Good Clean Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 1)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “Just forget about it, Jane. I’m sorry.”

  “What difference will a few months make…to us?” Jane had difficulty getting the words out. On the one hand, he wanted to date her now, and in her heart, she agreed. She didn’t want to wait twelve weeks either, when she knew—what did she know?

  She dropped her eyes. All she could say for sure was that she really could love him, if she had the chance. On the other hand, he wanted her to drop out of college for him, and that was completely out of the question. She lifted her eyes to his again. She was too old to let her feelings for a boy she just met direct her decisions.

  “You should transfer to university, Jane. You are so smart.” His eyes were mesmerizing, ringed in thick black eyelashes. “You could take the credits you have now and transfer. My one class wouldn’t make any difference at all.”

  Transfer. University. Hazel eyes. Her head was swimming. She had avoided boys for two years. Studiously avoided them. University wasn’t waiting, the mission field was.

  He was so close now that she could feel his warm breath in the frosty air. “Just think about it?” His voice was low and quiet. One hand was on the back of her neck, his fingers laced though her long, straight hair.

  Jane found herself nodding, against her better judgment.

  She closed her eyes and he kissed her, with firm, gentle lips. It was just a moment, and then he hovered away from her lips, ever so slightly. She leaned in and found his lips again. Her whole body trembled.

  Isaac pulled away again, just a few inches. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His nose bumped hers as he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

  Jane bit her lip. She shouldn’t have done it either, but she was glad she had. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll think about it. I just don’t know.”

  “Please forget I said it. I was impatient. You are worth the wait.”

  “How do you feel about the mission field? I mean truly feel.”

  “It is very, very far away.” Isaac smiled while he said it. “It’s going to take me at least another year to finish my PhD. Maybe two.” His fingers were still entwined in her hair. “If you were to be on the mission field while I was here I would say it was very far away.”

  Jane nodded, her chin trembling. It was a non-answer and she knew it.

  For a long moment all that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves above them and the crackling of the dying fire.

  “It was just an idea.” Isaac turned to the fire, pulling her into the crook of his arm.

  Jane rested her head against his shoulder. Night air that enveloped her smelled of moist earth, campfire smoke, and Isaac’s crisp, button down shirt. She stared at the flames, breathing deeply, trying to memorize everything about the moment.

  Transferring to university was just an idea. An idea just like everyone else’s idea for her life.

  The troubling thing was, when Isaac said it, she liked the idea.

  Oh Lord, she prayed in her heart, help me stay true to your plan, and be only guided by your Holy Spirit. She listened, but no leading whisper responded with the answer to her unspoken questions.

  “How do you kids put out these fires?” Isaac asked.

  Jane straightened up, pulling herself away from his arm that held her. “Last year we kept a bucket of water, but I don’t see it.” She walked around the fire looking for the bucket her old friends had kept handy. She found a shovel. “I guess we just bury it.”

  “Good thing it’s been raining.” Isaac took the shovel from Jane. He turned the dying fire over onto itself. He buried the still glowing embers under shovelfuls of damp earth. When he had finished he stood next to the ring of rocks with his shovel balanced on the pile of earth. “Did I ruin this, Jane?”

  The night was dark without the fire, but she could still see the whisper of steam from the wet soil. “No. You didn’t ruin it.” She watched the steam slowly fade away. The fire was banked, for now. “We were supposed to put it out. Those are the rules.”

  Isaac held her hand as they walked out of the little woods behind the school, but as the chapel came into sight, he dropped it. He paused by the door to the girls’ dorm, where she needed to collect her things. “I’ll see you on Monday? For class?” He smiled, his brows lifted, looking hopeful.

  Jane nodded. She didn’t want him to know how close she was to tears, and her voice would betray her if she tried to speak.

  Isaac quickly looked around. Then he kissed her on the cheek, lingering close to her ear. “Until May, Jane. I can wait until May.” He left before she could say anything.

  Jane watched him walk to his car, his steps light and happy, but they would be, because he didn’t have to choose between his plans for the future and what was beginning to feel a lot like love.

  20

  Sunday came but the sun was nowhere to be seen. Jane pulled her comforter over her head. She had managed to clean all Saturday without interruption. She especially didn’t stop to think about the fireside conversation, at least not too much.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She had thought about the fireside conversation the whole day, nonstop. She thought about dropping out of school while she made breakfast for Jake. She thought about dropping out of school while washing her laundry. She thought about eloping with Isaac while she went grocery shopping, even though that hadn’t been one of her options.

  She wanted nothing more than to stay in bed all day, but it wasn’t happening. Not at the Crawford house. The next best thing to hiding under her blankets all day was driving far, far away. Heading back to Harvest for church in the little school chapel fit the bill perfectly. She got ready for church in a haze, but attempted to pull herself together so she wouldn’t die in a fiery car wreck on the way there.

  She hadn’t anticipated seeing Isaac. She had no reason to think he would attend services at the school where he taught night classes part-time, but when he sat next to her on the old wooden pew she felt waves of relief wash over her, as though in fact, she had only come to Harvest to see him after all.

