Jane Goes Batty

by Michael Thomas Ford

  “I saved this for you,” Sarah whispered, tucking something into Jane’s hand. It was small and sticky, and when Jane looked she saw that a pink candy heart was stuck to her palm. Written across it in red letters was YOU WIN.

  She looked at Sarah. “Thank you,” she said. “This is exactly what I needed.”

  She tucked the heart in her pocket and took the softball from Byron. “Stand back and let a woman show you how it’s done,” she said.

  She stood and looked at Ned seated on the platform. But she didn’t see Ned. She saw Fitzwilliam Darcy. To many he was Jane’s greatest creation, the ideal man to whom no living man could measure up. To Jane, however, he was something else. Not a curse, exactly, but a hindrance. She sometimes felt that ever since creating Darcy she, along with her characters, had been overshadowed by him. He was the one to whom all the others were compared, and more often than not they were found wanting. And as she had yet to create a character equal to Darcy, she too sometimes felt bested by him.

  These feelings combined with the sadness that still clung to her, and she felt herself growing very angry. She was angry that Walter’s mother had interfered in their lives, that Miriam was planning the destruction of Byron and herself, that Beverly was taunting her with the ridiculous festival, and that Jessica Abernathy regarded her with distaste. She was angry with Kelly for abandoning her, with Ned for his lack of self-control, and with Julia Baxter for butchering her novel. Most of all, she was angry with herself for allowing it all to happen and for not standing up for herself sooner.

  She thought of all of these things as she took aim at the heart-shaped target floating next to Ned’s shoulder. She hadn’t thrown a ball in years, and it felt odd in her hand, too big and unwieldy. She pushed these thoughts from her mind as she pulled her arm back and flung the ball.

  It hit the target smack in the center. For a moment Ned’s surprised face stared back at her. Then he dropped into the tank with a colossal splash. As he flailed around trying to get his footing, Sarah’s arms went around Jane’s waist and she said, “I knew you could do it! The heart helped you!”

  “Yes, it did,” Jane agreed as the thunderous applause of the crowd filled her ears. Then Beverly Shrop was beside them.

  “It looks like we have a winner!” she crowed, glancing sideways at Jane. “And here’s your prize.” She thrust a giant stuffed teddy bear into Jane’s arms. It was made of red plush and had a pair of white wings sewn to the back. In one paw was a bow and arrow. It was hideous.

  “Now if you’ll all follow me I’ll take you to the outdoor theater for a pantomime production of ‘Dick Whittington and His Cat.’ ”

  “Outdoor theater,” Lucy sneered. “She means the ring where the 4-H kids show their lambs.”

  “Still, ‘Dick Whittington and His Cat’ is quite good,” said Jane.

  “Oh, it is,” Byron agreed. “I played Sarah the cook in that one at the Surrey Theatre.” To Ben, who was listening with a puzzled expression on his face, he said, “You know, I was quite a respected panto dame at one time. My Widow Twankey was the talk of Drury Lane.”

  Jane began to laugh, not even caring that Byron’s slip would require some explanation and coverup later. Then she saw that they were being watched. A dozen yards away, Walter and his mother stood observing them. Miriam’s face was set in a stony frown, while Walter’s eyes were fixed on Jane as he ignored the strawberry ice cream that was dripping from the untouched cone and down his hand.

  Lucy followed Jane’s gaze. “Hi, Walter!” she called out. “Hi, Ms. Ellenberg!”

  Walter waved, but Miriam turned and walked away. A moment later Walter followed her, giving Jane one last glance as he went after his mother.

  “What a mama’s boy,” Lucy said.

  “He isn’t really,” Jane said. “It’s just that he … it’s complicated,” she said inadequately.

  “He needs to tell her to mind her own business,” said Lucy.

  Jane ignored the remark, turning to Sarah. “I believe this belongs to you,” she said, handing the girl the bear.

  “Me?” Sarah said. “But I didn’t throw the ball.”

  “Ah, but if you hadn’t given me a good-luck charm, I never would have hit the target,” said Jane.

