“I was. I couldn't understand or agree with Edwina's thinking, but admired her sense of know‑ ing her purpose in life. I was still trying to figure out whether I wanted to be Amelia Earhart or Eleanor Roosevelt or Joan of Arc. She was perfect for Stewart Eastman. We were both pretty girls, but he wanted a compliant, domestic wife, not a bright one. They were married a year after they met.”
She paused and drew a breath. "Let's get our food and I'll tell you the rest while we eat, if you're interested." She scooted out of the booth and went to look over the food. Shelley handed Jane her crutches and said under her breath, "I don't think this is going to be a story of unrequited love. Come along and show me what you want and I'll fill your plate."
“Why? The plate, I mean."
“Have you not noticed yet that you have both hands busy with the crutches? Were you planning to walk around with the plate on your head?”
Eleven
The three women came back to the table with Y their first course of appetizers. Jane had loaded up on crab Rangoon, Shelley on egg rolls, and Miss Winstead on a single spring roll, which she ate with generous dollops of hot mustard that didn't even cause her eyes to water the slightest bit. The first time Jane had tried this restaurant's mustard, she'd wept, and choked, nearly fainted, and couldn't taste anything for three days afterward.
Since she was the first to finish, Miss Winstead went on with her story. "Edwina was the perfect wife for Stewart for a couple years. He wasn't the perfect husband, though. She desperately wanted children. He told her they couldn't afford to raise a family on his meager teaching salary while he was getting his advanced degrees. After four or five years, he had his doctorate and was near the top of his field.
“In the academic world, this meant lots of politicking. Buttering up his betters, entertaining lavishly, and intellectually shining. And Edwina ceased to be of any use to him. She didn't speak the same language as the faculty wives. Her interests were baking and cleaning, not social climbing and back-biting. She was sweet, but rather dim, I have to admit."
“Poor girl," Jane said. "How did she cope?"
“She didn't have to," Miss Winstead said with a catch in her voice. "I don't think she ever realized he considered her a liability instead of an asset. She became ill with ovarian cancer. A death sentence in those days. Stewart delivered the divorce papers to her while she was still dopey after the surgery.”
Jane nearly spit out her food with outrage. "NO!”
Several other diners turned to look at them.
“Yes," Miss Winstead said softly. "She lasted only a week longer. She'd simply lost her entire will to live."
“How can you bear to be around the man?" Shelley asked.
“It's revenge, I'm afraid. I turn up every time he speaks anywhere in the area. I take notes and hunt down errors to correct the next time he speaks. I owe it to Edwina, poor dear girl, to avenge her. I remind him of her and his cruel treatment every time I show up. Merely by showing up. You must think I'm a real old harridan."
“Not at all. If something like that happened to someone I loved, I'd hope I have the wit and ability to remind them for the rest of their miserable life," Shelley said passionately.
Miss Winstead brightened up and said, "Let's get the rest of our food.”
When they were seated again, Shelley asked, "Do you know about the others in the class as well?"
“Some of them. Librarians often see only one side of patrons. The side that shows their private interests or their business needs. Ursula Appledorn is a frequent visitor. She apparently doesn't have a very good computer at home, or doesn't want to pay for a provider. She comes to the library to use ours and prints a lot of stuff out. Overall, it's more expensive for her to do it that way."
“Conspiracy stuff?" Jane asked. "Has she told you about the Denver airport?"
“Endlessly," Miss Winstead said. "It's her favorite one. The actual books she takes out on loan are usually about herbal cures, gardening, or dogs, and for fiction, she reads romances."
“Romances? That doesn't seem in character, somehow.”
Miss Winstead shrugged. "Few people are really as one-sided as you think on slight acquaintance, I guess."
“What does she live on?" Shelley asked. "Does she have a job?"
“I have no idea," Miss Winstead said.
“Maybe she still baby-sits the elderly," Jane contributed. "And she said something about one of her old ladies leaving her a legacy. Maybe it was a really big one."
“What about Arnold Waring?" Shelley moved down the list.
“I don't know much about him. His wife was a dear, helpless little woman who came to the library at least once a week. She read practically every mystery story that came in. She especially liked anything to do with firefighters."
“why?" "Her husband had been one before he retired.
They had no children, she said, and really appeared to live for each other. He'd drive her every week, would carry her books she was returning, and stand by the door to wait, and carry the new ones out. As if she were a delicate flower who couldn't carry them herself. It really was nice. Such a surly-looking, hulking man, taking such good care of his wife."
“When did she die? He mentioned her in class in the past tense," Jane said.
Miss Winstead thought for a while. "Maybe five years ago. Possibly four. I imagine he was devastated."
“And Stefan Eckert?" Jane asked.
“I know very little about him, although we've worked together over the years. He's an assistant to the man who runs the community relations at the junior college, and always full of ideas to pull the public into taking an interest and supporting the school. He often consults with me when he bags a big name, so the librarycan get the author's books in before the activity.
Jane said, "He told us he was the head of community relations."
“Wishful thinking, perhaps," Miss Winstead said.
“You sound a bit like you're damning with faint praise," Shelley said.
“I must be more transparent than I thought," Miss Winstead said with a chagrined smile. "Ste-fan's charming, but can be a bit aggressive about soliciting funds and grants. But he gets speakers for next to nothing that other, richer schools can't get to speak. I shouldn't say this, but I don't think Stefan is above a couple little white lies if it suits his aim. Ms. Jackson was one of the speakers he got, and I've tried to get her to speak at the library many times and she always said she didn't feel comfortable giving talks. But he got around her somehow. It's a pity she was injured. I was looking forward to hearing about her job."
“Do you know anything about Julie Jackson's life?" Jane asked.
“I see notices in the paper about high-society fund-raising parties, and she is always there on the arm of some rich, eligible man. Always a different one. I suppose it's because it's the 'done thing' in those circles to have an escort."
“Do you know anything about the investigation of the attack on her?" Shelley asked.
“Not a thing. It seems to me an example of a random act of violence.”
Jane and Shelley exchanged looks. When Jane nodded, Shelley said, "I'm not sure how much you know about the attack. There are aspects of it that weren't in the papers. The person who attacked her came through the house, where there were plenty of things to steal, but took nothing, and went straight to the basement she had set up as an office.”
Miss Winstead thought this over and said, "That's very peculiar, isn't it? If it was a robbery, why go straight to the basement? Did she have a safe or something down there that a repair person might know about?"
“We don't know," Jane said. "But the man I date is the investigating officer and he didn't mention a safe. I would think if there was one, he would probably have mentioned it.”
Miss Winstead frowned for a long moment, then said, "You don't think… No, of course not…"
“What?" Jane and Shelley said in unison.
“No, it's absurd. But I just wondered if it might have anything to do with her being scheduled to teach this class."
“How could it?" Shelley asked.