Jane and Shelley both looked stunned. "I suppose in the back of my mind, I was thinking that," Jane admitted. "For no good reason except it happened so close to her giving a talk to this group."
“You think she might be in a position to reveal something about one of them?" Shelley asked.
Jane said, "Maybe. But what could that be? And why wouldn't she sort it out with the person in private instead of in front of witnesses? No, I don't think that would fly."
“But none of us know her personally," Miss Winstead said primly. "I think it's rash to make assumptions. It just as well could be that one of the escorts took himself too seriously, and she rejected him. A crime of passion that has nothing to do with her job.”
The younger women felt like they'd been put in their place, and Jane reverted to what little she knew of the investigation. "Mel, that's the man I know who's the investigating detective, says it was a violent attack, and appeared that the attacker might not have expected her to be there."
“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?" Miss Winstead said with an air of criticism.
“Only because Geneva Jackson left the house with her husband earlier. The sisters look so much alike that the attacker, if he was watching the house, could have mistaken Geneva for Julie. It's only one theory," Jane said, feeling she had to defend Mel's thinking now that she had stupidly given away something she shouldn't have.
Miss Winstead nodded. "I suppose that does make sense. Who reported the attack?"
“I assume Geneva or her husband," Jane said. "They came home and found her injured, I suppose. They were at the house, anyway, when we got there with the misdirected flower arrangement."
“Jane, would you let me know what you learn of the investigation?" Miss Winstead asked.
That put Jane on the spot. She was already feeling like she'd dishonored Mel's confidences and shouldn't say any more.
“I doubt I'll be told any more about the investigation," she fudged. "Mel only mentioned the one idea because he was visiting me a couple hours later to see how badly I'd hurt my foot. Sort of thinking out loud, you know."
“I understand," Miss Winstead said rather formally. Jane was afraid the older woman understood all too well and was insulted.
The moment passed quickly, however, as there was a sudden bolt of lightning and the sound of a hard rain coming down on the roof of the restaurant.
“Nobody predicted this," Shelley said as she pulled aside the little curtain in the booth. "Wow, a real gully washer. I guess we're stuck here for a bit. Does it seem to you that the more technology the weather forecasters get, the more inaccurate they are? It used to be that the weather guy would go out on the roof of the studio and look at the sky and take a guess, and was right half of the time. Now they're wrong most of the time.”
They spent the rest of the brief storm happily deriding local newscasters who had no training in speaking good English. A subject dear to Miss Winstead's heart. "They think notoriety and famemean the same thing. I've heard so many grammatical errors that make me cringe."
“The other day, in the chat segment, one of them said, 'Me and my wife are going on vacation next week,' " Jane put in.
Miss Winstead shook her head sadly. "How utterly ignorant!
Jane was glad the subject of Dr. Julie Jackson and the attack on her had been thoroughly squashed and forgotten.
But she couldn't stop herself from wondering why Miss Winstead had been eager enough to know about the investigation to ask Jane to share Mel's progress. Jane watched as the rain diminished and chided herself for being so suspicious.
Twelve
Jane was worn out from the morning and half the afternoon of traipsing around. She let herself down on the sofa and gently toppled sideways.
“Anything you need?" Shelley asked. "Something really boring to read, so it puts me out.”
Shelley went to the bookshelves and got down a gigantic paperback. "How about The Arms of Krupp?"
“I hate to admit I liked it," Jane said. "I read it the year Todd went to kindergarten and I finally had a whole three hours a day without kids around. I'll try it again."
“I'm starting a roast for you," Shelley said. "Don't worry, I'll be quiet." She went across the driveway to her house, got the roast, and came back. Quietly removing a pan from the cabinet, a cooking bag with seasonings, and a bit of water, she got it in Jane's oven with hardly a sound.
Tiptoeing back to the living room, she saw that Jane was sound asleep with the book open on her chest. There was a sound in the kitchen and Shelley whirled and scurried to the door. Mike had already opened it and was dripping wet.
“Shhh, your mom's sleeping. What happened to you?"
“A downpour at the nursery. They sent most of the clerks home because the forecast is for more rain. I've got to get dry clothes.”
It wasn't until he moved away that Shelley realized that Kipsy had been standing behind him. "I'll bet you're Kipsy, right?" she said. "I was just starting a roast for the Jeffrys' dinner. Sit down and have a soft drink with me while Mike's upstairs. I'm Mrs. Nowack from next door."
“Hi, Mrs. Nowack. Mike's told me about you."
“All good things, I'm sure," Shelley said with a smile.
“Oh, yeah…"
“Kipsy, I've been wanting to have a little chat with you. If you don't mind."
“No, I guess not," Kipsy said, brushing some of the violently red bangs out of her face and taking a sip of the drink Shelley had poured.
“I have a question for you. You must go to a lot of trouble to look as you do. And I can't help but wonder why.”
Kipsy started to stand up in preparation for stomping out.
Shelley put a hand on her arm. "I meant no criticism at all. I'm genuinely interested. I love to know about human nature.”
Sullenly Kipsy lowered herself back onto the kitchen chair. "Yeah, me too."
“Didn't all those things you've had pierced hurt a lot?" Shelley asked.
“Not that much. They sorta numb you with a piece of ice."
“And it doesn't hurt to wear them either?"
“Uh-uh. Not often. The eyebrow ring sometimes gets stuck in my bangs, though, and it can be a bitch — I mean a pain to get it loose.”
Shelley smiled supportively. "How interesting. I wonder, are you planning any changes in your appearance?"
“I was thinking about another tattoo, but can't think where to put it."
“The holes you've punched in yourself would probably close up if you changed your jewelry style, right?"
“I guess so," she said in a surly manner. "But a tattoo is pretty much forever?"
“Why do you ask?"
“Let me ask my earlier question in another way. Are you planning to look this way when you're thirty or forty and even fifty?"