“Her name is Susan, and you gave her lottery numbers to play. Said they’d win.”
“Never. Not me.” Yana shut her book. “You can go now, I’m busy.”
“Yana…Yana. I come by here, what, once a month or so? We’re old friends. Why don’t you stick to the palms and leave the numbers out of it, yes?”
Yana shrugged. “I don’t do numbers. Gotta go somewhere else for numbers.”
“Your husband sure does numbers.”
Yana looked up fast. This must have been what they really came about.
“He does numbers on his tax forms that aren’t his numbers, I hear. Makes up lots of numbers, like you did for Susan.”
“Get out. We’re closed.” She reached to the window and flipped her sign.
Bryce pulled another piece of paper out of his pocket. “I could talk to Tony about the taxes, or you and I could talk about Susan, and Mary, and Sasha, and Vicky, and Barb, and Margie. There are more names here too, all saying you gave them numbers. And that you charged them…” He looked at the paper again, but Jane was pretty sure that was more drama. “They say you charged them a thousand dollars each for the jackpot numbers, but none of them won.”
“Closed. So sorry.” Yana stood up. “Come back tomorrow and talk to Tony. He knows people. Maybe he knows who’s selling numbers. It’s not me.” She looked shaken, but not much. The hints about the taxes bothered her, but standing, she looked stronger, more able to deal with them, despite her short stature and small frame, than she had sitting down.
“I’ll come back tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“Bring the girl back too. I do a reading. She has something she wants to know.”
“Oh, no…” Jane said. “I don’t do this. I’m a Christian.”
“Yes, yes, bless the baby Jesus, I am too.” Yana made the sign of the cross. “Come back tomorrow. I do a reading and give you all your answers.”
“The Bible teaches that fortune-telling is a sin.” Jane couldn’t think of the verse offhand, not having been trained to minister to this particular community. “So I really can’t.”
“No, no, I’m not telling fortunes. I’m not sinning. I will just read your palm and tell you what God wrote on your hand, see? He answers your big questions.”
Jane glanced at Bryce, who had an amused look on his face.
“You want to know who…you want to know who…” Yana tapped her forehead. “Ah, my little one. You want to know, and your hand will tell you.”
Jane let her breath out slowly. Had Yana been about to say, “Who killed Josiah Malachi”? She doubted it. “Sorry, ma’am. My palm doesn’t know the answer to my questions.”
“Then you are asking the wrong questions.”
Detective Bryce chuckled. “For a thousand dollars she’ll tell you what question to ask. Come on, Jane, we’ve got another friend to visit.” He opened the door and led her outside.
Jane didn’t give any credence to Yana or her palm reading, but she did wonder if she had been asking the right questions. Finding out Haven was fine hadn’t led her any closer to her killer, at least not yet. And fumbling around trying to make friends with a detective wasn’t helping either.
Back in Bryce’s car, she gave complete transparency a try. “To be honest, though I did hope we’d talk about the Malachi murder, the thing I really wanted from this day out was to get to know you better.” Yet again, Jane felt like a child talking to the detective, but she couldn’t waste the whole day. “Miss Marple had a nephew on the force. Poirot worked side by side with his buddy Japp. Sherlock had Lestrade. I’m not foolish enough to think I can solve a crime without a buddy on the police force.”
“But you take your business plan from old books?” Detective Bryce laughed. “I admit, it’s flattering to have a pretty kid call me up and ask for advice, but that’s just not how it works. Let’s follow up on this next call. It should be a good one for giving you a real taste of detective work.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” Jane asked.
“Little old lady thinks her neighbors are human traffickers. We’ll pop in, have a cup of tea, and watch the house from her picture window. She’ll tell us everything she has been seeing, and we’ll see if there is anything to it.”
“Is there?”
“Not usually. But I’d hate to not go to the one that was legit. Are you in?”
Jane checked the time on the dash. A tea-party stakeout, or…? Or she could get back to her own investigation.
