Criminal Company: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 8)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “An expensive one, I’m sure.” Uncle Irving said.

  “Jake,” Jane smiled. “There is always an uncle in a family who is good at sleight-of-hand, isn’t there? The one who finds quarters in little boys’ ears, and can pick your card from a well-shuffled deck…”

  “There awlays is. I hope to fulfill that role myself if Phoebe would ever get around to having kids.”

  “But who was your sleight of hand Uncle? Was it Young Lombard?”

  Uncle Irving laughed. “Young Lombard? Never.”

  “Uncle Rossi always tried.” Jake smiled at his Great Aunt Luddy, “But Uncle Irving was the best. He didn’t just make quarters appear in your ears, he could make your watch disappear and—you won’t believe it—but he could make them reappear, as nicer watches.”

  “You remember that, do you?” Uncle Irving’s voice was thick with pride.

  “My first Rolex? I would never forget.”

  Jane tapped the edge of her brooch.

  “When did you decide Lydia wasn’t the woman for you after all?”

  Uncle Irving didn’t shy from the question, though it might have been a sensitive one. “She wanted to move to New Orleans for her new position more than she wanted to be my wife.”

  “You would never leave Portland!” Aunt Luddy was truly aghast. “A permanent move would be out of the question.” She adjusted her sweater as though it was all that stood between her and a preposterous idea.

  “The job offer made things difficult, didn’t it?”

  “You are a keen one.” The ninety-something-year-old uncle nodded at her in approval. “In my seventies, I felt young. Younger in a way than I had in many years. It was Lydia who did that for me, but she was younger at heart than I had ever been. She turned my head, young lady, and that is a fact. But, in the end, I was too tired and old to keep up with her, and I had to let her free.”

  “Why wasn’t she at The Dinner the year Poor Phyllis passed?” Jane asked.

  “She had a concert in Philadelphia. A very important one.”

  “She would have liked you to come with her.”

  “And I would have enjoyed it as well.”

  “And you realized when Poor Phyllis passed…” Jane pause. “No, you realized when you saw Edmond Franz slip the brooch off Poor Phyllis, that you wanted Lydia to want to stay.”

  “Yes…” He nodded, his eyes far away. “When I saw Edmond sneak that brooch I knew why he was doing it. The man would save a penny on his cousin’s deathbed, and that’s a fact.”

  “But his daughter-in-law wasn’t the newest bride, was she?”

  “What is she on about?” Aunt Luddy frowned.

  “Lydia wore her wedding set to the Christmas party and when you noticed you had second thoughts about the marriage.”

  “Oh, Irving, you weren’t going with a married lady were you?”

  “He was going with a married lady.” Jane took a deep breath. “His wife.”

  “And what makes you think that?” Irving asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  “She wore a wedding set—an expensive one—but it disappeared before the night was over, so I suspect it had been a secret wedding. You kept it a secret because she had convinced you to marry her, maybe even elope? I don’t suppose you went to Vegas. Perhaps Reno, as its smaller, and old fashioned. But you weren’t ready to announce it, perhaps because she was such a high profile, high-spirited lady, or perhaps because right away afterward she had told you about the job in New Orleans. In fact…” Jane reached for Jake’s hand, the excitement of “seeing” the story unfold before her a bit too much. “She had convinced you to elope because she loved you so much, she wanted to tie you up before you learned about the job so that she wouldn’t lose you.”

  “She didn’t truly understand my obligations to this town.” Uncle Irving said.

  “And you didn’t truly understand the call of her muse.” A little spring of pain hit Jane’s heart. This was always fun until the truth, all of the truth, slipped out.

  “Very perceptive.”

  “When Poor Phyllis passed, and you saw what was rightfully Lydia’s slip into Uncle Edmond’s pocket, you decided to try to make the marriage work. You wanted to give the brooch to Lydia to show her how much she meant to you and that she had a place in the family.”

  “An old man’s conceit.” Uncle Irving said. “You have found me out, my dear, and laid all of my secrets out like a cheese platter.”

