Silence of the Hams jj-7 Read online

  Silence of the Hams

  ( Jane Jeffry - 7 )

  Jill Churchill

  When loathed attorney Robert Stonecipher is felled by a rack of hams at the opening of a neighborhood deli where Jane's son works, she and her friend, Shelley, begin snooping. With reluctant help from her boyfriend, homicide detective Mel VanDyne, Jane uncovers plenty of skeletons in closets, all the while trying to find time to restock her own pantry, chaperone the school's grand night party and make peace with her teenage daughter. Complicated by plenty of twists and seasoned with wit, the investigation of Stonecipher's death should build reader appeal for Churchill's first hardcover, War and Peas, scheduled for release in November.

  Jill Churchill

  Silence Of The Hams

  1

  The principal droned on, mispronouncing one name after another. Jane Jeffry glanced down at the program in her hand. Eleven-eighteenths of the way through, she estimated. Jane glanced at her best friend, Shelley, sitting next to her on the gym bleachers. Shelley had an amazing capacity for looking alert, whereas Jane was going to be black and blue tomorrow from pinching herself to stay awake.

  She nudged Shelley, whose startled expression betrayed the fact that her mind had been miles away from the Chicago suburb high school where they were enduring awards night. Jane felt a little guilty about bringing Shelley back to reality. But only a little.

  “Remind me again why we're doing this," Jane whispered.

  “Because we were too stupid to read the directions on the birth control pill package?" Shelley suggested. "Because we thought babies were cute and didn't know this was ahead of us? Because we wanted to populate the world with little Jeffrys and Nowacks? Because—"

  “Shelley! Get a grip!"

  “Yes, yes. I'm sorry. It's just that this is the worst! I swear they rig this thing to give some idiotic award or another to every single child in the school. Look at this bunch! Best lap running times for every single gym class. There must be sixty of them! And the next batch is best Spanish accent in each class. Not best grade, mind you, best accent. That's for the poor little dolts who don't know a word of the language, but can roll their Rs. I approve of the idea of trying to make kids feel good about themselves, but why do I have to sit through it all? I'd rather spend two hours in the labor room!”

  Jane had heard this tirade before. Had helped hone and polish it, in fact. She and Shelley each had a daughter doing this for the first time. Jane had another son graduating this year, but each of them also had a son starting junior high next year and were going to be serving another six-year sentence.

  “No," Jane mused. "This is bad, but Halloween is the worst. Costumes," she said with a shudder. "And all that revolting candy that fires them up on sugar highs for a week. And then the thugs that come to the door to pillage and come back later to smash every pumpkin on the block. At least all our kids are old enough now to be past the costume stage.”

  A woman sitting behind them and eavesdropping leaned forward and said, "You don't really know about hell unless you have a child with a birthday on Christmas.”

  Jane and Shelley groaned in sympathy.

  It was another hour before they escaped. "How did your husband get out of coming to this?" Jane asked as she joined the throng heading for the door.

  “Oh, Paul's on a business trip."

  “Wasn't he on a business trip the same week last year? And the year before?”

  Shelley nodded. "Poor man doesn't think I notice how conveniently that works out for him. But he's afraid I might and he always brings home a really nice gift, just in case," she said. "Last year it was those diamond ear‑ rings," she said with a smile.

  Finally it was over and they walked home, having determined that the closest parking places to the school were likely to be their own driveways anyway. It was a lush spring night. "As much pride as I take in being the most sedentary person in a four-state area, I'm glad you suggested walking," Jane said. "Only I feel like I should be running, just to get ahead on this week."

  “That bad, huh?" Shelley leaned down and plucked a long blade of grass as they strolled along. She fitted it between her thumbs and blew on it fruitlessly. "I used to be able to make a killer noise that way," she said sadly.

  Jane ignored this insight into her friend's history. "The last week of school is always hideous. Every team and club has a dinner or party, there are ghastly recitals and performances, these award things, and everything that's starting for the summer has a kickoff activity. It's the best argument I know for year-round school. And this year, of course, is Mike's graduation and the opening of the deli."

