“Nah. I need to get home. I’ll pack up Stephanie’s stuff so she can be ready to leave as soon as she shows up.” Gemma sipped her drink. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For letting someone into our house who was planning to hurt you.”
In her heartache for Stephanie, that part had slipped her mind. “How could you know? I don’t blame you.”
Jane took Gemma back to the apartment and then went to Paula’s without calling first.
Paula answered her door in her bathrobe. Her face was haggard, with deep shadows under her eyes. “Please, come in.” She managed a small smile.
Her house was immaculate. “Thank you for letting me drop by. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s okay. You’re just what I need today.” Paula poured two cups of coffee and then joined Jane in the living room. “I’m a little rough today. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” The stress of the morning, the fear and sadness, and now a grief that pierced her as she looked at Paula brought tears to her eyes.
“It’s hard to change from caregiver to someone who needs care.” Paula tucked her feet under her and relaxed back into her chair. “You have something weighing heavily on your heart. It’s written all over your face. But can I share something with you?”
Jane sipped her coffee. “Of course.”
“All of my life, I knew I was going to be a wife.” She choked on her words a little. “While at school, my friends all got married. The ones I was most jealous of got married and then went on the mission field. I’d ask God why I hadn’t met my husband yet and He wouldn’t answer. I went to India and I worked for what felt like my whole life. At no point in my life did I ever feel like God was telling me I was going to be single forever, but I have to say, turning forty as a single woman made me wonder just a little.”
Jane couldn’t take her eyes off of Paula.
“And then one year, I came home on furlough and I met Mark. And God said, ‘This is why you hadn’t met your husband before now.’”
Jane didn’t have any words, but she felt like the discoveries of the morning were somehow smaller than whatever Paula had to say.
“And, Jane, I feel like this is you. You will be a missionary someday. I wouldn’t dare predict when, or where, or for how long. Maybe you will be like my mom and dad and spend a lifetime together. Or maybe you’ll be like Mark and I.”
Jane chewed on her bottom lip.
“I waited a long time, but it was perfect. It was short, but it was perfect.” Paula wiped her eyes with a white handkerchief. “That’s all. You may have to wait. And it may not be what you expected. But if you really do believe God wants this for you, it will happen, and it will be exactly what it was supposed to be.”
Jane’s mouth felt sealed shut. She had a thousand questions, from how Paula and Mark met to why she had come home from the mission field to how she dealt with the disappointment for all those years while she waited, but she couldn’t speak. Paula’s face was beatified, almost. She was broken, but her eyes shone with a glow that only comes from trusting and waiting your whole life. It would be twenty more years before Jane could understand the real answers to her questions.
“You wanted to talk about something though, right?” Paula pushed her handkerchief into her pocket. “Even though you aren’t looking at full time missionary work right now, I’d be proud to continue to mentor you.”
“I’m okay.” The words came out before Jane could weigh what she wanted to say. “I had a rough morning, but I think you just answered all of my questions.” She set her cup on the coffee table and stood up. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Paula hugged Jane tight. “Thank you, kiddo. I really needed you guys right now. You don’t know how much.”
Later that week, the news reported an arrest in the case of the death of Douglas Swanson. His son had been taken in for questioning. He hadn’t confessed, but the news report online said that there was possible DNA evidence connecting Matthew Swanson to the scene of the crime, as well as physical evidence in the trunk of his rental car. Jane was pretty sure that would be the missing hamper and towels.
Gemma, Amy, Danae, Stephanie, and Jane herself had all been down to the station to report what had happened at the pool house. Making statements was becoming second nature to Jane.
She had Isaac on speaker phone while she doodled logos at her desk. He was talking about the school in Montreal. “If you stay in Portland to finish your degree, you need to start your French classes right away.”
Jane erased a magnifying glass she had put over her name. “Yup. I registered for it today.”
“You did?”
“Of course. If I have to learn a new language, I’d better start now.”
“So you’re dead set on staying in Portland one more year?” Isaac was crunching something. Jane liked to think it was chips and salsa, since that’s what she was eating.
“Did you really think I’d move to Canada with you before we were married?”
“Not with me, but I did think there was a chance you’d transfer there to stay close.”
“If wishes were horses.” She drew a stick figure in a Sherlock hat, then scribbled it out. She thought about making a joke about a family discount on credits, but she wasn’t going to say a word about marriage until he did.
“I’ll come back a lot.”
“On a teacher’s wages?”
“I’ll come back as much as I can.”
“We’ll buy stock in Skype.”
“Good move.”
Jane checked her watch. It was time to meet with the advisor for the Portland State University School of Criminal Justice. French wasn’t the only thing she was adding to her schedule this year. “I’ve got to run. I love you.”
“I love you, Jane. Call me when you get back, okay? I want to hear all about detective school.”
And so did she. She might not start all over again, but if she was going to solve any more murders, she wanted to do it right.
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Jane Adler sat on the cold, wet hood of Isaac’s car. She leaned away from him, her arms crossed. Their spot on the top of Mount Scott gave them a good view of the city lights. The day’s light rain had turned to softly falling snow as night fell.
She was damp, cold, and beyond irritated with her boyfriend.
“If you keep changing your degree, you’ll never finish school.” The vein in Isaac’s temple throbbed, and he flexed his jaw.
“Again: I have not changed my degree. And I’ll still graduate this spring even with the extra classes.” Jane exhaled slowly. Isaac had only been home a week, and they had already had this argument four times.
