Stabbing Stephanie (6 page)

“It's a shadow!”

“A shadow,” Elaine scoffed derisively. “Jane, how much do you know about Bernardino?” she asked, referring to the painting's artist.

“How much do I know? Nothing! What is there to know?”

“A lot. Jane, Bernardino is a prankster; I know this from my writer friends. He tries to slip things past the publishers' art directors—things that shouldn't be on book covers.”

“Like what?”

“Like on Bertha Stumpf's cover for
Shadow of Roses,
he had the hero rubbing the heroine's nipple. I'm telling you, he's fixated on nipples. It must be some kind of Oedipus thing.”

“Elaine,” Jane said patiently, “as you well know, I represent Bertha. I saw that cover, have looked at that book countless times. And I can tell you the hero's hands are nowhere
near
the heroine's nipples.”

“Exactly! That's because the art director caught it and made Bernardino fix the painting. Which is why the hero's arms aren't even in sight. They were painted out.”

“Abigail insists it's a shadow.”

“Jane. Jane.
Helloooo,”
Elaine said, as if trying to get through to someone who is mentally deficient. “It doesn't matter
what
Abigail says. She can say it's a scoop of ice cream, and she can even believe that, but if the distributors, the booksellers—readers!—think it's a nipple,
they won't buy the book!”

“All right, Elaine, all right,” Jane said, placatingly. “You're right. I will call Abigail back and see what I can do.”

“Tell her to make him fix it! How dare he fool around with my book?” Elaine cried, and hung up.

Jane put down the phone. She wanted to scream. Vagrants . . .
FOR SALE
signs . . . burglaries . . . cousins . . . nipples!

“Nipples!” she cried out in frustration.

Daniel's calm face appeared in her doorway. “Nipples?”

Jane jumped up from her chair. “I can't stand it anymore. I'm outta here. I'm going to Whipped Cream to see Ginny—I just realized I never ate lunch—and then I'm going home. If anybody calls, I'm gone for the day. And please don't call me with any messages.”

She put
The Blue Palindrome
into her briefcase, which she then grabbed up along with her bag. She stomped out to the closet in the reception room and yanked her coat off its hanger.

“Does Whipped Cream have the right food for your diet?” Daniel asked gently.

She gave him a withering look. He actually took a step backward.

“I hope they don't,” she said, her voice softly menacing. “In fact, I don't want any Stillkin food. I want a great big greasy cheeseburger with lots of fries and onion rings, and for dessert I want a hot fudge brownie sundae.”

“All right,” he said solemnly.

“Nipples,” she muttered, slammed out of the office, and headed across the green.

J
ane looked up from her menu. Ginny's pixieish face had grown concerned, a trembling little smile on her lips.

“You're sure that's what you want?”

“Mm-hm.” Jane nodded pleasantly. “Bacon cheddar cheeseburger, fries, onion rings, Coke. Not
Diet
Coke. I'll talk to you about dessert afterward.”

Ginny seemed afraid to speak, but finally managed, “Aren't you . . . on that new diet?”

Jane gave her a stony look.
“This
is my diet,” she said, her voice deadly.

“You got it!” Ginny said with false brightness, spun around, and headed for the kitchen.

“Hello, Jane,” came the gruff voice of Charlie, one of Whipped Cream's owners.

She peered over the counter and could barely see the top of his toupeed head. She made a little frown of curiosity. It was unusual for the gruff Charlie to speak to her, or anyone, let alone initiate a conversation by saying hello.

“Hello, Charlie,” she said warmly. “How are you?”

“Great, Jane. Um, Jane . . .”

Suddenly the top of another head appeared next to Charlie's—that of George, Charlie's partner in life as well as in business.

“You sure you want this?” George asked. His arm shot up and in his hand was Ginny's order slip. Jane could just make out the word
bacon
.

Jane let out heavy sigh of exasperation. “Yes, I want it,” she said testily. “Why?”

“Well,” Charlie said (they often took turns in conversations, speaking together as one), “we thought you were on this new diet—you know, so you'd be skinny for your vacation.”

Stunned, Jane glanced around and spotted Ginny, smiling meekly at the end of the counter.

Working to control herself, Jane said, “Thanks, friends, but I know what I want to have for lunch. Is there a problem?”

“No. No,” they all shot back in unison.

“Good,” Jane said, and opening her briefcase, took out
The Blue Palindrome
and continued reading.

A moment later she was aware of Ginny standing at the table and looked up.

“Sorry, hon. We don't mean to mind your business.”

Jane had to laugh. “This whole
town
minds my business!” She returned her attention to the manuscript.

Ginny fell into the chair opposite Jane's and waited, silent. Finally Jane met her gaze and smiled. She couldn't stay annoyed at Ginny, one of her dearest friends. And recently Ginny had been seeing Daniel, which in Jane's eyes brought Ginny even closer into the circle.

“Boy, something's eating you,” Ginny said. “I don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“So . . . bitchy!”

