“I wonder if they'll sprout," Shelley said. "And who they belong to."
“As far as I'm concerned, they belong to the museum," Mel said. "That's who released them to me. Jane, Shelley says you have a theory."
“It's more than a theory. I'm certain I'm right.”
She talked for a long time, ticking off items on her fingers as she went. Mel and Shelley made no comments until she was done, then asked a few questions and nodded at her answers. Mel paced the kitchen, frowning. "I've got to admit it does account for everything that's happened. But where's the proof? We can't make an arrest on a good guess."
“Well. ." Jane said hesitantly, "I have an idea about that, too. But it would involve persuading at least one person to put on a good act and take some risks. I think the individual I have in mind would do it. The museum is going to be closed to the public after the funeral tomorrow, but open to the whole staff for an early supper. That would be the time. Here's what I have in mind. .”
Twenty-five
Funerals are usually dismal. And Regina's was more upsetting than most. She'd been young, attractive, bright, successful, and facing what would probably have been the best of what life had to offer when she was cut down. Added to that, someone among the mourners had caused her death, and everyone was aware of it. While people had been doing their jobs and having their meetings at the museum, the brutal fact of Regina's death had been dampened slightly. But the funeral itself was a sad and brutal reminder of the real loss they'd all suffered.
Jane and Shelley joined the other volunteers after the service to return to the museum while Regina's intimate friends and co-workers went to the cemetery. The entry hall had been set up for a supper. Tables had been brought in and laid with paper tablecloths and plastic plates and utensils. Coffee and tea urns steamed; several trays of cold cuts, cheeses, rolls, and relishes were put out, covered with plastic wrap that would be removed when everyone arrived. Someone, probably the ever-efficient Sharlene, had had the foresight to rent several microwave ovens, which were stuffed with casseroles being kept warm.
Finally the funeral limos arrived. Jane had to smile a little as Jumper came in. He was a tweedy professor today, charcoal leather elbow patches and all. The only thing that was missing was a pipe, and she suspected he had one hidden somewhere on his person. Babs and Sharlene were both in tailored gray-and-white dresses, and Lisa, more traditional, wore deepest black. In deliberate contrast, Caspar Snellen, whose bad taste knew no bounds, had on a plaid jacket and a violently pink shirt. At least he'd stayed away from the funeral itself and turned up only for the food afterward.
Whitney Abbot looked exhausted and wrung out, and Georgia Snellen seemed to have aged a decade or so during the week. Jane assumed the older couple who walked in with the cemetery crowd were Regina's aunt and uncle.
When nearly everyone had a plate, Babs took a place near the front door and the room fell silent. "This probably isn't the time for speeches," she said, "but on behalf of the board of directors and Regina's friends and family, I want to thank all of you for being so kind and organizing this event. This is a sad day for all of us, but in a sense, Regina's vision will remain as we move the Snellen into the future.”
She spoke for a few more minutes. The wordsconsisted of formal platitudes, but Babs's musical voice made them seem very personal and sincere. After she had finished and sat down, other conversations sprang up, making the entry hall appear to hum.
The board and staff of the museum were seated at two adjoining tables, and as Jane examined something that looked like breaded peppers, Whitney approached Jumper, at the other end of the table. Whitney pulled up a chair and said, "Cable, I need some advice. Not exactly legal, but—"
“I'll be glad to help if I can," Jumper said.
“Well, I got a call from Regina's personal attorney this morning, asking me to come by his office. She'd left a letter with him a week or two before her death. Sealed. Addressed to me. It was — well, I can't think of another word for it — an accusation."
“Accusation?" Jumper repeated, looking alarmed.
“Yes. Very upsetting. She told me something about her life I hadn't known and expressed her concern that she might be in danger."
“From whom?"
“I'd rather not say right now. I don't know what to do. Regina might just have been imagining it all, and if I turn it over to the police — I don't know — they might jump to a conclusion that was only a suspicion on Regina's part."
“Whitney, you've got to give it to the police," Jumper said firmly. "They're not dummies. But if Regina really thought she was in danger from someone, she was probably right. If I were you, I'd call them immediately.”
Whitney ran his hand through his tidy hair, an uncharacteristic movement. "Okay, okay. I guess I knew that's what you'd say. I know it's the right thing to do. It's just that—"
“It's the only thing you can do," Jumper said. "Do you want me to phone for you?"
“No. No, I'll call now."
“Use the phone in Regina's — I mean, Sharlene's — office. It's more private. I'll come with you if you want."
“No, thanks. I want to think about it a little more. I could be seriously harming someone. Thanks, Cable." With a weirdly formal handshake, he wandered off.
Jane assumed the pepper she was nibbling was probably good, but her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow it. Shelley, sitting beside her, was nervously tapping her unused fork on the tablecloth. Time seemed to slow to a glacial pace as they sat there, unheard conversations washing over them.
“I can't stand this," Shelley whispered. "What if we're wrong?"
“We're not wrong," Jane said. "But if it doesn't work, we've just made fools of ourselves. It won't be the first time." Her voice shook with nerves.
They got up and took their plastic plates to the big wastebasket that had been set up by the front door, then moved slowly closer to the door to the staff area, where they stood silently for agonizing minutes.
Suddenly there were muffled sounds from behind the closed door. Shouts, scuffling, a door slamming. Jane clutched Shelley's hand and they stared at each other. There was a cry from behind the door, and it swung open.
Mel and a uniformed officer came through, each of them holding one of Lisa Quigley's arms. She was struggling weakly and sobbing incoherently. Mel looked at Jane and nodded.
As they threaded their way through the crowd, everyone fell deadly silent. Jane felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Babs, her face as white as the collar of her dress. "Where are they taking Lisa?" she asked.
“To jail," Jane answered sadly.”
". so Whitney agreed to stage that conversation with Jumper when he knew Lisa was listening?" Babs asked.
Babs, Sharlene, Shelley, and Jane were the only ones left at the museum. All the tables but one had been put away and they were sitting around it, finishing off the dregs of the coffee from the big urn.
“He and Jumper rehearsed it," Jane said. "Then there really wasn't a letter from Regina?" Sharlene asked.
“Pure invention," Shelley replied. "But Lisa didn't know that. And she couldn't take the chance of Regina 'telling' the police who'd killed her. And Regina might have really written such a letter after Lisa wrote her that threatening note. The one you found in the Dumpster, Sharlene."
“How did you ever figure this out?" Babs asked Jane.
“You and Shelley each figured half of it out," Jane said. "I just put the two halves together. You were talking to Jumper about passions and sex, and earlier, Shelley had suspected Whitney and said something about 'if I can't have her, nobody can.' She thought maybe Regina had finally decided not to marry him and he might have felt that way. In fact, it was the opposite. Regina had decided to commit herself to marriage, and it was Lisa who was the jealous lover. The Woman Scorned."