Jane’s heart thumped against her ribs, like a small, hard fist.
Bob was not well.
Her feet felt like bricks as she pulled herself across the Persian rug to the side of Bob’s bed.
He was wearing an A-line tank top—a wife-beater. His huge shoulders were covered in brown wiry hair. She had never seen Bob’s naked shoulders.
Jane placed two shaking fingertips under his jaw, and turned away.
She couldn’t feel a pulse. She moved her fingers across his thick neck, trying to find even the faint hint of life, but it wasn’t there.
Jane shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans and yanked out her phone. 911. Must call 911.
“Ambulance, Police, or Fire Department?” The voice of the 911 operator was steady, solid.
“Ambulance, please!”
“Where are you located?”
Jane gave the operator the address of the Crawford home.
“An ambulance will be right there. Can you stay on the line with me?”
“No, I can’t. I’ve got to call his wife.”
“I understand. We’ll be right there.”
Jane ended the call and began scrolling through her phone for Pamela’s number.
Pamela could be at the gym right now, or at the salon, or with the board of directors dealing with the business. She could be anywhere.
Jane found their daughter Phoebe Crawford’s number first and hit send.
“This is Phoebe.” Her voice was rough like she had just woken up.
“Phoebe, it’s Jane Adler. I’m at your parents’ house and your dad—” Jane’s voice broke, but she took a deep breath and continued, “I called the ambulance. I think it was another heart attack. Can you get here?”
“Slow down, what?”
“I’m at the house, and I think your dad has had another heart attack. The ambulance is on its way. Can you make it over here? Do you know where your mom is?” How did Phoebe not understand? Jane walked to the window to watch for the ambulance. Her knees felt like water.
Phoebe yawned on the other end. “That’s awful,” she said. “I had a rough one last night. Call me when he’s at the hospital and I’ll be right there, okay?”
“But I’m just the cleaner…you need to be here. Or your mom.”
“Oh, you’re that Jane. I wondered who this was. Call me when you know what hospital he is at and I will meet him there, okay? It’s just another heart thing. He’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think he’s going to be fine.” Jane saw the ambulance turn the corner, its lights spinning and siren blaring. A fire truck was right behind it.
“Okay, so call me later.” Phoebe yawned again and hung up.
Jane pressed her lips together.
Bob was definitely not fine.
She needed to call Pamela. She scrolled through her numbers again but didn’t see it. Bob’s cell. Phoebe’s cell. Jake’s cell. Even Pamela’s sister-in-law’s number.
The ambulance pulled into the driveway.
Jane ran down the stairs to let them in. She threw open the door and directed two paramedics up the stairs. “The door at the end of the hall!” she hollered as they passed.
Jane followed them, with another paramedic right behind her. She reached the room just in time to see one of the men grab Bob by his feet.
Another man grabbed Bob’s shoulders. Together the paramedics pulled him to the ground.
Bob landed with a thud. Jane’s stomach twisted at the sound.
The man at Bob’s shoulders grabbed the neck of the tank top and ripped it down the middle. He began chest compressions, counting in a low voice.
The woman who had followed Jane pulled out the defibrillator.
Maybe Phoebe was right. Maybe they could start his heart again. The paramedics stuck wires at his chest and hip, and then applied the charge.
The man who had ripped Bob’s shirt attached an oxygen mask.
“How did you find him?” the third paramedic asked. She had been busy pulling things out of her medical bag and handing them to the two who were performing CPR.
Jane jumped. She hadn’t been expecting a question. “I just, I opened the door and went to strip the bed and there he was. He didn’t look right so I checked for a pulse.”
The paramedic nodded, encouraging her to continue.
Jane shook her head. “There wasn’t one so I called 911. Is he going to be okay?”
The paramedic tilted her head, her mouth in a small frown.
Jane looked back at her phone and scrolled through the numbers. She needed to find Pamela Crawford. Now. She went through them all three times, the numbers and names swimming. She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand over one eye. She counted to three. She opened her eyes and scrolled through one more time, slowly.
“Pamela’s mobile.” Under P, instead of C with the rest of the Crawfords.
Jane hit send.
The paramedic on his knees looked up at his partner and shook his head. The partner pulled out a cell phone.
A phone rang in the master bathroom.
The woman who had spoken with Jane put her hand on Jane’s back. “Would you like to answer that call?”
Jane held out the phone in her hand and pointed at her Bluetooth headset. “I’m trying to get a hold of Bob’s wife.”
The paramedic nodded and went back to work.
When Jane’s call went to voice mail, she hung up. What message could she leave Pamela? Thirty years of wedded bliss were likely over?
The phone in the master bath had stopped ringing, but Jane thought she’d check it. Maybe Pamela had been trying to call Bob, trying to find out where he was.
Everything went in slow motion as she moved to the bathroom. The doorknob clicked as it turned, as though it needed to be oiled. The door caught on the threshold as she pushed it in. She scrubbed that floor every Friday and could feel, in her fingers, exactly how much higher the bathroom tile was from the bedroom floor.
The voices behind her sounded like they had gone into slow motion as well. One voice said, “Get the declaration of death,” but the words went on forever.
Jane pushed against the doorknob, but it stopped against something. She pushed harder. It seemed to be hitting something that had a little give, but couldn’t be pushed out of the way just by opening the door.
She put her shoulder to the door but couldn’t bring herself to shove it open.
Bob was dead.
The paramedic who had spoken with Jane put her arm around Jane again and led her from the door. “It’s been quite a morning for you. Sit down.” She led Jane to a large wingback chair by the window. “You might be in a bit of shock. Just relax, and keep breathing, okay?”