  “It’s a lovely story, really,” Jane said softly. “For a tragedy.”

  “It was poignant, I will grant you that.” Uncle Irving said. “But I don’t think even then, that I saw it as a tragedy.”

  “Why did you plant your bride’s wedding rings on my poor Aracely?” Aunt Luddy asked. “That seems a mean trick.”

  Uncle Irving hung his head in mock shame. “You see, my dear, I had been watching your son for much of the evening, and he had been watching her. And neither of them had the nerve to say hello to each other. That night…Poor Phyllis’s last Christmas party, I saw the future of my relationship for what it was, but I saw hope for Gabriel and Aracely. And I saw a delightful way to grant it to them.”

  Aunt Luddy made worried noises in the back of her throat. “But poor Aracely could have been ruined.”

  “She wasn’t. And I wouldn’t have let her be. Goodness Luddy, you’ve known me almost one-hundred years. When have I ever hurt a girl?”

  Silence met his statement. Then Aunt Luddy laughed quietly. “Not ever. You were always our hero and advocate. But it sounds like, at last, you did.”

  “My only regret.” Uncle Irving said. “I gave Lydia a divorce and let her go. She went off with the Schnitzer fellow though, so she must not have hurt too deeply.”

  Jake shrugged, “Sometimes girls cover their hurt feelings…”

  “Sometimes they do.” Uncle Irving nodded. “I hope that she wasn’t hurt too badly, but I was a rich old man, and they are easy to find for beautiful girls like her, God bless Lydia. I was no catch for a young lady like that.”

  “But you enjoyed it while it lasted?” Jake asked.

  “I won’t pretend I didn’t. If you are so unfortunate as to lose the love of your life…no. I won’t consider it. But yes, as an old man, it was a wonderful feeling to think that I had a second chance, if not at true love, then of the fun of romance.”

  “I think I would have liked one more romance.” Aunt Luddy said. “My Rossi was a wonderful man, but he was a farmer.” She clucked sadly. “And farmers aren’t so very romantic.”

  “I’m afraid most men aren’t romantic, Dear Aunt. We try, but it’s an uphill battle.” Jake apologized for his gender.

  “Yes, I think you are correct.” Aunt Luddy sipped her wine. “But it would have been nice, one last romance.”

  Uncle Irving sighed. “My dear Luddy, if you hadn’t gone blind you would have seen all of the men trailing after you.” He held up his water glass to Jane. “Jane, you have done a delightful job with my little mystery. I hope you will come again and untangle more of our family secrets.”

  “It would be my honor, but you didn’t try very hard to fool me this time, did you?”

  He bowed graciously. “Perhaps my days are catching up with me, and I wanted to hear my story one more time. Even an old man has his pride.”

  * * *

  Much later that night, Jane and Jake found themselves in their own home, tucked into their king-sized bed with the real down comforters, the evening with Uncle Irving and Aunt Luddy like a dream.

  “Do you remember this harp-playing Lydia?” Jane wrapped her arm around her slender husband.

  “Hmm?” He nuzzled her neck, half asleep.

  “Lydia…the harp player. Do you remember her?”

  He pulled away to yawn. “I remember that Christmas with the hot fire and the music, but I don’t really remember Lydia. I have so many aunts and uncles in The Family.”

  “I wonder if Uncle Irving broke her heart.”

  “Google i
t.” He pressed his lips to her cheek, near her ear.

  “He took her wedding ring away from her…”

  “Naughty…” He wound Jane’s hair through his fingers.

  “Unkind.”

  “A different generation.”

  “Like Judy Lucius did.”

  Jake sat up on his elbow. “So, we’re talking now? I’m just checking,” his voice was low and throaty.

  Jane gave him a squeeze. “Judy gave her ring back to her husband because he worked too much for too long. And Uncle Irving used his sneaky sleight of hand to steal away Lydia’s ring because she was choosing her work over living in Portland.”

  “It’s a terrible thing, work. Let’s never do it.” He attempted another neck nuzzle, but was rejected.

