The Plain Jane Mystery Box Set 2

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “What are you going to do about it, I mean, besides the coupons?”

  “I’ll do what I need to do.” Jake had his eye on the window, watching Ted walk down the sidewalk of Maywood’s Main Street. “The more interesting question is, what are you going to do next about this murder?”

  Jane took a deep breath. “Before we get back to the murder, do you think you’ll get in trouble for the coupons?”

  “Buying votes? No, I won’t. And the voters won’t vote in blue laws. Maywood is an incorporated suburb, essentially. Two thousand people on the edge of Portland. What good would it do? We’d just drive the half a block across the border and get lunch at McDonald’s. The mayor knows that.”

  “Could there be another motive for his push to make fast food illegal on Sundays?” Jane checked the time on her phone. She had another client to get to.

  “He really likes smoothies.”

  “Is that your serious answer?”

  Jake shook his head. “He really wants me to put in a Yo-Heaven, but I don’t know why. If I could figure that out…”

  “It would help, anyway.”

  Jake sat down again. “It would answer some questions. So, how are you going to get the information you need about the rest of the Malachi task force?”

  “I have to work my strengths.”

  “You’ll win them over with your smile?”

  “Close.” Jane grinned. “I don’t have any authority. I don’t have an air of importance. I’m not related. There’s no threat hanging over my head.”

  “You make a strong case against them talking to you.”

  “But I’m a coed, and this is a famous murder case. How hard can it be to convince them I’m a bubbleheaded gossip? If I smile a lot and bat my eyes, I can probably get all sorts of information they don’t realize they’re giving me. In my pink rubber gloves with a bandana around my head, I’m completely harmless.”

  Jake sized her up. “I think you could pull that off.”

  “It’s worth a try, anyway.”

  Jake’s gaze had drifted back to the window.

  “I’ll go and let you work. I’ve got another client anyway.” She kissed his cheek and left, wondering for the moment more about Jake’s troubles with the sleepy little suburb/town of Maywood than about the murder.

  Chapter 9

  Christiana didn’t want daily cleaning, so it was a couple of days before Jane was finally back in the Malachi rental house, ready to clean, observe, and listen.

  The house was fairly clean, no small kids or dogs, so Jane moved quickly through the main floor.

  She had two goals this afternoon: find out everything she could about Christiana’s family—and whoever else might be living at the house—and get the other nine task force members’ names. Once she knew who the locals were, she could find them and get down to business.

  The two guest rooms that she secretly called the Frat House were still clean from her last time through—a testimony either to the occupants taking the hint that they didn’t have to live like pigs, or that they hadn’t stayed there the last two days. But apart from the books in “Wilt’s” room being on the bedside table instead of the desk, there was nothing new to note.

  She moved on to Christiana’s room and gave it a closer inspection than she had the first time through. The master bedroom was small, as the house was an old Portland style. It had been remodeled sometime recently, but the bones were the bones, and this room, like the other two she had been in already, was only big enough for a few pieces of furniture. Christiana seemed to keep it spotless, but Jane put her trusty Roomba on the floor and let it run around the rug while she dusted the dresser tops.

  If she had her dates right, Christiana and Josiah had only been in the house for a week or so before he died. Not long enough to make yourself at home, and generic décor seemed to prove her right. There was, however, a family picture in a folding leather travel frame on the bedside table.

  Jane recognized Josiah and Christiana. They stood with a petite, silver-haired lady and three children. The lady had the classic halo of old-lady curls. The children were grade-school aged and younger, maybe a three-year-old and two “big kids.” Jane made a mental note to study height charts or something so she could guess ages better. Either way, the baby in the family was a girl, and the two others were boys. The middle child was small and had Luke Skywalker hair but wore a faded pink shirt, baggy jeans, and basketball shoes. He also had a face full of freckles that would make anyone stand out in a crowd. The oldest child was very pretty. There was no other word for it. Thick eyelashes, full lips, chiseled cheekbones even though he couldn’t have been in his teens yet in the picture.

  She dusted the picture and then moved on to the bathroom, making a note of all of the prescriptions on the counter. Depending on the side effects, they could be important.

  The house only had the three bedrooms, so unless there was a hide-a-bed in the den, it looked like it was just the family at the house. Pity. She would have liked easier access to some of the other big players in the case.

  When she was sure she had cleaned the top of the house as well as she would for any client, she went back downstairs with the hope of trying out her gossipy coed act on one of the people living in the house.

  She lingered silently in the hall until she heard the quiet clicks of someone typing in the den. She grabbed a dust rag, started whistling, and let herself in.

  “Oh! Sorry!” She smiled at a guy about her age who had floppy hair and a face full of freckles.

  He looked up at her, paused, and then grinned. “Don’t apologize.” He shut his laptop and kicked his feet up on the chair. She noted his cuffed pants.

  Jane ran the dust rag the length of the built-in bookshelf. “So, so sad about Josiah Malachi.” She batted her eyes at the guy and hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

  “Yeah.” Freckles didn’t elaborate.

  “Were you there?” She watched him from the corner of her eye as she dusted the next shelf up.

  “Nope.” He started typing again.

