“Well, nobody ever eats on them. They take them away when they serve dinner, so do they have to be washed?”
Shelley stared at her for a long moment and said, 'Have you considered psychiatric care?”
“I just wondered. They've got this nice gold rim, so they couldn't be put in a dishwasher and it seems a waste of time and effort to make people wash them by hand when nobody's ever eaten off them.”
Shelley rolled her eyes and said, 'Wonder about Sharon Wilhite instead. She said she'd told the police everything she told us. I imagine that's true. She must know you're involved with Mel. He was at the party.'
“Do you think she even noticed? Come to think of it, it must be a blot on his copybook to have someone murdered practically under his nose. I'll call and ask him this evening if Sharon told him the same thing.'
“Wonder why he didn't tell us?' Shelley said as the white-jacketed server whisked away the ashtray that Jane had put only a speck of ash in and replaced it with a fresh one.
“For one thing, he's not really supposed to tell us anything about an investigation, although he sometimes does. For another, there really hasn't been any chance to talk with him without Addie barging in.'
“Say, that's interesting,' Shelley mused. 'He does tell us some things he probably shouldn't.
But he doesn't want to talk about them to Addie. Indicates a relative scale of trust, huh?”
Jane smiled. 'Maybe. Or he just knows she's not interested. If Sharon told him what she told us, I imagine he has ways of checking the main facts — like where they went to college, when each of them moved here. Stuff like that.'
“Jane, we didn't order appetizers.'
“Talk about priorities!' Jane said with a laugh.
Shelley had barely time to turn and look for the handsome waiter before he appeared as if by magic. He suggested an order of buttered, toasted French bread rounds with pate, and another of broiled eggplant with a lemon and garlic sauce.
After that, Shelley and Jane turned their attention from murder to food.
“Why didn't you even let me see the bill?' Jane asked as they departed an hour later. 'I would have at least done the tip.'
“You don't want to know what it cost. Take my word for it. But after two parties back-to-back, you deserve to be treated.”
Knowing how very much money the Nowacks had and how stingy Shelley usually was with it, Jane accepted the fact that Shelley was right.
Jane came in the house via the kitchen a few minutes later, put the carry-out food on the kitchen table with some paper plates left from the caroling party, and went to yell up the steps. She tripped over a pile of rubble. Boxes andpink Styrofoam peanuts were all over the hallway.
“Hey, guys! Your food is here,' she bellowed. 'And you can have it when this mess is cleaned up.'
“Sorry, Mom,' Katie said, bounding down the stairs. 'We forgot. Oh, and we made a mistake. We assumed all the boxes were gifts and ripped into one that's not even meant for us. I don't know why the mailman left it here.'
“Where was it supposed to go?'
“To those people next door. The Johnsons.'
“Okay, Mike can take the box over and explain when you've got the rest of this tidied up “
Jane changed into comfortable clothes, fended off a telephone call from a roofing and siding company ('You're calling me on Saturday night?'), and went downstairs with the full intention to spend a mindless evening in front of the television, or maybe playing gin on her laptop.
The debris in the front hall was gone. All but the gaping box of books that belonged to the Johnsons. Jane bent over to see what kind of books they were and discovered that they were all the same book. Why would the Johnsons be getting what appeared to be a couple dozen of the same title? Good Lord, did they intend to go door- to-door selling them or something?
She picked one up, read the cover copy, flipped through a few pages, then turned it over. The couple who wrote the book were pictured on the back. She glanced at the picture and set the book back in the box. She headed for the living room, but came to a dead halt in the doorway. She returned to the box, took one of the books back out, and carried it into the kitchen where the light was better. She studied the photo on the back again.
“Kids, I'll be back in a minute. Just running over to the Nowacks'. Don't anybody touch that box of books until I get home.”
Shelley was already in her nightgown and robe. 'You again?' she said with a smile.
“I want to show you something,' Jane said, coming into Shelley's disgustingly clean kitchen. She handed Shelley the book.
“Oh, yes. I didn't know this was out yet. I've seen a couple excellent reviews of it. You've read these people before, haven't you?'
“I don't think so,' Jane said.
“Oh, sure you have. The authors are a couple of — what do they call themselves? — cultural psychologists, or something. They've done three or four really fascinating, best-selling books about different subcultures of American society. Real readable stuff. I think the last one was about a largely Hispanic town in Texas someplace. They don't do that usual visitingresearcher-questionnaire kind of thing. They just move in the neighborhood as ordinary people and learn about their neighbors.”
Jane nodded. 'I see. It makes sense. Come sit down and study the book, Shelley.'
“Why? You want me to read the whole thing right now?'
“No, I just want you to look at it thoroughly.”
“Is this some kind of game? You must be really bored.”
“Indulge me.”
Shelley sat down and read the material on the front flap, skimmed the chapter headings, read the back cover flap, then turned the book over. She set it down on the table. 'Okay, so I've looked it over and I still don't get wha —”
She frowned for a moment, picked the book back up and turned it over. She studied the picture of the authors for a long moment. Then she looked up at Jane. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened very wide. 'Jane—?'
“Uh-huh?'
“This picture,' Shelley said haltingly. 'You'll think I'm crazy, but it looks like a glamour shot of Billy Joe and Tiffany.”
'How'd you get this book?' Shelley asked.
“It came to our house by accident. An entire box of them. The mail carrier had a bunch of boxes from my parents and unloaded this one on us too. The kids didn't read the address label and ripped into it.”
They hunched over the book, studying the picture closely. 'Their hair is different. Both of them. And they're 'dressed for success' in the picture,' Jane said. 'But I'm sure they're the same people. They have the same teeth as the Johnson do. I always notice teeth. It's stretching coincidence too far that they'd have exact doubles who just happened to send them a box full of books.”
Shelley sat back, scowling. 'So we're their next guinea pigs, right? They're doing this hillbilly act to shock the suburbanites and madly scribble down our reactions. That pisses me off.'
“It hurts my feelings,' Jane admitted. 'I was going out of my way to like them, be nice to them, even defend them against the Concerned Citizen junk, and all the time they're considering me a lab rat. If their other books were such bestsellers, that means they're rich, probably highly sophisticated academics who are slumming.'
“Right,' Shelley said. 'Wait while I get dressed.'
“You're getting dressed to go to bed when you're already in your nightgown?'
“No, we're going to take that box of books to the rightful recipients.”
The box was on the porch between them. Jane rang the bell and Tiffany opened the door. 'Tiff, the post office accidentally gave me a package that belongs to you,' Jane said. 'I'm sorry to say my kids thought it was
