theft. In fact, the board had to overrule her objections to updating and improving the security system.'
“I suppose the police fingerprinted the display case,' Jane said.
“I guess they must have,' Lisa said. 'But they might have found a ton of prints or none at all. The kids who come here love that display. They all lean on it and touch it. Besides, we had a leak from the sink in the upstairs rest room last week that made a big stain on the wall behind the case. We had to wrestle it out into the middle of the room. It took half the staff to move it out, then move it back when the painting was finished. And in the meantime, it was in the traffic path, and I imagine many people who visited the room touched the display as they squeezed past. But if the — the person who did this awful thing had any sense at all, he cleaned off all the prints.'
“And you think that person was Derek Delano?' Shelley asked.
“No. No, I really don't.' Lisa obviously regretted her earlier remark about him. She put down her fork and fiddled around pulling her hair back and reclipping a tortoiseshell barrette while she thought. Finally she said, 'Derek is ambitious and nasty and has an ego the size of Texas, but I don't think he's truly mean-spirited. And he's very bright and well educated. I believe if it
“And Georgia Snellen is useful?' Shelley asked.
“Oh, you've seen her hanging on him? I guess either she's convinced him she is or — well, to be vulgar — she's useful, and handy, in other ways.”
Jane had been working her way through her salad, which was very good, while Shelley and Lisa talked. Now she closed the clear plastic container and started tidying up the table. 'Was there anyone who did dislike Ms. Palmer?' she asked.
“Well, Caspar Snellen never bothered to disguise his feelings, but other than that, I don't know. Anybody else who found fault with her would be unlikely to tell me about it.'
“And why did Caspar Snellen dislike her?' Jane asked.
“Money. His aunt's money, which he counted on getting and didn't. And the fact that he's a miserable person who goes around imagining that everybody's conspiring against him.' Lisa shuddered a little and suddenly said, 'I really appreciate you two letting me blow off steam. I'm sorry — I probably ruined your lunch and said a lot of dumb things I shouldn't have.'
“Not in the least,' Jane assured her.
“You know, I've realized since Saturday that when someone close to you dies, people tend to think the kind, polite thing to do is try to take your mind off it. As if it's somehow ghoulish or tasteless to even mention the person's name in polite company.'
“It's well meant,' Shelley said.
“I know. But it can make you feel that everybody just wants to forget they existed at all. Thanks again for listening. It helps. And thanks for picking up lunch, Shelley. I think this is the first time in days that I just sat down for this long. Oh, give me your receipt and I'll make sure Sharlene reimburses you.”
When Lisa had gone, Jane gave the stuffed cat a preoccupied pet and went right back to work so she could push away the thought that was troubling her. To lose a best friend must be an awful thing. If Shelley were suddenly taken out of her life, Jane couldn't imagine how she'd, cope. Nobody could fill that empty space. And it must be worse for Lisa Quigley, who had no husband or children and, given her work schedule, probably no other close friends.
Jane forced herself to concentrate on cataloging a collection of turn-of-the-century corsets and petticoats.
By two-thirty, Jane was more than ready for a break. She used her computer a lot at home: she'd been working — or rather playing — at a story that she hoped would someday miraculously turn into a novel. But at home she was always up and down, throwing in a load of laundry, letting the dog in and out of the backyard, running errands. She seldom sat in front of the screen for such long, intense periods. And the strain was getting to her neck and eyes. She moved over to the board table, sat down, gingerly rested her heels on the very edge of the table, and slouched into the chair. The change in posture hurt, but in a good, stretchy way.
When the door opened, she hastily sat up.
“Taking a break?' Babs McDonald said. 'Put your feet back up. You can't do that table any harm. I did a little nursing during World War Two and the head nurse always told us that if we put our feet up every single chance we got, we'd add at least five years to our lives. You're Jane, right?'
“Jane Jeffry, yes.'
“I'm Babs McDonald. I hope everybody's fawned over you and your friend Shelley for helping us out. We're really enormously grateful.'
“Everybody's fawned very nicely,' Jane said with a smile. 'And I'm finding it very interesting. Besides, it gets me out of the house and away from my children for a while. By August, that's a real perk.'
“Oh, yes. Summer vacation.' Babs had brought along a cup of coffee and sat down to put a packet of powdered dairy mix into it. 'I remember when Daisy was raising Caspar and Georgia. By the end of vacation, she was exhausted.'
“Daisy Snellen, you mean? She raised—?' Jane was confused.
“Not officially, of course, but her brother was — not to speak ill of the dead — but he was a bum. His wife left him and the kids and he pretty much dumped them on poor Daisy. I helped her out as much as I could, but I'm not one of those women with a maternal pilot light that makes me automatically love children. Even very nice children. And Caspar and Georgia weren't ever especially nice children. You've probably met them and could have guessed that.”
She was stirring in the dairy mix and looking at the result with disgust. Jane was again struck by how well Babs seemed to 'fit' her age. Her thick white hair was in a Gibson Girl type of loose knot on top of her head today. She wore crisply tailored white slacks, an obviously expensive light blue safari-style blouse, and a gorgeous fuchsia, navy, and white silk scarf tied as a belt. She looked both stylish and comfortable, as if it came naturally.
“I've only seen Caspar Snellen once — no, twice, including this morning — and the first time he was very rude.'
“Oh, he's his father all over again. But how his father got to be that way is a mystery to me. Old Auguste Snellen was about the kindest, most courteous old gentleman I ever met and his wife was a sweet little dumpling of a woman. And Daisy's parents were lovely people, too, but they died very young. Her brother, who was the father of Caspar and Georgia, was only a teenager when Auguste died, and Daisy was about twenty. Auguste left his fortune to Daisy, supposedly because his grandson was so young. But I think old Auguste had already seen the writing on the wall and knew the boy was going to turn out badly.'
“You knew Auguste Snellen? I thought he was born way back in the 1850s.'
“Yes, he was. But he lived to be eighty years old. He died in 1935, I think. I was only fifteen then, but I thought he was a dear old man. Sharlene feels the same about him, and all she's ever known is his picture. Daisy always said that as a grandfather, employer, and friend, he was lovely, but as a businessman, he was tough, independent, and rather secretive. He did all his own bookkeeping because he didn't want an accountant to know his business.' She paused, then asked, 'What did you mean about seeing Caspar this morning?”
Shelley slipped quietly into the room and smiled at Babs as she laid a fresh set of forms on the stack Jane was working from.
“I was taking a little tour of the museum before Shelley arrived. I saw him standing in the doorway of that big room just to the left of the entry.'
“What was he doing?'
“Looking around for someone or something. He ignored me,' Jane said.
“Best way to handle him. I never liked the way he's always hanging around here like it's a boarding house. And I like it less now.'
“Why now?”
Babs cocked an expressive white eyebrow. 'Why do you suppose, dear? Because in all likelihood, he killed Regina.”
