Stabbing Stephanie (15 page)

“I
'm sorry, missus, I should not have said those terrible things. I'm just so upset about my friend . . .” Florence hastily set down her coffee cup, placed her chin in her hand, and began to cry again.

Jane came around the kitchen table, put an arm around her, and squeezed her tight. “I know, and you don't have to apologize. It's horrible what happened to Una. I only hope the police can figure out who did this to her.”

“Why
would anyone have killed her?”

Jane sat back down. “That's easy. Because of what she saw—the burglar in Mrs. Strohman's bedroom, Faith Carson taking jewelry from him, paying him . . .”

Jane shook her head. “But no one knows she saw any of that—except for you, me, and Detective Greenberg.”

“Yes, that's true.” Florence quickly shook her head.

“I blame myself. I do. If we hadn't wanted to speak to her, she wouldn't have left the back door unlocked, and whoever did that to her wouldn't have been able to get in.”

“You can't blame yourself. Besides, in that case I'm just as responsible. I wanted to speak to her, too. And it was for her own good; don't forget that. How could we have known?”

A thoughtful look coming over her face, Florence looked at Jane. “You know, Una was my friend, and she was from Trinidad, which gave us something special that we shared . . . but she was not always a good Christian.”

Jane made a little frown. “What do you mean?”

“She did some not-so-nice things. I remember she told me that one day when she was vacuuming upstairs, she walked into Mrs. Strohman's bedroom and found her in bed with a man—a much younger man. Later Una found out that the man was the son of one of Mrs. Strohman's best friends. Una . . . well, she didn't exactly blackmail Mrs. Strohman, but she told her in a roundabout way that she intended to keep Mrs. Strohman's secret and that Mrs. Strohman didn't have to worry. She told her there was no need to thank her for her discretion. Well, Mrs. Strohman got the message and gave Una a raise.”

Jane lifted her brows. “I'd say that comes pretty close to blackmail. Una just had a subtle way of doing it. No,” she agreed, “not so nice.”

“God forgive me, I'm not telling you this to blacken poor Una's character, but just to say that maybe she did it again. Maybe she tried to blackmail Faith Carson!”

Jane gave her a wildly skeptical look and set down her coffee. “But that would suggest that Faith Carson murdered Una to keep her from telling anyone what she'd seen. That's crazy!”

“Is it, missus? Is it any crazier than paying a burglar for stolen jewelry? It's all”—she pressed her lips together, her eyes welling with tears—“it's all too bizarre!”

With a sudden movement she pushed her chair away from the table, and as she did, something on the floor caught her eye. “Oh, missus, look at your shoes.”

Jane pushed back her own chair and looked. They were covered with mud and plaster dust from the unfinished paving outside Mrs. Strohman's kitchen. “Yours, too,” she told Florence.

Florence looked down. “You're right. Give me yours and I'll clean them for both of us.”

Jane removed her shoes and handed them to her. She put her arm around the other woman again. “I'm so terribly sorry about your friend. Why don't you do something nice for yourself. You shouldn't be cleaning shoes. It's your weekend, after all.”

“Thanks. I don't know what I'll do with myself. Maybe I should go and speak to the Reverend Lockridge.”

Jane gave her an uneasy look. “Florence, I'm pretty sure Detective Greenberg wouldn't want you talking about this to anyone.”

“Yes, you're right.” Florence raised her shoulders and shook her head, at a loss. Carrying both pairs of shoes, she went out to the back hall, where Jane could hear her open a cabinet; then she heard the sounds of brisk brushing. With a deep sigh, Jane went to check on Nick.

She found him in the backyard, tossing a Frisbee with Stephanie, who looked happy and lighthearted in jeans and a baggy tan turtleneck sweater. She saw Jane and waved. “Good news!” she called. “I've got an apartment.”

Thank you, Lord
. “Why, Stephanie, that's wonderful! Tell me about it.”

“Time out,” Stephanie told Nick, tossing him the Frisbee.

