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

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Jane put her hand to her brow and scanned the crowd for her parents. Marjory, Jake, and Phoebe were in the limousine at the head of the cortege. The hearse with the two urns and all of the flowers from the service followed behind. Jane needed to scoot around back where she had hidden her car outside of the traffic pattern, so she could beat everyone back home, but first, she wanted to find her parents and make sure they were okay. She had worked every second of the day since their argument and it was eating away at her. She wanted to apologize. She wanted a chance to listen to them, or at least, considering the tightly packed schedule she faced from this moment until the vendors would haul away the tables and chairs, she wanted to tell them that she would listen to them soon.

  She spotted the silver head of her father by a large rhododendron bush and hurried to join them.

  Her dad gave her a quick hug. “How are you holding up?”

  “Just barely. There are so many details to the day. I’ve got to try and get back to the house before the family and guests arrive. I hid my car in the staff parking lot behind the funeral home. Do you want to ride with me?”

  Her parents exchanged a look. “No,” her mom said. “You’ve got work to do. We’ll just meet you there. If we don’t connect during the reception, call the cell, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” Jane barely nodded goodbye before she ran to her car. She had the sinking feeling that they hadn’t changed their minds in the last two days. She exhaled a puff of exasperation.

  Back at the house, two of Marjory’s nephews were directing traffic as cars parked up and down the narrow, tree-lined road.

  Inside, the caterers were dragging steaming chafers up three flights of stairs and lighting Sterno cans. Jane moved from table to table, checking the linen for wrinkles and the place settings for spots. The reception was a four-course dinner, not unlike a wedding feast. A trio of strings played hymns in the corner. Apparently Jake had hired them. She prayed a silent thanksgiving that he hadn’t ordered a DJ and a dance floor.

  A grove of silk ficus trees with twinkle lights surrounded a lectern where the pastor would give a prayer and share some more words while guests ate. The whole shebang was expected to take two hours. Jane wanted to apologize to Bob and Pamela. She was overcome with nerves and anxiety rather than grief.

  The janitorial smell of the fresh floor wax and lit Sterno cans brought tears to her eyes. It felt disrespectful, but there was nothing she could do to make it right. As she straightened the napkins on the table in front of her she wondered what food paired best with Sterno fumes.

  As the activity of the caterers slowed down, the room began to fill with guests. Jane watched from a corner. The pastor and the grieving family entered first, with the funeral director close behind. The funeral director stood by the door to the ballroom, directing people to the tables as they entered. It was only a matter of moments before the flood of guests became too many for him to greet.

  A very old gentleman with a walker staggered toward the table. Jane went to help him find a comfortable seat. She nodded at the funeral director who mouthed, “Thank you.”

  She spotted her father and mother at a table with several of their business friends. She scanned the room again for Isaac. He wasn’t hard to find. Phoebe, in a long maroon dress with short sleeves and a plunging neckline, was draped on his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. His face leaned toward hers, talking. The two of them stood in conversation with an older couple, perhaps Isaac’s parents.

  Jake and Marjory sat at a table near the lectern with the pastor who had performed the funeral and a few other people Jane had seen with the family.

  She didn’t want to watch Phoebe entrap Isaac, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes were drawn back to where the pair had been standing. Isaac had taken a seat at the table and was leaning over his plate with a look of concentration on his face as he listened to an older man. Phoebe was gone.

  She enjoyed a moment of relief before she went back to watching the tables fill up. So far all seemed to be going well in the kitchen, with the temporary sound system, the outmoded facilities, and with the parking. She was about to join Isaac when her phone rang. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Jane? This is Stefan. I’m helping park cars? We’ve got a little problem down here.” Stefan didn’t sound like he knew where his head was, much less what he was doing with the cars.

  “I’ll be right down.” Jane took the back stairs and sprinted across the main floor to the front door.

  Stefan was over six feet tall, but built along the lines of Abraham Lincoln, more or less. He had his long arms full trying to hold onto a shorter man. They were practically wrestling right at the curbside. The shorter man’s dirty jeans and high tops didn’t fit in with Stefan’s black suit and orange traffic vest.

  “What’s going on here?” Jane shaded her eyes with her hands. The sun had begun its afternoon descent.

  “I caught this guy trying to break into that car back there.” He gestured towards the Crawfords’ back driveway.

