War and Peas

not so much that I miss her, even though I do. It’s Mr. Abbot I feel so sorry for.“
    “The building architect? Why?“
    “Because they were engaged.“
    “Oh, that’s right,“ Jane said.
    “Well, not exactly engaged. I mean, they’d been sort of engaged a couple times, but I think they were planning to announce at this ceremony that they were really and truly engaged. And now she’s dead and he couldn’t even stand to come.“ She dissolved in tears again.
    Jane patted her shoulder helplessly. Shelley said, “Sort of engaged? Why ‘sort of’?”
    Jane handed Sharlene another tissue. Sharlene mopped her eyes and said, “I don’t know exactly. They’d dated off and on ever since they started working together. Business lunches and things at first, then real dates. And once, they even went up to Wisconsin for the weekend. But after that they didn’t see each other for a while except at the office. At least I don’t think they did, and I kept Ms. Palmer’s schedule for her. Even her personal meetings.“
    “What was the problem?“ Shelley asked bluntly.
    Sharlene shrugged. “I don’t know. But it made Mr. Abbot awfully unhappy. Anybody could tell that.“
    “Didn’t you ever ask her?“ Jane asked.
    Sharlene was horrified. “Oh, no! I would never have done that! It was personal.”
    Jane thought for a minute. “Maybe she was just reluctant to give up her freedom, do you think? I believe a lot of professional women with good jobs are.“
    “Maybe,“ Sharlene said. “But I don’t think Mr. Abbot would have expected her to quit working. He was really proud of her.”
    Shelley had been listening silently, but now asked, “Did you tell the police about Ms. Palmer’s schedule book?“
    “No. Why would they care about that?“ Sharlene replied.
    “Because,“ Jane said gently, “somebody shot her. Maybe somebody in that book.”

Six

    Jane arrived at the museum at ten the next morning. Normally she and Shelley would have shared a ride, but Shelley had an early-morning dental appointment. Jane used her friend’s absence as an excuse to avoid going directly to work and strolled around the ground floor of the museum for a few minutes before reporting in. She’d been there before, of course, but only as a room mother—a.k.a. unpaid security guard—accompanying various grade-school classes. On those visits her attention had been fully on the children—keeping them from getting lost or handling things they shouldn’t touch. She hadn’t had time to notice the exhibits.
    It was quite a charming place, now that she was able to really look at it. The museum was badly overstuffed, but she liked old-fashioned museums that were crowded with alcoves and dead ends full of surprises. There was, no doubt, a lot to be said for the more modern facilities with plenty of open space and displays featuring a single, well-explained item, but Jane personally preferred the garage-sale look.
    As she was examining a Victorian Hair Wreath, which was both fascinating and revolting, she noticed Casper Snellen standing in the doorway of the room. He was obviously looking for someone, but his gaze passed over her as if she were merely another dusty display. To her relief, he turned on his heel and left. A few minutes later, Sharlene came into the room carrying a posterboard. Jane oozed around behind a piece of farm machinery out of sight. She wanted a few more minutes of just looking around before starting to work. Sharlene was intent on making a bit of room for setting up the poster and didn’t even look in Jane’s direction.
    “Hello? Do you work here?“ an older man’s voice said.
    “Yes, sir, I do. Can I help you?”
    Jane peeked out from behind the machinery. The man was a dapper elderly individual in a retirement “uniform“—golf shirt, polyester trousers, and a soft khaki hat.
    “Well, no. But I wanted to talk to someone here. My wife and I are doing a little traveling. Got a brand-new mobile home, you see. Visiting our daughter and her kids while they’re out of school for the summer. And I’ve always wanted to come here.“
    “How nice,“ Sharlene said with apparently sincere warmth.
    After a rather lengthy monologue on the joys of motor homes, retirement, and grandchildren, with a mercifully short excursion into Medicare injustices, the elderly man got to the point. “See, I was a boy in Arkansas during the Depression and have never forgotten Snellen’s Little Beauty.“
    “Little