“Ah. I see. Not your cup of tea?”
“I don’t see how it’s a great use of my time, frankly.”
“If you’re serious about investigation, I don’t see how it’s not the best use of your time.”
“I’ve got a theory in mind about the Malachi case, and I need to check it out. I need to make some calls and demand answers to my questions.”
Detective Bryce was quiet for a moment. “You need to get your school to arrange your internship so you can get your license. And you need to take down your website.”
“Yes, I do. I know it. But I can only do so much at any given time. Anyway, I called my web guy. He’s going to straighten out my site for me.”
“That’s something, anyway.” He paused. “So you’re taking a pass on the stakeout?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. You’ll have to do this again, and soon, if you are smart. The more experience you get, the better you will get at this. I think…and don’t get me wrong…but I think you have the tendency to jump into the deep end with your eyes closed.”
It smarted, but he was right. “You can let me off here; I can catch the bus home.”
“I can drive you back to your car, Jane.” Detective Bryce stared into the distance, an eye on the mean streets of Portland.
Jane tried to smile. Here she was, in yet another ridiculous circumstance of her own creating. A detective she had contacted for help was trying to give her a chance, but she was insisting on quitting. He intended to give her real detective work experience, but she didn’t have time for it because she had a murder to solve. And now Bryce was determined to be a gentleman even though the truth was, she had ridden the bus to the police station. She chuckled. “I didn’t drive. I took the bus, I swear.”
Detective Bryce just shrugged. “Then I’ll drive you home. Which way?”
Detective Bryce used the rest of the ride home to describe the time and training required to become a police detective. It wasn’t bad information, but she couldn’t call it useful. She didn’t want to be a cop. She wanted…she wanted a house out in the African bush, or maybe in a village somewhere, or on Zebra Drive like Mma Ramotswe. She wanted people to come to her with their problems, little or big, so she could solve them with a little humble sleuthing and the gospel. And until she got herself out to some faraway place where they didn’t know Jesus, she wanted to do the same thing in Portland—without having to worry about licenses or three years of supervised experience.
If there was a way to make that happen, she would find it.
At her apartment, Jane almost didn’t get out of her car. Gemma was outside with Ben. He was still wearing his helmet and straddling his scooter, but it was easy to see that he was fully engaged in a fight with Gemma.
Jane squared her shoulders and met them at the scene of the argument. She didn’t like the sound of Detective Bryce’s car door opening and shutting behind her. It was not the sound of the detective driving away that she had been hoping to hear.
“Hey, Ben.” She tried to keep it cool, and didn’t turn around to see if the attractive detective was hovering behind her. “What’s up?”
“I came over to get your website issues straightened out, but Gemma won’t let me in.”
“I have a class.” She crossed her arms. The argument had added color to her cheeks, and her pouty lips were a cheery red. Jane only wished she could look as cute as her cousin did when irritated.
“I wasn’t going to steal your stuff, Gem. I wa
s just going to sit there with my laptop working until Jane got home. Which she did. So now you can run along and we can work.”
“Is this guy bothering you?” From behind Jane, the deep southern drawl of Detective Bryce broke out.
“Yes. Always.” Gemma rolled her eyes.
“It’s okay, Grant, it’s her brother.”
“Ex-brother.”
“A domestic dispute?” Detective Bryce asked.
“No, not a domestic anything.” Ben’s voice was rich with exasperation. “Listen, Jenny is very pregnant right now, and very tense. You remember how she got when we got married, right? And I had that little problem with getting kidnapped by the Scooter Mafia? Well, she heard a message from Jane about the little detective business and hit the roof. I cannot have you all calling me saying stuff like that. We have to do this in person, and make it the last time.”