  “The deli? Why does that involve you?”

  “Me? It involves you, too. You promised!”

  “I never!"

  “You did. Remember last week when your battery died and I drove your car pool?”

  Shelley muttered an obscenity. "I still don't see why we have to go to the grand opening of a deli. The opening of a dress shop, maybe, or a travel agency that's giving away a free trip to some island where there are no children allowed—"

  “We're attending the deli opening because my firstborn has a summer job at the deli and it's motherly to rally around—"

  “But I'm not Mike's mother," Shelley grumbled.

  “—and mainly because Conrad and Sarah Baker are nice people who need all the support they can get."

  “Oh-ho. Look out," Shelley said, pointing ahead of them on the sidewalk. A terribly fit, handsome man in his late forties was jogging toward them. He had one hand on his throat, apparently taking his pulse, and was looking at the watch on his other arm as he ran. He never did look up as he ran right between them.

  “Excuse me?" Shelley called after him.

  He turned, flashed a Hollywood-ish smile almost as showy and brilliant as his impressive prematurely white hair, and waved at them. It wasn't an apologetic wave, more of an acknowledgment of minions who had done well in staying out of his way.

  At least, that was Jane's take. "He's a prize jerk," she said.

  “Who was that?" a voice called out of the darkness.

  Jane and Shelley detoured to join their neighbor Suzie, who was sitting on her front porch. Suzie Williams was a big woman, platinum blond and terribly frank. Jane thought of her as a nineties version of Mae West, but stunningly beautiful. Not only were they neighbors, but Suzie had a son the same grade as Jane's youngest and Shelley's boy. They'd all sat through a seemingly endless number of school plays, Cub Scout pack meetings, and summer softball and soccer games together.

  “Are you sitting here in the dark trying to waylay men?" Jane asked Suzie, joining her on the porch.

  “Worse things could happen," Suzie said with a dazzling smile. "So who was he?"

  “You don't want to even consider it, Suzie," Shelley said. "He's Robert Stonecipher and he's a prize bastard."

  “Stonecipher," Suzie mused. "I've heard of him, I think. An attorney, isn't he? Well, he might have enough money to take me away from the dizzying whirl of selling girdles for a living."

  “Probably not," Jane said. "He's got a wife and, I hear, a girlfriend."

  “A girlfriend?" Shelley asked. "Who?”

  “My source didn't know," Jane answered. "Oh, wait. He's the PCA, isn't he?" Suzie asked.

  “PCA?"

  “Politically Correct Asshole," Suzie said. "The one who's always trying to push weird stuff through the town council?"

  “Right," Jane said. "Cat leash laws. No smoking anywhere, ever. Widening all the roads to provide running and biking lanes—"

  “—four handicapped parking places at every place of business, twenty-mile-an-hour speed zones throughout the whole of the town—" Shelley added.


  “—and full nutritional information on all restaurant menus," Suzie said. "I remember the slugfest over that one. If I wanted to eat healthy crap, which I don't, I'd stay home and fix it. Oh, and the crusade about the R-rated videos? He wanted to outlaw their rentals."

  “You mean X-rated?" Shelley asked.

  “No, I do not. There's all sorts of rules about X-rated. He wanted to make it a criminal offense to rent an R-rated movie. Jeez! If it weren't for R-rated movies, I'd have no sex life at all!"

  “His latest effort was trying to shut down the Bakers' new deli," Jane said.

  “Deli? Oh, that house at the end of the next block? How are they getting away with putting a business in a residential area anyway?" Suzie asked.

  “Some quirk in the zoning laws," Jane said.

  _ "Mike told me about it. He's working as a delivery boy for them this summer, you know. Apparently the house was the first on the block — an old farmstead. During World War II the people who lived there had a big garden and raised chickens and sold vegetables and eggs at a roadside stand. I guess they were still doing it when the township was incorporated or whatever townships do and so there was a grandfather clause.”

