Plain Jane Mystery Box Set 1

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “I don’t want to be responsible for paying for this circus.” Jake’s words were muffled, like he had his mouth on the lid to his coffee cup already.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want, young man. You are the next of kin. You have to sign the papers. For the love of all that is holy, I’ve already paid for everything, but they won’t take one action until you have signed.”

  “But I just don’t like cremation.”

  “It was in their preplanned funeral arrangements! And after all the time we’ve made the funeral home wait you would be much happier with a cremation.”

  “Watch it. That’s my parents you are talking about.”

  “I wonder that you realize it. Get down to the funeral home today and sign the papers. Jane can go pick up the last effects. I won’t make you exert yourself overmuch.”

  Jane worked over a stubborn wrinkle on the green drape. She felt defeated. Not that she didn’t want to go pick up the last effects, wherever they might be, but the dragon that had been Marjory just days ago sounded defeated and it was having its effect. She sounded…small, even, and Jake, the star of Presbyterian Prep’s basketball team and straight-A student, sounded like the worst kind of snotty slacker. When she was done with the drapes she had to call Phoebe. This house needed an infusion of new blood.

  Steaming all of the drapes to be found in the five-story, 100-year-old-home took several hours, and by the time Jane was finished she was a sweaty mess. Her arms shook as she carried the last set into the living room to be re-hung, and the sun was setting. She was determined to call Phoebe as soon as the last drapery clip was clicked together.

  She slumped into the wingback chair next to the window and took a deep breath. Phoebe hadn’t been interested last time she had called. Jane hoped that was because she had been woken up from a deep sleep.

  Jane scrolled through her phone and found the number. It only rang once.

  “Hello?”

  “Phoebe? This is Jane Adler, from your parents’ house.”

  “Oh. Hi.” Phoebe’s voice had the same defeated sound in it that Marjory’s had had while arguing with Jake.

  “I, um, I was wondering how you are doing.”

  “As well as could be expected.”

  Jane fumbled for her next words. Help? We need you? We’re falling apart here? I know I’m just the maid, but…. She decided to go with that one. “I know I’m just the maid, but…things are really tense around here and I just thought that maybe it would help if you, um, you were to come and stay for a while.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  Jane waited.

  “Yeah, um. I was kind of rude last time we spoke. You know, you aren’t ‘just the maid.’”

  Jane wasn’t sure what Phoebe was referring to, but was too exhausted to pursue it. “See,” Jane began, “it’s just your aunt and Jake here and it seems like they could really use you.”

  Phoebe let a heavy sigh out that crackled over the cell phone. “Why? They’ve got you. If I’ve heard it once I’ve heard it a thousand times. ‘That Jane is a real crackerjack. She’s going places.’”

  “Um…” Jane was really at a loss now. “I just think that your brother…and your aunt…”

  “I’m sure you’ve got things under control, Jane. When have you not? If Aunt Marjory is lonely she can call her own kids, and as for Jake…I’m sure you can comfort him just fine.”

  “Phoebe, I know this has all been really hard for everyone…”

  “Listen, don’t call me again. I’ll be where I need to be, when I need to be there.”

  Phoebe hung up.

  Jane stared at her phone. Since when had Phoebe hated her? They had known each other a little bit, via company picnics, and at school, but Phoebe was a freshman at college this year and really their circles had barely crossed at school. Jane closed her eyes.

  If she just had a few grates to clean her transformation into Cinderella would be complete, evil stepsisters and all.

  Jane heard the soft padding sound of Marjory’s leather-soled boots coming down the hall. She rubbed her eyes and tried to perk up.

  “Ahh, there you are.” Marjory looked her up and down, like a specimen. “I need you to get to the Medical Examiner’s office to pick up the last effects.” Marjory looked at her watch. “You should still have time today.”

  Jane’s mind was working slowly, and Marjory was gone again before she could ask where the ME’s office was.

  Her trusty laptop was waiting in the bedroom on the third floor, so, ruing her not-so-smart phone for not the first time, Jane trudged her tired body upstairs to find out where the ME’s office was and if she really had time to get there. It was, after all, already four in the afternoon.

  Her laptop took an unearthly long time to warm up and connect to the spotty wi-fi. In fact, she was halfway back down the second flight of stairs before it picked up a signal, but eventually with the help of St. Google she found what she needed. “Oh, thank you, Lord.” The prayer of thanksgiving slipped out like breathing.

  The state ME’s office was not downtown, as she had feared. It was still six miles away, but she could avoid the rush back home from work by taking surface streets. Jane was pretty confident she could make it there before it closed at five.

  Jane pushed open the door to the ME’s office ten minutes before closing. The drive had been fast enough for surface roads, but it was a bit farther away than Jane had anticipated. She paused just in front of the heavy glass door and looked at the reception desk. The room was cold and smelled like antiseptic and the biology lab at her old high school.

  A middle-aged woman with heavy gray hair hanging in thick bangs over her forehead sat with her eyes glued to a computer screen. A wall of bullet proof glass, with a small pass through in it separated the receptionist from the waiting room.