  When Pastor Barnes took his place at the podium Jane was painfully aware of how close Isaac was sitting next to her. The chapel was packed with students and the couple of dozen families that also called Harvest their church home, but it was obvious that Isaac was sitting close to Jane, and that he was glad about it.

  He put his arm around the back of the pew and leaned over to whisper to her. “Glad you came today. I really didn’t expect to see you. Hoped I would of course, or I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Me, too.” Jane gave him a half smile. From behind her she could hear Trinity and Mina whispering, probably about them.

  Pastor Barnes began a sermon that was sure to be unpopular with the fresh-from-the-nest eighteen-year-olds who made up his school. It must have been an annual tradition because Jane remembered it as basically the same last year. “Honor Your Parents Even though You Don’t Live with Them Anymore.”

  Jane tuned it out and commenced exchanging a lengthy string of notes with Isaac. It felt scandalous, but he had started it with questions about how the Crawfords were doing.

  Suspicious death. Jane scratched on her bulletin. Don’t know how to prove it.

  Do you have to? Isaac responded. Aren’t the police looking into it?

  The autopsy report didn’t indicate they were. Jane felt Pastor Barnes’s eyes on her as she scribbled ‘indicate.’

  What did it say?

  Maybe small fight. Heart attacks. Should I keep looking into this? It was much easier talking about the deaths with Isaac than about her future, or their future.

  You pray. I’ll pray. God knows. Isaac’s answer was a bit theology-student for her. She wanted his personal opinion on it, as time was running out. She wasn’t sure what her role in the Crawford household would be after the funeral.

  I won’t stop praying. Jane passed the note.

  Wait—listen to this. Isaac passed the note, and then nodded at the pastor.

  Jane frowned. What was Pas
tor Barnes saying that was so important?

  “The gift our parents give us is grace—and you know it, you remember your teenage years, if your parents are giving you anything at all right now, it’s a gift of grace—that gift of grace is their wisdom.”

  The congregation chuckled in response.

  “We’re all adults here, some of us young adults, some of us young adults at heart,” the congregation responded with another little laugh, “and we don’t technically have to obey our parents any longer.”

  A young male voice popped out an “Amen,” followed by more chuckling.

  “Obedience isn’t the only way to honor our parents. Our parents are offering us their wisdom. Wisdom gleaned from years of hard experience and bad mistakes. If we are so lucky as to still have parents—”

  Jane’s heart hurt for Jake and Phoebe at those words. They were so young to be facing the world without their parents.

  “If we are so blessed as to still have our parents, we should listen to them. Don’t just nod and smile, but listen. Open your hearts and your ears. When they give you advice, and so long as it doesn’t contradict God’s word, consider taking it.”

  While the bulk of the congregation fidgeted at these words, Isaac nodded along with the sermon like the old folks in the room. It must have been the home-schooled-relates-well-to-adults thing he had going.

  Jane felt awkward. She hadn’t been listening to her parents lately, and wasn’t planning on it. She wanted to honor them though, and listening did sound easier than obeying.

  Isaac passed her another note. The answer, maybe? What do your parents say you should do?

  Jane knew exactly what her parents said she should do. She folded the note in half and tucked it between the pages of her Bible.

  Around the closing song, Jane found herself holding hands with Isaac. She gave his hand a squeeze before they stood up, and then made a quick exit. She didn’t want to face Pastor Barnes after their obvious flirting during his service. She made her way back to her temporary home, determined to bury the nagging issue of listening to her parents under a whole load of housework and murder solving.

  21

  By Monday morning Jane had thoroughly put aside the honoring-her-parents issue. She was immersed in housework. The funeral was just five days away now. Jane had finished the last of the extra tasks on her list, only to be thrown a whole new litany of tasks.

  “All of the silver, Jane. We need it all for the reception. Even if we don’t use it, it is heirloom and we want it out with the buffet. See me immediately when you finish the silver.” Marjory hadn’t looked up from her computer as she spoke.

  Jane had stationed herself in the mudroom. The first batch of the silver service was laid out on the marble counter next to the utility sink. She hadn’t polished silver in at least a year. Each piece took twice as long as she anticipated. While she worked she plotted the paper she would write for Isaac’s class. Now, more then ever, she was determined not to shirk her class work. For this paper, she thought a review of her weeks of practical experience tied to pertinent articles in the journals would do. If she could spend a couple of hours at the school library, she should have a top-notch piece to turn in.

  Jane set an elaborate salad spoon covered in deeply carved grapes on the “polished” side of the counter.

  She could hear voices in the kitchen, but had been trying to ignore them as she worked. She could tell that Phoebe and Jake were arguing. Their voices had risen in anger, and now couldn’t be ignored.

  “You need to stop saying that you hate mom. It looks bad,” Jake said.

  “It’s the truth and I don’t care who knows. You don’t even know how awful she was.”

  “Pheebs, I know more than you think, but you can’t keep saying it, okay? It will get out.”

  “What if it does? The truth shall set us free. It said so in that one movie and they said it at Prez Prep, too.”

  “It’s from the Bible, Phoebe. It means Jesus, not your irrational hate for your mother.”

  “If you had seen what I saw, you wouldn’t say it was irrational.”

