"Eat your sandwiches. What are you all doing tonight?"

For the first time this summer, none of them had much to do. Katie said, "I'm trying a new recipe I learned in summer school. It's a dessert. So Todd and Mike have to stay home to eat it. Why aren't you eating anything now?"

"I have to go to the theater again. Just to taste what food Sh.e.l.ley's caterer comes up with, then rush home and dress up to have a really fabulous meal with Mel. He's been promising me one and he's finally tearing himself away from his desk to supply it. I'll be out late-we're not leaving until eight-thirty. If you go somewhere, leave me a note about where you are and telephone numbers."

"I'll leave you a piece of my dessert with the note," Katie said.

Jane and Sh.e.l.ley drove their own vehicles to the theater. Jane had already explained why she needed to leave early.

"If I were you, I wouldn't even have turned up," Sh.e.l.ley had told her. "It's a good thing to have an excellent celebration dinner with Mel."

"I promised to help you taste things."

"You can leave after a teaspoon of each snack. Then bolt home and dress to the nines."

Jane, naturally, had arrived a little later than Sh.e.l.ley, even though Jane had pulled out of her driveway first. She often wondered why Sh.e.l.ley didn't get her driver's license revoked regularly. But Sh.e.l.ley had never been issued a speeding ticket while Jane was riding with her-her own foot constantly pressing on the imaginary brake on her side of the van.

This was almost the end of rehearsals. Wednesday night would be a rehearsal with all the real furniture and lighting. Thursday was the formal dress rehearsal, and Friday was opening night. Sh.e.l.ley had insisted up front that the college arrange for drinks and any food they'd like to sell at the intermission. On Thursday there would be a mob to feed. In addition to the cast, there would be Tazz, the stagehands, the prop master, the lighting director and his two students, and Eve-lyn Chance with three of her biggest contributing investors.

The front of the building was covered with posters, the college was probably awash in posters, and the box office was open and selling tickets already. Fortunately the box office people didn't have to be fed. Evelyn Chance was probably the only person involved in the play who had worked on Sunday. She must have been busy slapping posters everywhere.

Jane went looking for Ms. Bunting during the one scene in the first act that she wasn't in. She found her in the workroom, needlepointing.

"Yes, before you ask, I washed my hands first," she said.

"I have a secret to tell you," Jane said. "Because I like you so much. I just sold a mystery novel this morning and I promise it's better than this script."

"Oh, Jane, that's wonderful news. Is it a real publisher?"

"It is. And a good editor. I'd like to know an address for you so I can send you an autographed copy when it comes out. I hope you'll like it."

"How sweet of you. I'll keep your secret. Are you telling anyone else here?"

"I thought I might tell Tazz. I like her, too."

"She'll probably be as thrilled as I am for you. Do you have something I can write my real address on?"

Jane fumbled around in her purse and finally just ripped a deposit form out of her checkbook. "If I ever get business cards, I'll have them made to look like check deposit forms," Jane said.

"With your sense of humor, I know I'll love your book," Ms. Bunting said, neatly writing her address on the back.

"Now I have to tell Tazz," Jane said.

She found Tazz sitting in an audience chair wearing a lighted magnifying mirror on her head and repairing a tear in the hem of one of the costumes. She put the dress aside and took off her headgear. "You look like the cat that ate the canary. So happy."

"I am. I have a neat secret that I'm only telling you and Ms. Bunting. I've just sold an historical mystery today. I worked on it for years and I have a head start already on the next one. I'm really feeling smug."

"And so you should. And maybe you can help me. I've always meant to write a book about being a costumer. I think a lot of people would like to read it. I've made notes. How about you write it up for me and we share the profits evenly?"

Jane felt as if she'd been slapped upside of her head. She thought for a moment and said, "I wouldn't have the time to do that. Making notes is just a starting point. Writing it is what counts. You need to write it yourself if you care enough."

"Oh!" Tazz said. "So sorry you feel that I imposed on you." She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the dress and put her lighted magnifier back on her head. As Jane got up to leave, Tazz added, with clear sarcasm, "Congratulations."

You won't be getting a free copy, Jane thought, close to tears.

When she returned to the workroom, the snacks were being set up. Ms. Bunting was putting her needlepoint paraphernalia away. "Oh, my dear. You look as if you've been kicked in the head. And you were so chirpy earlier. What's wrong?"

Jane told her about her brief, annoying conversation with Tazz.

"I almost warned you not to tell her. Now I wish I had. She's a strong-minded, bossy young woman. She told me-quite gratuitously-that I needed to gain some weight or pad my bosom."

"No, you don't," Jane said, shocked at this example of rudeness.

"I told her it was none of her business," Ms. Bunting said.

"I more or less told her I couldn't be bothered to write her book for her."

"Good for you! Forget her. There will be others who want the same thing. A free ride and a full share of the profits. I can't tell you how many aspiring actors of both s.e.xes have demanded that I make sure they get the part they want. I tell them I'm an actress, not an agent. Go find an agent and pay them for their help if you're any good at this. They never ask me again."

Sh.e.l.ley came out of the small kitchen and announced that snacks were ready, and when she saw Jane, she asked, "What's wrong?"

Jane quickly summarized her conversation with Tazz.

