Shelley shook her head. "But you will, you know. How will you feel about the tattoos then?”
Kipsy shrugged. "They'll have some way to get rid of them by that time. Laser stuff or something."
“So you imagine you'll want to get rid of them someday?"
“I hadn't thought about it."
“Do.”
Shelley topped up Kipsy's drink. "You're probably a pretty girl. I want to understand what you mean people to think of you. Do you want to frighten them, or make them laugh, or think you're really cool and modern?"
“I don't think about that stuff. Mrs. Nowack, I can look any way I want. If my own mom doesn't care, why should you?”
Because I'm a better mother than yours, Shelley thought.
“I guess it's just because I am a mother," Shelley said offhandedly. "My daughter's a little younger than you and, of course, won't talk about her feelings with me. I'll bet you didn't talk to your mother when you were sixteen either. So partly, I want to know what to say if she wants to get a tattoo or to pierce her nose.”
Kipsy mumbled something into her drink. Then looked defiantly at Shelley. "Tell her not to. Some of the kids laugh at me. I don't care. They're dummies. They're just scared of being themselves like I am. They're the insecure ones.”
So somebody's called you insecure, Shelley thought. "Mike doesn't laugh at you, does he?"
“No, I guess he doesn't. He can see who I really am."
“I think I understand what you mean," Shelley said. She could hear Mike coming down the steps. "Thank you, Kipsy, for being honest with me." And a tiny bit honest with yourself, she added mentally.
“Are you two chewing the fat?" Mike said with a laugh. "That's something Grumps always says. Grumps is my grandpa," he explained to Kipsy. "But he's not grumpy at all. Let's go to a movie, since I have the rest of the afternoon off.”
Kipsy got up and followed him to the door, but stopped and looked back for a moment at Shelley. "Thank you, too, Mrs. Nowack," she said.
Jane clumped into the kitchen a few minutes later. "You really put that girl through the wringer."
“I didn't mean to. It just perpetually perplexes me that kids will go out of their way to look foolish or dirty or bizarre. I must have missed that stage."
“Most of us do," Jane said, sitting where Kipsy had sat.
“But isn't it human nature to want to be liked?" Jane tilted her head and considered. "Maybe not so much liked as admired, I suppose. And sometimes feared. You scare the devil out of a lot of people, and I know perfectly well you enjoy it.”
Shelley started to object, then grinned. "Only if they're jerks."
“So did you get a blinding insight from Kipsy?”
Shelley made a so-so motion with her hand. "I think no one had ever asked her why she wanted to look like a freak. I didn't say that outright—"
“I know. I was eavesdropping."
“I suspect she just needed parental guidance." "You and I both know how well that goes over with teenagers."
“But they need it, even though they'd never in the world admit it. Teenagers love a good fight, especially when it has to do with their taste or friends or appearance. This poor Kipsy only got slightly haughty twice. That's a very low average."
“You're a stranger to her. And you can be scary."
“Only when I'm trying," Shelley said. "But as for being a stranger, all the more reason she was entitled to be rude to me. But she wasn't. You know, I think it's possible her mother doesn't really care what she does or how she looks. So she tries a little tattoo. Mom doesn't say anything. So then she pierces her nose and Mom doesn't notice. So she dyes her hair a perfectly awful color—"
“Are you really trying to figure her out? She might have a devoted mother who cries herself to sleep for failing with this girl. The mother might have other daughters who are model kids and can't figure out where Kipsy went wrong.”
Shelley considered this. "You could be right."
“Say that again," Jane said, pretending to swoon. "I hear it so seldom. That roast is sure smelling great. Can you stay and eat it with us?"
“I wish I could. Paul's sister Constanza is coming to dinner.”
Jane made an X in the air with her fingers. "Too bad. Has she searched your house lately?"
“Not that I know of. But she's gone to some diet that involves a lot of sprouts and pasta, and the only meat she can eat is veal and chicken. Skinned and broiled without fat."
“Last month it was only tofu and veggies, wasn't it? Speaking of which, what did you think of Ursula's garden?" Jane asked.
“I hate to admit this, but there were things I liked. If the marble fountain had been clear blue marbles instead of garish colors and maybe foil behind it, it would have been a knockout. I've been thinking of trying to find someone to make me one."
“Wish I'd seen it. I liked the statues. Especially the elegant lady in copper. And I think Miss Winstead admired some of the yard herself. I saw her taking notes."
“You seemed uneasy with Miss Winstead toward the end of lunch," Shelley said.
“I'd said too much of what Mel told us. I felt guilty about shooting off my mouth. Then a little alarmed when she wanted me to keep her up on what other theories he was coming up with."
“That was peculiar of her, come to think of it. And so was her opinion that we thought Ms. Jackson's attacker was someone in the class.”
Jane was silent for a long moment. "But — what if it was?”
Thirteen
“why would it make any sense that the attacker was one of the class?" Shelley asked.
She and Jane were getting hungry smelling the roast cooking and had gone outside to sit on Jane's patio. The heavy rains predicted for the rest of the day had stopped and it was cool and damp and reasonably comfortable outdoors.
“It could be one of them, I guess," Jane said, looking sadly at her backyard. Max and Meow were sitting side by side, studying the field behind the house for signs of movement. If another developer built houses there instead of going bankrupt before even starting, the cats would be bereft. The grass needed mowing, and there was a permanent path in a semicircle where Willard had been running back and forth for years from gate to gate, barking his fool head off at the mailman. There were even some dead leaves of tulips Jane had never gotten around to gathering up and disposing of. Her yard was really a disgrace.
“But it could be anyone else as well," Shelley argued. "Someone in her family, her profession, maybe a neighbor she'd had a falling-out with. For that matter, it could be a complete stranger, or a drug-crazed lunatic who was randomly testing back doors for one that was open."
“The lunatic would have stolen what was on the ground floor and fled," Jane said.
“Maybe or maybe not," Shelley argued, mainly for the purpose of arguing. "If he heard somebody moving around in the basement, he might have gone straight down and attacked Ms. Jackson for no reason whatsoever. Someone seriously into drugs might have thought that was a good idea."
“I suppose with enough drugs, anybody might think anything is a good idea," Jane responded, but wasn't considering the theory seriously and she doubted Shelley was either.
Shelley said, "What if it was Dr. Eastman who attacked her?”