was pushed back as far as it can go."
“Good Lord! Do you think someone was trying to steal it?"
“I don't know, but I'm locking it up every time I get out now. And if you park back here again, you should, too."
“Mike, I'd pay somebody to steal the station wagon," she joked.
“Lock it up anyway," he said seriously. "There's lots of kids around here and they were probably just looking over the truck, but still — come inside. Conrad has something he wants you to try. I've got to go. See you later.”
Jane did as he suggested, then knocked on the back door to the kitchen. Sarah opened the door. "Oh, Jane. Good. Conrad wants you to try the artichoke dip. It's a new recipe."
“Sarah?" Conrad said, "What are you doing down here? I told you I don't need any help. You should be upstairs resting. Hi, Jane. Come on in.”
Grace was cutting up spring onions. "Conrad, she's rested all morning," she said.
“Yes, honey. I need something to do," Sarah said.
“Not until you're back up to speed," he said firmly, giving her a light kiss and a gentle shove toward the stairway.
Sarah went without any more protest, but Jane saw Grace's back stiffen.
Conrad gestured to Jane to sit at the small desk by the phone. He brought over a plate with an assortment of crackers and a little dish of steaming dip. "Careful. It's still hot.”
Jane tested the dip. "Wonderful! What's in it?"
“Artichokes, beer, cream cheese, and some seasonings," he said, pleased. "The trick is keeping it from getting too runny. Now here's some from the same batch that's cooled."
“Conrad, I think it's even better warm than hot," Jane decided.
Grace, finished with her job, came and sat down. "That's what I think, too. But Conrad's fretting about keeping it hot.”
He shrugged. "Two to one against me. I guess I'm beaten."
“What does Sarah think?" Jane asked. "Oh, Sarah doesn't like artichokes," he said. "She loved them when we were kids,”
Grace said with surprise.
“People change," he replied.
Grace started to say something, but, sensing tension, Jane changed the subject. "Mike was sure loaded down with luncheons. It's going well?"
“Wonderfully well. Except for the raccoons," Grace said with a smile. "They dumped all the trash out of the barrels last night. We're going to have to get something with locked lids.”
Jane almost mentioned someone getting into Mike's truck, planning to make a joke about raccoons being smart enough to drive, but decided against it. Conrad had enough on his mind without worrying about neighborhood kids prowling around behind the deli.
When Jane returned home, Shelley was wrestling her hose and sprinkler around from the back yard to the front. "Are you trying to make it rain?" Jane asked. "I know where you could get a nice little pamphlet on lawn care."
“If that old bastard tries to give me one of his pamphlets, he'll find it stuck up his nose in seconds," Shelley said, bending down and studying the dial setting on the sprinkler. She adjusted it, went back to the faucet, and turned it on. "Where have you been?”
Jane explained her trip to the deli. "Conrad sent home some dip. Come in and try it while I change my clothes.”
When she was comfortably clad in jeans and a T-shirt that said, "World's Greatest Mom," she found Shelley sitting on the sofa, making dainty smacking noises with her eyes closed. "Paprika, I think," she said, analyzing the dip. "I don't suppose he told you what the seasonings were."
“I didn't ask. Shelley, it's a little tense there."
“What do you mean?”
Shelley picked up the little Styrofoam carton of dip and followed Jane to the kitchen, where Jane poured them both a glass of iced tea, then nipped out the back door to pluck some mint leaves to put in it.
“It's like Conrad and Grace are having a tug of war with Sarah," Jane said. "They both adore her and want what's best, but they seem to have different ideas of what that is. Conrad treats her like a piece of porcelain that has to be protected from everything — including herself. Grace seems to be more down-to-earth and practical, wanting to let Sarah take care of herself. At least a little bit."
“That's too bad," Shelley said. "I'm on Grace's side, but I can see how it's awkward. Conrad is her husband, after all, and knows her best. Even Grace admitted that Sarah's a different person whom she hardly knows anymore. Sarah might be a whole lot more fragile than Grace realizes."
“True. And I imagine Grace has thought of that, but it's awkward for her. It's always awkward being a fifth wheel anyway.”
Shelley waited for Jane to go on, and when she didn't, said, "There's something else on your mind, too, isn't there?"
“That obvious? Okay, this makes me feel like a real traitor, but I've been wondering about Grace. That nasty divorce of hers — how long ago was it?"
“I don't know. Years and years, I imagine.”
“Before Stonecipher moved here?”
Shelley was silent for a few minutes. "I seewhat you mean. She might have been another client like LeAnne. I'll have to think about this. I believe it was much longer ago than that, but then I don't really know when Stonecipher first turned up."
“How can we find out?" Jane asked.
“Didn't you say Patsy Mallett was an old friend of Grace's? She'd know who handled her divorce."
“You're not thinking of just asking her outright, are you? She'd see through what you were getting at in a minute. Patsy's no dummy."
“Jane! Don't you think I can be subtle?" Shelley said with a grin.
“I merely think you've met your match in Patsy. But I look forward to watching — at a safe distance.”
17.
Jane was thrilled to discover that Patsy Mallett lived in the messiest house in the world. It wasn't dirty though. Clean windows, floors, curtains, no used dishes sitting out on the sink. But for sheer numbers of "things" out and about, Patsy took the prize. There were piles of books and papers everywhere. Tidy piles, but a lot of them. Plastic bags bulged with needlework, model airplanes, electronic kits. There were a dozen different rosters on the — telephone table, half a dozen notepads. Children's artwork, some yellowed and curling, adorned the front of the refrigerators and the walls. A stack of recipe books was feathered with notes and file cards sticking out every which way.
Patsy ushered Jane and Shelley into a huge family room with a picnic-sized table in the middle, nearly covered with other projects in various stages of completion. A clay model, sketchpads, some colored chalk, and poster-board took up most of the surface. Three sides of the rooms were windows and had glass shelving with plants everywhere. One whole large window had spectacular African violets. Another was cacti and succulents. There were bonsai trees, radishes growing in cut-down milk cartons, and something that looked like an experiment in hydroponics. A sweet-potato vine started near the kitchen door and worked its way entirely around the room.
They had to make their way around a sewing table, spinning wheel, and loom to get to the table, where Patsy was hastily clearing a spot for them to sit without their elbows in a project. It was a fascinating house reflecting an enormous variety of interests and skills.
“I know it's a mess, but it's my house," Patsy said with a laugh. "When I turned fifty, I decided I was entitled to live any way I wanted without apology. It was tremendously liberating. My late mother-in-law used to give me a cleaning service every year for my birthday and they always quit within the month because they couldn't stand all the stuff. There, I think that will give us a little space. Jane, you can sit over here, just watch where you step.”