The House of Seven Mabels

ex-husband, persecuting her, I’d guess.“
    “I don’t know if that’s true. If he had the kind of connections to hire someone sleazy, he’d have them plant a real bomb, wouldn’t he?“
    “Who could tell?“ Shelley said. “Except for Sandra’s death, which could—barely could, I should say—be an accident, nobody’s been hurt seriously by any of this. Even Jacqueline wouldn’t have been knocked out except that she jumped back from the plug, fell, and hit her head.“
    Before leaving the scene, Mel went upstairs to survey the damage to the Sheetrock. Sure enough, most of it was already contaminated by Carl and Evaline’s having patched up most of the damage. Dudley was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and glaring around the room. “You’d have thought they’d of had the sense to tell me about this. I wish I’d never taken on this job.“
    “I wish I hadn’t been assigned to it,“ Mel admitted.
    As he was approaching his car, the scene-of-the-crime crew showed up again. Mel left instructions as to where a coal chute must have come out. “It’s concealed with a nasty bank of prickly shrubs you’re going to have to cut down. But look carefully for anything fresh that’s snagged in them.“
    By the time Mel got back to the station, he had a call from the head of the group. “We found mostly animal fur. But there were a few bits of plain white cottony paper. The sort of stuff you’d find in those outfits that painters sometimes wear. Available at almost any hardware store. The lab will have to confirm this, of course. No fingerprints inside or out.“
    “I guess I should be thanking you for this information, but I can’t bring myself to do so. Sounds to me like we’re striking out again.“

Twenty-one

    A day staying off her foot made Jane a new woman. She’d gone out to the garage and found one of the old crutches so she could move around a little without touching her right foot to the floor. By evening, she could honestly report to Shelley and Mel that she didn’t need to go back to the hospital to have it X-rayed again.
    Mel dropped by to check on her after dinner and asked if there was any kind of dessert around.
    “Just grocery-store cookies. But even Shelley says they’re edible. Finish them off before I have to.“
    He sat down with a glass of milk, polished off the last three cookies, and sighed. “I’m sick to death of that house of Bitsy’s. It’s been three weeks.“
    “It hasn’t,“ Jane said with a laugh.
    “Okay. Maybe a week, but it seems like a lot longer. And there’s still no irrefutable evidence of a serious crime.“
    “Not even Sandra’s death?“
    “Except for her missing purse, there’s nothing solid to make anyone think it was murder. It could have just been an accident.“
    “It’s more than the purse, Mel. She was disliked by nearly everyone working for her. And who knows how many other people she’s crossed paths with who had even better reason to hate her.“
    “But Jane, the world’s full of obnoxious people who irritate the hell out of everyone and nobody murders them. They just get older and more obnoxious. I have an eighty-four-year-old great-uncle who’s a living example.“
    “Didn’t the bomb scare count as a crime?“ Jane asked.
    “Only marginally. It wasn’t a real bomb. If we knew who did it and were in England, we could get him or her for ‘wasting police time.’ The rest of it could count merely as damaging pranks. Even that would be cause only for a lawsuit, not a criminal conviction.“
    “It wasn’t Thomasina’s missing toolbox, I assume?“
    “No. Hers was a big yellow plastic one,“ Mel said. “The one in the basement was steel.“
    Jane brushed the cookie crumbs onto a napkin she wadded up to throw away later. “The thing I don’t understand is why the pranks have continued beyond Sandra’s death—whatever the cause of it. I assumed they were all aimed at discrediting her, but now it looks as if Bitsy’s the target.“
    “I suspect you’re right, but again, there’s no proof of it.“
    “What about her ex-husband?“
    “He’s sleaze,“ Mel said, getting up and roaming fretfully around the kitchen as if looking for a solution—perhaps under the morning paper on the counter or under a pot. “And he makes no attempt to disguise his contempt for her. And it’s rumored that some of his clients are big-money mafia. But it’s only rumor and we don’t have any evidence that would