  Jane cleared her throat and went forward to the desk. “Excuse me, I’m here to collect the last effects of Robert and Pamela Crawford.” Her voice inflected up like a question.

  “Are you the next of kin?” The lady at the desk looked up through her wide plastic glasses.

  “I’m the housekeeper.”

  “I can only release the last effects to the next of kin.”

  Jane took a deep breath. “Could we call him and have him tell you I can take their belongings home?”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” The woman turned to her computer again.

  “Could you let me know how it does work? I’ll need to explain it when I get back to the house.”

  The lady looked up again. “I can’t release anything to anyone who is not the next of kin. Not the personal effects, not the investigation report, nothing. Just let them know.”

  Investigation report? Jane perked up. She hadn’t known she could get a copy of that. Well, that is to say, she couldn’t yet, but if she came back with Jake she could. “And how do you prove the next of kin thing?”

  “Picture ID. Is that all?”

  Jane looked at the wall clock. Technically she still had three minutes. “About that report…would it tell the cause of death?”

  The receptionist let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sinking in apparent aggravation. “That is the point of an autopsy, isn’t it?”

  “So we would know the cause of death…” Jane spoke under her breath.

  “Everything but the results of the blood work. It can take several weeks to get the report back on blood work.”

  “But if it was just a heart attack?”

  “It’s always just heart failure.”

  “What?” Jane straightened up.

  “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted. I don’t mean to be short with you. The heart always fails when we die, so between you and me, most deaths are labeled ‘cardiac arrest.’ That or pneumonia. People with aids die of pneumonia. People with cancer die of pneumonia. Everyone who doesn’t die of heart failure dies of pneumonia.”

  Jane looked back at the clock. The receptionist sounded like she was ready for a new
line of work, but as long as she was feeling chatty Jane thought she should take advantage of it. “So, a drug overdose could be written as cardiac arrest, or heart failure or something?”

  “Yes, it could. They're supposed to write the cause of the heart failure, but it doesn’t always get recorded.” The receptionist straightened up and looked nervously toward the door behind her. “The medical examiner always does it right, of course. I’m just talking about the regular doctors, and I shouldn’t have said that much.”

  “But what about murder? Or something like that?”

  “Every suspicious death comes here and the ME does a very good job of determining what caused the…heart failure.” She smirked at the last word, obviously still annoyed by the nature of death certificates.

  “But if you don’t get the blood work back for several weeks what does the ME write on the death certificate?” Jane leaned forward on the counter in front of the protective glass, trying to appear interested and friendly at the same time.

  “Without blood work or obvious trauma? Well, that would be heart failure or pneumonia, wouldn’t it?” She shrugged. “Send the next of kin in for the personal effects, and, um, do you mind keeping our little chat to yourself? I’m, um, I have a migraine.”

  “I completely understand. You should hear me talk about cleaning houses when I have a migraine. I’ll let Jake know he has to come here himself. Thanks for everything.”

  The receptionist nodded and turned back to her computer screen.

  Whether the receptionist thought the ME’s report would be helpful or not, Jane was pleased that she had the chance to get her hands on it. She’d love to put to rest the idea that the Crawfords had been murdered—she might be the only one thinking it so far, but she’d love to make that thought go away.

  Chapter 12

  Jane wasn’t in a hurry to get back to Marjory empty-handed, so she made her trip home go past the protesters at the Roly Burger. The news helicopters were gone, but one news van remained. Jane parked behind it.

  The protestors seemed to have increased since the news broadcast. There were at least thirty now. Jane scanned the parking lot—she counted three Priuses, a Smart Car, and a several road bikes. It looked like the protestors had all come straight from their day jobs.

  Most of them lounged in front of the double glass door, but five protestors surrounded a family in the parking lot.

  Jane got out of her car. She leaned on the rag top roof and watched, the smell of grilled burgers and fresh-baked bread tempting her to get closer.

  A mom in sweats and a hoodie held the hands of two medium-sized boys. Jane guessed older grade-schoolers, wearing dirty soccer jerseys and shin guards. A man who was possibly their dad stood with them. He was a big guy, broad, and hefty, and wore a hoodie that said “Coach” on the back.

  The scrawny protestors in their Toms and dread-locks were bearing down on the family.

  Jane took a deep breath. Talk about a family in need. She crossed the parking lot, praying with each step. She didn’t want to escalate the drama, but those poor boys looked like they had just finished a game. If so, they were starving.

  Jane pushed her way past the family and stood in front of the protesters. “Let these people in.”

  “To poison their children? Never!” The speaker was a skinny yellow woman with thick blond hair in a braid that went to the waistband of her hemp pants.

  “They aren’t going to poison their children. Just let them pass.” Jane crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Mo-om, I need to use the bathroom.” One of the kids behind Jane had a desperate twinge to his voice.

  “Listen, everyone.” The dad seemed to be using his coach voice. “I’ve got two hungry kids who need to go and a long drive ahead of us. Get out of the way and I won’t call the cops.”

  “Freedom of expression, brother. We can stay here aaall night.” The speaker was a young man in a skinny suit with a bushy beard. The protestors linked arms and made a U around Jane and the family.