  “But we do work, and we love our work. That’s why we’re seeing the counselor, right? But how can we be sure she’s got things right?”

  Jake wrapped his hands around Jane’s waist and held her tight. “I would suggest by making love every night, but I might come across as self-serving.”

  “Wouldn’t it be lovely it that was all it took?”

  “I’m willing to test the theory.” Jake kissed her full on the lips.

  Jane turned her head and yawned deeply. “It’s two in the morning. What do you say we start tomorrow?”

  Jake groaned and dropped his head gently to her chest. “I suspect this is what the counselor meant when she said marriage is really hard work.”

  Killer Night In

  A Bonus Story

  A few years before the previous events…

  If Jane Adler had learned anything from Keanu Reeves movies it was that relationships formed during times of crisis just don’t last.

  Falling in love while trying to solve the murder of your boyfriend’s parents counted as a crisis.

  Jake Crawford—said orphan-boyfriend—didn’t see a problem, he also claimed he had loved her since high school. But their one year anniversary was just around the corner (also the one year anniversary of dumping Isaac Daniels—a really good guy, even if he just wasn’t right for her) and she was nervous.

  First, because he hadn’t been around much, and second because recently all of their communication had been via text. Jake was a talker, so an afternoon without a phone call usually signaled something had gone wrong at work. A whole day without a call was unheard of. But this morning—Thursday the fourth of December—marked three days without a call. Lots of texts, and a few private messages on Facebook—but no calls.

  She scrubbed the bottom of her client’s bathtub and tried to make the brick of worry that had settled into her gut go away. She hadn’t had a murder to investigate since the death of Josiah Malachi, and a heavy sense of foreboding hung over her. Something bad was going to happen, and it probably meant the end of her relationship with Jake who, she was pretty sure, was “the one.”

  It would almost be a relief to find a dead body hiding somewhere in the house, just to know that she would have Jake forever.

  A rush of guilt flooded her and she laughed to relieve the tension. She turned the bathtub on to rinse away the Scrubbing Bubbles. She would not, under any circumstances, trade some person’s life just to be sure she could have Jake forever. Any thought along those lines was just dumb.

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as she moved from room to room in the old Portland house cleaning up after the family of six. Something bad was in the air, and it wasn’t just the aroma drifting in from the paper mill across the river.

  Part of her foreboding had to come from her financial straits. Money had run short during the summer so she was only taking two classes at Portland State during the fall, pushing her graduation date back yet again. Her parents hadn’t seemed disappointed in her—they even bought her tickets to Phoenix for Christmas. And Jake hadn’t acted disappointed either, despite having finished his own MBA before she had even enrolled at PSU.

  At this rate, she’d never catch up and the fear that she would completely fail hung over her winter break like the heavy pewter clouds that hung over the city. One day of sunshine and a nice fat scholarship could clear everything up, but neither seemed in the works.

  Jake texted again while she was packing up her cleaning caddy. “Dinner? 8?”

  She had been up since 4:30 in the morning, and it was only five in the evening now. Waiting until eight sounded like a Herculean feat. “Sure. Where?”

  She didn’t want to be that girl, the one who would starve all night just to see her boyfriend, but she didn’t see any reason to be fussy about the timing. She could eat at home and with Jake. She hadn’t run out of her monthly quota of Ramen yet.

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “K.”

  This client liked her out of the house no later than 5:15, so she hurried to make sure she had gotten everything finished and turned out all the lights. Her phone said it was 5:11 when she finally locked the back door.

  As she drove back to the apartment she shared with her cousin the rain started to fall—the slushy kind that turned into gray sludge that soaked through your Converse and made driving dangerous. Nights got dark early in Portland, and this was no exception. The thick clouds, nasty, rainy slush, and the dark night worked together to make her wish people were a hibernating kind of animal.

  But her little apartment was clean, which was either a miracle, or Gemma wouldn’t be able to make rent again and was buttering her up. Jane’s credit card was close to maxed out from filling in for when she or Gemma, or both, didn’t have enough cash flowing into their small business ventures to pay the landlord.

