Jane Goes Batty

  “The council’s decision was a grave error,” Sherman continued. “A great many more people died because of it. Of course it was necessary for the plot, and this is real life, but the principle is the same.” He sighed happily. “I do so love a good monster movie,” he said.

  Jane looked at Sherman and wondered what other surprises were in him. “Do you think whoever killed Jessica might do it again?” she asked.

  “It’s always a possibility,” said Sherman. “But let us hope not.”

  Something puzzled Jane. “If the police want to keep this quiet for now, why are you telling me?”

  “First, because of your connection to the Abernathy woman. Second, because you are a writer.”

  Jane didn’t understand. “What has that got to do with it?”

  “You’re used to considering multiple possibilities for a plot,” Sherman replied. “Perhaps something you think of will aid in the investigation.”

  Another question occurred to Jane. “Who found the body?”

  “Beverly Shrop,” Sherman said. “At least she’s the one who telephoned the police last night, so I assume she was the first to see the body.”

  “Last night?” said Jane.

  “Just before midnight,” Sherman said. “As I understand it, Miss Shrop was leaving the fairgrounds following the closing of the festival and walked by the dunk tank, where she saw the body.”

  “And how did you find out about it?” Jane asked him.

  Sherman’s eyes twinkled. “I am a newspaper editor,” he said. “It’s my business to know everything that happens.”

  “In other words, you have a friend in the police department,” said Jane.

  “I have many friends,” Sherman said. “It’s possible that some of them work in the police department. As I said, it’s my business to know what’s going on.”

  “And yet you’re going to keep this a secret until they make an official announcement on Monday,” said Jane. “Interesting.”

  Sherman chuckled. “Isn’t it though,” he said, standing up. “And now, my dear, I have a date with a bowl of oatmeal and a poached egg. I bid you a good day.” He walked toward the door of the restaurant. “Of course, if you think of anything that might be of interest regarding this story I would be most appreciative if you would think of me.”

  “Of course,” Jane said. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Sherman disappeared into Sunnyside Up, leaving Jane to ponder what she’d learned. Again she was left with just one question: Who had killed Jessica Abernathy?

  She supposed it could be a coincidence and that the murderer had chosen Jessica for reasons having nothing to do with who she was. In fact, that made the most sense. She was, as they say, in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jane thought. Although it seemed more accurate to say that she was in the wrong place at the right time or the right place at the wrong time, depending on your perspective. At any rate, she had been there at the same time as the murderer, which ultimately was the only thing that mattered.

  There was nothing to be done about it at the moment, though, so she drove home. After making herself a cup of coffee, she went into her office. Jessica’s email was still open on the screen. Jane looked at it, wondering if it was the last email the editor had sent.

  She was about to delete it when something caught her eye. The email had been sent at just after midnight that morning. “But Sherman said Beverly Shrop called the police just before midnight,” Jane informed Tom, who was still asleep in the sunspot on her desk. “How could Jessica have sent this message if she was already dead?”

  “YOU MISSED MY PANEL THIS MORNING,” BYRON SAID AS HE handed Jane a cup of punch. “In which I revealed to an enrapt audience the real Jane Austen.”

  Jane sipped the punch, which was overly sweet and tasted of ginger ale and cranberry juice. “On the contrary,” she told Byron. “I didn’t miss it one bit.”

  Byron laughed. “Everything I said was most complimentary,” he assured her. “I told them that despite whatever criticism has come your way by virtue of your being a popular author, your ability to capture the caprices of the human animal are unmatched.”

  Jane bent her head slightly in his direction. “I thank you,” she said. “That was very kind.”

  “Of course, I also told them you were a frustrated virgin and possibly a lesbian,” Byron added.

  Before Jane could reprimand Byron they were interrupted by the arrival of Lucy and Ben.

  “How did your panel go?” Lucy asked Byron.

