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Jill Churchill: Bell, Book, and Scandal

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Jill Churchill Bell, Book, and Scandal

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You can't judge a book by its cover. To look at her, one would never think suburbanite homemaker Jane Jeffry would be interested in murder and mayhem. But after all the corpses she's come across — and killers she's unmasked — she's practically an expert on the subject. Which is why, with best buddy Shelley Nowack in tow, Jane's booking down to a nearby mystery writers' convention to mingle with the brightest lights of literary crime. . and maybe drum up some interest in her own recently completed manuscript. However, what would a mystery convention be without a mystery? It seems fairly certain that at least one real-life murderer is stalking the proceedings. But who is he/she/them? The dirt-dishing, pseudonymous Internet gossip monger "Ms. Mystery," who's lurking around there somewhere? The local bookseller who dearly loves "Modern Golden Age" women writers? The avid reader who seems to know a bit too much about the personal lives of the famous attendees? Jane and Shelley are on the case, ready to snoop, eavesdrop, and gossip their way to a solution. But the killer they seek is no open book. . and may turn out to be harder — and deadlier — to read than they initially imagined.

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"White would glare in the sun and always look dirtier than it really is. They don't have a bright green. Only a dark green."

"Go for the red then. Taupe is only good for clothing. But you'll have to see it in person to de-cide. I sort of liked that shiny blue one. But colors on the Internet aren't all that reliable."

"As long as I wouldn't have to wait for it, I might buy the blue," Jane said. "I don't want to waste a month or six weeks to special order and drive a rental. Let's go have lunch before we go to the bank. Those soggy wafers aren't enough to fortify me for such a big decision."

Later, fortified by a sandwich and caffeine, Jane had her check in her purse, and when they arrived at the car dealership a full twenty-five minutes early, Jane began dragging Shelley around the entire lot looking for her choices. She was reading the sales slip on the window of a metallic blue car when Shelley said, "I see your car, I think. Come this way."

And there, in its full glory, was the car Jane wanted. "It doesn't look dark red," Shelley said, "It has too much purple in the red."

"It's called garnet," Jane said. "Not dark red. And I don't think it's the least purple. It must just be these weird pole lights that make it look odd. It's a shame it's such an overcast day. I still want to look at the taupe. It's the color of the interior of

this one."

"Can't we just go inside and see if your salesman is twiddling his thumbs waiting for us to

show up?"

"What a good idea."

"You do know, don't you, Jane, that I'm not

good with car salesmen? I always want to tell them off for treating me like 'the little woman' who doesn't know a car from a dishwasher."

"Then don't speak at all and let me sort him out," Jane said. "I Am Woman."

As much as she wanted to dislike the salesman, Shelley couldn't. There wasn't a hint of patronizing. He was even impressed by Jane's computer printout of her shopping on the Internet and the fact that she had brought it along to show him what she wanted. When he went to fetch some paperwork, Shelley admitted he was treating them well.

"He doesn't know I have a son who told me exactly what to choose. He thinks I know all about these brakes I've selected."

Both of them got impatient with how long it was taking, however. There was a guy Jane had to talk to about an expensive extended warranty, and she was ready for this as well, thanks to her son. A third man wanted to sell her a package of expensive extra things, like a sealer to prevent rust and a lot of other stuff she hadn't been warned about. The total for the extras came to nearly a thousand dollars.

"I think not," Jane said firmly.

"But if you buy the whole package, it's only three hundred dollars," he said.

"I'll think about it and let you know while they're bringing my car to the door," Jane said. "That's insane!" Shelley hissed when they wereout of his hearing range. "Each part of the deal cost nearly the three hundred. Does he think we're idiots who can't add it up?"

"He's young and stupid and we're probably older than his mother," Jane said. "I might spring for the three hundred bucks. But I'm not doing it until I've driven the car for a while."

In the end, the salesman made Jane drive the car with him in the passenger seat and Shelley in the backseat. He was pointing out where all the features were, which disconcerted Jane, although she thought he didn't know he was frazzling her.

When he said, "This handle turns the windshield wipers on," she glanced down very briefly at a stick that said "Pull." She tried pulling out the end knob. He said, "No, that means pull it

toward you."

"Oh, of course."

There was a low growl from the backseat, which Jane ignored.

When the test drive was over, the forms all filled out, the check approved, the temporary license plate in place, and everybody had shaken hands in a distinctly "manly" way, Shelley said, "I wish we'd taken a cab so I could ride home with you."

"Have you ever seen a cab just cruising our street? And would you have paid him to sit around when we stoked up on sandwiches and coffee? And then run us to the bank?"

"I guess you're right."

"We'll take a nice long drive when we've stopped by home," Jane said. "By the way, I'm never going to smoke in this car or let anyone else

do so. I've made a vow that it's not going to lose its new car smell ever."

"I've never seen you smoke in the station wagon."

"That's because I only smoke three cigarettes a day, and sometimes only one or none if I'm really busy and forget. But I have on occasion opened

the window while I was waiting on carpool kids and stunk it up."

She went on, "Where shall we take our drive after we drop your car off?"

Shelley said, "Shopping. Anywhere except the grocery store."

Three

Jane really wanted to go to the courthouse to have her temporary license plate changed over to a real official plate for her new car. But going there was never a fun thing to do. Her memory, so long ago when she bought the station wagon, was a bad one of surly crowds, disobedient children running wild in the corridors, and having to return two times because the clerk said she didn't have something she needed in the way of paperwork.

"How long had you had the station wagon?" Shelley asked.

"I can't remember. I had to turn over the title to the man who took it away, and I forgot to look at how old it was. I think I had it for at least twelve years."

"I'll bet it was longer than that."

"You might be right. Where shall we go?"

Jane wanted to do something fun and so did Shelley. Shelley was already calling on her cell phone before they'd gone a block. "May I speak to the manager, please?"

After a moment or two of silence, she introduced herself and said, "Oh, John. I'm so glad you're the one on duty. Is the Nowack suite open now? I want to show it to my friend who's staying with me in it for a couple of days." Another silence. "Oh, good! We're on our way."

"What a good idea," Jane said, turning left at the next intersection.

She was uneasy about parking in the hotel lot next to someone who might bang his door into her brand-new car. She parked as far away as she could, where there weren't other vehicles.

Shelley knew why she was doing this, and for once kept silent.

They got out and Jane fumbled for a moment with the gadget they'd given her to lock the doors. She was surprised the car made a pitiful little beep and the lights flashed briefly when she pressed the lock key. "That's neat, isn't it? It's telling me it's worked. I wonder if it'll do it when I unlock it as well."

"Jane, stop playing with your car and come inside," Shelley ordered impatiently.

It was a very long walk and Jane kept looking back at her car, thinking the thing she liked best about it was the big round headlights. So retro. So 1930s. So pretty. She could have driven it around Gosford Park and felt right at home. But she'd yet to drive in the dark and would have to read the manual to figure out how to turn on the lights.

"Isn't it a gorgeous lobby?" Shelley exclaimed

when they walked into the hotel, as if she'd designed it herself. "Jane, pay attention. Forget the Jeep for a bit."

It was a great lobby. It was enormous, but cozy at the same time. In spite of vast expanses of marble flooring, covered with what one could mistake for real Oriental rugs, it had lots of comfy seating areas where you could have a private discussion with friends without anybody overhearing you — unless you were yelling.

"This is really luxurious. Look at these floors. Some of it has fossils, doesn't it?"

"I think your imagination is in overdrive," Shelley said, dragging her along to the check-in desk, which looked as if it were a huge piece of furniture from a very old castle, except that it was too clean and shiny.

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