“Aw, Stephanie, come on!” At that moment Winky emerged from the woods and ran up to Nick, distracting him. He swept her up in his arms and squeezed her, at the same time spinning around. “I'm gonna make you dizzy, Wink!”

Stephanie ambled over to Jane. “It's a real find,” she said in her languid way. “You'll adore it.”

Jane would adore any place that would allow Stephanie to end her stay as a houseguest. “Tell me about it.” She forced a bright smile.

“It's not in Shady Hills. It's in Mountain Lakes, right at the Boonton border. The complex is called Boulevard Heights—the main street in Mountain Lakes is called just Boulevard, you know.”

Jane, who knew, nodded.

Stephanie rushed on, “It's a one-bedroom, which is smaller than I would have liked, but it's what I can afford on what I'll be earning at Carson & Hart. I'm going to use part of the living room as my home office. All the windows look out on woods except for the bedroom, which has sliders onto a tiny deck with a view of one of the lakes! It's heaven—so peaceful. Best of all, I'll be right near Faithie and Gav. You know they've bought a house in Mountain Lakes, right?”

“No, I wasn't aware of that.” Interesting, Jane thought, that this couple who had run into financial trouble had bought a house in one of the most affluent towns in New Jersey. “That
will
be nice for you.”

Stephanie gave Jane a funny look. “Jane, is something wrong? You're acting oddly.”

Lowering her voice, Jane said, “Actually, something awful has happened. Just a short while ago Florence and I went to see Florence's friend Una. Coincidentally, she works as a maid for Mrs. Strohman. Anyway, we found her . . . dead. Murdered, actually.”

Stephanie's features grew very still; it was impossible to read her face, hard as Jane tried. “That's horrendous,” Stephanie said at last, her voice low.

“Yes, it is.”

“How—how was she—killed?”

“I really shouldn't talk about it. The police have asked us not to,” Jane lied. “While they're investigating.”

“I see,” Stephanie said slowly.

“Stephanie!” Nick hollered, at the same time releasing Winky onto the ground; she shook her head repeatedly, no doubt in an effort to abate her dizziness. “What about our Frisbee game?”

“Oh.” Stephanie forced a little smile. “Yes, all right.” She jogged back into the middle of the yard.

Jane turned and started back toward the house. She happened to glance up and saw Florence standing at the kitchen window, staring hard at Stephanie, her eyes narrowed to slits.

 

 

The last thing Jane felt like doing was running errands, but she realized she wouldn't feel comfortable doing anything else; Una's murder had given the day a surreal quality.

She ascertained that Florence would be in all day and asked her to keep an eye on Nick. Then she drove down into the village and made her first stop a place she'd been avoiding all week—Up, Up and Away.

She was surprised and relieved to find Barbara Kaplan's desk occupied today by an attractive young blonde woman, who asked if she could help Jane.

“I've been working with Barbara on a trip I'm planning,” Jane told her.

“She's off today—family emergency. I'll be happy to help you.”

“Thanks,” Jane said, and added with a smile, “as long as Barbara will still get her commission.”

The young woman laughed. “Boy, I wish all our customers were as considerate as you!”

“I work on commission, too,” Jane explained, “so I understand how important they are.”

“Have a seat. I'm Pauline—people call me Paulie. I'll be happy to help you, and yes, Barb will get her commission. I'm helping her out today, covering for her, as a favor.”

“Very nice,” Jane said, sitting in the visitor's chair, and bringing Paulie up to date.

Recognition dawned on Paulie's face. “Oh, you're the one who can't make up her mind!”

Jane laughed, feeling herself blush. “I've never heard myself described that way, but I suppose in this case it's true.”

“Well, have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Made up your mind?”

“Yes. Anywhere. I want to go anywhere I can get in at this late date. I know it's all my doing. I suppose I couldn't settle on a place because I wanted it to be perfect. Now I just want it to be
away
.”

“Now you're talkin',” Paulie said, turning to the computer, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

Jane said hesitatingly, “Barbara did say there was an opening at Neptune's Palace. Someone had canceled.”

