Jane Goes Batty

“Like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz?” Sarah asked.

“Worse,” said Byron as Jane motioned for him to shut up.

Sarah looked up at Jane. “Maybe somebody will drop a house on her,” she said brightly.

Jane glared at Byron, who grinned, patted Sarah on the head, and said, “We can only hope.”

Chapter 24

Jane glanced sleepily at the mailbox icon on her computer screen. Seeing that she had three messages, she clicked on the box to see what had arrived during the night. Maybe one of them will be something thrilling, she thought as she yawned. She touched the tip of her right fang with her tongue and vaguely wondered if it might be wearing down. Tom, seated on the desk, twitched his tail over the keyboard and meowed.

“Don’t start with me,” Jane told the cat. “Now that I know how to listen in, I know all the horrible things you and Jasper say about me when you think I’m not listening.”

This was not true. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to pick up anything from either of them. But she suspected them—at least Tom—of harboring traitorous thoughts. Jasper, being a dog and a good-natured one, was less likely to be critical of her, she imagined. Still, she wanted them to think she might be on to them.

Tom blinked his big golden eyes, licked a paw, and turned his back on Jane to lie down in a puddle of sunlight that came in through the window. Whether he’d understood or her not, Jane didn’t know. Maddening beast, she thought in the direction of Tom’s back.

She looked at the three messages awaiting her. The first was a note from one Mr. Raymond Obatangu, the son of an unfortunately deceased official of the Nigerian government, asking her assistance in transferring $3.8 million from his father’s accounts into an American bank. She deleted this and went to the second email, which was a bill from the electric company. Finally she opened the third message and read it.

Jane:

Meet me this morning at 8:30 at Sunnyside Up. Bring chapters.

Jessica

Jane groaned. “When she said she wanted chapters tomorrow I thought she meant whenever,” she told Tom, whose lack of reaction suggested he didn’t care about her problems. Jane looked at the clock and groaned again. It was 7:45. And she wasn’t dressed.

She considered not going and then telling Jessica she’d received the email too late to make the meeting. But she was already in hot water with her editor, and she had to at least try to make the relationship work.

“Of course I have no chapters to show her,” Jane informed Jasper as she pulled open her dresser drawers in search of clothes. “So she’s going to be annoyed with me anyway.”

She pulled a black turtleneck over her head. “Why is she still here, anyway?” she asked the spaniel, who was now lying on his back with his front paws flopped over and his ears splayed on the carpet. “Does she really think breathing down my neck is going to get me to write any faster?”

She slipped her foot into one leg of a pair of blue jeans, repeating the process on the other side. “As far as she’s concerned, I can’t write,” she told Jasper as she pulled the jeans up and zipped them closed. “Which of course is all thanks to your former mistress,” she added, pointing a finger at the dog.

Jasper rolled onto his side and looked at her with his big brown eyes. “Don’t give me that look,” Jane told him. “I only rescued you from her because Lucy made me.”

The nub that was Jasper’s tail wiggled furiously. Jane knelt beside the dog and ruffled his ears. “I can’t even imagine what it was like for you living with Our Gloomy Friend,” she said as Jasper licked her hand. “You poor thing.”

Five minutes later she had brushed her hair, found her shoes, and located the car keys. Fifteen minutes after that she was pulling into a parking spot outside Sunnyside Up. Being a Saturday, the popular breakfast place was already busy. Jane went in and searched the tables of customers for Jessica. She wasn’t there.

Jane looked at her watch. It was 8:31. She could easily imagine Jessica leaving precisely one second after 8:30, just so she could tell Jane she’d waited for her but given up when Jane was late. It would be just one more strike against Jane.

She decided to wait outside. The inside of the restaurant smelled like bacon and old coffee, and it was upsetting her stomach. Jane suspected she might need to feed soon. Often when her body needed blood she found herself more sensitive than usual to odors. Now, for instance, she could easily make out the scent of half-cooked yolk as someone broke open a lightly fried egg. It mingled with the smells of syrup and hash browns, making her feel queasy.

It was better outside, although there she had to contend with two elderly men who, forbidden to smoke inside, had brought their coffee outdoors and were now seated on a bench puffing defiantly on their cigarettes. The smell filled Jane’s nostrils and made her gag.

“You know, you’re not supposed to smoke here either,” she said testily.

One of the old men waved her away. “I’ve been smoking since before you were born, missy,” he said. “Hasn’t hurt me any.”

Jane fixed him with a stare. “That’s a matter of opinion,” she said. “And just so you know, I’ve been dealing with nasty old men since before your great-great-great-great-grandfathers were born. Now put those out before I get cranky.”

The men looked at her for a moment, then stubbed out their cigarettes and hurried back into the restaurant, where no doubt their wives were enjoying being able to have a conversation without their husbands interrupting with talk of sports and lawn mowers. Jane felt only the slightest bit of remorse for having scolded the old fellows, but she didn’t miss their cigarettes at all. Nor did she feel so much guilt that she was prevented from taking a seat on the bench they’d vacated.

She had been sitting there for approximately fifteen minutes (which she thought was the shortest amount of time good manners required she wait for Jessica) and was about to return home when Sherman Applebaum appeared. As always, he was dressed impeccably, this morning in a brown suit of summer-weight wool complete with waistcoat, a crisp white shirt, a silk tie in a subtle pattern of tiny orange and gold flowers against a pink background, and a smart brown herringbone ivy cap.

“Don’t you look dapper this morning,” Jane said.

“Ah,” Sherman said, sounding genuinely delighted to see her. “There you are.” He took a seat next to her on the bench. “It’s going to be a lovely day,” he said.

“It certainly looks that way,” said Jane. “And where are you on your way to or from? Church?”

Sherman looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “My dear, you know me better than that,” he said. “God and I have an understanding. I don’t bother him and he doesn’t bother me. I dare say that might change one of these days, but I don’t intend to be the one who blinks first.”

Jane laughed. “If anyone can win that contest, it’s you,” she said.

“Indeed,” said Sherman. “Also, I should point out that this is Saturday. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Of course it is,” Jane said. “I’ve been so busy, what with the film and the new book, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Which reminds me, I owe you an apology. I haven’t spoken to Julia Baxter about that interview yet. I just haven’t had a chance.”

“No worries about that,” said Sherman. “At the moment I’m more interested in the young woman they found floating lifeless in the dunk tank at the festival.”

“What?” Jane said. “Who?”

“One Jessica Abernathy,” said Sherman. “I believe you’ve made her acquaintance.”

Jane felt her jaw drop. “Jessica Abernathy?” she said. “She’s dead?”

“Very much so,” said Sherman. “Although one has to wonder how she could have drowned in water no