Spoiled Rotten Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 5)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

“She’s a detective.” Ayla shouted, stepping towards the cop.

  The Taser came out faster than Jane could have imagined.

  Ayla waved her arms.

  The cop lifted the Taser.

  Ayla kept coming, her arms out, like she was going to reach for the weapon.

  He aimed the Taser.

  Ayla jumped, like she had been, well, Tased. She shook all over, her tattooed arms quivering like she was having a seizure.

  The Honda engine revved.

  Surely their guy wasn’t running.

  “Against the wall.”

  Jane backed up.

  Ayla was just lying there, her arms flung out from her body.

  The cop turned to Ayla. “You too.” He waved toward the wall.

  Ayla rolled onto her side and curled up.

  The cop turned back to the Honda.

  Cars sped past on the highway, making it impossible to hear what the cop said, but eventually he came back to the girls.

  “Never interrupt an officer of the law while he is in the middle of a traffic stop.”

  Jane narrowed her eyes. The cop’s voice was firm, and loud, but his eyes were big, and looked scared. She guessed he wasn’t any older than she was. “I am so sorry.”

  “How dare you Tase me! I have rights.” Ayla pulled herself up to sitting, her pale face rigid with anger.

  The cop frowned. “You need to get yourself under control.”

  “It’s because of my tattoos. I know it.”

  “Are you kidding? This is Portland. My mom has more ink than you. It’s because you came at me like you were going to knock me down.”

  “Who me?” Ayla looked honestly shocked.

  “It did kind of look like that from where I was.” Jane spoke louder, to be sure she was heard.

  The cop eyed the phone on the ground. “Did you get it all on video?”

  “No.” And even if she had, Jane doubted it would be any good. The phone had hit the pavement with a very ominous sound.

  He squared his shoulders. “I’m calling the paramedics to check you out. If you are okay, I’ll send you on your way. If you aren’t, they’ll take you to the ER.”

  “Am I under arrest?” Ayla’s jaw quivered.

  The Honda revved its engine again, and backed up, pointing its nose out, to make a shot for the road.

  The cop took a deep breath through his nose. “No. But I am writing you up a ticket.” He whipped out his notebook.

  “What for, for getting Tased?” Ayla made a shaky attempt to stand.

  “Ayla, sit down.” Jane laid her hand on her shoulder.

  “For interfering.” He scribbled, then ripped the paper off.

  Ayla crossed her arms. “That’s not a thing. You can’t do that.”

  “Ayla stop. He’ll arrest you,” Jane hissed.

  The cop turned his back on her, and spoke on his phone. Apparently he had meant it when he said he was calling the paramedics. He didn’t say another word to them for the next seven minutes. When the ambulance arrived, he only spoke to the paramedics.

  The whole time Jane stared at her phone, wishing she could check that it was okay, wishing she had backed up all of the pictures she had taken of evidence.

  Ayla sat back against the guard rail, arms crossed over her chest. She did let the paramedics check her vitals. When she was released, free to go home, she spit.

  The officer snarled at her but the paramedics were still packing up their equipment, so he went back to his car, as Jane and Ayla went to theirs.

  Jane was overjoyed that she didn’t have to bail Ayla out of jail—or get bail for herself. But this girl was a live wire, and Jane would have to handle her with care. On their escape from the side of Highway 99, she tried to bring up the scene they had just had, in a calm way. “So…what were you saying to the officer?”

  “I was begging for help.”

  “With all the wild hand waving?”

  “All that traffic was so loud. I thought I would use my body to show how panicked I was so he would know we were seriously in need.”

  “But we weren’t.”

  “Sure we were. We were seriously in need of that guy’s name.”

  Jane drummed her fingers on her steering wheel. “It’s not okay to lie to cops.”

  Ayla laughed softly. “Clearly you haven’t had a lot to do with cops.”

  “Excuse me?” Jane was at the end of her rope with being treated like an amateur. Sure, she was an amateur, but did everyone have to treat her like this was her first murder? “This is my fourth murder. You don’t solve a murder without working together with the police.” Jane gripped the steering wheel with a white knuckled effort. “And in all of those murder investigations, I have never been ticketed for interfering, or Tased.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I guess if you want to be on the side of the police, you’ve achieved it.” Ayla’s voice was dismissive.

  “If you want murderers to pay for their crime, you are automatically on the side of the police.”

  Ayla sighed. After a long pause, she spoke. “I hate that, but you’re right. At least on the one thing.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay.”

  “So no more aggravating the cops during the investigation.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Ayla stared out the window quietly for a while. “The next left takes us almost to Devon’s place.”

  “Perfect. Direct me that way.”

  The building was older, but well maintained. It reminded Jane of the kind of place grandparents might live. Or bachelors, which made sense. From the front, the units each had their own stoop. The building was well shaded by evergreen trees, but the sidewalks were clear of tree-litter and the roof was moss-free. A light breeze cooled off Jane’s overheated emotions. She could do this sleuthing in a calm and collected way, in spite of their crazed car chase.

