“Sharlene, I just realized something," Jane said. "You call everyone by their first name except Ms. Palmer.”
Sharlene looked perplexed. "Her first name was Regina."
“But you didn't call her that?"
“Oh, no! I wouldn't ever do that. It would be too personal. She was my boss."
“But so are Tom Cable and Babs McDonald, in a way."
“Yes, but they're different."
“How so?”
Sharlene thought for a minute. "I don't know exactly. Ms. Palmer was so businesslike. And such a lady. Well, so is Babs, but she insisted that I call her by her first name. I'm not sure why it was different with Ms. Palmer."
“Excuse me. How do you get inside?" Mel said from the front of the booth.
Jane was startled. "Oh, Mel. I didn't see you there. Come around the back.”
She opened the tent flap and held it for him.He was carrying a canvas tote bag with the Pea Festival logo on it. He sat down on Jane's chair and faced Sharlene. From the tote bag he carefully removed a heavy plastic bag. Holding it by one corner, he laid it on the ground and looked up at Sharlene. "Do you recognize this?”
The plastic bag contained a small gun. It was old, ornate, and looked like a fancy toy. Or one of the "ladies" guns that saloon madams in Western movies always seemed to have concealed in their garters.
Sharlene leaned over to study it. "Yes — at least I've seen one just like it. At the museum. Where did you find it?"
“It was left on the field," Mel said. "In a clump of weeds.”
Sharlene sat up very straight and paled. "Is it — is it the gun that killed Ms. Palmer?"
“We don't know yet. Can you come to the museum with me now and see if the one the museum owns is still there?”
Four
when they were alone again, Shelley said, "What was all that about first names?"
“I don't know exactly. It just struck me as odd that she never called her boss by a first name," Jane said. "I couldn't figure out if that said something about Sharlene, or about Regina Palmer."
“Probably both," Shelley replied, picking up their paper plates and plastic cups. "She was introduced to me as Ms. Palmer, come to think of it. And she didn't leap in and invite me to call her Regina. But then, I don't always do that with people, either. I make clear to Paul's employees that I'm Mrs. Nowack. And I imagine that there still are a lot of professional women who prefer to keep a little bit of formality in their business relationships."
“Or she was a cold fish," Jane said.
Shelley smiled. "Right. And keep in mind that Regina was Sharlene's mentor. Almost her idol. You don't call idols by their first names. About that gun Mel had—”
Jane knew what Shelley was thinking and nodded. "Uh-huh. I wouldn't place a bet on there being two of them."
“Which means someone took it from the museum before the reenactment."
“Someone associated with the museum," Jane finished for her. "Not one of the original reenactors. When we had that lecture about our roles, nobody was supposed to have a gun. We were wives and farmers and wagon-makers and such.”
A woman with two children who each seemed to have sixteen grabby, grubby little hands had approached the booth. Shelley hopped up to wait on her and try to keep the children from destroying the neatly arranged merchandise. "Oh, you sell pea seeds," the woman said. "How would you like to plant some of our own peas?" she said in a singsong voice to the kids.
“Peas stink!" the boy said.
“I hate peas!" the girl responded, making an ugly face and snatching a jump rope off the counter.
“Oh, you'll love peas if you grow them yourselves," the mother cooed. "I promise they'll taste yummy."
“Plant them indoors in paper cups," Shelley advised. "They're cute when they come up. Then plant them out by a fence when the weather cools. You might get a crop in the fall." As she spoke, Shelley took the jump rope away from the little girl, who was trying to see howmany knots she could tie in it. Shelley held it as if she were considering garroting the child.
They left with several packets of peas. "That little boy stole a peashooter," Jane said.
“I know. I charged her for it and she didn't notice," Shelley said smugly.
“How do you know about growing peas?"
“I had to help the teacher with a fourth-grade science project once. I'm a woman of many parts, Jane. Haven't you noticed?"
“And what do your many parts think about Regina Palmer's death?"
“I think she was murdered."
“Me, too.”
Mel called that night as Jane was getting ready for bed. "Sorry I abandoned you," he said.
“It was okay. Shelley brought me home.”
“I figured she would."
“I guess you'll be attending the festival again tomorrow?" Jane asked.
“Is that an attempt to ask me subtly about Palmer's death?" Mel said with a laugh.
“Not too subtle, huh? Was it the gun from the museum?"
“Sure it was. The gun and lead shot for it had been in a display case."
“Wasn't it locked?"
“It was supposed to be. It was in a remote room on the third floor, in an exhibit of old clothes and hairbrushes and a bunch of dusty, unidentifiable household objects. No telling how long the gun's been missing. And before you ask, everybody in Greater Chicago had access to the keys to the display case. At least everybody who wandered through the staff area. The keys all hang on a pegboard right inside the door."
“And was it the gun she was shot with?" Jane asked.
“No confirmation yet. But I'm guessing so until I'm told otherwise."
“I thought you weren't in charge of the investigation.”