Jane looked at the paramedic. They were about the same age. They had the same brown hair in the same ponytail, at the middle of the back of their heads. Jane nodded, and then closed her eyes.
The conversation of the paramedics was like a low throb around her. She couldn’t follow it. She could hear the words declaration of death repeating in her head like they were still being said. Would she have to tell Pamela, Phoebe and Jake that Bob Crawford was at a funeral home?
“Hey guys, look at this.” An urgent voice rose above the murmuring.
Jane opened her eyes. They had gotten the door to the bathroom opened a little farther and the paramedics were squeezing themselves through the gap.
The noise of their conversation rose louder and louder.
She heard someone say, “Get the coroner here.”
Another voice said, “Look at the bruising on her wrists. Go check the other body for bruising.”
Jane sat as still as she could, but all of a sudden she couldn’t catch her breath.
She leaned forward in her chair, letting her head drop. With her head between her knees, she held her breath and counted to three. Then she exhaled. She repeated it until her heart seemed to calm down. She hadn’t noticed that her arms had been shaking until after they had stopp
ed. When her whole body felt still, she stood up.
She took one more slow, deep, breath, and walked to the bathroom. The door was open several inches, but she didn’t try to push her way in. She peered through the opening instead.
Pamela Crawford, a woman almost as large as her husband, lay crumpled on the bathroom floor, her face red and bloated.
One of the paramedics held her wrist in his hand. He looked at the other and shook his head no.
The female paramedic looked at the other two. “I’ll get her out of here.” Jane watched her mouth say the words, but her voice was almost silent.
“Jane, right?” she asked.
Jane nodded.
“Why don’t you come downstairs with me?”
They walked downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Why don’t you sit down while we wait for the police? They shouldn’t take long to get here.”
Jane sat down.
“You’ve had a shock. Will you be able to take the rest of the day off?” The paramedic had a sympathetic look on her face.
“Yes, I think I can.” Jane looked at her hands. She had her phone in a white-knuckled grip.
“Then why don’t you arrange that, okay? I need to get back upstairs.” The paramedic didn’t move or break eye contact.
Jane nodded and stared at the phone in her hand. She could call her next two clients and tell them what had happened. It was just two calls, but they were both friends of Bob and Pamela. What could she say to them?
“I should be here, for the family. I should change the linens and put the laundry in and make lunch.”
The paramedic shook her head. “We’re just gonna leave things the way they are for a little while, okay? Until we know what’s been going on.”
Jane pressed her fist into her knee and took a deep breath. “But it was just a heart attack, right?”
The paramedic nodded, “It looks like Bob may have had a heart attack, and Pamela as well. We wouldn’t expect to find both of them on the same morning. The officers should be here any minute. Sit tight, okay?”
Jane listened for the sound of distant sirens. She let go of her phone and smoothed out her apron.
The paramedic tapped the table with her knuckles and lifted an eyebrow. “You okay down here?”
Jane nodded and the paramedic ran back upstairs, taking them two at a time.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…” Jane began the beatitudes where she had left off, in the faint hope of keeping her panic at bay.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted her.
Good, Clean Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery
About the Author
Traci Tyne Hilton is the author of The Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery Series, The Plain Jane Mystery Series, and one of the authors in the The Tangle Saga series of science fiction novellas. She was the Mystery/Suspense Category winner for the 2012 Christian Writers of the West Phoenix Rattler Contest, a finalist for Speculative Fiction in the same contest, and has a Drammy from the Portland Civic Theatre Guild. Traci serves as the Vice President of the Portland chapter of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association for the 2013/2104 session.
Traci earned a degree in History from Portland State University and still lives in the rainiest part of the Pacific Northwest with her husband the mandolin playing funeral director, their two daughters, and their dog, Dr. Watson.
More of Traci’s work can be found at http://www.tracihilton.com
Connect with Traci at Facebook!
DIRTY LITTLE MURDER
College student and housekeeper Jane Adler dreams of being a missionary but the road there is littered with corpses.
Jane found the most recent body floating in the hot tub at her newest client’s house. The dead guy was a notorious flirt and carouser. Had his romantic shenanigans gotten him killed?
Cleaning up a murder was bad enough, but Jane’s love life was a mess too. Usually absence makes the heart grow fonder, but her boyfriend Isaac’s overseas teaching job seems to be driving them apart.
On top of it all she’s been hand selected by her church as a candidate for one of their few fully funded missionary support positions. But can she solve a murder, keep her boyfriend, and follow her dream all at the same time?
FORECLOSED
Mitzy Neuhaus is the top selling Realtor in Portland, but even her office is dead in this economy. Foreclosed is the word no homeowner wants to hear and Mitzy is determined to save the incredible mansion on her street from that fate. But with the homeowner desperate to keep Mitzy away from his property and Alonzo, the dangerously hot rival investor trying to snatch it out from under her, Mitzy knows she has to work fast, or the economy won’t be the only thing dead…
EMINENT DOMAIN
Mitzy Neuhaus is dying to get back to business as usual, but The Worst Economy Since The Great Depression has just about killed her real estate business. But when the excessive interest of the FBI, city planners, and possibly the Mafia, threaten to derail Mitzy’s plans things really get dangerous…
BUYER’S REMORSE
Mitzy Neuhaus had an easier time selling her condo before the mystery buyer “bought it” on her patio. Mitzy stumbled over the body and knew she had to get involved in the case–if only because the corpse was a dead ringer for herself.
At first it seemed like a clear case of mistaken identity and Mitzy feared the Mafia wasn’t done with her yet. But digging into the life of the dead buyer uncovered a peculiar little dress shop where nothing added up.
Can Mitzy untangle the mystery before she ends up with her own case of buyer’s remorse?
Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 04 - Frozen Assets Page 18
