Good Clean Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 1)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  The voices behind her sounded like they had gone into slow motion as well. One voice said, “Get the declaration of death,” but the words went on forever.

  Jane pushed against the doorknob, but it stopped against something. She pushed harder. It seemed to be hitting something that had a little give, but couldn’t be pushed out of the way just by opening the door.

  She put her shoulder to the door but couldn’t bring herself to shove it open.

  Bob was dead.

  The paramedic who had spoken with Jane put her arm around Jane again and led her from the door. “It’s been quite a morning for you. Sit down.” She led Jane to a large wingback chair by the window. “You might be in a bit of shock. Just relax, and keep breathing, okay?”

  Jane looked at the paramedic. They were about the same age. They had the same brown hair in the same ponytail, at the middle of the back of their heads. Jane nodded, and then closed her eyes.

  The conversation of the paramedics was like a low throb around her. She couldn’t follow it. She could hear the words declaration of death repeating in her head like they were still being said. Would she have to tell Pamela, Phoebe and Jake that Bob Crawford was at a funeral home?

  “Hey guys, look at this.” An urgent voice rose above the murmuring.

  Jane opened her eyes. They had gotten the door to the bathroom opened a little farther and the paramedics were squeezing themselves through the gap.

  The noise of their conversation rose louder and louder.

  She heard someone say, “Get the coroner here.”

  Another voice said, “Look at the bruising on her wrists. Go check the other body for bruising.”

  Jane sat as still as she could, but all of a sudden she couldn’t catch her breath.

  She leaned forward in her chair, letting her head drop. With her head between her knees, she held her breath and counted to three. Then she exhaled. She repeated it until her heart seemed to calm down. She hadn’t noticed that her arms had been shaking until after they had stopped. When her whole body felt still, she stood up.

  She took one more slow, deep, breath, and walked to the bathroom. The door was open several inches, but she didn’t try to push her way in. She peered through the opening instead.

  Pamela Crawford, a woman almost as large as her husband, lay crumpled on the bathroom floor, her face red and bloated.

  One of the paramedics held her wrist in his hand. He looked at the other and shook his head no.

  The female paramedic looked at the other two. “I’ll get her out of here.” Jane watched her mouth say the words, but her voice was almost silent.

  “Jane, right?” she asked.

  Jane nodded.

  “Why don’t you come downstairs with me?”

  They walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

  “Why don’t you sit down while we wait for the police? They shouldn’t take long to get here.”

  Jane sat down.

  “You’ve had a shock. Will you be able to take the rest of the day off?” The paramedic had a sympathetic look on her face.

  “Yes, I think I can.” Jane looked at her hands. She had her phone in a white-knuckled grip.

  “Then why don’t you arrange that, okay? I need to get back upstairs.” The paramedic didn’t move or break eye contact.

  Jane nodded and stared at the phone in her hand. She could call her next two clients and tell them what had happened. It was just two calls, but they were both friends of Bob and Pamela. What could she say to them?

  “I should be here, for the family. I should change the linens and put the laundry in and make lunch.”

  The paramedic shook her head. “We’re just gonna leave things the way they are for a little while, okay? Until we know what’s been going on.”

  Jane pressed her fist into her knee and took a deep breath. “But it was just a heart attack, right?”

  The paramedic nodded, “It looks like Bob may have had a heart attack, and Pamela as well. We wouldn’t expect to find both of them on the same morning. The officers should be here any minute. Sit tight, okay?”

  Jane listened for the sound of distant sirens. She let go of her phone and smoothed out her apron.

  The paramedic tapped the table with her knuckles and lifted an eyebrow. “You okay down here?”

  Jane nodded and the paramedic ran back upstairs, taking them two at a time.

  “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…” Jane began the beatitudes where she had left off, in the faint hope of keeping her panic at bay.

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted her.

  2

  Jane stumbled off her stool to answer the door. Two police officers stood at the door. Relief washed over Jane. She led them upstairs.

  The officers and the paramedics exchanged information and then the paramedics left.

  “The coroner is on his way. Let’s talk to the housekeeper.” The two officers were speaking to each other as if she wasn’t standing behind them.

  She took a step backwards, bumping against the linen closet door.

  One of the officers, a woman about the same age as Jane’s mom turned first. “Whoops!” She almost bumped into Jane. “Didn’t realize you were back there. Why don’t you come downstairs and we can talk.”

  Jane took a deep breath, and held it a little bit. Then she nodded and walked down the stairs.

  “I’m Officer Hanson. Don’t be afraid, sweetie, just tell us what happened this morning.”

  Jane pressed her lips together for a moment. Then she told the officer how she found Bob.

  Officer Hanson nodded. “You didn’t look at the bed before you pulled the sheets off?”

  “No, I didn’t. It wasn’t conscious or anything. I just walked in, grabbed the ends of the blankets and pulled. When I noticed that Bob was in bed, first I left the room, then I thought he looked bad. He just had a heart attack less than a year ago, so that’s what I thought might have happened. I checked his pulse and then called 911.”

