Dirty Little Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 2)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Jane accepted the card, but slid it into her pocket without looking at it. She could tell she was being dismissed, but she had to try again. “I didn’t read the article in the paper myself, a friend read it to me over the phone. It did say household employee, didn’t it? That’s me until the other maid comes back from vacation.”

  The police officer stood up. “What newspapers say and what we do are not always the same thing. Thank you for coming in. It was very conscientious of you.”

  Jane considered keeping her seat, but she was more afraid of the Detective than she wanted to admit. “Okay. I’m sorry, I mean thank you. I, uh…”

  “It’s okay, Jane. You did the right thing.”

  Jane nodded, and left. Back at her car, she dialed the number for Detective Bryce.

  The baby-faced detective who had taken her statement at the house that morning answered on the third ring. “Bryce.”

  “Detective Bryce? This is Jane Adler. I was the girl who found Douglas Swanson?” She kicked herself for sounding so insecure.

  “Yes, of course. How can I help you?”

  Jane kept her eye on the door to the police station. She didn’t dare drive away while talking on her cell phone. “I was, um, just checking in. My new phone is hooked up and all of that. I hadn’t let you know yet.”

  “Well, good. I’m glad to hear it.” He waited a moment. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I just remembered I needed to let you know.”

  “Great.” He paused again. “You know what? I did have a couple more questions for you. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Of course.” Jane’s heart skipped a beat. If she could keep him on the phone maybe she could insert the name Danae Monroe into the conversation. “What do you need?”

  “Can you meet me at the Swansons’ house? It would be best to talk there, in person.”

  Jane stomach flipped. Meeting at the house sounded official. “When do you want to meet? I’m there every morning from 5:30 to 6:30.”

  “That will work. I can meet you there at 6:30 tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay. Is there anything I should do or something?” Jane’s words and ideas were so tumbled together now she didn’t know what she was asking.

  “Nope. We’ll just look at the room together and I’ll ask you a few questions to clarify the statement you made. It’s really no big deal, but I think it will help.”

  “Okay.” Jane squeezed her eyes shut. What had she said wrong in her statement?

  “See you tomorrow.” Detective Bryce hung up.

  Jane laid her phone down in the passenger seat. If she wanted to get any information from Detective Bryce, she’d have to pull herself together.

  14

  When she got back home she found a scribbled note Gemma had pinned to her bedroom door. She pulled it off and read it in her room. “Will you be home tonight at 8:00? I really need to talk to you. Urgent.”

  She was disappointed to admit she’d be home. It was hard to take roommate-related criticism from someone who left piles of dirty clothes in the bathroom, and criticism was the only thing that came to Jane’s mind.

  That or Gemma needed help making rent, which was about as welcome as criticism. She’d probably propose taking a third roommate into their two bedroom place—again. Jane flopped back on her futon. Would she ever make enough to live on her own?

  She rolled over. Probably not, since her whole future would be based on donations from nice people. But housing was cheaper overseas, and her roommates would be on the same team, so living together would be easier.

  Speaking of the same team, she had a meeting with Kaitlyn and Valerie to prepare for. Did she want to stand 100% behind Kaitlyn and the Pogs or did she want to come up with her own idea for ministry?

  By the time 8 o’clock rolled around, Jane’s laundry was done, her missiology book was read, and dinner had been cooked and eaten, but she hadn’t solved the problem of the outreach yet. Should she try and prove she had what it took to lead a group or try and prove she was a team player who would support the people she served with?

  The apartment door swung open and Gemma pushed a wire basket on wheels through it. “Can you grab that for me?”

  Jane rolled the cart into the kitchen for her.

  Gemma followed with three canvas sacks full of produce. She dropped them on the floor next to her cart and then sat down. “I’m pooped.”

  “Did you have fun at the market?”

  “Why didn’t you wait for me? I thought we were going together.”

  “I had an urgent thing. I’m sorry.” Jane fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. She didn’t remember making plans to go together.

  “Whatever.” Gemma rolled her back slowly down to the floor, her arms above her head.

  “Farmers’ market was open late,” Jane said.

  “I stayed for a concert.”

  “Well, it’s eight, and I’m here now. What do you need?”

  “I have a friend coming to town and she needs a place to stay.”

  “That’s no big deal. I don’t mind.” Jane began to put the groceries into the cupboards. “I don’t see why that was urgent.”

  “She’s driving down from Seattle and will be here in about ten minutes.”

  “Ah. Well, that is a little urgent I guess. But still, no biggie. It’s your place.”

  “She’s got a bad back, and can’t really sleep on the sofa.”

  “Okay.” Jane didn’t like the direction that the conversation was taking.

  “I’d let her stay in my room, but you can understand, with all of my client files and stuff, I really can’t.”

  Jane crinkled her nose. By client files, Gemma meant her huge, disastrous mess. “Do you think she’s not trustworthy or something?”

  Gemma sat up and smiled. “So she can have your room?”

  “I would rather not.” Jane let the cupboard door swing shut with a clap.