  Sarah accepted the bear, putting her arms around it and squeezing. “Thank you!” she said.

  “You’re very welcome,” said Jane. She looked at Byron. “Now let’s go home. I’ve had enough romance for one day.”

  As they walked back to the parking lot and their cars, Jane looked at the people having fun around her. Some she was sure were there because any fair was an opportunity for fun. Others, though, were there because they were in love with romance, with the idea of love. These were the ones she envied. How wonderful it would be to be so innocent again, to believe that love really would conquer all. It was sentimental and foolish to think such a thing. She knew that. All the same, she wished she could be one of those people.

  “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Jane almost ran into Jessica Abernathy, who stood in front of her holding a corn dog on a stick. She surveyed the group as if checking them for weapons, then said, “I thought you would be home working on your novel.”

  Byron came to Jane’s defense. “We thought it would do Jane some good to get out of the house for a few hours,” he said. “You know, to unlock her brain.”

  “I had no idea her brain had locked up,” Jessica remarked. “That would certainly explain some things.”

  “I’m going home right now,” said Jane. “To work.”

  Jessica smiled. “Excellent,” she said. “I’ll expect to see some chapters tomorrow.”

  “Have a lovely time at the fair,” Byron said to Jessica.

  The editor put the tip of the corn dog between her lips and bit it off. “Oh, I intend to,” she said as she began to chew.

  “How I hate that woman!” Jane exclaimed as they walked away.

  “Daddy says hating people is wrong,” said Sarah. “Isn’t it, Daddy?”

  Ben looked at Jane. “Well …”

  “Your father is absolutely right,” Jane said quickly. “I shouldn’t say I hate her.”

  “But you do,” said Sarah. “I can tell.” She walked in silence for a few moments, then added, “I don’t like that woman either. She looks mean.”

  “She’s not mean,” Byron said. “She’s evil.”

  “Like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz?” Sarah asked.

  “Worse,” said Byron as Jane motioned for him to shut up.

  Sarah looked up at Jane. “Maybe somebody will drop a house on her,” she said brightly.

  Jane glared at Byron, who grinned, patted Sarah on the head, and said, “We can only hope.”

  JANE GLANCED SLEEPILY AT THE MAILBOX ICON ON HER COMPUTER screen. Seeing that she had three messages, she clicked on the box to see what had arrived during the night. Maybe one of them will be something thrilling, she thought as she yawned. She touched the tip of her right fang with her tongue and vaguely wondered if it might be wearing down. Tom, seated on the desk, twitched his tail over the keyboard and meowed.

  “Don’t start with me,” Jane told the cat. “Now that I know how to listen in, I know all the horrible things you and Jasper say about me when you think I’m not listening.”

  This was not true. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to pick up anything from either of them. But she suspected them—at least Tom—of harboring traitorous thoughts. Jasper, being a dog and a good-natured one, was less likely to be critical of her, she imagined. Still, she wanted them to think she might be on to them.

  Tom blinked his big golden eyes, licked a paw, and turned his back on Jane to lie down in a puddle of sunlight that came in through the window. Whether he’d understood or her not, Jane didn’t know. Maddening beast, she thought in the direction of Tom’s back.

  She looked at the three messages awaiting her. The first was a note from one Mr. Raymond Obatangu, the son of an unfo
rtunately deceased official of the Nigerian government, asking her assistance in transferring $3.8 million from his father’s accounts into an American bank. She deleted this and went to the second email, which was a bill from the electric company. Finally she opened the third message and read it.

  Jane:

  Meet me this morning at 8:30 at Sunnyside Up. Bring chapters.

  Jessica

  Jane groaned. “When she said she wanted chapters tomorrow I thought she meant whenever,” she told Tom, whose lack of reaction suggested he didn’t care about her problems. Jane looked at the clock and groaned again. It was 7:45. And she wasn’t dressed.

  She considered not going and then telling Jessica she’d received the email too late to make the meeting. But she was already in hot water with her editor, and she had to at least try to make the relationship work.