  Shelley had sat down on the other side of Suzie and suddenly said, "Oh, yes! When I was a kid growing up here, my mother bought eggs from them. I'd completely forgotten that."

  “I guess everybody had," Jane said. "When Conrad's wife and her sister inherited the house, they came back here to sell the place — did you know Conrad or Sarah, Shelley?"

  “Only slightly. Conrad was two years ahead of me and Sarah was a year behind. Grace Axton — that's Sarah's sister — was in my class though."

  “Anyway, Mike says Conrad did some research and discovered that the zoning had never been changed. It's something strange, like 'residential, with an exception to sell food products.' I mean, you couldn't put in a used car lot or anything."

  “Conrad Baker figured this out himself?" Suzie asked. "I've run into him a couple times and I always thought he was pretty dim. Nice man, but about as bright as a breadstick.”

  Shelley said, "Oh, no. He's really bright. Just quiet. Back in high school he won all sorts of awards — in the days when awards really meant something. He went to college for two or three years, got in on the tail end of the hippie thing. He and Sarah got married right after she graduated and they went off to Oregon or someplace to be flower children. They ended up working in logging camps as cooks."

  “How do you know all this stuff?" Jane asked, surprised, as she often was, by Shelley's memory for gossip. She supposed that came from having lived in the same place for so long. Jane had grown up a State Department brat, never living in one place for more than a year and often for less. When she married, she had been determined that her children would stay put and form the kind of lifelong friendships and connections that Shelley proved were possible.

  “My mother was friends with Sarah and Grace's grandmother. Bridge club," Shelley explained.

  “Seems to me that somebody mentioned the Bakers having lost a child, too," Suzie said.

  “Yes, I've heard that, too," Shelley said. "But I don't know any of the details. One of my husband's sisters once missed a period and has carried on for years about her 'miscarriage' so I always take remarks like that with a grain of salt."

  “Well, whatever their background, Conrad's certainly a good cook," Jane said. "He's been practicing for the opening and selling some of the stuff at cost to Mike. We had pastrami sandwiches last night that were fantastic. He's going to sell some of that trendy, healthy stuff — soyburgers and tofu chicken, which sounds revolting. But he's also got a gadget for making potato chips. Puts a little garlic sea‑ soning in the oil and they're wonderful."

  “Grease, salt, and starch. What more could a person ask?" Suzie said with a laugh. "So the handsome jogger was the one leading the fight against opening this heavenly place? Why would he care?"

  “Because he paid far too much for his house and now he's trying to drag the neighborhood up to his standards?" Shelley said. "His wife, Rhonda, told me. They'd moved here from someplace in California and the price of the house looked great compared to California prices. It wasn't until they got moved in and were knee-deep in a lot of very expensive renovations that they realized they'd paid far too much. She didn't say so exactly, but suggested that he thought he could 'improve' the whole community and make his house worth what he paid. Having what he calls a 'market' in the middle of a residential area probably looks like a death knell to his plans."

  “That, and he's just a natural-born grandstander, I think," Jane said. "Not only thinks he's superior to everyone else, but wants to make sure we all know it. I went to see him once and didn't like him at all."

  “Went to see him? What do you mean?" Shelley asked.

  “When my husband died I had to figure out how to handle the insurance money and Steve's portion of the profits from the family pharmacies, so I talked to a couple lawyers about setting up trusts for the kids' college expenses. Somebody suggested I consult the PCA, as Suzie so aptly calls him, so I did. He asked all sorts of questions — well, you'd expect that — but after a while I realized a lot of the questions weren't relevant. It took me a while. You know what a basket case I was for a while back then. By the time I realized what was going on, I'd blurted out all kinds of stuff about the pharmacies' finances, how much I'd invested myself back when I got that little inheritance and the business was having money problems, even the fact that the pharmacies had been having a long-running feud with the IRS about some deductions. I guess I thought he was just trying to be chummy and put me at my ease, or maybe trying to get a really complete view of the situation, but after a while, it started making me uneasy. He was asking about my relationship with my mother-in-law, about whom I said a few nasty things, I'm afraid. He even wanted to know who I inherited the money from, stuff like that."

