danger. It was a scare tactic. The destruction of the Sheetrock is the same. It made more work for Carl and Evaline. It didn't harm anyone. The shrimp was the same. More work for Wesley, more cost for Bitsy. Except, of course, for Bitsy's lady friends who got sick from the smell.'
'But the fire in the Dumpster was a real threat,' Shelley said.
'Only to property, not people,' Jane pointed
out. 'Nobody had any way of knowing you, Mel, and I would be in the house that night. Or anyone else, for that matter.'
'So what does this chart tell us?' Shelley asked.
'That we need more coffee to get our minds working,' Jane replied. 'Let's look at this chart in different ways.'
'What different ways?'
'Like how much physical strength the events we're considering took. How much expert knowledge? What sort of reach did they require? I'm wondering how high on the walls the Sheetrock damage was. I also wonder what the size of the coal chute is. Could the biggest person on the job climb through it?'
'Jane, it's time for you to go home and work on your book. You're trying to come to some conclusion with too little information. I think this might be the one time the police are much better equipped to figure this out. I'm sure Mel's experienced enough to question the same things and get the answers.'
'Of course. But Mel's not the one considering signing a contract with Bitsy.'
Jane took Shelley's advice and tried to work on her book, but she kept mentally fidgeting with her lists and charts. She created a file for them on her computer and started organizing the information, adding bits and pieces as she thought of them.
She was convinced she knew something she didn't know she knew. If she could dredge up more of what she'd seen, heard, and thought from the deepest part of her brain, she'd have an insight.
When she got into her disreputable station wagon to make yet another run to the grocery store, something she'd heard or observed on a previous trip kept tickling at the back of her mind.
She'd probably been concentrating on finding a parking space and dismissed whatever it was as irrelevant. She tried to think back to the week and remember where she'd been going when the thought struck her, but the harder she tried, the more elusive the memory became.
Twenty-five
The next morning Shelley called Jane early. 'Okay, I've thought about your list and what we need to know. We need to get over there and I'll tackle Thomasina, since I got along well with her earlier. You go after Carl, the Sheetrock guy.'
'How am I supposed to strike up a personal conversation with him?' Jane asked. 'The skills required of him are taking good measurements and having the strength to slap the Sheetrock on the walls. How much chitchat can I get out of that?'
'I don't know. But you can think of something. I've noticed a few times that he eats his lunch from home out on the verandah and is usually alone. You could take your own packed lunch and sit down next to him.'
Jane didn't much like this idea, but since Shelley had endured her list making with fairly good grace, she felt obligated to give it a try. She got the kids off to school and packed herself a lunch. A ham sandwich, a couple of boiled eggs left over from the batch Shelley had made for her meal
with Mel. A rather stale pack of Fritos, and a cold soda.
She put the soda and eggs in a plastic container filled with ice and stuffed it into a paper bag. When Shelley pulled out of her garage and honked, Jane felt quite silly carrying a packed lunch. When she got into the minivan, she saw that Shelley had her own lunch in a big blue and white designer thermal bag.
'You packed that just to shame me.'
'I packed it so you wouldn't be alone with Carl. Two people to question him are better than one. Besides, I left plenty of space for your lunch as well.'
To their surprise, there was no law enforcement presence that morning. Everybody was hard at work, except Thomasina. She was loading her equipment into the back of a pristine white enclosed trailer attached to her truck. The back door was open, and Jane was fascinated as she peered in. It had a place for everything. Hooks for vast loops of different-size wires, bins for sockets of various configurations, drawers for screws and hooks for tools.
'Boy, would I like one of these,' Jane exclaimed as they watched Thomasina putting everything away. 'Just think how organized I could be.'
Shelley looked at Jane and asked, 'What do you have to haul around?'
'The very things you complain about. Dry cleaning, birdseed, loose receipts, the kids' book reports.'
'Jane, that doesn't make sense,' Shelley grouched. 'Those aren't things you need to cart around. You buy them or pick them up, but you don't bring them into the house or garage and put them where they belong. It's not as if you're using them to do jobs away from home.'
Jane ignored her and addressed Thomasina. 'Why are you packing up? You haven't quit the job, have you?'
'No, but I've completed my work on the first side and nobody's ready for anything else yet. The other side of the upstairs isn't even cleared out, and Bitsy's not sure what appliances she needs in the kitchen and where they'll be placed.' She paused and double-checked a notebook she pulled out of her back pocket against the content of the bins in the truck.
Nodding to herself, she went on. 'I've got another couple of small jobs to do in the meantime. Wiring a screened porch for some people who want to enclose it for a garden room. Replacing a fuse box for another client who has been nagging me for a week.' She slammed the back door of the trailer closed and locked it.
'Do you have to go this minute?' Shelley asked. 'I have a couple of questions I want to ask you about Sandra.'
'What kind of questions?' Thomasina asked suspiciously.
'What you thought of her,' Shelley replied.
'That she didn't know what she was doing,'
Thomasina said bluntly. 'She hired experts and wanted to meddle in things. Then there was all that feminist crap.'
'You don't go along with that?' Jane asked.
'No, I don't. I'm a married woman with twin daughters. I don't want a contractor, male or female, wanting to keep touching me.'
Jane and Shelley exchanged surprised glances, and Shelley asked, 'Touching you?'
'Nothing really vulgar at first, just too chummy,' Thomasina said, leaning against the trailer, which rocked slightly under her significant weight. 'Wanting to lock arms when we walked around looking at where sockets would be placed. Pats on the shoulder for finishing a section of wall. Then one pat on the butt, which was when I told her off and to keep her hands to herself.'
Jane was interested in Thomasina's verbal lashing of Sandra and wished she'd been present to hear it, but she was more taken by the concept of this supremely unattractive woman having a husband and children. 'How old are your girls?' she asked.
Shelley gave Jane The Look.
Thomasina pulled a wallet from another pocket and showed them a family picture. 'This was taken a year ago when they were seven.'
Her husband was a good four inches shorter than she and weighed at least fifty pounds less. He was fairly handsome. But it was the girls who were astonishing. Very pretty, but heavily made up.
'We had that picture taken to celebrate the day
they won in their division,' Thomasina said proudly. 'Twins between five and ten years old. It's not a big category, but people think all twins are cute, just because they're twins. Of course they don't have to be identical, but the fraternal ones never even place. Don't know why their parents bother.'
'Beauty pageants?' Shelley asked, concealing her distaste with amazing restraint.
'They love it. Little girls all like dressing up. And there's good money in it if they're attractive, spirited, and talented.'
'What are their talents?' Jane asked.
'They dance,' Thomasina said proudly. 'My husband Walt and I taught them.'
