Free Plain Jane by Fern Michaels Page A

Trixie said as she reached into the backpack she carried like a purse. “Here’s that disk you wanted. It’s one of those bootleg copies, so keep it safe. Trust me when I tell you, you can find out everything about anyone with this. I have a copy, so don’t worry about returning it.”
    â€œGreat. Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.” Jane turned to go up the steps.
    â€œJanie?” Trixie called from inside the car. “Do you still have that paper bag ?”
    Jane swiveled around slowly and nodded.
    â€œJanie, you know what? You need to shit or get off the pot, i.e., do something about it or get rid of it. That’s my advice for the day. See you tonight, sweetie.” Before Jane could respond, Trixie roared off in a cloud of dust and spurting gravel.
    Ignoring Trixie’s advice, Jane turned and stared at her house with a clinical eye. The peeling paint and crooked shutters made her wince. She’d had every intention of renovating the outside herself, but it was a monster undertaking, too big for her to tackle with her busy schedule. She made a mental note to add calling carpenters and painters to her “to do” list right after she called about a temporary receptionist.
    One of these days the house would look as she’d envisioned it when she bought it. The first thing she would do when it was all finished would be to buy a dozen Boston ferns and hang them on long white chains from the porch rafters. Then she’d buy three or four Charleston rockers and white wicker tables to set tall, frosty glasses of lemonade on, and little pots of English ivy. She would spend every Sunday afternoon on her veranda, rocking, sipping her drink, and reading Fred and Trixie’s books. The only sound would be that of the oscillating fans whirring softly overhead.
    Olive started barking as soon as Jane started up the steps. It wasn’t a typical glad-you’re-home bark; it was an agitated bark. Warned that something was wrong, Jane glanced around. Then she saw it. A snake had coiled up next to the banister to sun itself on the warm wooden veranda. “It’s okay, Ollie. It’s just a king snake, and we both know it won’t hurt us. They kill all the rodents you miss.” She stepped back nevertheless and contemplated what to do about the snake. Nothing, she decided after considering her options, all of which required her doing something to make it move. “Don’t bother me,” she said to the snake. “You go ahead and stay right where you are. I’ll just go around to the back door.”
    Thirty minutes later, a coffee mug in hand, Jane slipped into the fragrant steaming bathwater. She rested her neck against a folded towel, closed her eyes, and did her best to shift into what she called her neutral zone. By definition it meant to give herself up to the pleasures of the moment. It usually worked. But not today.
    She hated the way she’d been feeling these last few weeks. It was all because of Brian Ramsey and her inability to get a handle on him. What made things even worse was that she’d felt the need to bring in outside help.
    Not for the first time she wondered what she was doing and thought maybe she didn’t belong in psychiatry. She’d always known she’d gone into it for the wrong reason—because of Connie Bryan. She’d convinced herself that helping someone else would make up for not being able to help Connie.
    Her thoughts went back to that night. Her first mistake had been to let Connie bind her to a promise of silence. She should have realized that Connie wasn’t herself, that she was in no mental condition to make intelligent decisions. A true friend would have seen to it that Connie went for help or that help was brought to her. Her second mistake was in keeping her promise even after Connie committed suicide. No, it wouldn’t have helped Connie, but it might have helped those who loved her understand