  Jane circled the building. The community only had ten units, five on each side, and no large community room/office. The area behind the building was long, narrow, very green lawn, sheltered from the neighborhood behind it with a long and tall Cherry Laurel hedge.

  She couldn’t be sure which unit was Devon’s but she suspected it was the one with silver insulation in the windows. Perhaps, in addition to fearing for his security from criminals, he had also been a little wary of aliens.

  Ayla pulled what hair she had into a short ponytail. She tipped her thumb to the other building. “His is number seven.”

  Jane had guessed wrong. She joined Ayla at the door to Devon’s place.

  She held her breath as they stepped into the apartment. Little red and green lights blinked around the room from the various appliances and devices he had plugged in, but otherwise, it was dark. His curtains, which had looked pretty unremarkable from the outside, did a good job blocking light. The apartment smelled musty and unused.

  Jane flicked on the lights and took a deep breath.

  Ayla ran her hand across the back of a leather chair.

  “I’d like to look in his office,” Jane said. “Maybe we’ll find a note about him needing to meet someone.”

  Ayla didn’t respond.

  Jane peaked in one room. Bed. Dresser. She shut the door. The next room looked like a computer lab. Three walls were flanked by long folding tables, and each table had a few monitors. The floor was stacked with computer towers. One of the three tables was covered in wires and other…bits. Parts of the insides of computers.

  There was almost no paper in the whole room.

  Jane looked around for the tower—or server—that might be running the room, but none of the buttons she pushed did anything.

  She tried the monitors, but though they fizzed into life, they also went to “sleep” almost immediately. She couldn’t find the button that powered the room.

  She turned her attention to what little paper there was. Two sticky notes, to be exact. One said: Donor gifts, see A. Another was a list of numbers, with a coup
le of letters in the middle. Jane snapped a quick shot of both of them with her phone, which had a cracked screen but, mercifully, still worked. “Ayla?”

  Ayla joined her in the office “Yes?”

  “This note…is this a reference to having you handle the second phase of the crowd funding for the project?”

  “Yes.” Ayla assented.

  “Did you guys already talk about it?”

  “I think so.” She looked at the computers with those large, sad eyes.

  “Had you taken care of them yet?”

  “No. I was working on it…getting it together.” Ayla stiffened.

  “Was it time sensitive?”

  Ayla frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t remember…” She shook her head like she wanted to remove the cobwebs. “I guess. Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “What do you know about these numbers?” She pointed to the other Post-It.

  “Nothing. I don’t know anything.” Ayla slowly went back out. She wandered into Devon’s bedroom.

  “Is there anything in here? A calendar? Other notes?”

  Ayla lifted a faded blue hoodie from the edge of the bed and held it to her lips. She breathed deeply. “I just can’t believe he’s not here anymore.”

  Jane scanned the room. Nothing stood out. She opened the top drawer of his one dresser. White socks, white T-shirts, and boxers. She riffled through them, but nothing was hidden. “Do you think he felt like he was in any danger?”

  Ayla sat on the edge of his bed. “Maybe he always thought he was in danger. He was a complicated man.”

  Jane checked the next drawer. Polo shirts. “How had he mustered the courage to go to Alaska and fish?”

  “His parents made him at first, but he liked Alaska. Lots of privacy.”

  There was nothing of interest in the dresser. Such a lack, in fact, that Jane really wondered what a wild looking girl like Ayla had seen in the reclusive, paranoid, polo shirt wearing programmer. Maybe he was one of those sullen, deep thinkers with moody eyes. Irresistible to most girls.

  “Did you find anything?” Ayla asked.

  “Just the sticky note. Maybe they are related to the fundraising, or the programming. I don’t know. I took some pictures, but I’d better leave the notes here. Do you think there’s any place else I should check here?”

  “No.” Ayla wandered back out into the living room. “It doesn’t even feel like he lived here, does it? It’s so cold.”

  Jane joined her. “He must have really lived his life in his office. Don’t you think?”

  Ayla nodded. “That must be it.”

  They turned out the lights, but as they walked out, Ayla slipped something into her pocket. Jane hadn’t seen her pick anything up besides the hoodie.

  What had been in the hoodie pocket?

  Eight

  Jane was a little late for her lunch with Rocky, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  She pulled up a chair, and the waitress, a middle-aged women with a bright smile and short, spikey gray hair, took her order.

  When she had finished, Rocky began. “This is what Flora wants. Tangible. Hard copies. References for everything we do. It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it.” He passed Jane a stapled packet of papers. “That’s from a similar fraud case we handled several years ago.” He took a deep drink from his big ceramic mug.

  Jane flipped through the papers. The stack was thick. A summary page on top, written like a school essay, told the story of the investigation from start to finish. Time sheets were right behind that, and behind those, mileage. Copies of paperwork, like the receipts for the honeymoon cruise this couple had booked, were alphabetical at the back of the stack, with a one paragraph description of the item stapled behind each sheet. Jane bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t bad at paperwork, but she wasn’t used to being accountable to anyone but herself. How would she describe today’s foray, for example? She hadn’t planned on putting it on her time sheet, but it included contact with a person of interest in the case, so it looked, as far as she could tell, like she’d need to include it.

