Jane was feeling sick. Was Shelley holding the very hand that had looped the vacuum cleaner cord around poor Ramona Thurgood's throat and twisted and twisted? Had they now set themselves up as the next victims? That was one aspect of this snooping that hadn't occurred to her, but now came with a force that left her nearly breathless.
“I'm not talking to you any more about this. Get out!' Robbie's command was icy.
“Yes, of course,' Shelley said. She'd paled a bit too, and Jane suspected Shelley's thoughts mirrored her own: In their enthusiasm to solve the mystery, what had they stupidly unleashed?
They went to the door, scuttling sideways like frightened crabs, half-afraid to turn their backs on her.
“Get out! Get out!' she screamed as they slipped through the front door and out into the cool air.
They all but ran to the car. Shelley's hands were shaking so badly she could hardly get the key in the ignition. Neither said a word until they were back in Shelley's driveway. 'Come to my house,' Jane said.
They went in. There was no sign of Willarduntil he recognized their voices and came slinking in from the dining room cravenly wagging his tail.
“Jane, we just did something terrible.'
“I know,' Jane said, surprised to find that her voice was trembling.
“If Robbie Jones didn't kill Ramona, we've insulted and embarrassed a friend, probably beyond repair. If she
The phone rang and Jane jumped. Unable to ignore a ringing phone, no matter what the reason, she reluctantly picked it up.
“Janey, I've been calling you all morning. I was getting worried about you.'
“Uncle Jim! I was out uh, running errands with Shelley.' Dear God, she couldn't tell him what they'd actually been up to. It was precisely what he had warned her against, endangering herself by knowing too much. Now she understood what he'd meant.
“I talked to a man at your local department. Nice young man. Wasn't too forthcoming, of course. Detective VanDyne was out, but I did get a little information. It seems they do feel the attack was intended against the other cleaning woman. And blackmail is the supposed motive, just as you thought. There's nothing official in her record, but she's been let go from two other agencies over some questionable. practices.'
“Do they know who was being blackmailed?' Jane asked.
There was a long pause. 'Now, Janey, you know I can't be sharing other people's private business with you…' He paused again and went on very slowly and deliberately. 'But I could point out certain things that are a matter of public record.'
“Like what?'
“Well, for instance, there are newspaper accounts of an incident in a small town in upstate New York that tell about the trial, and subsequent imprisonment, of a psychiatrist who molested and seriously injured a child who was a patient of his, about ten years ago. The newspaper says that his wife — a nurse — was indicted as an accessory to the murder.'
“Oh, my God!'
“This wife was later proved to have been visiting a friend in Florida at the time, and no charges were brought against her. In fact, the judge is reported to have made particular mention of her innocence, and the fact that she was an auxiliary victim. I think, if I were such a woman, I would probably change my last name and move away, wouldn't you?”
Jane cleared her throat and glanced at Shelley, who was watching her with the same morbid fascination as Max and Meow showed when watching Todd's hamsters. 'What was this wife's name, Uncle Jim?'
“At that time — Roberta Cheney. You do understand this, don't you, Janey?'
“I think so. This woman was clearly innocent, but if she were still working as a psychiatric nurse, the mere association might seriouslydamage her career. Or she might be afraid it would.'
“That's fair to say. And Jane — I would suggest that if I knew a person such as this, I would stay clear of her for the time being.'
“Oh, I would too, Uncle Jim,' Jane said with a sincerity that rang as false as a tin dime.
“Janey, you are minding your own beeswax, aren't you?'
“Absolutely!”
Shelley groaned.
Seventeen
“Oh, no,' Shelley said. 'How long ago?'
“Ten years or so. Uncle Jim said that early in the investigation Robbie was considered an accessory, but was completely cleared because—' Jane stopped, listening. A car door slammed in one of their driveways. Nervous, they sat there, frozen like fugitives, until there was a light tap at Jane's kitchen door.
Jane peered through the curtains, then opened the door to Joyce Greenway. Her red convertible was parked in Shelley's driveway.
“Is Shelley here? Oh, hi, Shelley. I just stopped by to see if I could pick up that thing I brought the brisket in last week. I'm taking treats to the grade school this afternoon and I don't have anything else big enough to serve — Shelley, what's wrong? You look like a ghost.”
Jane admired the way Shelley covered her built-up anxiety. 'I just realized I put the brisket in the car to bring to you two hours ago. I completely forgot. If it wasn't nasty before, it probably is now. I'm so sorry!'
“Don't be. Nobody in my family will eat it anyway. Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? Say, before I forget, I wanted to ask you about that costuming book—”
Joyce was directing the local community theater production of
This intrusion of normal, everyday concerns calmed her, and she considered Robbie's motive for killing the cleaning lady. Driven by the need to protect her job and her daughter from the taint of her first husband's public disgrace, she'd taken the ultimate step to keep it quiet. As horrible as the thought was, Jane felt a grudging sympathy for her.
But for all that, could Jane automatically eliminate everyone else who was under suspicion? She thought not. If one woman had an adequate motive, it didn't necessarily mean others didn't. What about Joyce? A woman who dusted her luggage weekly, yet kept a cleaning lady who wasn't very good? If blackmail wasn't the reason for keeping Edith on, what was? Certainly not her charming personality.
Jane propped her feet up on the vacant chair and leaned back, nursing her coffee along and studying Joyce with a trace of jealousy. She was simply adorable, there was no other word for it. Her fine, blond hair was fashionably kinky and fluffy and set off her fragile features — enormous blue eyes, a mouth that just missed being an old-fashioned Cupid's bow. And the figure that went with this was perfect. Generous breasts and shapely hips on a slim, girlish frame.
She looked — dammit! — about twenty-five. Jane knew they had to be the same age. Joyce might even be older than she. How dare she look so good? Of course, her husband was a plastic surgeon, and she'd probably had her full quota of eye lifts, tummy tucks, breast enlargements and whatever other miracles they could work these days.
What could a woman like this need to hide? Something to her husband's detriment, perhaps? Jane had doctor husbands on the brain. Would Joyce kill somebody to protect her husband? 'heseldom mentioned him. He seemed to be a workaholic, while Joyce was a 'social-holic.' Jane couldn't remember ever seeing them together. One or the other of them was always at soccer games and back-to-school nights — usually Joyce — but never both. Jane had never even seen him in the audience at the community theater productions. If there was a tremendous passion or loyalty in that marriage, it wasn't evident.
Aside from a possible motive, and probably more important, could she have done it? Was it physically
