The House of Seven Mabels

wanted by E-mail. Jane and her parents were in touch at least weekly often daily, and it was free, unlike phone calls to foreign countries.

As usual, Jane didn't return the call right away. Sometimes she got lucky if she dawdled and whatever problem Marty imagined had already solved itself. And on occasion, Marty herself couldn't even remember. This evening would be soon enough.

The phone rang while she was writing down the number on the caller ID. She wondered vaguely where Marty was now. She didn't recognize the area code.

She saw that it was Shelley and picked up.

'Are you back to real life yet? I saw you sitting outside grinning. Nice evening with Mel?'

'Unfortunately, I am back to the nitty-gritty. Come on over and I'll feed you some kind of breakfast.'

Shelley was there in about half a minute. 'Isn't it great when all the kids want for breakfast is an egg sandwich and a bottle of orange juice to eat and drink on their way to school?' she said. 'I shudder at the recollection of having to cook pancakes or bacon at the crack of dawn.'

'All I have is some sort of healthy granola bars,' Jane said apologetically. 'But they're not bad. Here you go,' she said, tossing a couple on

the kitchen table and pouring their coffee. 'Got a call from my sister while I was outside.'

'What does she need now?'

'I haven't called back to see. Remember the time she wanted me to rush to Seattle because she had to have an ingrown toenail removed and expected the whole family to gather around to comfort her?'

'I'd forgotten that one. The one I liked best was the time you were supposed to go to Nashville— or was it Savannah? — to help her pick out a dress for a banquet.'

'Savannah, I think. I suspect she thought I'd pay for the dress, and naturally pay for my plane fare as well. The worst ones are when she's getting divorced, and her money's tied up in court, and she wants huge loans. I can always say the kids have some sort of program at school and I can't go anywhere when she wants me to fly halfway across the country, but it's harder to turn her down on money.'

'I think that would be easier. Just tell her you don't have any.'

'She knows better than to believe that. Even my parents won't do it. I don't know why she continues to ask them.'

'Never?'

'Not unless she has a really good story. Then they wire her a couple hundred dollars and do the same for me.'

Shelley reached for a second fruit-and-granola bar. 'These aren't as bad as I expected. I want to

talk to you about Thomasina. But do you want to call your sister back first?'

'Neither of those options would be my first choice. I think I'd rather have a week in Bermuda. Sprawled on a beach with a good book, thinking about my sins.'

'Then let's talk about Thomasina first. I know what Mel said about her, how tough and nasty she is. But he's a cop and lots of people don't like talking to cops.'

'You have a point there,' Jane admitted. 'Especially when they fear they're being investigated as a possible suspect.'

'But you and I aren't cops. We'll just chat with her about some innocuous subject such as how many electrical outlets she plans for those rooms they're working on now. Pretend we're thinking about furniture and lamp placement. And then ease with enormous sympathy into what went wrong with the wiring.'

'And also pretend to understand?'

'Of course.'

'Since you think this sounds sensible, I think I'll play the role of the nodding sidekick, if you don't mind. I don't even want to understand wiring.'

'That's okay by me. Let's go over to the House of Seven Mabels and see if she's around.'

Jane didn't understand why this pun tickled Shelley so much. Shelley usually didn't even understand puns.

'And that Mel isn't there,' Jane said. 'That's understood, isn't it?'

'Did Mel happen to mention whether the house is open to us yet when you were with him last night?'

'Are you insane?' Jane said, hoping she wasn't blushing. 'We didn't talk about that at all.'

'Guess we're going to have to go over there, then,' Shelley said with an expression that on a less refined woman would have been called a smirk.

They took a few minutes to put on their jeans and boots so they'd fit in with the workers. Shelley was getting used to being seen in public in jeans, as long as they were freshly pressed. They were greeted at the locked front door by Bitsy, who looked as if she hadn't slept for a couple of days. 'I want you two to meet Joe Budley. He's now our contractor.'

She led them to the old dining room, where new, sturdy plywood was being installed by a group of men they'd never seen. Strong young men, most of whom sported goatees, which Jane thought was one of the most unattractive facial attributes a man could choose deliberately.

Bitsy introduced them to Joe Budley, who was an enormous, burly-looking man with violently red hair and matching eyebrows that nearly met in the middle of his face. He, too, wore jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt, but had on a sport coat as well that strained at the armholes and across his burly shoulders.

He shook their hands with a paralyzing grip and said, in an accent straight from Oklahoma, 'Glad tuh meetcha, ladies.'

'Jane and Shelley are our decorators. Or they will be when I can get around to preparing their contract for their agreement.'

'Women are good at that,' he said. This was apparently a dismissal of women being good at other things, or so it seemed to Jane. Then she realized, to her horror, that she was thinking like Sandra. That any man who spoke about women was automatically deriding them. Immediately upon the thought, Joe blew her theory.

'Well, you girls get along with what you were doing while Bitsy here and I talk over things.'

Shelley looked around with apparent surprise. 'What girls are you talking to? I don't see girls here. I didn't bring my daughter along, and neither did Mrs. Jeffry. Do you, by some freak chance, consider all the talented workers on the job to be girls?'

Joe said, 'You're one of them, aren't you?'

'One of what?' Shelley asked innocently.

'One of them feminists.'

'Not until today,' Shelley said. 'Only my own father is entitled to think of me as a girl.'

'I'm right sorry to hear that,' he groused, turning his back to her and engaging Bitsy in a discussion of replacement workers.

Bitsy, perhaps inspired by Shelley, maybe just coming into her own, or simply having been

driven mad by lack of rest, asked, 'Why should we do that, Joey boy? Do you find their work unsatisfactory without even looking at it? I've hired professionals in their fields. Some of them are women. But if you don't want to be the contractor for this, so be it.'

Jane and Shelley exchanged a quick glance. Bitsy was really going out on a limb. Contractors who were ready to step in at the drop of a hat weren't thick on the ground, not even in Chicago. The good ones were all busy with other jobs.

Astonishingly, Joe made an effort to apologize without actually saying the word 'sorry.' 'Well, if you — women — feel this way, we ought to get on with looking over what you've done so far. And make up a work schedule to get it completed.'

'Very well,' Bitsy said glacially.

Bitsy and Joe ascended the stairs, Joe letting her go first. Whether out of courtesy or just to see her from behind no one ever knew. Shelley was still so angry she was red in the face. Jane had never seen her this way. 'Calm down. He's just an old fart.'

'Girls! GIRLS!' Shelley exclaimed.

'Good thing nobody has a blood pressure cuff handy to slap on you,' Jane said. 'Shelley, let's just walk out of here and never come back.'

Shelley stomped outside ahead of Jane, but instead of going to the car, she sat down on the front steps. 'If