Jill Churchill - The House of Seven Mabels

"You're right. But maybe he just clams up around strangers. When someone comes to my door doing some nosy survey, I get very, very stupid and curt. Don't remember when I moved here. Don't remember my age."

"Why don't you just shut the door?" Shelley asked.

"Because of my parents. When you're raised in the diplomatic corps, you learn to be overly polite."

"It didn't work on your sister."

"I know. But she was always cranky and difficult."

"Have you called her back yet?"

"Nope," Jane said, imitating Carl Stringfield.

"Okay," Shelley said.

"Wasn't the conversation with Thomasina interesting?" Jane said, changing the subject.

"Interesting, yes. But I can't see that it helps us figure out what's going on. I wish you hadn't veered off on those pathetic little girls."

"I had to before you said they were pathetic." Jane was laughing. "I couldn't help thinking of Fantasia when she said she and her husband taught the girls to dance. The pink elephants in tutus doing the ballet."

Shelley didn't think it was funny at all. "Can you imagine Sandra making a pass at her?"

"Hard to picture," Jane said. "But Thomasina nipped it in the bud, as you'd expect her to do. I'll bet she was more vulgar at the time than she let on to us."

"Maybe someone didn't tell Sandra off," Shelley said. "And that sort of unprofessional behavior on a job site might have truly upset another member of the crew."

"Have you anyone in mind?"

"Only Bitsy. I wonder if that's the real reason Bitsy fired her."

"You're not going to ask Bitsy that, are you?"

"I might."

"We've struck out on Thomasina. Her problem with Sandra was taken care of by telling her off and getting on with the job," Jane said. "And we got nothing from Carl. I still think our best suspects are Bitsy's ex-husband and Joe Budley."

"Both out of range for chatting up," Shelley said.

"Unfortunately," Jane agreed.

Shelley thought for a while and said, "Maybe I should talk to Paul about this."

"What does he know about renovations, feminism, or divorce?"

"Practically nothing. But he knows tons of people who know lots of other people. In fact, his attorney is a wealth of financial gossip. Paul never considers opening another restaurant without getting the whole history of the property he's considering and everybody who has owned or leased it. The attorney has an assistant who researches the history of any lawsuits or code violations."

"Would Paul be willing to find out about Neville Burnside and Joe Budley for us?"

"I'll ask. He doesn't like what he's heard about this renovation project anyway and may enjoy digging up some interesting dirt."

"Have you heard anything from Bitsy about this elusive contract we were supposed to have seen by now?"

"Not a peep. I called her early this morning to ask. She just fluttered around about how busy her lawyer was and how she couldn't catch up with him and thought he might be out of town on some kind of lecture tour to a law school."

"I don't believe that."

"Neither do I. But given the contract Sandra had drawn up and my new version, the lawyer has a lot to weed through," Shelley said.

"So what are you doing with the rest of your day, besides tackling your husband about Burn-side and Budley?"

"Having a strongly worded talk with a caterer who's trying to charge me half again as much for the table service for a dinner Paul's giving for his employees. The caterer we've used for the last two years went out of business when an employee passed along hepatitis. Contagious diseases can kill a successful catering business. This new one is giving me an outrageous bid and the event is in two weeks. I don't have time to interview others. I'll just have to beat this one into submission."

"Shelley, sometimes you amaze me with the specialized information you have at your fingertips. I know absolutely nothing about catering and you seem to know everything about it. This is fascinating."

"Not really. It's simply that Paul insists on these dinners three or four times a year and I agree it's good for his business. A nice perk. And we couldn't possibly serve them the Greek fast food that they're up to their elbows in every day. He used to have an employee plan the dinners until I butted in and comparison-shopped and realized she was taking us to the cleaners and getting big kickbacks. That's how I got stuck with the job."

"But there's nothing you enjoy more than butting heads with people trying to rip you off, and you know it," Jane said.

Shelley grinned. "It's one of my best skills. So are you working on your book today, since we're not getting anywhere with Bitsy and her elusive attorney?"

"Yes. I've thought of a new twist for the plot I'm really excited about. Want to hear about it?"

"No. I'll wait until the book is in the stores. You don't want to drain away a good idea recounting it to someone else."

Jane had awakened in a rage the previous night when the cats decided to sharpen their claws on her bedspread. Before drifting off to sleep, she'd realized why she'd dawdled on getting the novel finished. Priscilla had gone soft and comfy. She'd gotten boring. Her life was going too well.

The essence of fiction, Jane thought, was conflict, the more the better.

So how about if a previously unknown older, illegitimate half-brother showed up with documentation claiming to prove Priscilla's beloved home was really his?

She loved the idea. Priscilla would have something dear to her to fight for. Priscilla loved her house on the cliff overlooking a surly sea more than she'd ever loved anything else.

Supposing the documents were true but the person presenting them wasn't who he said he was? A real illegitimate brother had once existed and this man had seized his papers.

Maybe it was a bit trite, but Jane was fired up.

What would Priscilla do? Would she find out the man was a fraud? If so, would she feel compelled to find her real half-brother? Not if she had any sense. Maybe she could find out about him without his knowing.

Priscilla could hire someone to hunt him down. An honorable and necessarily devilishly good-looking man she imagines for a while she might have fallen in love with but later finds out that he's in on the fraud. Or maybe not. Maybe he's already married. Maybe he's not married, but has a terminal disease and… Or maybe Priscilla's doctor has mistakenly told her she's the one with the terminal condition?

So many intriguing avenues of busy plot to whip into shape.

And a lot more fun than trying to pry the truth out of the workers at the renovation. In her novel, she herself was in control. She'd know the truth, even if Priscilla didn't.

But who could guess which, in real life, if any of the workers or their ex-relatives was responsible for the vandalism and very probably Sandra's death?

Twenty-seven

It was four days before Shelley came over to Jane's house at lunchtime to tell her what Paul had found out. Jane had practically forgotten what Shelley was talking about. She'd been completely immersed in her novel all weekend and Monday, and hadn't even taken the time to shower or comb her hair on Tuesday morning.

"Here's the deal," Shelley said. "There may be more, but I wanted to share what Paul's attorney's assistant has already dragged up. Budley is first. He's had lots of lawsuits and small-claims-court records. But most of them, the assistant says, are just nutcases trying to get out of paying him."

"Oh?" Jane said, once she'd recognized what Shelley was all het up about.

"I don't smell coffee," Shelley said. "You're going to need it to pay attention."

Jane started a big pot of coffee, and Shelley graciously waited until Jane had knocked back half a cup.