  “My cousin was there. She said it was awful. He got really sick, I guess.”

  Freckles sat up. He crossed his arms. “What do you think I’m going to tell you?”

  “I mean, I’ve just never seen anyone die before. I felt awful for her.” Jane’s hand shook. She tried to smile sweetly, but she only managed a forced grin.

  “That’s not what your website says.”

  Jane paused.

  “Jane Adler, Girl Detective.” Freckles dropped his feet back to the floor and leaned forward. “We’re not stupid.”

  Jane finished dusting the shelf. “And housekeeper. It’s not like I could make a living as a detective.” She tried a light laugh out, but it sounded fake.

  “Francine hired you for Mom because she wants you to say that Mom killed Josiah, but we all know it was Francine, so you might as well pack up your stuff and go home.” His words came out like his jaw was locked.

  “Why do you think Francine killed your dad?” She pushed a step stool over and climbed up to reach the highest shelves.

  “He wasn’t my dad.”

  “Okay. But why do you think Francine killed him?”

  “I guess you’re going to have to figure that out for yourself, Girl Detective.” He grabbed his laptop and stalked out of the room.

  “Hey, Wilt!” Jane called after him.

  He turned and lifted his eyebrow. “Wrong.”

  “Not Wilt?”

  “Nope.” He turned away and went upstairs.

  Jane dusted the rest of the shelves, fuming at herself. “Undercover housekeeper” didn’t work if your website clearly said you were a housecleaning detective. She’d have to work on that.

  And maybe some disguises for the future.

  Chapter 10

  School and cleaning for other clients took a big bite out of her time, which was a pain, but a day and a half later Jane was able to carve away time for a lengthy call to Fran
cine.

  “Listen, we need to have a long conversation.” Jane sat on her desk chair in the corner of her bedroom with her feet against the wall. “Can you meet me somewhere?”

  Francine cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “You have Christiana paying me good money for my services, but I can’t help you from where I’m at. If you can’t meet, are you somewhere that you can answer questions for me now?” Jane had prepared a litany of questions for Francine on her bus ride home from school. On the phone she wouldn’t be able to read body language, but it was better than nothing.

  “I’m alone.”

  “Can you talk freely at this phone number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Jane pushed off from the wall and rolled to her desk. “I have some very basic questions to start with. Who lives at the house with Christiana?”

  “Theo and Nick.” Francine paused. “Her sons.”

  “Which one has the freckles?” Jane typed her notes out this time so she’d actually be able to read them when she was done.

  “Theo.”

  “How old are the boys, and are they Josiah’s stepsons?”

  Francine paused. “How did you know?”

  “Call it a hunch. How old are they, and what happened to their sister?”

  “Theo is almost nineteen and Nick is twenty.” Francine paused. When she spoke again, her voice broke. “Haven disappeared four years ago. She would be sixteen.”

  Jane stopped typing. “That’s awful.” Francine’s words hit her like ice water. Four years ago Haven could have only been about twelve. “Did they, I mean, do they have any idea…?” She stopped. The poor child.

  “It wasn’t like that.” Francine cleared her throat, making an effort to sound matter of fact. “One day we were in Toledo at an event; all three kids were in the crowd, with task force members taking care of them. The next morning Haven didn’t come down to breakfast, and no one mentioned her again.”

  Jane closed her eyes. “You don’t think Josiah did something?” She could barely get the words out. It was the very last thing she had been expecting from this phone call.

  “He did something, I’m sure. But I don’t know what. Once Nick asked about his sister while I was in the room. They took Nick to a different room to speak about it. When they came back, he seemed perfectly cool with whatever he had heard.”

  “But didn’t you call the police?”

  “What could I do? Her parents weren’t concerned in the least.” Francine sounded angry.

  “When a child goes missing, someone should tell somebody. When exactly did you last see Haven?”

  “I saw Haven Malachi last on December 15, 2010. She was twelve years old. We were in Toledo, Ohio.”

  “I want you to know that I will be telling the police this.” Jane stared at her list of questions, all of them so inadequate for what she had just learned. Toledo. Someone had written angrily about Toledo in their journal. Maybe that was the day that Nick had learned something about his sister.

  “I told them yesterday.” She sighed deeply. “I had to go in for an interview. But you can too. Someone should look for that child.”

  “Francine…I’m a bit speechless. I wasn’t expecting that, and I hate to even ask the rest of my questions, but I need to.”

  “I can give you ten minutes.”

  “Do Theo and Nick ever see their dad?” Jane ran her eye over her questions, culling the ones that weren’t immediately necessary.

  “Yes, usually for the whole summer.”

  “And what is his name?” Jane swallowed hard. She needed to move past the missing-kid thing, at least for the rest of the conversation.

  “Dave Rizzo. He lives in Pasadena.”

  “Thank you. Now…I think I’d better ask about the other nine members of the task force. Names and ages will do.”

  Francine listed off the nine names, all people in their early twenties, and local. Jane knew two of them from high school.

  “And why will the cops think you are the number-one suspect?”

  Francine took a deep breath. “Because Josiah said if I ever left the organization, he would destroy me.”