"No! What a h.e.l.l of a nerve, if you'll forgive my language, Ms. Bunting."

"I said almost the same thing. In the arts, especially, everyone thinks you're a public charity and owe it to them to help them. Mediocre singers want good singers to teach them for the sheer joy of it. I know graphic artists whose local grade schools expect them to decorate their blackboards just because they should contribute to the public welfare. And some of them actually do it. Poor dolts."

Tazz didn't speak to or look at anyone while she picked up her snacks and took them back to her seat in the theater to eat alone. Jane took a teaspoon of everything and p.r.o.nounced it slightly better than okay. Sh.e.l.ley nodded her agreement. "Out of all I've tried, only one was superior. I'll probably hire them for Paul's next employee dinner. Now, Jane, run on home and dress up. Forget Tazz. She's not the nice person we thought she was. We were simply misled."

*Mel picked up Jane, saying how glamorous she looked in emerald green as he opened the door of his red MG for her. "You sounded so excited this afternoon. Why aren't you now?" he asked as they started out.

"I'll tell you when we get to the restaurant. Somebody hurt my feelings. I'm almost over it. I'll talk about it once more, then cast it out of my mind."

When they reached the most elegant restaurant in town, the owner himself showed them to a lovely private booth. Mel ordered wine, the maitre d' showed up next to welcome them, and a waiter snapped open huge napkins and flipped them on their laps.

Mel leaned forward, gestured for her to hold his hand, and said, "Tell me."

Jane recounted her conversation with Tazz. Mel frowned and said, "Forget she exists. I was frankly surprised that you claimed to like her. I didn't."

"You have better judgment than I do, I guess," she said curtly, then put her other hand over her mouth for a moment before apologizing. "I'm sorry. That was snarky."

"Oh, I don't blame you for feeling snarky, Janey. But I do have better judgment about nasty people, because in my job I meet so many of them. It sounds to me like you won the battle, not her. I'm glad you put her in her place."

Jane smiled. "You're right. She's not worth fretting about. She was trying to take outrageous advantage of me, and I did put her down firmly. I did win. Thank you for your opinion. Sh.e.l.ley and Ms. Bunting said sort of the same thing, but it means more coming from you."

Their wine arrived. The waiter had been watching closely for them to disengage their hands and finish whatever they were talking about that seemed so intense. The first second he could, he brought their wine and returned immediately with menus the size of Rhode Island. A moment later he delivered crusty rye rolls with a frigid plate of fancy curls of b.u.t.ter. Jane and Mel were invisible to each other as they studied the menus.

"Let's decide now so we can get rid of these monster menus," Mel said. "Let's go all out. Appetizers, salads, entrees, and desserts."

"I don't think I could eat that much. Could we drop either the appetizers or the salads? I'd prefer salad."

Mel signaled the waiter and placed their order, then took a roll and slathered it with b.u.t.ter. "I don't have to eat this immediately. I'm just b.u.t.tering it while it's hot."

"Good idea," Jane said, doing the same. "Can you explain yet what you said you'd discovered and didn't know what it meant?"

"I still don't know what it means, but I can tellyou the details. Maybe something will ring a bell and you'll solve the mystery of the janitor and his sister, the janitor 's shoes, and jigsaw puzzles."

Jane laughed. "I'll give it a try."

Seventeen.

Start at the beginning," Jane said.

Mel thought for a moment. "The janitor, Sven Turner, called in to his supervisor the night he was supposed to clean the theater late at night. He said he'd heard two men talking, so he decided to go back early in the morning."

"What difference did it make if two people were there?"

"First, one of them was Denny, and it was the night he died. I have no idea who the other was. But most important to Sven was that he didn't like being around people. That's why he took the night shift almost all of the time."

"A misanthrope?" Jane asked.

"Not really. I don't think he hated anyone. He was simply too shy and timid to want to talk to strangers."

"How do you know this?"

"Both his boss and his sister, who were virtually the only people he felt comfortable speakingto, said so and clearly meant it. So far n.o.body but the local cop on the beat even knew who he was. And he'd seldom even seen Sven. Officer Jones would drop in to check on Sven's sister, who lost both her lower legs to diabetes."

"Oh, how awful for her. How will she manage without her brother?"

"It's a problem they're going to have to deal with, especially if he doesn't survive. But you'll understand better when I get to the end of this story.

"So what happened to Sven?"

"He came back the next morning, and as he was unloading his cleaning supplies from the back of his truck, he was struck hard on the side of his head."

"Did he see who did it?"

"No, probably not. By the time he was found, he was in a coma. He still is. That's why I called on his sister, to learn more about him. I asked if I could see his bedroom, thinking that bedrooms often tell you about a person's interests. Some, like you, have more books than anyone I know. I am, as you've seen, a slob who has never made his own bed."

"What was Sven's room like?"

The salads arrived, and after eating a few bites and p.r.o.nouncing it a great dressing, but on too much lettuce, Mel went on, "Sven's room was neat and tidy. The house must have been where both Sven and his sister, Hilda, grew up. Nothing had changed since the 1970s, when Sven's parents put cowboy wallpaper up. You could have bounced a dime off the bed, it was so well made. A really huge, dreary, mostly brown jigsaw puzzle was set up near the window."

He took a few more bites of the salad as Jane was eating hers.