  “Did no one come to hear me?” said Byron in reply. “I’m deeply wounded. But as it happens, Jane and I were just discussing that very subject. If I do say so my—”

  Jane cut him off. “They’ve done a wonderful job with the decorations, don’t you think?” she said. “It hardly looks like an Elks Lodge, does it?”

  The building in which they were standing was a simple wooden structure built in the 1930s to house the local Order of Elks. To be exact, it was the home of Lodge 1372. The lodge currently had seventeen members, almost all of them over the age of seventy. Two of them—Grady O’Byrne and Felix Malden—happened to be the gentlemen with whom Jane had quarreled that very morning.

  In addition to the Elks’ regular Wednesday meetings (at which they mostly smoked cigars, drank whiskey, and told dirty jokes) the lodge was used for monthly spaghetti suppers sponsored by the fire department, Saturday night bingo organized by the local Red Hat Society, and any other community event that had no other permanent home. It had a kitchen, a single bathroom (there were no lady Elks when the lodge was built and so they had not anticipated the need for a women’s restroom), and a storage area for chairs and whatever else needed storing. Other than that, the lodge was one enormous room, which made it ideal for events involving large numbers of people.

  Tonight it had been turned into a re-creation of a Regency drawing room, or at least as reasonable a facsimile as could be manufactured using flowers, card tables, and half a dozen large sofas and twice that many chairs arranged around three sides of the room. On the fourth side was a small raised bandstand on which stood a piano.

  Several dozen people moved about the room, sitting on the sofas, talking in excited voices, and enjoying the various edibles arranged on the tables. With very few exceptions they were all dressed in period costumes. This included Lucy, Ben, and Byron. Jane, however, wore a simple red silk dress, sleeveless and hemmed above the knees.

  “Where’s your costume?” Lucy asked.

  She was teasing. She knew full well that Jane had never intended to wear one to the dance. In fact, Jane had never intended to even come to the dance. It was only because Lucy had asked her that she was there. And why Lucy was so eager to attend still baffled her.

  “I feel quite underdressed,” Jane remarked, looking around at the outfits being sported by other attendees. She examined Lucy and Ben’s costumes. “Those are rather good,” she remarked. “Where did you get them?”

  “We lucked out,” Lucy answered. “Last year the college theater department put on The School for Scandal. I have a friend who worked on it, and she managed to snag these from the wardrobe closet for us.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Jane. “Walter and I saw that. I believe your dress was worn by Lady Teazle in act two.” She patted the lapel of Ben’s jacket. “And this belongs to the dastardly Sir Benjamin Backbite,” she informed him. “Fortunately for you, the clothes do not make the man.”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said, winking at Jane. “This getup does make me feel a little rakish.” He nodded at Byron. “You look pretty sharp yourself. Where did you find that suit?”

  Byron, whose attention had been elsewhere, said, “In my closet. Why?”

  “Well,” Jane said, “I imagine I will be the scandal this evening, being the one out of costume.”

  “Just like Bette Davis’s character in Jezebel,” Byron remarked. “Julie Marsden. She wore a red dress to the Olympus Ball. Everyone was horrified. She only redeem
ed herself by volunteering to care for victims of the yellow fever epidemic, which of course likely meant her own death.”

  “I’ll have to live with my tarnished reputation, then,” said Jane. “I was never very good with epidemics.”

  A low whistle from Byron made them all turn their heads in the direction of his gaze. Entering the room was a girl in a beautiful pale blue silk ball gown. Her face was ghostly white, and on her head was an enormous white wig. Behind her were two young men dressed identically in the uniforms of French footmen.

  “Is that Chloe?” Jane asked.

  “I believe so,” said Lucy. “With Ted and Ned.”

  “Why is she dressed like Marie Antoinette?” said Ben.

  “Well, it’s roughly the right period,” Byron told him. “Just the wrong country.”

  The trio approached the group. When she arrived before them Chloe gave an awkward curtsey. Ted and Ned, looking mortified, bowed from the waist.

  “What do you think?” Chloe asked. “I had the wardrobe people whip it up.”

