anybody did anything because time was an artificial concept that had caused most of the misery in the world and ought to be outlawed so that the fascist pigs couldn't try to trip people up by asking about it. To his credit, the officer just went on to the next question without any comment.
“Oh, Jane — what a lot you have to sort out," Shelley said quietly.
Jane sighed. "Oh, I don't know. The police have to sort out Jake's murder, and Mike has to sort himself out. All I have to do is stand by and be available if needed. In both cases.”
Shelley nodded. "But aren't you curious? About Jake?"
“Madly!" Jane said, relieved to be talking about the one aspect of the hectic afternoon that least involved her. "I'm still trying to figure out whether the blackmailer I overheard was Jake. I'm inclined to think so, but I know that's partly because Maisie suggested it was the kind of nasty thing he'd do, and partly because he's dead and it would be a good motive. But I really had no
good
reason tothink so. It might not have even been a man speaking. Maybe a woman with a low voice."
“Like Lynette Harwell?" Shelley suggested.
“That crossed my mind," Jane admitted. "But I know that's because I want to think badly of her. I mean, I already do, but I'd like to pile on the sins, so to speak. I don't honestly believe it could have been her voice, however."
“Just who was at this lunch?"
“Jake, Lynette Harwell, that weirdo director, George Abington, Mike, and me. Angela and somebody else I didn't recognize were at the far end of the table, but they didn't have much of anything to say."
“How did everybody act toward each other?" Shelley asked.
“Absolutely bland for the most part. As if they'd never met or had a cross word. Well, except for George Abington and Lynette Harwell. They sniped at each other, but it had a quality of old stuff that neither of them really had their heart in. Cavagnari was unaware of anybody except as an audience to listen to a confusing story about a set that blew up or blew down or something. I think it was in Prague, which is very possibly the most boring place on earth to hear about."
“What about Jake? How did he act?"
“No particular way. He didn't say much. He pretended to politely listen to Cavagnari. Ate all his lunch as if he had nothing especially important on his mind."
“You didn't sense that he felt he was in danger?"
“No. Not at all. But then, I didn't know the man. I wouldn't have any idea what's normal behavior for him.”
They watched as Mel crossed the backyard toward the house. He came into the living room a minute later with the police secretary in tow. "Mrs. Jeffry, would you please repeat for the record what you heard earlier today? The conversation you overheard?”
Very formal, aren't we?
Jane thought, and responded in kind. "Of course, Detective Van Dyne. I'm sorry, but I don't remember the exact words, only the gist. Two people were speaking—"
“Are you sure of that?”
Jane thought for a minute. "I think so. At least the context of the conversation suggested that there were only two. The first one said something about one of the actresses getting sick and that the other one knew what he wanted done. There was something about talking to the director and the second one said he and the director didn't get along and he wouldn't help. Then the first one said something about remembering some porn flicks and how they didn't give prestigious awards to people who had been in them."
“And…?" Mel prodded.
“And nothing. That was it."
“Nothing more specific than that?"
“The blackmailer mentioned the names of some movies, but I don't remember exactly what they were. One was Something Bambi or Bambi Something. The other one had something to do with college. Classroom Capers or something like that.”
Mel thought for a moment and the secretary sat with her pencil poised like an automaton with her batteries turned off.
“You keep saying 'he,' " Mel said.
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