They both burst out laughing.

“You're right,” Jane said, “I am being bitchy. I'm burnt out. I need that vacation. In fact, after lunch I'm going next door to tell Barbara where to make my reservation.”

“Great! Which place have you chosen?”

“Neptune's Palace.”

“Oh!” Ginny cast up her eyes. “That glorious place. Someday I'm going there.”

“Ginny!” Charlie hollered, and a plate appeared on top of the counter. Ginny got it and placed it before Jane. Three strips of bacon glistening with fat poked out from under gobs of orange melted cheese and lolled over the sides of the bun. A heap of fries and golden brown onion rings took up the rest of the plate. It all smelled heavenly. When Jane looked up, Ginny was looking at the plate, literally biting her lip.

“Good. Keep it that way,” Jane said, picking up the burger, unable to repress a smile. She took a big, crunching bite and moaned in ecstasy.

“Boy, you
do
need a vacation,” Ginny said, looking at her with concern.

“You have no idea. Just found out I've got company coming tomorrow.” When Ginny frowned, Jane explained, “My cousin Stephanie. Kenneth's cousin, actually. I'd forgotten she even existed.”

“Why's she coming?”

“She's moving here. Got herself a job with a publishing company that's moving into Shady Hills. Hear about that?”

“Ooh!” Ginny grew suddenly animated, her dark curls quivering. “It's that Faith Carson, right? Can you believe that?
Faith Carson,
right here in our town. To just go off and marry a prince,” she mused dreamily, “and then become
queen
. What a story.”

Jane shrugged. “Anyway, Stephanie will be working for Faith and her husband. She'll be staying with me until she finds a place to live.” She explained that Stephanie had until recently lived in Boston, working for an advertising agency.

“I'll look forward to meeting your cousin
and
Faith Carson,” Ginny said. “Of course you're going to Puffy's party.”

Jane nodded. “I suppose she's inviting the whole town.”

“Practically, from what I hear.”

At that moment there was a movement through the café's window and they glanced up to see Ivor peering in. Ginny looked surprised but gave him a little smile. Then she turned back to Jane.

“He'd better not try to come in here. Charlie and George would have kittens.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I've been too nice to the poor man. He seems to have latched onto me.”

“Daniel says you speak to him every day.”

“Sure I do,” Ginny said, a little defensively. “He's a person, like you and me. Why not?”

“I completely agree! It's people like Puffy who think he's got no right to be here and should be removed.”

Ginny shrugged. “I feel bad for the man. What's going to become of him?”

At a loss, Jane shook her head. She looked down at her plate and did a double take. Her burger was gone. So were the fries, and all the onion rings but one. “What happened to my food?”

“You ate it! Wolfed it down. And I haven't even brought you your Coke!” she suddenly remembered.

“Might as well make it coffee.”

Ginny hurried off for it. Jane looked at her plate. So much for her resolve to lose those eight pounds, to follow the miraculous Stillkin diet to the letter. Could it only have been that morning she'd stocked up on Stillkin foods? She felt disgusted with herself.

Ginny reappeared and set down a steaming mug of coffee along with a small pitcher of milk and a container of sugar and Equal packets. “Why the sour look?”

“I'm hating myself. At this rate, I'll be eight pounds
heavier
by the time I leave for my vacation.”

“Ah!” Ginny waved her hand in dismissal. “You look fabulous. Stop being so silly.”

“I'm not being silly. Half the slacks in my closet cut me in half. My bra is biting into me like piano wire.” She shifted uncomfortably.

“Ouch. That is a problem. Well, Scarlett, tomorrow
is
another day!”

“True,” Jane said, brightening. Then she remembered Stephanie, and her shoulders slumped.

 

 

Jane had never been much interested in Faith Carson and her storybook past, but after all the talk of her today she had to admit she was the slightest bit curious. After all, Stephanie, Kenneth's cousin, was one of Faith's best friends.

Heading home on Packer Road, Jane slowed her car when she reached Puffy and Oren Chapin's office building, a rectangular two-story red brick structure. A grimy midsize moving van sat at the curb directly in front of the building. Passing alongside the truck, Jane saw that the tailgate was down. She checked her side mirror, made sure no one was behind her, and slowed even more, practically coming to a stop when she reached the end of the truck. Would she catch a glimpse of Faith herself?

Two young men in T-shirts and jeans sat on the tailgate, munching on enormous hero sandwiches. These reminded her of her lunch, and with another pang of guilt she sped up and turned left on Grange Road, which took her on a winding route up into the hills for which the village was named. On Lilac Way, her street, she drove slowly uphill beneath a latticework of bare branches, then turned into her driveway. Taking her briefcase and bag from the passenger seat, she got out and made her way up the path to the front door of the deep brown chalet-style house.

Florence opened the door just as Jane reached it.

“Missus, I didn't know you were coming back so early.”