  “Whip it up?” said Jane. “That must have taken them days.”

  “Don’t the two of you look adorable,” Byron said to the twins, who eyed him balefully.

  “I know,” said Chloe. “Couldn’t you just eat them up?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Jane whispered in the girl’s ear.

  Chloe ignored her. “I only get one of them anyway,” she said. “Ned already has a date.”

  “Do you?” said Byron. “And who might that be?”

  “Beverly Shrop,” said the twin on the right, thereby identifying himself as Ned. His voice was flat, almost lifeless, and Jane would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t brought his predicament upon himself.

  “Speak of the devil,” Byron said as Beverly appeared. He appraised her costume and added, “Why, that looks as if it might have come from the closet of Jane Austen herself!”

  More likely from my mother’s closet, Jane thought as she shot Byron a withering look.

  “Thank you,” Beverly said sweetly as she patted Byron’s arm. Jane wondered how he could stand having her touch him, especially as they knew what her and Miriam’s plans for them were. Or at least the outcome of their plans, Jane thought darkly.

  “Jane, I’m disappointed that you didn’t make it to the panel today,” Beverly said. “I think you would have found it most entertaining.”

  “So I hear,” said Jane.

  “Tomorrow’s should be equally fascinating,” Byron said. He turned to Ben and Lucy. “Three romance editors are going to talk about what they look for in a manuscript,” he told them. “One of them is Jane’s editor, Jessica Aber—”

  “I’m afraid Jessica won’t be able to join us,” Beverly interjected.

  Jane held her breath, waiting to see how Beverly would handle the moment. For her own reasons she herself had said nothing to anyone about Jessica’s death. As far as she knew, fewer than half a dozen people were aware of what had happened at the fairgrounds.

  “Oh?” Byron said. “Why not?”

  Beverly looked around. “She was called back to New York,” she said. “A family emergency.”

  Byron frowned. “What a pity,” he said. “Jane, did you know about this?”

  “No,” Jane said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.” She looked at Beverly. “That certainly is a disappointment.”

  “Yes,” Beverly said. “Well, these things happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see about the music for this evening.”

  Jane watched Beverly leave. I’d love to be inside her head, she thought. Only for a moment, of course. She imagined being trapped in Beverly Shrop’s head forever and shivered.

  “Hello, Jane.”

  Jane thought she heard Walter’s voice. Then she turned around and discovered that in fact she had. He was standing behind her, dressed in a handsome pair of tan breeches, a cream-colored waistcoat, and a jacket of royal blue velvet that was cut away in front and ended in tails at the back. His cravat was tied in a small bow at his throat, and his hair was tousled, as if he’d just come in from riding. He was breathtakingly handsome, and Jane found herself staring into his blue eyes and unable to look away. It’s as if he’s glamoring me! she thought.

  “Walter!” Byron said jovially, putting his arm around Walter’s shoulders. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  “And you,” said Walter.

  “Where is your delightful mother?” Byron asked.

  Walter looked around. “Over there,” he said, pointing toward a spot as far away from where Jane and her friends stood as it was possible to get. Miriam had her back to them as she looked over the various plates of cookies and pies laid out on the table before her. Then, apparently finding none of them to her liking, she turned and fixed Jane with a steely stare.

  “Such a handsome woman,” said Byron. “I see that, like Jane, she’s opted not to dress for the occasion.”

  “No,” Walter replied. “Mother isn’t really one for costumes.” Looking at Jane, he added, “I hope it’s all right that we came.”

  “Of course it’s all right,” said Jane. “I’m very pleased to see you, Walter.”

  Walter smiled shyly. “I should go keep her company,” he said, nodding slightly in the direction of his mother. “Perhaps we can talk later.”

  Jane nodded. “I look forward to it,” she said.

  As Walter walked away Byron came close to Jane. “Have you asked yourself why it is you keep falling for unavailable men?” he asked.