“Kidnapped by the Scooter Mafia?” Detective Bryce didn’t sound convinced, and Jane couldn’t bring herself to turn around and see what kind of face he was making. She remembered the situation vaguely. Being an ex-stepcousin meant you didn’t keep up with the minutiae of everyday life…
“It was a long time ago. Another lifetime. But for Jenny’s sake, and the baby’s, I can’t have her constantly remembering it. Or the time we were held up at gunpoint at Mitzy Neuhaus’s wedding.”
“I thought that was knifepoint?” Gemma said.
“You went to that Realtor’s wedding?”
“It wasn’t by choice.” Ben grimaced. “The point is, we are solving this housecleaning-detective website issue now before you send my wife into premature labor.”
“And why didn’t she hire me, Ben? That’s all I want to know. I called. I texted. I emailed. I popped by at her work just to say hi. Why wouldn’t she let me be her doula?” Gemma’s eyes were sparking.
“Because she’s not a crazy hippie.”
“Do I look like a crazy hippie?” Gemma turned around to Detective Bryce, her glossy black bob swinging in the sun. From her perfect hair to preppy black yoga clothes, she was the picture of not-a-crazy-hippie.
“Not even slightly.” Detective Bryce chuckled.
“You know, Gemma, crazy hippie is as crazy hippie does. You got on Jenny’s bad list when you gave her the kombucha ‘mother’ for our wedding. You really can’t overcome that sort of thing with a new preppy haircut.”
Gemma wrinkled her nose. “That was a really good start to a healthy life, and I’m very sorry she didn’t appreciate it.”
“So, you brew your own kombucha?” Detective Bryce asked. “I’ve been wanting to try…”
This time Jane had to turn around. It wasn’t that she thought of herself as completely irreplaceable in a man’s heart, but no man ever really wanted to brew his own kombucha. If she had to bet, she’d guess the handsome young detective had just switched to Team Gemma.
“I can’t right now while I’m renting. What a stupid thing to put in a rental agreement, right?” Gemma fluttered her long black eyelashes.
“Yeah, I’d say. So…but if I wanted to start, maybe you could show me how…” He grinned.
Jane was astounded. He was standing taller, arms crossed on his chest, grinning at her cousin. And asking for help brewing kombucha. It was an “only in Portland” moment, she was sure.
“Yeah, maybe. I’ve got to run.” Gemma made a move to her car.
“Ah, well, um, maybe I can call you?” the detective asked.
Gemma didn’t seem to hear him.
“Hey, stupid, the cop wants your digits.” Ben, though only her stepbrother for a small part of their growing up, never outgrew his big-brotherly way of showing love.
“Oh!” Gemma turned on her heel. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Sure!” In what was supposed to have been one smooth maneuver, but turned out more like an awkward fumble, Gemma slipped the cop her card. “Whenever. I’m pretty flexible. Ciao!”
“Ciao?” Ben repeated.
Jane elbowed him in the ribs. “Thanks for the ride home.”
“No prob.” Detective Bryce practically skipped back to his car.
“I’d say you owe Gemma pretty substantially.” Ben followed Jane up to her apartment.
“Because?”
“Because from the looks of things, she’s getting you that coveted ‘in’ with the police that those detectives in books always have.”
Jane chewed her lip. “Or…just maybe…since she’s two months late on her half of the rent, she owes me a nice long relationship with said policeman.”
“Touché.” Ben grabbed a stool at the kitchen counter. “You two really need to get a table in this place.”
She shrugged. “So Jenny’s really stressing about the baby?”
“She’s stressing about the murder investigation, and the baby isn’t helping. Let’s get all of your Internet and design needs decided right now, and then you never have to call the house again.”
“Aw, you have a way of making us feel so loved.”
“Anything to keep the wife happy.”
“Well, this should do it. It’s been made more than clear to me that I have to cut out the detective act before I get caught selling my services without a license, so let’s revert back to form. It’s all housecleaning all the time for Plain Jane’s Good Clean Houses.”
“Right. Whatever.”