  “Of course I have no chapters to show her,” Jane informed Jasper as she pulled open her dresser drawers in search of clothes. “So she’s going to be annoyed with me anyway.”

  She pulled a black turtleneck over her head. “Why is she still here, anyway?” she asked the spaniel, who was now lying on his back with his front paws flopped over and his ears splayed on the carpet. “Does she really think breathing down my neck is going to get me to write any faster?”

  She slipped her foot into one leg of a pair of blue jeans, repeating the process on the other side. “As far as she’s concerned, I can’t write,” she told Jasper as she pulled the jeans up and zipped them closed. “Which of course is all thanks to your former mistress,” she added, pointing a finger at the dog.

  Jasper rolled onto his side and looked at her with his big brown eyes. “Don’t give me that look,” Jane told him. “I only rescued you from her because Lucy made me.”

  The nub that was Jasper’s tail wiggled furiously. Jane knelt beside the dog and ruffled his ears. “I can’t even imagine what it was like for you living with Our Gloomy Friend,” she said as Jasper licked her hand. “You poor thing.”

  Five minutes later she had brushed her hair, found her shoes, and located the car keys. Fifteen minutes after that she was pulling into a parking spot outside Sunnyside Up. Being a Saturday, the popular breakfast place was already busy. Jane went in and searched the tables of customers for Jessica. She wasn’t there.

  Jane looked at her watch. It was 8:31. She could easily imagine Jessica leaving precisely one second after 8:30, just so she could tell Jane she’d waited for her but given up when Jane was late. It would be just one more strike against Jane.

  She decided to wait outside. The inside of the restaurant smelled like bacon and old coffee, and it was upsetting her stomach. Jane suspected she might need to feed soon. Often when her body needed blood she found herself more sensitive than usual to odors. Now, for instance, she could easily make out the scent of half-cooked yolk as someone broke open a lightly fried egg. It mingled with the smells of syrup and hash browns, making her feel queasy.

  It was better outside, although there she had to contend with two elderly men who, forbidden to smoke inside, had brought their coffee outdoors and were now seated on a bench puffing defiantly on their cigarettes. The smell filled Jane’s nostrils and made her gag.

  “You know, you’re not supposed to smoke here either,” she said testily.

  One of the old men waved her away. “I’ve been smoking since before you were born, missy,” he said. “Hasn’t hurt me any.”

  Jane fixed him with a stare. “That’s a matter of opinion,” she said. “And just so you know, I’ve been dealing with nasty old men since before your great-great-great-great-grandfathers were born. Now put those out before I get cranky.”

  The men looked at her for a moment, then stubbed out their cigarettes and hurried back into the restaurant, where no doubt their wives were enjoying being able to have a conversation without their husbands interrupting with talk of sports and lawn mowers. Jane felt only the slightest bit of remorse for having scolded the old fellows, but she didn’t miss their cigarettes at all. Nor did she feel so much guilt that she was prevented from taking a seat on the bench they’d vacated.

  She had been sitting there for approximately fifteen minutes (which she thought was the shortest amount of time good manners required she wait for Jessica) and was about to return home when Sherman Applebaum appeared. As always, he was dressed impeccably, this morning in a brown suit of summer-weight wool complete with waistcoat, a crisp white shirt, a silk tie in a subtle pattern of tiny orange and gold flowers against a pink background, and a smart brown herringbone ivy cap.

  “Don’t you look dapper this morning,” Jane said.

  “Ah,” Sherman said, sounding genuinely delighted to see her. “There you are.” He took a seat next to her on the bench. “It’s going to be a lovely day,” he said.

  “It certainly looks that way,” said Jane. “And where are you on your way to or from? Church?”

  Sherman looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “My dear, you know me better than that,” he said. “God and I have an understanding. I don’t bother him and he doesn’t bother me. I dare say that might change one of these days, but I don’t intend to be the one who blinks first.”

  Jane laughed. “If anyone can win that contest, it’s you,” she said.