  Officer Hanson was taking notes while Jane spoke. Jane hoped she was making sense.

  “When did you find Pamela?”

  Jane shook her head, “I didn’t find her. I wanted to open the bathroom door to answer a phone that was ringing and I couldn’t get it open.”

  Officer Hanson nodded and noted it on the paper.

  “Then the paramedics got the door open and found her.”

  “While you were working this morning, did you see anything else unusual that you think we should know?”

  Hanson’s tone was warm and encouraging. “Nothing was ready for me, no instructions, the paper was still in the box. It was just kind of an unusual morning.” Thinking the news about Roly Burgers might be important Jane grabbed the newspaper from the desk.

  “I also saw this today.” She unfolded the newspaper and handed it to Hanson.

  Officer Hanson furrowed her brows. “I see.” She put her notepad on top of the newspaper and made another note. “Thank you.” She didn’t look up from the notebook.

  Jane shifted on her feet. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the article, but Hanson had asked if anything unusual had occurred. “That was it though, nothing else out of the ordinary.”

  Hanson looked up and smiled a sort-of-reassuring half smile. “Thank you, Jane. You are free to go.”

  Part of her wanted to bolt, right there. She could run home and go straight back to bed and forget this morning ever happened.

  “But don’t they need me to do something?” She stumbled over her words. Who would need her right now? Maybe Phoebe would.

  “No, honey, it’s okay.” Officer Hanson nodded at Jane and then clicked on her walkie.

  Jane walked slowly to the door, trying not to listen to the officer. She was talking about the coroner and time of death.

  Jane let herself out and stood on the front doorstep. Her cleaning caddy was still in the house, but standing on the step in the sunshine, Jane did not want to go back in and
get it.

  Once home Jane wanted to curl up and disappear, but it was almost an impossibility in her tiny apartment. The one bedroom belonged to her suitemate, Sam, as Sam had rented the apartment first. The rest of the tiny living quarters were divided in half by a breakfast bar that separated the “living room” from the kitchen.

  The living room consisted of Jane’s futon, a Japanese paper screen that opened up to become Jane’s bedroom wall, a TV, and piles of junk that Sam needed for her graduate studies at the school of design.

  Cramped, messy, and lacking privacy as it was, at least it was quiet for the moment. The room was gray from the light that filtered through the Venetian blinds. Jane watched the dust motes dance above her bed. She unfolded her screen and lay down on her futon.

  The Crawford house had been her second of the day. She had been up since five in the morning. She closed her eyes hoping to get some rest but sleep failed her. Her mind whirled. Dead boss. Dead friend. Phoebe and Jake. Who would tell them? How would she pay for her school fees this evening? Would Sam get soy milk? How much longer would she have to live with Sam? Her old family friends were dead.

  She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. She would have to call her parents and tell them. What would they say? Would they come out for the funeral? Her heart fluttered. She would love for her parents to come out for the funeral. They would feed her and stay with her and keep her from being so lonely.

  No, they couldn’t stay with her. Not in Sam’s apartment. Bible school would be over on the 25th. After that she could pack up, move to Phoenix, and start fundraising. She could get out of Portland. Just four more months of cleaning, school, and sharing a one-bedroom apartment.

  Her racing mind began to calm at the thought. She could do anything for just four more months. Eventually, she was able to fall asleep.

  That evening, on the long drive out to school, Jane turned over the morning’s events. The police had come to the house. They had talked about the coroner. The paramedic had said finding both Bob and Pamela dead was something they wouldn’t expect. All in all, the professionals made it sound like murder. A finger of fear traced Jane’s spine.

  It was absurd. Preposterous. She respected and admired the Crawfords, but there was no denying that they were in poor health. Sure, they were only in their 60s, but they were both overweight and on medication. Jane thought she must cap and re-shelve at least six prescription bottles every time she cleaned their bathroom. Their hearts were heavily taxed.

  Jane tried to picture the scene as it might have happened: Bob and Pamela chatting in the morning, Bob in bed, Pamela getting dressed. Then Bob clutches his chest and groans. Maybe he sputters. Maybe his face gets red. Heart attack stuff. Pamela would recognize it from last time. She’d try and help, maybe do CPR and then run to find her phone. She had her phone on her when they found her. What if fear and stress of the moment gave her a heart attack? It seemed possible.

  A sigh of relief escaped. The cops would have checked Pamela’s phone by now. They would have seen that she had started to dial 911. Maybe she had only gotten the 9 and the 1 dialed…that had to be it. The coroner would see that it was a sad coincidence, but that was all.

  Murder? Preposterous.

  Harvest School of the Bible was an hour out of town. By the time Jane arrived she felt in control again. The shock of the death scene had been replaced by a kind of melancholy for the family, and, if she admitted it, a little bit of panic nipped at her over the issue of the school fees she needed to pay. The school would have to understand, and the family would pay her as soon as they got their bearings. She’d just have to be patient and trust God.

  Jane snaked her way up the curvy hill to her school. Her little car quivered with its last ounce of energy, but Jane prayed it to the top.

