Jane lit another cigarette, wondering as she did whether two of them so close together would make her dizzy.
“I sincerely hope you're right, Shelley, because if knowing their true identity caused them to kill Lance King, you and I could be in big trouble. Now we know who they are.”
Eighteen ,··,
Sunday morning Jane dragged herself and the kids to the nine o'clock church services. She didn't feel like getting dressed up and going out in the cold any more than they did. But then she often didn't feel like going and was always glad afterwards that she'd made the effort. The Sunday before Christmas was always especially beautiful and uplifting. It was really a lovely morning. Very cold and clear and very little wind and a brilliant sun shining on the two inches or so of new snow that had fallen overnight.
“See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" she said as they drove home.
Mike had the Sunday paper in the car and just rattled it in reply. Todd was trying to get the comics away from his older brother and said nothing, but Katie said, "It was okay."
“Okay? Come on! I saw you going all gooey when those little bitty kids came up the aisle to put their gifts at the manger scene."
“All right. It was nice," Katie admitted. "They sure were cute, weren't they? Are the packages real presents?"
“Were you paying attention? They're presents for the children at the homeless shelter. Katie, see if the car heater's working right. It's awfully cold."
“The bank clock across the street showed it dropped four degrees while we were in church," Mike contributed from the back seat.
“I haven't had time to watch the news," Jane said. "Is it supposed to get really cold?”
There was a consensus of shrugs. Jane told herself to remember to leave the faucet dripping in the guest bathroom where the pipes were most likely to freeze. When they drove up to the house, Pet was at the side kitchen door and Mel was sitting in front keeping warm in his MG.
When they were all inside and had shed their coats, Jane started working on throwing together a real breakfast. "Mel, I thought I might make a nice big batch of chili for dinner. Would you and your mother like to come?"
“Can't," he said. "She's got some old friends who already invited us to dinner. I'd much rather come here. These are people I haven't seen since I was seven and have never missed.”
He'd pitched in to help, handing her a carton of eggs from the fridge and getting out the butter to warm up in the microwave. Mike was already cooking the bacon, a job Jane despised, and Katie was lining up the bread for the toaster. Todd and Pet were at the table where he was doling out the comics to her, page by page.
“See, kids?" Jane warned. "You are your mother's children all your life. She just wants to show you off, Mel.”
The doorbell rang and Jane automatically cracked another two eggs. Whoever it was would certainly want to eat.
“I lurked outside until I knew you were cooking," Ginger said. Pet helped her take her coat off. "Smells wonderful."
“You'll eat with us, won't you?" Jane asked.
“You think you could stop me? It's my least favorite meal to fix and most favorite to eat. Do you have cinnamon sugar? No? I'll fix some. It isn't breakfast without cinnamon sugar on butter-slathered toast.”
Ginger made no effort to explain what she had come for and Jane began to wonder if she had just been cruising around looking for someone to feed her. Finally, as they were carrying plates to the dining room, since there was too much of a crowd for the kitchen, Ginger said, "I didn't just come to mooch food. I'd like to interview you."
“Me?" Jane asked. "Why?"
“Because of the party and Lance's death.”
“Nope," Jane said. "I'm sorry."
“I won't use your name."
“I don't even know as much about it as you probably do," Jane said.
Ginger suddenly looked startled, as if someone had pinched her. She turned to Mel, who was trying to get his cinnamon sugar on the bread instead of all over the table and himself. "I'll bet you didn't get anything off Lance's computer, right?"
“Nope," he said. "Nothing of any use."
“Oh, God! I feel so stupid and you're going to want to smack me—”
Mel put his toast down and looked at her. "Why?" he asked in a very ominous tone of voice.
“Well, I'd forgotten something. Lance told me once that he never, never worked directly on the hard drive. I thought he was just trying to discourage me from messing with his computer to see what kind of stories he was working on. But then I started noticing that every single time he used it, when he turned it off, he took out the disk and put it in his pocket."
“He didn't have a disk on him when he died," Mel said.
“Then he must have lost it somewhere, because he always had at least one, and usually a couple on him.”
Mel said, "Jane, you didn't find a disk here, did you?"
“No, and I did a fairly good cleaning between the caroling party and the cookie party. It's not something you could accidentally vacuum up."
“Then it's probably outside somewhere in the snow. Hell!" he said. With obvious regret and a meaningful glare at Ginger, he pushed his plate away, got up, and went to the phone. When he got back, he said, "I have some people coming over to search. As cold as it's getting, that's sure going to make me real popular."
“Then finish your breakfast while you're wait‑
ing," Jane insisted. "They won't be here in‑
stantly and if it's out there, it's been there a
while already. Ten minutes more won't matter."
The yellow tape, which had been removed from the Johnsons' yard, was replaced. Mel and three other officers borrowed rakes from several neighbors and started scratching up all the new snow. Two other officers were precariously doing the same on the roof. Jane had generously offered to help, knowing full well they wouldn't let a "civilian" on the grounds. Nor was there any sign of Billy Joe and Tiffany.
Jane had wanted to talk to Mel about her brief conversation with them the night before and her and Shelley's discovery of who they really were, but there wasn't time to speak privately. Especially not with a reporter in the house. Nor could she mention the talk they'd had with Sharon Wilhite.
The police presence at the Johnson house again had drawn quite a crowd. Neighbors pretending to be out on walks stopped by and gawked. The influx of traffic that the holiday decorations had caused added to the confusion. A number of cars stopped and their occupants wandered over to the yellow tapes to ask what was going on. Other reporters from the newspapers and television stations turned up. Jane got out the monster coffeemaker, made up a strong, hot brew, and took cups of it over to Mel to distribute among his people.
The temperature continued to fall. Jane remembered the pipes and left a slow stream of water running in the guest bathroom. Shelley had called almost immediately when the police tape went up to see what was going on and came over about two to do a little gawking of her own from Jane's bedroom window. They lamented over the fact that Jane hadn't had anopportunity to tell Mel what they'd found out. Not that he didn't already know more than they did.
“Have you seen anything of the Johnson?" Shelley asked.
“Not hide nor hair… nor costume," Jane said. "I presume they're in the house, but they haven't stepped foot outside that I've noticed since the police surrounded their house again.”
As she spoke, she caught a glimpse of Billy Joe cutting across between their house and Jane's. "I think he's coming here, Shelley. Oops, you missed him."
“You're not going to let him in your house, are you?”