  “What were you doing way in the back?”

  “I followed him.”

  The man in the dirty jeans was remarkably silent. And bald.

  “Do I know you?” Jane asked. He looked an awful lot like Sam’s bald friend.

  The bald guy in the dirty jeans spat.

  “We’re having a private family reception here. What do you need?” Jane crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I must have the wrong house.”

  “Yeah, you must.”

  “Jane, he ripped up the top of that Rabbit back there. He had a knife.”

  “Stefan! Are you okay?” The blood rushed to Jane’s head. Of course he was the same man, but what was Stefan, no more than sixteen-years-old, doing wrestling with an armed man?

  “Yeah, yeah, Mark got the knife from him and I’m just holding him.” Stefan nodded to the other kid Jake had talked into helping park the cars.

  “Thought it was my car. So sorry, man.” The bald guy in the dirty jeans muttered, not making eye contact.

  “Did you call the police, Stefan?”

  “Not yet, hands kind of full.” He held the bald guy with one arm around his neck and his other hand gripping a beefy, tattooed arm.

  “I called ’em,” Mark hollered, running back from where Jane had parked her car. “I left the knife on the ground where it fell and I took a bunch of pictures. The cops said they will be here in a second.”

  Jane dialed her dad’s cell phone while Mark updated her. “Hey, Dad?” she said when he answered. “I really need you out front as fast as you can get here.”

  “On my way! Just hang on the line.”

  Jane set her phone to speaker. “Can you keep holding him?”

  “Yeah sure.” Beads of sweat had broken out of Stefan’s forehead, but he looked happy to be holding the perp.

  “What did I ever do to Sam?” Jane asked the bald guy.

  “You promised her that money,” he said.

  Jane swallowed. “So you’re going to keep vandalizing my car until she hates someone worse than she hates me?”

  The bald guy didn’t answer.

  Jane’s dad threw open the front door and ran down the long front steps. “What’s going on here?” His voice boomed.

  Stefan repeated the story.

  The police sirens sounded in the distance, taking Jane back to the horrible morning she had found Bob. By the look on Stan’s face it took him right back to two mornings ago.

  Stan squared his shoulders and faced the officer just as though he had never been on the wrong side of the conversation before.

  Making her complaint, showing the pictures, explaining the whole story seemed to take forever, but it felt cold and indifferent. What is a car when the only thing flying through your mind is the people being remembered in the reception upstairs?

  Jane escaped to the house as soon as she saw the bald guy stepping into the back of the police car. As she went back upstairs, she made a mental note to find time
to tape up the top of her little car. It was supposed to rain again.

  The dull roar of conversation in the ballroom was comfortable after the to-do downstairs. She was glad to see that Marjory and Jake were eating at their table. They seemed to have no idea what had gone on downstairs. She looked around for Phoebe but couldn’t find her. Isaac was at the buffet, but Phoebe wasn’t with him or at his table. Perhaps she had gone to the bathroom.

  Jane joined Isaac at the buffet table.

  “Everything looks really nice, Jane. You’ve done a good job serving the Crawfords during their time of crisis.”

  “Thanks, Professor.”

  Isaac grinned “Sorry for sounding like a dork, but I mean it. I think having you here to help take care of all of this was a really good thing.”

  “I can’t take too much credit. Every time I was ready to order something, Jake had already done it.”

  “That’s good too. He needed something to do. Do you want to come sit down with me? Meet my parents?”

  A shiver ran up Jane’s arms. “In a minute. Have you seen Phoebe?”

  “Not in a while.”

  “I’m going to hunt for her. I want to make sure she’s okay, but I’ll come and find you later.” She didn’t mention the car situation. It was bad enough that he wanted her to meet his parents. He didn’t need a reason to act protective as well. Not until May 25th, and then only if he was still interested in her.

  Phoebe hadn’t returned to the ballroom yet, so Jane went on a Phoebe-hunt.

  She had come up by way of the front stairs, so she took the back stairs to the bedroom floor. Perhaps Phoebe had gone to her room for a rest. As she turned the corner into the hall she heard a door click shut.

  Jane followed the sound. She hoped it was Phoebe. No one else had a reason to be on this floor of the house.