  “Indeed,” said Sherman. “Also, I should point out that this is Saturday. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Of course it is,” Jane said. “I’ve been so busy, what with the film and the new book, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Which reminds me, I owe you an apology. I haven’t spoken to Julia Baxter about that interview yet. I just haven’t had a chance.”

  “No worries about that,” said Sherman. “At the moment I’m more interested in the young woman they found floating lifeless in the dunk tank at the festival.”

  “What?” Jane said. “Who?”

  “One Jessica Abernathy,” said Sherman. “I believe you’ve made her acquaintance.”

  Jane felt her jaw drop. “Jessica Abernathy?” she said. “She’s dead?”

  “Very much so,” said Sherman. “Although one has to wonder how she could have drowned in water no deeper than her shoulders. It seems to me she might have saved herself a great deal of difficulty by simply standing up. Of course, someone might have held her down. I wouldn’t know.”

  Jane was still processing Sherman’s news and wasn’t paying attention to his chatter. “You’re absolutely sure it’s Jessica Abernathy?” she said.

  Sherman nodded. “Officer Pete Bear told me himself not twenty minutes ago. He’s the one who fished her out.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure she’s dead?” said Jane.

  “Well, I’m not a physician,” Sherman replied. “But Officer Bear was kind enough to let me have a peek at her, and she certainly looked dead to me. Quite blue around the face. Not at all pleasant to look at. Also, and I hope you’ll forgive me for mentioning this, given your attachment to Walter, but I distinctly remember that Evelyn Fletcher looked very much the same when she was pulled from the lake.”

  At the mention of Walter’s deceased wife Jane felt a pang of sadness. Evelyn had drowned during a Fourth of July picnic a little more than fifteen years earlier. Jane of course had never met her, having lived in Brakeston for only a decade, but when Walter spoke about her (which he did very rarely) it was with such affection that Jane was sure she would have liked her very much. It was an odd thing to feel for a woman some might consider a rival for Walter’s love, but Jane had never thought of Evelyn in that way. She was simply a part of Walter’s history.

  “It was rude of me to bring up the past,” said Sherman. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Oh,” Jane said, realizing that to Sherman she must appear to be in a daze. “It’s not that. It’s just that, well, I’m actually waiting for Jessica. We were supposed to have breakfast and talk about my book. She’s my—was my—editor.”

  “So I understand,” said Sherman. “Do you have any idea who might
want to do her harm?”

  “Only anyone who’s met her,” Jane said before she could stop herself. She blushed. “That was a terrible thing to say.”

  “It was,” Sherman agreed. “Which is why you must say even more. She sounds like an absolute terror.”

  Jane glanced at Sherman, who she could tell was working very hard not smile. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” she told him with mock reproach.

  “Who better to speak ill of?” he replied. “They’re not around to hear you!”

  Jane bit her lip. Part of her was thrilled to hear that Jessica was no longer going to be a problem. But she also had to wonder who might have killed her, and why.

  “I hesitate to say so,” she told Sherman. “But the only person I can think of who would want her dead is I.”

  “How thrilling,” Sherman said. “It isn’t often I get to sit beside a murderess. It will make a wonderful chapter for my memoirs.” He patted Jane’s knee. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe you have it in you.”

  You have no idea, Jane thought, although she appreciated the sentiment. “I wonder how long it will take for the news to spread,” she said.

  “That is also an intriguing subject,” Sherman answered. “It seems the police are going to hold off on making an announcement until Monday.”

  “Monday?” Jane said. “Why?”

  “They don’t want to interrupt the delightful festival that has taken over our fair town,” said Sherman. “It’s bringing some much-needed capital to our coffers, and they fear news of a possible murder might spark needless concern among the more sensitive among us.”

  “But what if the murderer strikes again?” said Jane. “They should let people know what’s going on.”

  Sherman nodded. “I agree with you on that point,” he said. “Do you recall in the movie Jaws when the town council voted to overrule the sheriff’s wishes and keep news of the shark’s presence a secret so as not to spoil the lucrative summer tourist trade?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen the movie,” said Jane, surprised that Sherman had.