  “What you saw, when? What could you have seen to make you so mad? You don’t even live here.” Jake’s voice faded away a little, as though he had stepped out of the room.

  “That’s why I don’t live here. She was hateful.”

  “You’ll regret this, someday, when you realize that she’s never coming back. When you realize you can’t make up from whatever fight you two had. Then you’ll wish that the whole city hadn’t heard you say you hate mom.” Jake’s voice rose again. He was yelling, and close to the mudroom door.

  “I didn’t use to hate mom.”

  “Not until she locked you up.”

  “She didn’t lock me up. I went because I needed to.” Phoebe’s voice was closer now as well. Jane hoped they wouldn’t come into the mudroom. She just wanted to finish the silver and get out.

  “They did everything for you, Phoebe. You can’t go around saying you hated them.”

  “I never said I hated them, Jake, and don’t forget it. Dad was a saint.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He was difficult. He was overbearing. He ruled mom to within an inch of her life. Why else would she and Aunt Marjy spend so much time in Europe?”

  “Because mom was the most selfish person on Earth. You know it’s true.”

  “I don’t know anything.” Jane barely heard the last line, as Jake’s voice dropped to a whisper. She could tell he was still near her door though.

  “I left because I needed help, Jake, and I needed help because mom was a monster. I didn’t know it then, but I do now.”

  “Phoebe…Phoebe. I will give you five thousand dollars if you promise to stop saying you hate mom. Keep whatever you think you know to yourself, and the money is yours.”

  Jane gasped. What did Jake and Phoebe know that was worth five thousand dollars?

  The door popped open. “Jeeze, Jane, didn’t anyone ever teach you not to eavesdrop?”

  “I’m just working, I swear.” Jane kept her eyes on the silver.

  Jake pulled the door shut. “Phoebe spent a month at the hospital—inpatient therapy to deal with the family-crazy thing she has going, and now she thinks she’s a martyr.”

  Jane rubbed the grape leaves on the cake sever. She nodded.

  “I need her to keep her crazy to herself until the loss of our parents stops being a news item. You understand, don’t you?”

  Jane nodded again. What could she say? She was embarrassed for Jake. She had assumed he had been exaggerating just how badly imbalanced his sister was, but from the sounds of the fight, she had serious issues. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Force-feed her her pills? I swear she’s fine when she’s medicated and working out. Soccer has always been great medicine for her, but this stress has really rocked her. After the funeral I’m going to see if she might like to go back to the facility, just to rest.”

  Jane tried to keep the shock off her face. Mental illness was foreign to her—more than foreign. She was trained in counter-culture outreach, not in mental illness.

  Jake chewed on his lip. “I hate to say this, but I think you should know. Rich people tend toward crazy. It’s the inbreeding. I’d stick with the upper-middle class, if I were you.” His joke sounded forced.

  Jane moved the cake server to the polished pile. “What do you think she saw, Jake? Could she have seen your parents fighting the night before they died?”

  “She could have seen anything, I suppose.”

  “She really hates her mom right now. If she saw the fight she might think your mom was responsible for their deaths.”

  “It sounds like that’s what Phoebe thinks, but I couldn’t tell you why.”

  “I heard you offer her money to stay silent. Don’t you think it would be a better investment to pay her to go to a counselor? A professional could help her work out what she saw, help her understand it, and feel better about it.”

&nb
sp; “It’ll take more than a week to work that out. I’ll buy a week of silence, and then she can get the help she needs. Don’t let it worry your pretty little head.” Jake let himself out the back door before she could reply.

  One question nagged at Jane as she scrubbed polish into the handle of a silver serving tray. What if Phoebe wasn’t crazy? What if she really did see something?

  22

  Jane rubbed her polish-covered rag across the rounded belly of the hundred-year-old silver coffee pot. Carafe? Pot? She couldn’t decide. She had put this one off to the last. After an hour of polishing silver, her arms were sore, and so was her head.

  Would she consider Phoebe crazy under normal circumstances? It was hard to say with so little information about how her issues presented. She was bi-polar. That wasn’t easy, sure, but crazy? It seemed a little harsh. In a world where every third person was medicated for a neurosis and on some spectrum or other, how crazy was crazy?

  Jane turned the pot to rub polish into the finely detailed handle. These days you had to be more than just bi-polar to be crazy. That was clearly a word Jake used to torment his sister. Cruel, yes, but of a piece with his normal, which wasn’t so normal, M. O. He hadn’t come clean with his own issues, but he had said crazy ran in the family, so at the very least, she figured Jake struggled with anxiety issues, if not being bi-polar himself. He had certainly been manic since his parents died.

  Someone needed to keep an eye on him, just to make sure he was okay. If he was in some kind of manic phase, when it passed, his depression could be very deep. She didn’t want to be the one stuck with the job, but she made a mental note to talk to Marjory just so she could be sure that someone else who cared would pay attention to how he was dealing.

  Her phone jangled into life with the ring tone she had set up for her parents, so she set her half-polished coffee carafe? pot? on the counter.

  “Hey, darling,” her mom crooned.

  “Hi, mama.” Jane spoke into the Bluetooth that she kept around her ear while she worked.