  “She needs a really dark, quiet space and a firm mattress or she can’t sleep.”

  “Because of her back?”

  “Yeah. I forget what exactly is wrong, but she can’t sleep just anywhere.”

  “How long is she staying?”

  “I’m not sure.” Gemma pulled an apple from her canvas tote and crunched it.

  “You want me to give my room to your friend indefinitely?” Jane turned to her cousin. “Is she planning on paying rent for me?”

  “It’s not like that—she’s coming for a couple of days, or a week or something. Not forever. She’s thinking about moving back and just wants a place to crash for a few. It’s not a biggie. She just called today.”

  “She can sleep in my room tonight, but after that, you need to make room for her in yours.” Jane left the rest of the groceries and went to her room. She wanted to barricade the door to protect it from the random intruder, but barring that, she’d at least change the sheets and grab some clothes and blankets for herself.

  While she was putting things in order, she heard the doorbell ring and Gemma greet the guest. Jane smoothed the blanket on her bed, and then picked up the stack of stuff she couldn’t live without for the week.

  Her door popped open. Gemma stood next to a short girl with puffy eyes and frizzy blonde hair. “Hi, Jane,” the guest said. “I’m Steph. Thank you so much for letting me use your room for a little bit.”

  Jane was overcome with sympathy. The woman looked like she was in pain. Of course, she’d give a hurting person her bed. Obviously she would. “You’re welcome to it.”

  Gemma caught Jane’s eye and smiled.

  “Let me just clear out some stuff. I get up really early for work and don’t want to disturb you.”

  Stephanie and Gemma had stayed up talking in Jane’s room until after midnight. How long after, Jane wasn’t sure, because she had fallen asleep around then. And young though she was, as she showered and dressed the next morning, she didn’t look forward to a full day of physical work on only four hours
of sleep.

  She didn’t dare hope for an afternoon nap, unless she stole it in her car, since it looked like Stephanie wouldn’t want to be traveling and Gemma didn’t have any clients ready to deliver.

  At the Swansons’—her first client every morning—Jane decided to beard the lion in her den. She went straight to the master bedroom.

  It was empty and so was the bath, so Jane wiped the clean surfaces even cleaner and opened the curtains. Then she ran all the way down to the hot tub room, just to check. She didn’t want to see “all” of Caramel again, but she’d rather be sure she knew what she was up against for the morning.

  The hot tub room was empty as well. It looked like this time Caramel had made good on her promise of not being around at all some mornings.

  The cleaning seemed to fly by. The machines were turned on, the house was opened, filled with light, the smell of coffee, and clean bathrooms, and Jane was done. She was early, so she let herself sit at the kitchen and enjoy a cup of coffee while she waited for the detective.

  The doorbell rang, which jolted Jane out of her reverie. Detective Bryce was here. It was time to talk about murder.

  While Jane went to let him in, she tried to remember the questions she was hoping to get answered. But, frankly, the idea of figuring out anything about Douglas’s death was less interesting on four hours of sleep than it had been the day before.

  She let the detective in.

  “Why don’t we go straight down to the hot tub room?” Detective Bryce cut to the chase. “Get us in loco situ and see what you can remember.”

  Jane led him downstairs and wondered if all detectives liked to toss around Latin, or if this was something Bryce did to make himself seem older. She remembered he had seemed young, but she didn’t remember him seeming this young—or cute. Despite the thought of her distant boyfriend, she found it hard to look Detective Bryce in the eye when he talked to her. He was really cute.

  “So, we don’t usually take a statement like we did last time, right away. But with the difficulties we thought we’d have getting in touch with you, it seemed like a good idea.”

  “I understand.” Jane kept her eye on the hot tub, though it wasn’t a comforting sight.

  “After the team was done with the scene, we compared our notes with your statement and found we had a few questions.”

  “Sure.” Jane picked at her fingernail. She knew if she looked up she’d blush, which was so stupid. All of her monosyllabic, eye-contact avoidance was just going to make her look guilty of something.

  “Just relax, and look around the room while we talk, okay? I want to see if you can remember what you saw that morning.”

  Jane nodded.

  “What happened when you came into this room?”

  “Um, I wanted to check the pH of the water, so I went to the hot tub.”

  “What did you see as you went there?”

  “It was dark. I needed to turn on the lights. I always notice how the black light makes everything weird when I do that. That’s what I noticed first.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I went to the tub, and I reached in to get a sample, but I saw Douglas in it.”

  “What did you see between turning on the lights and finding Douglas? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Jane moved to the door. She flicked the lights on and off, and then walked to the hot tub. She leaned down. “The towels! There were some towels on the ground. Did I forget to write that on my statement?”

  “No, you didn’t forget that. What were the towels like?”

  “They were heavy. Damp, or just plain wet, even. Thick white towels. I’ve had to replace them in the cupboard once before. I guess maybe they are the special towels for the hot tub.”

  “How many wet towels were there?”

  “Two.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I picked them up and it seemed like two, but I didn’t count them or anything.”