“You’ve changed your degree twice since I met you.” Isaac leaned back on his elbows. “It’s like you don’t want to finish.”
“You’re exaggerating, and it’s not fair. I finished Bible school and I started a bachelor’s degree in business. That is not the same thing as changing my degree.”
“And now criminal science.”
“Yes. I added a couple of criminal science classes to my schedule. As well as French. It’s more work, but I’ll get it all done.”
Isaac leaned over to bump shoulders with Jane. “See, that’s the thing. You don’t even speak the language. How are you going to be a detective in Montreal?”
Jane didn’t answer. She couldn’t say what she was really thinking—that she hoped she wouldn’t ever be a detective in Montreal.
“Talk to me, Jane.”
“Why? You only hear what you want to hear.”
“Just help me understand why you’re making it harder to finish. Are you trying to come up with reasons to stay here? To not move to Canada with me?”
“You may not stay there forever.”
Isaac leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I hope I do. I
t’s my dream job.” His voice was a low, sexy rumble in his throat.
She pushed him away. “Don’t kiss me while we’re fighting.”
“I haven’t seen you since August.” He tried to set his hand on her knee, but she moved a little. All of his little caresses and kisses were making the inevitable harder for her.
“You saw me yesterday.”
“And we had this same fight yesterday.” Isaac turned her gently by the chin and kissed her lips.
Jane froze, a hairsbreadth from his closed eyes and slightly parted mouth. “Then quit bringing it up.”
Isaac pulled a small square box out of the pocket of his ski jacket. He set it on the hood of the car, right between them. “I keep bringing it up, because I have something to ask you.”
Jane stared at the box.
The box.
The box she had been waiting to see since his last visit home. The box she had been dreaming of since she fell for him at first sight, a year and a half ago. The box every Christian girl hopes to get before she turns twenty-three.
Jane stared at the box and felt sick to her stomach.
“Jane…I want you to marry me. Move to Montreal this spring. Be a professor’s wife. Don’t ever worry about cleaning, or detecting, or anything ever again. Make Montreal your mission field.” He opened the box and held it out to her.
One large diamond, with a swirl of smaller diamonds cascading away from it, down both sides of the ring.
“Say yes.” He stroked the back of her head with his strong fingers and pulled her close, his forehead bumping hers. He went for the kiss, but hesitated—a pause that gave Jane the chance she needed to act.
She pushed him away and slid off of the car. “I’m not a prize—not another set of letters to add after your name, Isaac.”
“What? What is wrong with you this week?” Isaac held the ring out to her and cocked an eyebrow.
“Nothing is wrong with me. I’m doing fine. I’m working hard to follow my dream and make a difference in the world.” She took a deep breath. “What’s wrong with us? That’s the real question. Neither of us seem willing to admit the obvious.” She stopped. She had to say it, but it felt like something smashed into her heart. “This is not meant to be.” She was too mad to cry, but her whole body shook. Right now, at this moment, she should be slipping that diamond ring on her finger and kissing her fiancé. The man she loved. Not yelling at him. Not…breaking up.
“What do you mean this isn’t meant to be?” He shoved the ring forward. “It’s right here. I’m asking you to marry me. We’ll go have adventures in French Canada. You can keep doing the career student thing. What don’t you like about this?”
“That!” The word felt like a knife in her throat. “That’s what I don’t like! I’m not doing a ‘career student’ thing. I’ve been a key player in successfully solving two murder investigations, and I want to do more of it. I plan on cleaning houses and solving murders for as long as I can, but it’s like you don’t believe me.”
“You wanted to be a missionary too, and you’re not doing that anymore.” His cocky voice made Jane want to punch him in the face.
“Who says I’m not going to be a missionary?”
“You just did. You said you’re going to be a detective.”
“Right now. I’m going to be a detective right now.”
“And for as long as you can. You just said that, Jane. You don’t know yourself very well at all, do you?”
“Well, if I don’t know myself, then I have no business getting married and moving across the continent, do I? I say no. No. No. I’m turning down your proposal.” She clamped her jaw shut and stared at him.
His mouth bobbed open. He shoved the ring box into his pocket. “Fine.”
“Fine.” She eyed the lone bus stop on top of the hill. Right next to the cemetery. “And I’m taking the bus home.”
“Now you’re just being stupid. Jane.”
Jane yanked her wallet out of her purse. “Don’t call.” The bus was lumbering up the hill, so she didn’t run for it. She didn’t want to look like a child, but she did stomp away as fast as she could.
She waited with her back to Isaac.
Merry Christmas to me.
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About the Author
When not writing, Traci accompanies her mandolin-playing husband on the spoons and knits socks.
She is the author of the Tillgiven Romantic Mysteries, the Plain Jane Mystery Series, the Mitzy Neuhaus Mysteries, and Hearts to God, a Christian historical romance novella. She was the Mystery/Suspense Category winner for the 2012 Christian Writers of the West Phoenix Rattler Contest and has a Drammy from the Portland Civic Theatre Guild. Traci served as the vice president of the Portland chapter of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association.
Traci earned a degree in history from Portland State University and still lives in the rainiest part of the Pacific Northwest with her husband, their two daughters, and their dogs, Dr. Watson and Archie.
Traci’s photo by Jessie Kirk Photography.
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COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons either living or dead is completely coincidental
Dirty Little Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery
Proverbs 31 House LLC
Copyright 2013 by Traci Tyne Hilton
All rights reserved
Cover Photo by ariwasabi
tracithilton
www.tracihilton.com
[email protected]
Dirty Little Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 2) Page 20