Paulie looked at Jane, threw back her head, and roared with laughter, as if someone had just told her the funniest joke she'd ever heard. Jane simply stared at her, nonplussed.

Apparently what Jane had said was so inane as to not even deserve a response, because except for laughing, Paulie ignored it. She reached down into Barbara's file drawer, flipped through tabs, and pulled out a file. “Here we go,” she said, opening the file folder. “Barb has a list jotted here. I take it these were the places you were considering? Antigua, Barbados, and Neptune's Palace.”

“Those were my first choices. But at this point I'm flexible.”

“Okay, let's see.” Paulie typed, studied many screens, and made a couple of phone calls. Half an hour later, Jane was thanking her, standing with a travel folder of her own tucked under her arm.

“You're gonna flip over Antigua,” Paulie said. “My ex-husband and I went there on our honeymoon—of course, he wasn't my ex-husband then!”

“Of course,” Jane said, thanked her once more, and left.

She walked four stores down to the dry cleaner, another place she'd been meaning to stop for over a week. Enough of her wardrobe was now there that she couldn't put off this errand any longer.

There were two counters in Village Green Cleaners. There was a customer at the right counter, so Jane stepped up to the empty one on the left.

“Well, howdy there, doll!”

Jane turned. The customer at the right counter was Audrey Fairchild, her blonde hair in a ponytail, wearing tight jeans and a pink angora turtleneck sweater that fit snugly over her ample breasts.

“Hi, Audrey. Guess we're both catching up!” Jane fished a handful of cleaning tickets from her bag.

Marie, the store's owner, appeared and hung a blouse and a woman's suit on the rack next to the counter where Audrey stood.

“Are you kidding!” Audrey said with an upward roll of her eyes. “I'm here every day.”

“Really? Even without . . . Elliott's things?”

“Absolutely. Cara's clothes alone keep me running in here constantly.”

“Her school clothes?”

“Mm-hmm,” Audrey said firmly. “You know my Cara, always wants things just right. This is a suit she wore to an awards ceremony her business club had the other night, but even her jeans—those, too, must be dry cleaned.”

Jane chuckled. “Has Cara ever heard about that wonderful invention, the iron?”

Audrey just smiled; like Paulie, she thought Jane was making a joke. Audrey paid Marie for her cleaning, thanked her with a huge crimson-lipped smile, and approached Jane, coming, as she always did, closer than Jane would have liked—invading her personal space, as Jane had once heard it described.

Marie had come to stand at Jane's counter, but apparently Audrey didn't care, because she said in a low voice, “Janey, babe, I'm sorry if I was . . . you know, not myself Wednesday when you and Stephanie appeared outside my house. It's just that I couldn't believe it. You—with
her!
Is it true? She's Kenneth's cousin?”

“That's right. First cousins. You didn't see her at the funeral?”

“No,” Audrey said thoughtfully. “Unbelievable.” Her face turned bitter. “I don't suppose Stephanie told you anything about our—history. Hers and mine, I mean.”

“Actually, she did.” Jane felt awkward discussing this. “I was sorry to hear it. I don't really know Caroline, Stephanie's sister, at all.”

Audrey looked baffled. “What does her sister have to do with anything?”

Now it was Jane's turned to be confused. “She told me—well, that Caroline—well, um, ended up with—”

Audrey gasped, her eyes growing huge. “Stephanie told you it was her sister Caroline who stole Lowell away from me?” Her mouth fell open and she shook her head, looking about her in disbelief. “What a bitch!” she finally said with great gusto. “Unbelievable.”

“You mean it's not true?”

“No,
it's not true. Jane, my darling,” Audrey said, coming even closer and putting a hand on Jane's wrist, “it was
Stephanie
who took Lowell away from me. She set her sights on him, devised a scheme to seduce him, and did.” She thought for a moment. “Yes, it makes perfect sense.”

“What does?”

“That Stephanie would lie, of course. She did an awful thing, Jane. I loved Lowell. I'd probably be married to him today if she hadn't done that to me. And the other thing to remember about Stephanie, of course, is that the woman is simply a liar. That's what she is, a pathological liar.”