  “And what happened next?”

  “What do you mean? With the towels?”

  “Anything.”

  “I tossed the towels toward the hamper over there, but I missed.” Jane pointed to the corner near the door. “Wait, where’s the hamper?”

  “That’s what we were wondering.”

  Jane stared at the door. “The towels weren’t in the room when you went in to get Douglas?” A shiver that started at the end of her spine swept over her whole body.

  “No towels, no hamper. I’ve interviewed the guys who made the crime scene report. You are the only one who saw towels or a hamper.” Detective Bryce stepped away from Jane.

  A wave of frustration followed the shiver. “But why would someone remove them?” She stalked to the doorway. “You can see the scuff marks of the hamper here by the door.” Jane pointed to the dull scratches on the tile.

  Officer Bryce joined her at the door. He knelt by the marks on the floor. “Interesting.”

  Jane went back to the hot tub. “See this?” She pointed to the marble steps. “You can see a kind of foggy spot on the lower step. That’s where the towels were sitting. It looks to me like they always drop their towels in the same spot.”

  “Could be.”

  “Right. It could be. Which would mean the person who dumped their towels there had done it before.” Jane walked around the hot tub in a circle. “What else did you all find in here?”

  Detective Bryce looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure the incident with the towels happened this time? It wasn’t something that happened on another day and just sort of slipped in on accident?”

  Jane’s mouth opened.

  He didn’t believe her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and looked the detective up and down. He had an open look on his baby face. Even with the one raised eyebrow his eyes seemed clear and innocent. Either he really did think she was just confused or he wanted to think so. What was the alternative?

  Jane moved back to the fuzzy spot on the marble. There were two alternatives. The first, someone removed the towels and hamper to make it look like Douglas had been alone. The second: she had added the details to the report to throw the suspicion away from herself.

  Detective Bryce stood up. He smiled at her and nodded, as though he wanted her to answer his question.

  Jane shook her head. “No. I really did pick up the towels.” Jane touched the spot where she had hit her forehead on the door. The bump had shrunk significantly. “I even tripped on them on my way out. I hit my head on the door frame and got this bump.”

  Detective Bryce frowned. “Okay.”

  “Someone else was in the house.”

  The detective kept his eye on Jane.

  “Caramel came to me from the front driveway. She could have come through the house out a back door, around and then up the driveway. But could she have removed the laundry basket and towels and still made that kind of long trip around the house so quickly?”

  “Jane…”

  “Or was she truly out back on the property? If so, there was a third person. Someone in the house with me the whole time, who knew about the towels and thought they might be evidence.” Jane sat on the step. “But they would not have known that I was supposed to be there. They would have heard the alarm and panicked.”

  The detective opened his mouth, but he closed it again without saying anything. He narrowed his eyes at Jane.

  “If there was a third person, where were they?” Jane looked around the room. “Two closets. Did they hear me coming down the hall and then hide in a closet? Then they could have jumped out, grabbed the evidence that they had been there, and then run out the back.” Jane walked to the back door and stared at the green fields behind the house. “And then what? How did they get away?” The suburban acres swept down a hillside. Somewhere just behind the distant clump of trees were the outbuildings that turned the McMansion into horse property. Jane’s heart thumped. The answer would be out there, far from the hot tub. It just had to be
.

  She turned back to the detective. “What did they find out in the stables?”

  The detective smiled his disarming, easy-going smile and shrugged. “I can’t discuss that.”

  Jane bit her tongue. Of course he couldn’t say anything. She was ancillary to the situation. A witness at best, a suspect at worst.

  “I picked up the wet towels, threw them to the hamper, and missed. Then I tripped on them as I tried to run from the room. I don’t know what happened next.” She tried to hold his gaze with confidence, but her eyes began to swim.

  “Thanks for meeting me here.” The detective offered her a gentle smile. “I’ll get in touch with you again, I’m sure. Your account of finding the body is very important.”

  Jane chewed on her cheek to keep the tears from spilling over. His cool, calm delivery was so condescending.

  The detective cleared his throat. “I think we’re done here. You can go home now.” Though dismissive, his tone was kind.

  “If you find out what happened to the towels—”

  “Then we’ll find out what happened to Douglas.” He lifted his eyebrow and smiled, one dimple popping out. “I had thought of that.”

  Jane drove away wondering if Detective Bryce’s attitude was best described as gentle, condescending, or fake. Figuring out which one it was seemed almost as important as finding out what had become of the wet towels.

  15

  Jake texted over lunch. “Call me, maybe?”

  Jane sipped her coffee and considered it. If anyone would get how freaked out she was right now, it was him.

  He sent another message on the heels of the first. This time it was a video of a goat “singing,” if you could call it that, along with some old Crystal Gail. And yet, it wasn’t exactly rude. Jane choked on a laugh. She should text him back.

  She watched the video again. Jake, Jake, Jake. She took a bite of her sandwich and replied, “lol.”

  He responded again. “The song, or calling me?”

  She shook her head at her phone. “Both.”