  “This is ridiculous.” Jane turned around. She grabbed a boy by each hand and dragged them behind her as she busted through the two skinniest arms. She stepped over the loungers in front of the door and pushed her way into the restaurant.

  “This had better be worth it.” The father passed Jane and turned his eyes to the menu. The mom and the two boys went around the corner to find the bathrooms.

  “Of course it’s worth it!” Jake Crawford appeared in front of the register. “I guarantee the burger with the Roly-Poly bun will be the best you’ve ever had, or it’s on the house. Hey! You know what? It’s on the house anyway! Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  “It’s the least you can do. What’s with those jerks outside?”

  Jake forced his face into a somber expression. “They are anti-freedom communists who care more about cows than the rights of people to eat food that makes them happy. It’s a crime. Or it should be a crime. The least I can do is feed you.”

  The dad ordered several combo meals and then took a seat to wait for his wife and kids.

  “And for you? Whatever you want, Jane the Brave. You faced down the enemy and brought me customers. Your order is my command.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “This is my domain. My castle. I defend it to the death.”

  Jane leaned to look behind Jake. He had a full crew cooking up orders. She turned and looked into the restaurant. The family she had escorted inside sat together, and a skinny teenager in a Roly Burger golf shirt sat alone playing on his phone. “This is a pretty sorry dinner hour. Has the whole day been like this?”

  “It’s been worse. You have to help us. Stay here with me until closing, okay?”

  Jane eyed the clock on the wall. There were four more hours till closing. “Why?”

  “Because we still have one news van in the driveway. Eventually the evening news will update the situation. When they poke their camera in the window, I want them to see a pretty girl eating a Roly Burger. Please?”

  Jane licked her lips. This could work in her favor. “I can stay until six-thirty. That’s over an hour, but if I do, I need a favor.”

  “I don’t know. Can’t you make it any longer?”

  “Absolutely not. I have class tonight. You’ve got an hour and a half or nothing What do you say?” Jane folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to look stern.

  “What’s the favor? Maybe it’s not worth a mere hour and a half of Jane Adler’s precious time.”

  “I need you to come with me to the Medical Examiner’s office first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Your first thing or mine?”

  “Don’t worry, the Medical Examiner’s office isn’t open by my first thing in the morning. Yours will do.”

  Jake stuck out his hand. Jane shook it.

  “It’s a deal then, Janey, but I’m going to do my best to make you forget about your class tonight.”

  “Good luck with that.” Jane settled into a booth by the front window where she’d be in plain sight of any news cameras. “If I’m going to sit here for the next hour I would love to be able to read the newspaper.”

  “Next hour-and-a-half.”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

  “As you wish.” Jake bowed deeply and went back into the kitchen.

  Jane watched the protestors relax outside. One of them smoked what Jane assumed was a clove cigarette. It seemed at odds with the Harm No Bodies philosophy of Help. Eventually Jake brought her a tray full of food and a newspaper.

  Jake moved to hover around the windows, watching for news cameras.

  Jane opened the newspaper to the business section. She found what she was looking for on page three, a tiny paragraph near the bottom. Headline: Yo-Heaven Corp Expansion Stymied by Crawford Family Deaths.

  According to Jim Needles of the Oregon Journal, The Yo-Heaven Corporation and the acting head of the Crawford Family Restaurant Corporation were both aggravated by delays in the pla
nned transformation from Roly Burger to Yo-Heaven. Jane turned her head back to Jake. He seemed to want to keep his restaurant open at all costs. Would he have killed his parents to save the store?

  Before she could completely dismiss the idea as impossible, her phone rang. Caller ID said it was Sam.

  A wave of anger rolled off Jane. She took a deep breath before she answered. “Yes?”

  “Hey, so, yeah. The landlord wants your junk cleaned out of the apartment.”

  “Great!” Relief spread across Jane’s tense shoulders.

  “By like, tonight, yeah?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “So, he’s um, unloading your stuff tomorrow morning. He’s got a dumpster. So if you want it back you need to get it tonight.”

  “Slow down. What do you mean? How can I get it? He changed the locks. And it’s furniture. How do I get furniture in my rabbit?”

  “You know what, Jane? I don’t need this. I totally didn’t have to call you. I’m trying to help.”

  “Okay.” Jane took another deep breath. She did need help and Sam drove a pickup truck. If she could keep herself together, keep it friendly, she might be able to salvage something.

  “Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay? How can I get in to get my stuff?”

  “Do you know anyone who picks locks?”

  Jane glanced up at Jake. She’d bet money he could do it. “Not offhand.”

  “Then call the landlord, Jane. Do I have to do everything for you?”

  Jane took a drink from her soda so that she wouldn’t blurt out what she was really thinking. “May I have his number?”

  “Yeah, um, about that. I wasn’t supposed to have a roommate in that small apartment, you know? So, um, calling him isn’t a good idea.”

  Jane bit her lip. When she tasted the first coppery hint of blood she stopped. She prayed silently for the strength to be gracious. “Sam…I really want to get my stuff. Thank you for calling me.” It hurt to say it, but it was said and she thanked God she did it. “But I really don’t know what to do now. I don’t want to be involved in a breaking and entering situation.”