  “First of all, there have only been two men,” Jane said. “And you don’t count, as I was a silly girl who didn’t know any better. As for Walter, he pursued me. So I hardly see how I can be blamed for that.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Byron. “Still—”

  “Still nothing,” Jane snapped. “And that’s the last we’ll speak of that subject.”

  Byron opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly the air was filled with a crackling sound that came from speakers on either side of the bandstand. All heads turned to see what was happening. Beverly Shrop, a microphone in her hand, stood on the stage.

  “Hello!” she said. “And welcome to what I know will be a magical evening. I’m sure you’re all anxious to begin, so please join me in welcoming our musicians for this evening, the wonderful Haymeadow Trio, as well as English country dance expert Katherine Threadgood.”

  As the audience clapped, four people—two men and two women—mounted the steps to the bandstand. One of the women held a flute in her hands, one of the men had a violin, and the second man seated himself at the piano. The second woman took the microphone from Beverly.

  “As Beverly told you, my name is Katherine Threadgood,” she said. “I don’t know that I’m an expert on English country dancing, but I’m certainly a great fan. Tonight we want to give you a taste of what a typical night of dancing might have been like in the time of Jane Austen.”

  “Oh, joy,” Jane groused.

  “Cheer up,” said Byron. “It’s going to be fun. Perhaps they’ll have us do Buttered Pease, or maybe All in a Garden Green.”

  Jane groaned. “I couldn’t remember the steps to those when they were all the rage,” she said. “How am I supposed to remember them now?”

  “To get us started, we’re going to do a simple circle dance,” Katherine Threadgood announced. “If you would please pair up into couples and form circles with even numbers of couples but no more than twelve couples to a circle, I’ll walk you through the steps.”

  As couples began forming, Katherine added, “Don’t be shy. I promise you this is very simple.”

  Jane moved to take a seat on one of the couches, but Byron took her hand. Before she could object she found herself standing in a circle in the middle of the dance floor. Also in her circle were Ben and Lucy, Chloe and Ted, Beverly and Ned, and several couples she had never seen before. To her surprise they were joined a moment later by Sherman Applebaum and Posey Frost.

 
“All right,” Katherine called out. “Now within each circle form two circles, men on the outside and women on the inside, facing one another.”

  Jane took her place between two women she didn’t know and waited for the music to begin. She detested circle dances. They involved touching numerous hands, all of them sweaty, and inevitably someone broke the pattern and it all ended badly. I’ll just do this one, she promised herself. Then I’ll go home.

  “Excuse us.”

  Two men to Byron’s left parted, and Jane saw Walter and Miriam enter the circle. Miriam looked annoyed, but Walter had a gleeful expression on his face as he took his place. Jane could tell that he’d forced his mother to participate, and she imagined he was getting no small amount of satisfaction from subjecting her to the indignity. Good for you, Walter, she thought. She smiled at him, but he was not looking in her direction.

  “This should be interesting,” Byron said to her, grinning.

  “One more thing before we begin,” said Katherine. “I need you to count off in pairs. It doesn’t matter where you begin, so one couple in each group volunteer to be couple number one.”

  “We’ll be couple number one!” Beverly said excitedly.

  “Once you’ve decided who the first couple is, count off starting with the man to the left of the man in the first couple,” Katherine continued.

  Beverly looked at Sherman and Posey. “That makes you number two,” she said.

  They continued to count off. Jane and Byron were couple number six.

  “Don’t forget your number,” Katherine announced. “It will be important later.”

  “Do you think you can be trusted to remember?” Byron teased Jane.

  “I’ve written it on my hand just in case,” Jane joked back.

  “Here’s how this dance works,” Katherine said. “For the first four bars you link left arms with your partner and swing around two times. This will put you back where you started, facing each other. Stay in place and clap for a count of eight. Then each lady links arms with the gentleman to her right and they swing around two times. You do this until each woman has danced with each man. When you’re back with your original partner stay in place and clap hands. I’ll call out further directions when we get there. Now when the music starts, I’ll count you off and tell you when to begin.”