  “Don’t let it worry you. She don’t mind so much about the spelling.” He grinned.

  Jane tried to laugh. “I spell all right.”

  “What is it then?” He leaned forward. “Worried about accounting for your time?”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I’m a PI. Of course I paid attention to how long you stared at those time sheets. Listen, you don’t have to tell her what you do off hours, but this industry is very lawsuit friendly. Plus, we’re a non-profit. We have to be transparent. Above board in all things. As a Christian lady, I think you’d agree with that.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled, and her face warmed up. “No, of course. I’m just not used to it. That’s all.” She laid the papers down. “I skimmed the summary at the beginning. How would you suggest I get a handle on the style she likes?”

  “Hmmm.” He bit into a burger that had been waiting on his plate. “I suppose spend an afternoon at the office reading as many cases on file as you can.”

  That made sense, though she chafed at the time loss it represented.

  “And you could practice right now, by telling me how you spent the morning.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her hands. Fortunately the waitress came with her turkey sandwich before she got herself started. She pulled the toothpick out of each half and removed the pickles in silence.

  “You like those pickles about as much as you like having to report everything, don’t you?” His grin held a hint of brotherhood, as though maybe he, too, chafed a little at reporting in full every little detail to his wife. “Flora has a gift for investigation and management. She may not be the most flexible woman, but she runs a tight ship.” He gulped his coffee.

  Jane sipped hers. Then she opened up and spilled all the details. At the end of her story, Rocky burst into a deep gut laugh. “I see.” He held his hands on his belly, head tipped back. “No wonder you look like the cat that ate the pet canary.”

  “What do I do?”

  “It depends. Did Flora tell you specifically to leave that murder investigation alone?”

  “I keep thinking no…she just wanted to be sure I had finished the fraud case first. But what if I am subconsciously misremembering to justify doing whatever I wanted.”

  Rocky shook his head. “Not with Flora. You can’t subconsciously misremember her when she’s telling you what to do. If she left it up in the air at all, she won’t be too mad.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Don’t get me wrong. If she implied you shouldn’t do it, and you did, she will be mad. But she won’t be too mad.”

  “What’s the best way to make this right?” Jane squared her shoulders and ignored the nagging feeling that she had already massively screwed up her new job.

  “Write a really good summary. A quality report will cover a multitude of sins.”

  Jane pressed her lips together. A written confession. She could do it, but it made her gut burn.

  “Why don’t you practice now? You just told me what you did today. Why don’t you tell me, in excruciating detail, what you did and why you made those choices? I’ll help you figure out how to best write it.”

  Jane took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  They went over her morning activity for the next half an hour. Jane managed to eat half of her sandwich and down two more cups of coffee. When she was done, she was fully exhausted, but Rocky looked pleased.

  “Tell you what,” Rocky said. “Write a summary of what you have done for the murder investigation, just like we talked about it, and bring it to Flora first thing tomorrow morning. Tell her it is your proposal to take on the murder as its own case.”

  “Really?” It felt like a light had turned on in a dark room. “She’d go for that?”

  “Maybe. Also write up a summary of your current case. Tell her you are almost done but wanted to try a rough draft to see if you had the hang of it. She’ll like that. Give it to her
first, then the proposal.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Rocky got his wallet out and laid a hundred on the table. “That should cover the table for our time, don’t you think?”

  Jane almost kissed his cheek in gratitude. She had money for lunch at the café, but not if she also wanted to get food for tomorrow, too. “Thank you.” This time her words came out in a whisper, but Rocky seemed pleased.

  Nine

  When Jake called, Jane pled a headache, and asked him not to come over. It made her look like she was still really mad. She was still a little mad, but she was getting over it. She knew she’d never be able to get her reports done with him nibbling her ear, or pestering her about getting married, or whatever it was he had in mind. And if she couldn’t get her work done tonight, she’d be really mad, all over again.

  She let her mind wander over to the wedding for a moment. What was her problem, anyway? She was twenty-three. Plenty old enough to get married. Nothing wrong with marrying Jake. She loved him, and planned to do it anyway. Why not do it before he left?

  To start with, she didn’t want him to run off to Thailand for work instead of having a honeymoon. And she couldn’t see a fundraising expedition to a rescue house for trafficked kids as a great romantic getaway, either. So there was that. The timing was really bad.

  Also, her Bible School friends had fallen like flies. They had gotten married left and right, and only one of them had married someone who also wanted to be a missionary.

  But then, that was Jake’s goal, too. To move finally and firmly, with her, to Thailand to serve in foreign missions, so “jumping” into marriage with him wasn’t giving up her dream at all.

  But people might think it was.

  They might see her jump into marrying Jake, with no obvious plans to move overseas, and think she was so desperate to get married that she just gave up on God’s call.

  On the other hand, who cared what “they” thought? And who were “they” anyway? Just the voices in her head that judged everyone else. A habit she really had to stop.

  She dragged her hand through her hair. She needed to focus on these two reports. And maybe, if she could, focus on having a humble, leadable spirit. She would be useless, no matter what job she held in her life, if she couldn’t follow a leader and serve an employer.