  “Why did he need to know that?" Shelley asked.

  “I don't know. But it was creepy. And he was taking notes of everything I said. I quit pouring out personal information, asked a few questions, then got out of there," Jane said.

  “But Jane, lots of people would love being asked all about themselves," Shelley said. "I'm always getting survey calls on the phone from people who are apparently amazed that I won't tell them my age and the family income. They whine about how the survey won't be valid without it, which leads me to think that other people are so flattered at being asked their opinions that they do give that information.”

  Jane laughed. "Little do the surveyors know that there are people who would happily pay you to keep your opinions to yourself. Like the school principal, the PTA president, the entire IRS, that police officer who tried to give you a parking ticket—”

  Shelley sat up very straight. "That wasn't an opinion. It was a definition. Parking and standing are two distinctly different things and the officer agreed with me — eventually."

  “Agreed? I heard he was weeping openly when you got through with him," Jane said.

  Suzie laughed. "Here I am lurking in the dark, trying to catch a rich husband, and all I catch is the two of you! What a waste of a beautiful spring evening.”

  "So what did you decide about Mike's graduation gift?" Shelley asked a little later.

  Shelley and Jane had determined that after their ordeal they were richly entitled to a cup of coffee and a donut and were sitting at Jane’s kitchen table, indulging. Jane's big yellow dog, Willard, was watching every bite either of them took, hoping for crumbs.

  Jane leaned back and looked into the living room to make sure Mike wasn't there. "Oh, a car. I haven't got any choice. This is a delivery job he has this summer and Conrad can't afford to supply a vehicle. If Mike takes my car, I'm stranded. Katie's teaching at the Vacation Bible School and can walk, but Todd's got soccer team and guitar lessons, and I can't expect somebody else to drive him all the time. Mike will need a car for college anyway. He's determined to go to school in-state and come h
ome often. I think he feels like I can't get along without him nearby."

  “Can you?”

  Jane laughed. "I'm not a complete incompetent even if I can't make policemen cry."

  “I thought your mother-in-law had offered to get him a car," Shelley said.

  “She didn't exactly offer. She dangled the possibility in front of me, but she was planning to get a new car herself and give him her old gray battleship of a Lincoln. He'd rather die than be seen driving an old-lady car like that, and I can't say that I blame him. So I. convinced her I'd get him a car and she's getting him a computer instead."

  “You can afford it, can't you? After all, you get Steve's third of the pharmacy profits and they seem to be doing well. Didn't they just open another one?"

  “Yes, but I'm still putting half of it into the kids' college trusts, so my budget is pretty tight. The scary thing is, it's only three years until I face the same thing with Katie, and in the meantime my poor old station wagon will have to be replaced. It's practically an antique now.”

  Shelley shuddered. "Imagine our girls driving!”

  Jane bit her tongue to keep from replying. If Denise turned out to be the same kind of driver her mother was, the neighborhood had a great deal to fear. Shelley's natural competitiveness reached its highest and worst point when she got behind the wheel of a car. The act of turning a key in the ignition triggered something wild and savage in her otherwise ladylike soul.

  Shelley, guessing Jane's thoughts, grinned. "So what kind of car?"

  “Uncle Jim's letting me know. He's been taking Mike with him, pretending he's looking for a car himself, and finding out what kinds Mike likes."

  “But you're going to go buy it?”

  Jane put her head in her hands. "I'm afraid so. I'm dreading it.”

  Shelley's eyes sparkled. "Oh, it could be fun."

  “Fun? Are you crazy?”

  Shelley grinned. "A feather in my cap. I've never made a car salesman cry. Yet.”