Mart.'
Jane cringed slightly at the memory of Shelley having dragged her through the Merchandise Mart. Jane had been wearing unsuitable shoes, and carrying a big purse that kept banging into
things and becoming progressively heavier for no good reason.
The bathroom was, in fact, magnificent. Huge. Light green marble floors, lots of elegant bath rugs that didn't slip around. 'The floor is heated,' Shelly said smugly.
Jane leaned down to feel it and it was warm. There were also a pair of the fluffiest bathrobes Jane had ever seen. There were both a bath and a shower.
'That's the one we saw at the Merchandise Mart, remember?' Shelley said. 'The shower that's computerized to be instantly the temperature you want. Six showerheads, programmed to hit as hard or softly as you want.'
'What are the two little rooms that open off at the far end?' Jane asked.
'The toilet in one and a bidet in the other.'
· There were plush towels hung on pewter racks and extras folded on glass shelves set high enough not to bang your head on them. There was also a standing heated towel-andbathrobe rack.
'Shelley, I have to say this is the most beautiful bathroom I've ever been in. You really did a great job.'
'Your bathroom off the other bedroom is exactly like it, except the color scheme is different.' 'Let's go look.'
Shelley's bath was all in shades of green andblue. Jane's was apricot and muted lemony colors. Jane liked hers better. It seemed warmer and more inviting.
They came back into the parlor and sat down on one of the sofas. 'There's only one problem with this,' Shelley admitted.
'I sure don't see what it is,' Jane said, glancing around.
'Pull any of the sheer curtains away,' Shelley said.
'Good Lord. It overlooks the top of the mall. All those ugly refrigeration devices and air vents all over the roof,' Jane said.
'The view from all the windows is awful all the way around,' Shelley admitted. 'But then, you never really need to look outside.'
'I do. I can see my car from here. I'll have to park it in the same place when we come back.'
'Admit it, Jane. You'd forgotten about your car for a few minutes.'
'Not entirely.'
Shelley sat back comfortably on the sofa and said, 'You'll be meeting a lot of people at the conference. Feel free to bring anyone you like up here.'
'Should I? I don't think so.'
'Why not?' Shelley asked.
'Because they'd think I'm a rich dilettante just trying to write as a silly hobby.'
'Just tell them your roommate is the rich dilet-
tante who doesn't aspire to write anything but shopping lists. I'll even pretend it's true if it's necessary. The writing part, in fact, is true.'
'Okay,' Jane agreed. 'As fabulous as this suite is, I need to go home. I want to take a copy of my manuscript to the conference, just in case somebody is willing to look at it.'
'You've really finished it?'
'I think I have. Having a real deadline to meet helped. There are a few little dinky things I've marked to fix. And I was educated so long ago that I'm not certain about commas in series.'
'The rules don't change,' Shelley said.
'But they do, Shelley. Grammar isn't static. And most of what I learned in the many schools I attended as a kid in Europe involved British grammar and spelling. They do things differently.'
'Like how?'
'For one thing, they use a single quote for dialogue, and a double one inside it for a word that's emphasized. Americans do it the opposite way.'
'You know the weirdest things,' Shelley mused. She rose and gathered up her purse. 'Have you got everything you brought along? You don't really need to keep those car keys in your hand so tightly that your knuckles are white.'
'I've got to hang on to them until I can put the duplicates away somewhere safe,' Jane said,going once more to look out the window to enjoy a bird's-eye view of the new car.
As they descended in the elegant elevator, Jane said, 'I think I'm going to need to tie something gaudy to the luggage rack on top. I don't think I'd have recognized it in a parking lot if it hadn't been sitting way off by itself.'
Four
The conference registration was to begin at one-thirty Thursday afternoon. It had been Shelley's advice that Jane call the hotel at ten in the morning and ask if the suite was ready.
'You need to be the first one there. Meeting and greeting, you know,' Shelley said. 'There are always people who come early. People who have family in town to visit, or business to conduct privately, maybe shopping and such.'
Having been assured that the suite was available, Jane gathered up her manuscript and took one long last look at it for errors. She found only two and ran out new pages. She packed it in a box and put it in a canvas bag. She also had a copy of the first three chapters and the outline of the rest of the book in case she came across an agent or editor who was interested. She'd read somewhere that this was a necessity at a writers' conference.
She'd even shopped a bit in the interval between seeing the suite earlier and returning to it. Three casual skirts, four blouses with coordinated
lightweight sweaters. She also had black trousers and a sparkly black top for the banquet night. She'd even dug out a few pieces of jewelry that she seldom wore. A sapphire and diamond ring her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. A cheap but good-looking silver linked necklace that made her neck itch if she wore it for too long.
It was more than she needed, but she didn't want to miss a moment running home if she spilled coffee on herself.
Jane arrived at the hotel at ten and went to the suite. She'd thought about hauling the manuscript to the lobby and studying it one more time. But that would look too needy.
Instead, she took along a copy of the latest Felicity Roane book with her. She positioned herself close to the front desk, so she could glance up from time to time and see if she recognized any of her favorite mystery authors. There had been photographs of them in the last brochure she'd received.
She saw a man who had to be Zac Zebra arrive wearing black trousers and a black sweater thrown over a shiny white shirt, open at the neck too far. He had black-and-white-striped hair. She knew he was one of the speakers. Did they have their rooms paid for? she wondered. He took out a credit card, but that meant nothing. Even when you had a free room, as she did, hotels wanted a credit card for incidentals like food, drinks, and dry cleaning.
She went back to reading her book, glancing up from time to time.
A woman who might be Felicity Roane herself checked in about ten minutes later. Jane glanced at the formal photo on the back of the book. If this was Ms. Roane, she was a lot more casual than the picture. Her hair wasn't up. She had a windblown ponytail with a scarf around it. She was in jeans and a baggy lightweight gray sweater.