  If Gemma couldn’t pay her half this month they might have to give up on their little independence in Portland and move in with Gemma’s parents. Or, in Jane’s case, give up and move to Phoenix.

  Even the bathroom was free from damp towels and make-up clutter. Jane took advantage of it and had a long hot shower before she ate. A small glimmer of hope illuminated her soul when she was done. Housecleaning was a service to others and wouldn’t kill her. It almost paid all her bills, and it was honorable to work hard. Jake wasn’t going to dump her if he wanted to buy her dinner tonight. Sure, she hadn’t had any clients for her under-the-table detective “ministry” but she was keeping her eye on crime in the news. One of these days she’d have a chance to help a family in a major crisis. And while there was somehow only one package of Ramen left for her pre-dinner-dinner, at least there was one.

  But as she dug around in the cupboards looking for a can of green beans to have with it, she was bummed to discover that the single package of Ramen was all they had left. That, a few tablespoons of pumpkin pie spice coffee creamer, and a box of frozen pierogis.

  She put the Ramen back. She’d need to eat tomorrow, and she didn’t have any grocery money. She made a cup of tea with the teabag left over from breakfast—the Folgers had run out on Monday—wrapped herself in a blanket and snuggled on the couch with her phone. She could read while she waited for Jake and take her mind off the privations.

  She had just settled in when Gemma burst through the door panting.

  “Lions chasing you?” Jane quoted their grandpa.

  “Almost.” Gemma bolted the door and leaned against it. “Someone really iffy followed me from the bus.”

  Jane sat up. “Who? What happened?”

  “I don’t know who. He looked like a homeless guy who was just riding around to stay warm, but when I got off, he got off, and he followed me into the parking lot.”

  A heavy hand beat against the door. Gemma screamed like a puppy who had gotten stepped on and jumped away.

  “You dropped your phone, man.” The voice on the other side of the door was garbled and deep, the consonants slurred and indistinct.

  Gemma held out her phone, and mouthed “No, I didn’t.”

  Jane prayed, her lips moving, but not sure exactly what words she was saying. The door was metal, and couldn’t be broken through. Gemma had dead bolted it and the wi
ndow to the living room was on the other wall of their second story apartment—impossible to get to from the central staircase.

  Gemma stepped slowly and silently across the room and jumped on the couch with Jane. She wrapped her arms around her knees.

  “I just got your phone, lady.” The person on the other side of the door continued to bang it with a heavy hand.

  Jane’s phone rang.

  Both girls stared at it. The number that came up was Gemma’s.

  Jane held her breath and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “This number said ‘roommate’ on the phone I found on the bus.” The same thick, garbled voice spoke. Jane could hear it through the door and on the phone. The man kept hitting the door with a slow, heavy plunking.

  Jane hung up. She stared at her cousin, while not a level-headed girl, she did seem to have her own phone. “What happened?”

  Gemma stared at the phone in her hand. She swiped the screen to wake it up. “Crap.” She dropped the phone like it was a hot potato. It landed on the rug. “I took my client’s phone home with me on accident. It looks the same as mine.”

  Jane stared at the white iPhone on her rug. It did look just like Gemma’s. And just like everyone else’s who didn’t have a cover on it.

  “What with the baby being twins, none of us were thinking too much about the phones.” Gemma dragged her hands through her hair. She had been gone since the day before with the pregnant mama who had hired her as a doula.

  Jane tried to make sense out of the situation—Gemma on call for more than twenty-four hours, completely exhausted. Mixed up phones, two babies when they had expected one? Or just two expected babies that took a long time? That seemed more likely. But where was Gemma’s trusty Volvo? “Why were you on the bus?”

  Gemma took a deep breath. “Isla went into preterm labor while I was out with Grant, so he drove me to the hospital. I didn’t want to call him to bring me home, so I just took the bus.”

  The pounding stopped.

  “What about my phone?” Gemma stared at the door.