  The school was nestled into a flat spot midway up a hill, overlooking rolling hills of vineyards. Supposedly the hillsides were facing the sun in such a way that they produced award-winning harvests.

  Jane pulled up the ebrake. She looked at the little church building with the three-story dormitory behind it. Perhaps this place, which faced the Son, would also produce a good harvest.

  Dusk was falling and the dorm windows began to spark to life as lights were switched on for the evening. To pay for school, Jane had to work. To work, she had to be in town early in the morning. She needed to work to pay for school, but she could not live in the dorms and still maintain a solid work schedule. She was this year’s lone commuter student, but it would be worth it. Community College would have been cheaper, but she wanted—needed—Bible training, not poly-sci and biology.

  Classes met in the basement of the church. All of the administration happened in the ground floor of the dorms. Jane crunched her way across the gravel parking lot to the dorms. She filled her lungs with the fresh, clean air of the spring evening, always a welcome contrast to days filled with the chemical scents of ammonia, bleach, and polish.

  The building the students used as a dorm had once been a tubercular hospital. It was over one-hundred-years old now, a petite three-story concrete and cast-iron building. In years gone by it had been the last place of refuge for hopeless cases. The church building across the parking lot had been drastically remodeled from what it had been when it was the chapel for the hospital, but Jane liked to think that hopeless cases could still come here for healing.

  She pushed open the heavy glass doors and trudged to the office. She knew she wasn’t the first student to take only night classes and finish a certificate in two years instead of taking the full-time nine-month program, and surely she wasn’t the only student to run out of money right at the end. All she needed were books and tuition for her last class. The Crawford paycheck would be enough…when it came.

  Glenda, the administrative secretary, was at her desk. Her hair was pulled back in a high bun, stabbed through with a pencil. She had dark circles under her eyes and her glasses were low on her nose.

  “Yes?” Glenda’s voice was raspy like she was coming down with something.

  Jane cleared her throat. She looked down at her hands.

  “You’re wanting your books, aren’t you? I don’t think they are in yet. Something about the class change. I got the old order stopped in time but I haven’t gotten the new ones yet. You are here for class tonight, right?”

  Jane nodded. Class change? No books? She wasn’t sure if she should praise God for this or not. “What do you mean, ‘the class change’?” Her schedule had been arranged so carefully. This last class was required for her certificate.

  “Donald had to go back East. Something about a crisis at the Debriefing House. We had to cancel Reverse Culture Shock, but the new class should be really good.”

  “Don’t I need Reverse Culture Shock? I mean, it was required, right?” Jane ran the course requirements through her mind. She was sure RCS was a requirement for the Overseas Ministry Certificate.

  Glenda prodded her glasses with her knuckle and looked up. “We can’t offer it again until summer, but this class is good, you’ll like it.”

  “But what about graduation and the certificate?”

  Glenda took a deep breath. “Can I be honest, Jane? You live out in the real world and have a job, so I think you can appreciate this.”

  Jane swallowed.

  “The certificate is just a piece of paper. We give one to everyone at the end of the program. You’ll get a certificate. If you want to take Donald’s class you can take it in the summer.”

  “I know it’s just a piece of paper, but I want to go overseas, so I want to be trained…” The piece of paper didn’t matter? Jane’s knees felt weak. Two years of hard work scrubbing floors and studying late and the piece of paper didn’t matter?

  “You’ve been trained well. Don’t worry. People know us. You apply where God calls you and they will know that you know your Bible.” Glenda looked sorry, like she hadn’t meant to let out the secret. “Why don’t you head to class? I promise it’s a good one. Y
ou’ll be glad you took it.”

  “But what is it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know Jane, just go to class.”

  “Man plans and God laughs,” Jane muttered. It should be the school motto.

  She schleped herself back across the parking lot and to the classroom. Things like only having one classroom were on the list of reasons her parents told her not to waste her time at Harvest.

  When she had signed on for a nine-month program designed to prepare her for overseas ministry it hadn’t seemed like a waste of time. Two years into it…she still wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a waste. God doesn’t waste time, but it had gone on longer and been a different experience than she had imagined.

  She settled into a chair in the middle of the room. She set her aging laptop on the desk. The classroom had felt cavernous on the day of her first class. Eighty odd students had poured into the classroom that day. She was the only one who didn’t live in the dorms, didn’t eat in the dining hall, and didn’t already know everyone. It had been a lonely first day.

  Now the room was familiar, from the dark patches of night sky that peeked in through the casement windows to the musty basement smell of damp concrete. The students were familiar as well. She watched them trickle in. She knew them, but only a little. She had invested in last year’s class, not realizing how much she would miss the friends she had made in her first year of school—how hard it would be to care about the next set of students.

  Jane stared ahead at the black metal music stand that stood on the small stage and served as a podium. A white screen was pulled down against the back wall and an overhead projector on a rolling cart was pushed next to the music stand.

  A small mob of teenage girls clattered into the room. They giggled as one of their number pantomimed. Jane watched. It looked like an impression of their last guest speaker, a retired missionary from Nepal. Jane turned back to her computer.