“Have you talked to Ted about all this? I think you should. He's a nice young man. I think he'd understand if you asked him to mail it to you himself."
“Dear Ted — all he thinks about is the business and Dixie Lee. But you may be right. I'll try it. I know he'll understand, it's just a question of whether he'll stand up to Thelma. He's wonderful at ignoring her, but a confrontation? I don't know.”
They sat quietly. Meow came in from the fieldwith a mouse, which she generously tried to give to Willard, who ran for cover under the foundation plantings. Jim finally said, Honey, how are you getting along? Not money, just everything. Have you met any other men?"
“Good Lord, no! I haven't even thought about it."
“That's not right, Janey. I know you loved Steve, but he's gone and you—"
“Oh, Uncle Jim," she interrupted, her voice quavering over his concern. "You don't understand."
“It always seems like that, but I do, Janey. I've lost my own wife, remember.”
Jane looked off into the yard, where next year there was going to be a fine garden. It was a day for revelations.
“Uncle Jim, haven't you ever wondered why Steve was out on the road at midnight on the coldest night in February?"
“A business trip, I guess. There was a suitcase in the car."
“Uncle Jim, he was leaving me.”
Eleven
There was a long silence while he absorbed this. Jane, staring at a nonexistent bank of forsythia bushes, was thinking that if she said this enough times, maybe it would hurt less. The only other person she'd ever told was Shelley, and that was the night of the accident. It had been locked up inside her all this time, and by damn, it did feel good to say it to Uncle Jim. Like taking a pressure cooker off the burner.
“Janey, I had no idea. I'm sorry."
“So was I." Now that she'd started, no power on earth could have kept her from telling him the whole ugly thing. "Steve had come home late from the office — or somewhere — that night and told me he was in love with someone else. A married woman who was going to divorce her husband for him. I never even got the chance to weasel out of him who it was."
“The bastard," Jim said under his breath.
Jane heard him. "That's what I thought. When the highway patrolman told me about the accident, all I could think was, the son of a bitch deserved to die. Of course, that feeling passed. Well, sort of passed. Steve's death was a doublewhammy. I'd lost him twice in one hour. A lot of women are widowed. A lot are dumped. Few of us get it both in one night."
“Janey, why didn't you tell me things weren't right between you? Maybe I could have talked to him."
“I imagine I would have," she said, suspecting this was a lie, "but I didn't know, Uncle Jim. I honestly didn't know! I thought everything was fine. It was like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer when he told me. I wasn't even mad or hurt right at first, just dumbfounded. And — embarrassed. I felt like an absolute fool. I was still pacing around my bedroom, crying and raging and wondering what in hell I was going to tell the kids, and thinking somehow I could get him back, when the police came to the door. Of course, I know now that I couldn't have gotten him back and I wouldn't have wanted it that way. I've never been much good at forgiveness."
“Janey, I'm so awfully sorry."
“Well, it has its bright spots, in a grim sort of way. If he'd divorced me, I'd be living in poverty, probably. Divorce settlements aren't very kind to wives with three kids and no job skills these days. And what do I know how to do? Drive car pools, give birthday parties, bandage scraped knees? Not very useful when it comes to making a living. The mortgage on the house had a life insurance policy that paid it off. By dying before he could get rid of me, Steve left me this house free and clear, and believe me, you'd have to fire-bomb it to get me out!"
“He really was a bastard."
“No, he wasn't. Only at the last. He was a good husband until he found somebody else. It's been long enough now that I'm beginning to be able to look back and see that. He always remembered special days and bought thoughtful gifts. I loved him for good reason, Uncle Jim," she said, hating the tears that were running down her face and unable to stop them. "And the kids did too. He was a wonderful father. Never missed a Little League game or Boy Scout camp-out. One time he canceled an important business trip because Katie had her first piano recital — Oh, dear… you'd think I'd be better at crying after all the practice I've had. Excuse me a minute, please.”
She ran inside to collect herself. After some furious nose-blowing, she washed her face, put on fresh makeup, and returned to the patio. "Thanks for listening, Uncle Jim," she said briskly. "Now I need some cheese and crackers to soak up the beer. How about you?"
“Sounds great, honey," he said, tactfully adopting her attitude that everything was normal and the conversation about Steve had never happened.
She fixed a snack and they talked, very deliberately, of other things, most of them having to do with gardens, all of them innocuous. Willard, hoping the deadly mouse was gone, came skulking back. After a while, Jane's mind wandered back to the death of the cleaning lady.
“I've been thinking about what Thelma said about the servants when she was a girl—”
“All horseshit. I'll bet she grew up in a tarpaper shack with waxed paper for windowpanes.”
Jane laughed. "Don't I wish! No, what I meant was the stuff about servants knowing all about you. Didn't you hear what she said?"
“I'm sure I heard it, but I've gotten good at not paying attention to the woman. You might do well to learn that skill, you know."
“I know. But she did say something I've been thinking about. Just hear me out, Uncle Jim, and tell me if you think I'm crazy." She went on to tell him her suspicions about Edith having gotten into the mysteriously unlocked desk drawer.
“Suppose she wasn't trying to steal anything — if it was she who opened it — but was only snooping?”
Uncle Jim leaned back, propping his big feet on another patio chair. "Damned hard to prove, blackmail. It's one of the crimes that victims don't want to admit to. If you tell the police, or even a friend, that you're being blackmailed, they naturally want to know what for. I'll run her through the computer for you in the morning, though. Just to see what turns up. Of course, your Detective VanDyne has already done that, but he's not apt to share it with you."
“I'll say! could you talk to him about it?"
“Nope.Out of my jurisdiction. If the township asks the metropolitan police for help, they get it. Otherwise, we stay out. Some police departments are real touchy about what they see as interference. I'll tell you one thing, though, honey, and you'd better pay attention."
“Yes, sir!" she said with a salute. But underneath the affectionate mockery, there was alarm.
It was unlike him to speak so authoritatively to her.
“I don't want you to have that cleaning woman back here for any reason."
“Don't worry. Murder aside, I didn't like her. And I don't like even the suspicion that she was pawing through my belongings. The lady I had before wouldn't so much as open a drawer to get out a dish towel without asking me. I used to think it was a terrible nuisance, but now I'm beginning to see her as an angel. Don't worry,I won't let Edith back in the house."
“And you'll lock up real well?"
“I always do."
“No, you don't. I've been here three or four times that you were cooking and just yelled for me to come in."
“But that's when I'm home," Jane protested guiltily. She'd gotten very lax about keeping the house locked — until a few days earlier.
“When you're home is the only time you can be hurt at home," Uncle Jim pointed out sternly."If you're going to leave the doors unlocked, you'd be better off to do it when you're gone than when you're here.”
Jane lit a cigarette. "You think there's really a danger, then?”
He reached over and patted her arm. "I don't mean to scare you, honey. No. I don't think anybody's after you. But when somebody's been murdered a few yards away and the murderer hasn't been identified, well, it's only reasonable to be safe instead of sorry.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes before Jimstarted stirring himself to depart. "Good dinner, Janey."
“I've got a doggie bag for you. Uncle Jim, do you ever eat real food?"
“Sure, every time I come here."