at us. Now he's probably going to get stuck with this, just when he was expecting a bit of peace and quiet."
"But we'll be able to give him the background material and our impressions of the people working here. Won't he be the least grateful?"
Jane just rolled her eyes in disbelief that Shelley could say something that innocent with a straight face.
Mel was back shortly, thunder in his look. "I presume you know who the victim is?"
"Sandra Anderson," Jane said. "She is — or maybe was — the contractor."
"What does that mean, 'is or was'?"
"The last time I spoke with the owner," Shelley answered, "she was getting ready to fire Sandra."
"And who's the owner of this wreck, if you don't mind telling me?" Mel asked, still deeply in sarcastic mode.
"Bitsy Burnside," Jane said, pretending she didn't realize he was making a nasty remark. "If you can wait a sec, I think I have her telephone number in my purse." She rummaged while Mel fumed and found the crumpled deposit slip she'd written it on. She handed it over and asked, "May we go home now?"
"Please do. I remember where to find you," he said with a sigh.
"If you can get away, dinner's in the oven," Jane offered.
"Do you
really
think? Never mind." He turned away and disappeared.
Jane and Shelley fled. "Do you think she just tripped and fell, maybe?" Jane asked on the way home.
"I didn't see a purse. The police must not have found one either if Mel had to ask us her name. I never saw her without one. No, I don't think she tripped all by herself. Someone pushed her."
Bitsy called Jane later in the evening. "Jane, this is so awful! I'm afraid that detective thinks I killed Sandy. He said he'd spoken to you and Shelley, and I got the impression you knew him before."
"I'm dating him," Jane admitted.
"You're kidding! No, I guess you're not. Sandy
and I did have a big blowup when I told her I'd I hired the contractor I'd originally gotten a bid
from. But I had no reason to harm her. Can't you explain that to your detective?"
"He's an intelligent man, Bitsy. This is what he successfully does for a living. He doesn't jump to conclusions. And he really wouldn't welcome my input."
There was a long silence on the line. Finally, sounding tearful, Bitsy croaked, "You don't think I could have done such a thing, do you?"
"No, of course not," Jane lied. If Bitsy had shoved Sandra down the steps, she certainly didn't want to act as if she suspected her for fear that she herself might become the next victim. "I'm just telling you he's an expert at what he does and he'll find out by himself what happened to Sandra." This wasn't precisely the truth. Jane and Shelley had contributed domestic insights to Mel on a couple of other cases. He called this dangerous snooping. They regarded it as helping.
Bitsy went on, not at all reassured, "But I left the renovation before she did. The discussion was getting needlessly ugly and I thought there was nothing else productive to say, so I left the house, meaning to come back and lock up after everyone had gone. Surely someone saw me leaving, or knew I'd gone while she was still standing in the yard yelling at me as I drove off. I'm sure everybody was gawking and eavesdropping. Some of the workers really disliked her. But I was too
upset by the confrontation to remember to go back and lock up when she was gone."
"Then everything should be okay," Jane said, "if you have witnesses."
"Half a dozen, at least. Everyone was upstairs still working and Sandy was screaming so loudly, I'm sure they heard it. Your detective did ask for everyone's names and addresses."
My detective,
Jane thought. It made him sound like her personal bodyguard.
Jane immediately called Shelley. "Are you finished with dinner? I just got a hysterical call from Bitsy."
"I
have to supervise some homework first. It'll be about a half-hour."
Jane's own supervision consisted of looking into Todd's bedroom door, where she could see the screen of his computer. He was
"But we'll be able to give him the background material and our impressions of the people working here. Won't he be the least grateful?"
Jane just rolled her eyes in disbelief that Shelley could say something that innocent with a straight face.
Mel was back shortly, thunder in his look. "I presume you know who the victim is?"
"Sandra Anderson," Jane said. "She is — or maybe was — the contractor."
"What does that mean, 'is or was'?"
"The last time I spoke with the owner," Shelley answered, "she was getting ready to fire Sandra."
"And who's the owner of this wreck, if you don't mind telling me?" Mel asked, still deeply in sarcastic mode.
"Bitsy Burnside," Jane said, pretending she didn't realize he was making a nasty remark. "If you can wait a sec, I think I have her telephone number in my purse." She rummaged while Mel fumed and found the crumpled deposit slip she'd written it on. She handed it over and asked, "May we go home now?"
"Please do. I remember where to find you," he said with a sigh.
"If you can get away, dinner's in the oven," Jane offered.
"Do you
really
think? Never mind." He turned away and disappeared.
Jane and Shelley fled. "Do you think she just tripped and fell, maybe?" Jane asked on the way home.
"I didn't see a purse. The police must not have found one either if Mel had to ask us her name. I never saw her without one. No, I don't think she tripped all by herself. Someone pushed her."
Bitsy called Jane later in the evening. "Jane, this is so awful! I'm afraid that detective thinks I killed Sandy. He said he'd spoken to you and Shelley, and I got the impression you knew him before."
"I'm dating him," Jane admitted.
"You're kidding! No, I guess you're not. Sandy
and I did have a big blowup when I told her I'd I hired the contractor I'd originally gotten a bid
from. But I had no reason to harm her. Can't you explain that to your detective?"
"He's an intelligent man, Bitsy. This is what he successfully does for a living. He doesn't jump to conclusions. And he really wouldn't welcome my input."
There was a long silence on the line. Finally, sounding tearful, Bitsy croaked, "You don't think I could have done such a thing, do you?"
"No, of course not," Jane lied. If Bitsy had shoved Sandra down the steps, she certainly didn't want to act as if she suspected her for fear that she herself might become the next victim. "I'm just telling you he's an expert at what he does and he'll find out by himself what happened to Sandra." This wasn't precisely the truth. Jane and Shelley had contributed domestic insights to Mel on a couple of other cases. He called this dangerous snooping. They regarded it as helping.
Bitsy went on, not at all reassured, "But I left the renovation before she did. The discussion was getting needlessly ugly and I thought there was nothing else productive to say, so I left the house, meaning to come back and lock up after everyone had gone. Surely someone saw me leaving, or knew I'd gone while she was still standing in the yard yelling at me as I drove off. I'm sure everybody was gawking and eavesdropping. Some of the workers really disliked her. But I was too
upset by the confrontation to remember to go back and lock up when she was gone."
"Then everything should be okay," Jane said, "if you have witnesses."
"Half a dozen, at least. Everyone was upstairs still working and Sandy was screaming so loudly, I'm sure they heard it. Your detective did ask for everyone's names and addresses."
My detective,
Jane thought. It made him sound like her personal bodyguard.
Jane immediately called Shelley. "Are you finished with dinner? I just got a hysterical call from Bitsy."
"I
have to supervise some homework first. It'll be about a half-hour."
Jane's own supervision consisted of looking into Todd's bedroom door, where she could see the screen of his computer. He was
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