Mel called after dinner. "I thought you'd want to know that Caspar Snellen has been taken in for questioning," he said, sounding irritated.
“Arrested?"
“Not yet."
“Why?" Jane asked.
“Because his greasy fingerprints are all over that pea-storage thing."
“You're not happy with this, are you?" There was a long silence before he finally said, "No, I'm not. But I'm not in charge."
“And you're wishing you were," Jane concluded. "Why don't you agree?”
Mel sighed. "A lot of reasons. Partly because he has a story to account for the prints. He says he heard some visitor telling about a fantastic pea that would, if he could find it, revolutionize agriculture. It's such a nutty, Caspar-trying-to get-something-for-nothing story that I'm inclined to believe him. It's not that I think he couldn't have committed the murders. He's very much a suspect in my mind. But I don't think the fingerprints prove anything."
“Mel, I knew about that amazing pea. I should have told you," Jane said. "Couldn't he have been rummaging around down in the basement and Derek interrupted him? He could be vicious when his get-rich-quick schemes are thwarted."
“That's just it, Jane. He is, at heart, a petty criminal. And even the stupidest crooks know you don't leave fingerprints all over the scene of a crime."
“But wasn't trying to steal the pea a crime?"
“Not the way he sees it. He says his great-grandfather developed it, and it's rightly his. He reluctantly includes his sister as a potential beneficiary. Besides, rummaging around in that cabinet isn't a crime that was likely to involve a crime lab and fingerprints. It was just snooping."
“Did he find the pea?"
“Jane! Who cares? Like anybody could grow a fifty- or sixty-year-old pea! It's just another loony idea of his.”
Jane didn't want to argue seed viability, especially since she was completely ignorant on the subject — not that such considerations always stopped her — but she said, "Still, did he find the pea?"
“He claims he didn't."
“Good. If that pea exists and if it could grow and if it could be patented, it shouldn't belong to him."
“Given all those ifs, I'm not sure you're right, legally. But it doesn't matter. I don't care about the amazing pea — I care about the real murderer being caught. And Rolly's just trying to swirl his cape and show off that he can solve a murder investigation from the privacy of his own bathroom."
“Rolly's the officer in charge? And he's still sick?"
“I was overstating it a bit," Mel admitted.
Jane smiled smugly. He was always accusing her of this sin. But she didn't let her satisfaction creep into her voice. "What about Regina's death? How does Rolly figure that?"
“Sheer dislike, frustration, and annoyance on Caspar's part. Regina had, in his view, tricked him out of a fortune that should have been his, and after exhausting all his legal recourses, he just went berserk and killed her out of spite. I don't buy it. Caspar Snellen is a coward. His method of operation is annoying lawsuits. He'd brought at least a dozen of them against various people in the last ten years and collected rather nicely. He's one of those people who deliberately trip on escalators and then sue the hell out of the department store."
“You're kidding!"
“He never wins, legally. Because the stores always settle rather than going to the trouble and expense of going to court. He's done well at it. Fifty grand here, seventy-five there."
“Doesn't sound like a man who would shoot a woman out of spite," Jane said. "If he's that good at the legal shenanigans, he could have exercised his spite by inundating the museum, and Regina, with frivolous suits."
“That's my thinking, too," Mel said. "I don'tdiscount the fact that he could kill. But not for the motives Rolly's come up with. Either the motives are wrong or the suspect is."
“Or both," Jane said.
“Most likely both," Mel agreed. "Oh, something else you're sure to ask me about sooner or later — Regina's will. She left almost everything to Lisa Quigley. The house they lived in, some stocks and bonds."
“When was it written?" Jane asked.
“About a year or so ago," Mel said. "Nothing to her family?"
“Nope," Mel replied. "She was an only child, parents both dead. There is an aunt and uncle who seem to be pretty well off in their own right. There were a few other bequests, too. The public television station, the Salvation Army."
“Nothing to the museum?"
“No, but the will was written after Daisy Snellen died. She knew the museum had already been extremely generously endowed."
“That makes sense," Jane said. "How much of an estate are we talking about?"
“About two hundred thousand, plus the house. Uh-ho, I'm being paged. Talk to you later.”
Twenty-two
Jane finished cleaning up the kitchen, bellowed at the kids that she was going next door, and went to report in to Shelley about her call from Mel.
“What in the world are you doing?" Jane asked. Shelley had covered her kitchen table with a piece of plastic and had some tools, brushes, rags, bottles, and a bunch of tarnished silver serving pieces laid out.
“I'm polishing silver. For the last time ever!" she exclaimed. "Paul's mother is a great believer in silver, as you know. I've never figured out if it's an especially Polish thing or just her private obsession, but she keeps giving me these things and I'm expected to keep them polished and on display at all times. But I've had one of those Life-Changing Revelations. She called this afternoon when she got home from a trip and told me that her hip is still giving her trouble and she's decided she's not ever going on a plane again and we'll have to visit her instead. That scenario has its drawbacks, but on the other hand, she'd never know that I've cleaned this stuff for the last time, wrapped it in airtight plastic, and put it away. So what do you want to work on?"
“Shelley, your house is going to look empty without all this."
“Yes! Won't it be wonderful?"
“Give me a platter. I'm good with platters. Mel just called. We were right about someone overhearing the elderly gentleman's discussion with Sharlene about the Little Beauty pea. It was Caspar and his fingerprints were all over the pea-bin drawers.”
Shelley handed Jane a platter, a rag, and a bottle of silver polish. "Do the police think he killed Derek?"
“Mel doesn't. Rolly, who's the officer in charge, does. Mel isn't happy. They haven't arrested Caspar yet, but have him in for questioning." Jane went on to recount her conversation with Mel as best she could remember it, including Caspar's skills at initiating frivolous but profitable lawsuits.
Shelley put a tiny buffing pad on a miniature electric drill, smeared the pad with silver polish, and plugged in the drill, but didn't turn it on yet. "I'm inclined to agree with Mel," she said thoughtfully. "It seems to me that a person who knows how to use and abuse the legal system as well as Caspar can would be unlikely to simply ignore it and resort to violence. Not that Caspar couldn't be driven to violence by something, but not, I think, by the faint possibility ofthose peas being able to grow and him being able to someday make money on them."
“I agree, but if he were furtively rummaging around in the pea bin and Derek took him by surprise—? Remember, Derek was already very angry over his conversation with Jumper. Derek might have gotten very nasty with him.”