Chapter 19
By Monday Jane had convinced herself that solving crimes as an amateur—that is, not charging for her service—would be fine, for now. She managed to make it through her Contemporary Leadership Issues class and arrange a late coffee with Francine and Stacy with a clear conscience. She sat in a quiet corner of Bean Me Up Scotty’s and organized her thoughts for the meeting. Some murders go unsolved forever, and lacking any kind of access to the police investigation made her twenty-one-day time limit seem too, too short. She needed to lay out what she had for Francine and see if the three of them—the deep insider, the team member, and the amateur sleuth—could put the pieces together.
Stacy showed up first, which was a pity, but what could you do?
“I’m glad you could come.” Jane stood up to greet her old friend.
Stacy offered her an air kiss—a perfect imitation of her mom. “Not a problem, but I don’t understand. You want to talk about Josiah Malachi’s murder? Did you even know him? It all seems a bit macabre.”
“No, I didn’t know him.” Jane sat back and sipped her coffee. “But you remember I’m cleaning house for Christiana, right?”
Staci wrinkled her nose, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m cleaning her house as a ruse, Stace. Really I’m there as a private investigator, looking into the murder.”
“Ah!” Stacy’s face lit with understanding. “And that would be why, after five years without so much as a birthday text, you called to get together.”
Jane shrugged with a smile. “It was nice to catch up.”
“Agreed. But really, what could I know about it? I hung posters and did a couple of walk and knocks. I certainly didn’t overhear a secret murder plot.”
“But you were at the event, and you did do the team training, right? I’m thinking you might have character insight about the team that the people who work with each other every day don’t have.”
“I could see that.” Stacy sipped her coffee. “And I do have a degree in psychology. Specialty, body language.” She lifted her eyebrow and smirked. “You want me to think you are confident right now, but really you’re scared witless.”
Jane laughed. “You’re good.”
“I am.” Stacy crossed her legs dramatically and laughed. “So you want to know what I thought of Josiah’s staff. I do have opinions on that.” Before she could continue, Francine joined them. Stacy raised her eyebrow again.
“Francine, I’ve got a problem,” Jane said. “My little unlicensed detective agency has come to the attention of the Department of Security, and they’ve given me notice to knock things off ASAP.”
; Francine sighed. “But are you even close to unraveling the knot?”
“I could be. But I need more information from you, and Stacy as well. You remember her from the local task force?”
Francine nodded an acknowledgment.
“Good. I invited her here to give me an outsider’s expert opinion on the people she worked with. Can we start with Nguyen? I still know nothing about this man.”
Stacy tilted her head and thought for a moment. “He’s kind of haunted, you know? I don’t think his life is very easy.”
“I’d have to agree. He’s pretty much alone in this country, which is unusual for Vietnamese immigrants.”
“Ah! He’s Vietnamese! This is a good start.”
“I wouldn’t look that direction, Jane,” Stacy said. “He’s working for the Malachis to purge old demons. Not to get new ones.”
“Really? How so?”
“Stacy is right. He’s a good man. Hardworking, loyal, devout. He can’t be the one.”
“I want to know more about his past…demons,” Jane insisted. “What did you mean by that?”
“I only mean that his posture is always one of humiliation. He never responds to any of us with any kind of authority or leadership. He treats the least of us as his superior,” Stacy said. “But that’s all I have to go by. He doesn’t have that shifty body language that indicates he’s hiding something. Just the honest nonverbal communication of a man who doesn’t feel worthy.”
She looked at Francine out of the corner of her eye while she spoke.
Was she telling Jane that Francine was hiding something?
“I couldn’t agree more. Nguyen is a treasure, and I hope that someday he can find his way out of this mess.”
Jane crossed his name off her list, but it was only for show. She wasn’t done with him yet. “What about Robert? I haven’t seen him or heard of him since the task force meeting with Christiana. What do you know about him?”
“He’s definitely hiding something—” Stacy started.
“He’s legit,” Francine interrupted.
The Plain Jane Mystery Box Set 2 Page 12