“Had to get away from the office,” Jane said, striding past her. “I'll work here, get some reading done.” She hung up her coat in the foyer closet.

“I was preparing a little surprise for you,” Florence said.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I felt bad about making those Toll House cookies and tempting you, so I'm making you a Stillkin shake!”

An image of the bacon cheddar cheeseburger with fries and onion rings flashed into Jane's head, and with it came yet another rush of self-disgust. Then she remembered what Ginny had said. But why wait till tomorrow? Why not start over right now? She'd bought all those special foods. And dear Florence was making her something special for her diet.

“Florence, that's awfully sweet of you. How did you know how to make it?”

“There was a recipe for it in the
New York Times
. You'd mentioned that you were thinking of trying the diet, so I cut out the recipe. Would you like it now? Did you have dessert after your lunch?”

“Why, no, I didn't,” Jane said, realizing she'd forgotten to order the hot fudge brownie sundae. So she hadn't been as outrageous as she'd meant to be. “But I am kind of full. Could I have it a little later?”

“Of course! Just say when.” Smiling, Florence hurried off to the kitchen.

At that moment Winky hurried in from the family room and greeted Jane with a high mew. Jane scooped up the cat and stroked her fur. “And how were those cookies?” she asked with a laugh. “Maybe you'll need to go on the Stillkin diet, too!”

Jane carried Winky into her study off the living room and resumed reading Nathaniel Barre's manuscript with Winky on her lap.

With each page, Jane felt a rising sense of excitement. This man was good, exceptionally good. This book was not simply of publishable quality. This writer was quite possibly a rare talent, an artist of unusual insight. At this point in the story, the young man had just been fired from his position at the university. Now he had nothing and no one. Jane found herself wiping a tear from her eye. She found as she read that she literally could not stop reading. From years of experience, Jane knew this was a true find.

“Missus—”

Jane jumped. Winky let out an irritated squeak.

“Sorry,” Florence said. “I didn't mean to disturb you. But I have a question. I'm making barbecued pork for dinner, a recipe from my mother in Trinidad. Can you eat that on your Stillkin? I have a feeling not.”

“ 'Fraid not, though it sounds fabulous. Don't worry about me. I have the foods I bought today. I'll be fine.”

“Okey-doke,” Florence said, but looked doubtful as she walked away.

Jane returned to her reading. The young man had returned to the mysterious old alchemist's shop, and as he explored it, magical events began to occur. His cat spontaneously levitated while standing on the ancient worktable. A page in an open book turned. Yet the author related these occurrences in a completely matter-of-fact way, the young man barely reacting at all, which made Jane wonder what the author hadn't yet revealed about him. It was all quite strange, yet totally engrossing.

A few pages later, Winky stood up on Jane's lap and began kneading her upper arm.

“Winky, stop it. You know I hate it when you do that. Ouch!” With an exclamation of impatience she shooed the cat off her lap. Now that her attention had been drawn away from the manuscript, she realized, to her amazement, that she was hungry and would like her Stillkin shake now. She placed the manuscript on her desk and wandered into the kitchen.

Florence looked up from onions she was chopping. “Ready for your shake?” she said, as if reading Jane's mind.

Jane nodded eagerly.

Florence, bless her, had all the ingredients neatly lined up in front of the blender. Deftly she poured in skim milk, yogurt, a banana, a dash of cinnamon, and a full cup of the bran Jane had bought that morning. She blended all these ingredients for a good half minute, then put ice cubes into a tall glass and poured the shake over them.

“Here you go!”

Jane took the glass. “Would you like a taste?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I would,” Florence said, and took a healthy sip. She grimaced. “It's . . . different,” she said in a strangled voice, and quickly handed it back.

Warily Jane eyed the pale yellow mixture. She mustn't hurt Florence's feelings. She smiled and took a big gulp. It tasted like . . . a barnyard. Wanting to spit it out, Jane forced a huge close-mouthed smile. “Mmm!”

“It's awful,” Florence said. “I won't be offended if you dump it out, missus.”

“Not on your life. This is just what I need. Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Florence. With your help I'll get rid of those eight pounds and be stunning in my tankini.”

“That's the spirit.” Florence checked the clock on the wall beside the fridge. It was 2:30. “Ooh—better get my little man at school.” Hurriedly she removed her apron and headed for the door to the garage. “Be right back.”

Jane wandered back to her study, Winky close at her heels, and they resumed positions, Winky a curled-up fluffball in Jane's lap as she rapidly turned the pages of
The Blue Palindrome
. From time to time she remembered to sip at the Stillkin shake. It truly was awful. She considered flushing it down the powder room toilet but rejected that idea. Dr. Stillkin had said in his book that this particular combination of ingredients stimulated the metabolism to burn fat at an amazing rate. That sounded good to Jane. She pictured herself, breathtaking in her tankini one day, another day in the new teal one-piece she'd bought because the saleslady had said it went perfectly with Jane's auburn hair.