  Jane let her fingers hover over the keyboard. Was Francine likely to be a liar? Or needlessly dramatic? Hard to say. “How would the police know this?”

  “Because Christiana would tell them.”

  Jane paused again. She didn’t believe Francine. She wished she could see her face, see how she was holding herself while she said these things. Liars usually gave themselves away. “And why would Christiana say a thing like that about a popular international preacher—who happened to be her own husband?”

  Francine sighed. “I knew you looked young when I hired you, but I had hoped you weren’t so naïve.”

  “Are you implying that you had an affair with Josiah Malachi?”

  “No.” The single word was crisp.

  “Did she think you had an affair?” Irritation with Francine was quickly replacing the sorrow that had overwhelmed her when she heard about the missing child.

  “Yes.”

  “You think the cops will peg you as the most likely suspect because Christiana will tell them that Josiah had threatened you because of an affair.” Jane tapped her fingers on her keyboard. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I wanted to leave a long time ago, but I know too much about how they operate their show, and so Josiah threatened to wipe me out—financially, my reputation. He even said he’d kill me, Jane.” For once her voice broke, revealing a hint of real emotion.

  “How did Christiana know? Or how much did she know?”

  “Christiana knows about every trick, every threat, and every girlfriend. She knows it all. He tells her—told her—all about it because he was a megalomaniac. So, she will, or has, already told the police that I wanted to leave but he wouldn’t let me, and the only way out was to kill him.”

  “Was it?” Jane held her breath. She hadn’t meant to ask that, but it had come out.

  Francine didn’t say anything.

  Jane waited a moment longer. “I will look up everyone on the task force, but I think my partner was right. I think I need an insider with the police if I am going to get anywhere with this.”

  “Christiana is back.” That was all Francine said before she hung up.

  Jane stared at her notes. Missing child. Threats. Nine new people to talk to.

  No, only seven new people. Two of them were old friends.

  At least now she knew where to start—Facebook.

  It took five minutes to set up coffee with Reggie, Stacy, and Jake for that night. She realized Gemma would be disappointed to be left out, but…

  On second thought, she texted Gemma and invited her along. Now they’d have to talk about the murder. They wouldn’t be able to help it.

  A cellist in the corner of the dark little café—Rimsky’s Korsacoffee House—set a melancholy mood. It was Saturday night, so the place was crowded, but eventually Jane and her friends were seated at the low, round table in the southeast corner of the restaurant.

  Right off Jane noticed that Stacy and Reggie were holding hands. And Reggie leaned over and whispered something in Stacy’s ear that made her blush. Though they had all been on the lunchtime Bible study committee together, Jane was surprised. Nothing on their Facebook profiles indicated they were a thing.

  She should have checked out their Instagrams. Blast Facebook. She needed it to keep in touch with her wealthy, middle-aged clients, but it was no way to stay on top of what her friends were up to.

  She’d have to do her best to ignore the weirdness of the speech club president and the captain of the cheerleaders being a thing. This was far from a real social event. They ordered coffee and desserts and settled into the low chairs and benches.

  “So…Jake and Jane, eh?” Reggie laughed. “That might be the second most surprising couple to come out of Prez Prep.”

  “I don’t think we
are even close to your league of crazy. No offense, Stace, but Reggie? Really?” Jake nudged Reggie with his elbow.

  Stacy picked up Reggie’s hand, her fingers already laced through his, and kissed it. “I know, right?”

  “Whoever has, he will be given more, and will have an abundance.” Reggie laughed.

  Gemma fidgeted in her seat. She reached for her coffee cup but bumped Jane’s pot de crème. “Oh, sorry!”

  “Not a problem.” Jane watched Jake grab for his cup and miss as well. No one had noticed the slowly spinning table, though she thought they all knew the secret. But just in case, she didn’t mention it. “What have you two been up to these days?”

  “Reggie is writing for Portland Tribune, and I’m still working for my dad.” Stacy missed her cup when she reached for it.

  Jane chewed her lip. She needed to swing the conversation to Josiah Malachi, but…no. She could do this. She could play the chatty, gossipy coed, even if Stacy and Reggie knew that wasn’t how she normally was.

  “What about you, Jake? Still flippin’ burgers?” Stacy asked.

  “Yup.”

  “You guys remember my cousin Gemma, right?”

  “Prez Prep class of ’03?” Reggie asked.

  “Yeah, but I only went there for junior and senior year, so I don’t know how you would know me!” Gemma held her coffee and eyed the table as she talked. “I was five years ahead of you kids.”

  “But you were on the championship volleyball team. The only one ever,” Stacy said with a laugh. “You all will never be forgotten at Prez Prep.”

  “Even benchwarmers like me, eh?”

  “What do you do now? Still play?” Stacy now had her eye on the table as well. “That is so weird; I could have sworn…” She shook her head and didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Gemma was at the Josiah Malachi event—the one where he died!” Jane spoke in breathless excitement, feigning innocent, gossipy conversation.

  “No way! We were there, too.” Stacy leaned forward. “Where were you when he died, Gemma?”

  Gemma set her cup down and fluttered her eyelashes. “I was on the stage.” Her voice was low and dramatic. Jane almost laughed.