  She popped open the first door, the one to Jake’s room, but the light was still out. She left it ajar and moved to the next. The next guest room was dark as well. She popped open the door to the room Marjory was in, but it was dark and empty like the others. As she moved closer to Bob and Marjory’s room, her blood pressure rose. She could hear the thud of her heartbeat in her ears.

  She twisted the handle of the master bedroom door, but couldn’t bring herself to open it.

  A small squeal came from inside the room and roused Jane into action. She shoved the door open. It hit the wall with a bang.

  Someone with thinning hair, wearing a shabby gray suit, had Phoebe pinned against the bathroom door. Phoebe’s hands scratched at his neck.

  “What are you doing?” Jane yelled as loud as she could, hoping to draw some attention to the room.

  Fitch spun around and stared at Jane.

  Phoebe wriggled her way out from behind him.

  The last thing Jane had expected to find was the fully forty-year-old Fitch trying to have his way with the barely legal daughter of the deceased.

  “I can’t tell you, Jane. Five thousand dollars are on the line.” Phoebe tugged at her dress trying to put it all back in place.

  “Fitch—explain yourself before I call the cops.” Jane wondered how far away the police were right now.

  “You wouldn’t.” Phoebe made puppy eyes at Jane.

  “The police aren’t here?” Fitch’s eyes darted to the window. “I thought I heard them.”

  “Phoebe, I saw him trying to-trying to…” Jane looked down at the floor. Phoebe’s face was blotched red and the already low neckline of her dress had been pulled far enough down to exposure her slip.

  “Trying to rape me, Jane? Is that word too icky for you to say?”

  “I wasn’t! I swear that’s not what I was doing!” Fitch stepped farther away from Phoebe, and bumped into the Crawfords’ mattress.

  “Then explain yourself. What are you doing down here?” And did the sound of police siren make you head here?

  “I just needed a little comfort, Jane. People need people at times like this.” Phoebe batted her eyes at Fitch.

  He turned violently red and looked away.

  “That’s enough, Phoebe. Fitch—I’ve got my finger on the phone. If you can’t explain this I’m dialing 911.” Jane held her phone out like a gun.

  “She—I—She—I—” Fitch stammered.

  “That’s it.” Jane moved the phone to her ear.

  “No!” Phoebe screamed. Her face contorted as though she were trying to pull her scream back inside of herself. “Jane, don’t do it.” This time she spoke in a wheedling voice. “Some things need to be resolved, just, like, in the family, you know?”

  Fitch inched his way towards the door.

  Jane stuck her foot out and stopped him from scooting any further.

  “You know what? I’m not entirely sure what I saw.” Jane shut the door. She tried to scroll through her numbers casually, but her hand was shaking hard. She found Jake’s number first and hit send.

  “Let’s see if we can think of three reasons for Fitch to be down here, shall we?” Jane leaned on the door to steady herself. “Maybe he needed a rest? Or did he follow the pretty girl in here? Or maybe there was something else in the room that he remembered when he heard the police sirens.”

  Fitch’s face blanched.

  “Sorry, Jane, you’re wrong on point two. I followed him in. It just seemed very odd, you know, for the guy who orders new fry baskets to be coming in to my dead parents’ bedroom.”

  “I agree. That is very odd.”

  Fitch let out an exaggerated yawn.

  Jake answered his call, so Jane spoke in a louder voice, the phone still by her ear.

  “No, sorry, that won’t do it, Fitch. I saw the…energy you had earlier, with Phoebe in your arms. I don’t think you are tired. Hi, Jake. Care to join a family pow-wow in the master bedroom?”

  “No, Fitch, you aren’t tired at all, are you?” Phoebe winked at him.

  “Phoebe, I don’t know what you are hiding, but I don’t believe you came in here to snog Fitch, so you can drop that act.”

  Fitch shut his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, but wouldn’t look at Jane. His face was pasty, shaven poorly, and puffy from too many Roly-Poly burgers. He had a thick middle, but skinny legs. He didn’t look like a man driven by animal passions. His face was damp with sweat, and it smelled like fear.

  “I think you wanted something in this room, but Phoebe followed you. You might have been overcome with passion, she does look really pretty this afternoon, but I think you were just trying to stop her or keep her quiet or something.” The doorknob twisted behind Jane so she stepped aside.

  “Hey, guys.” Jake stepped into the room. “Thanks for inviting me to the shindig.”

  “Don’t worry, Jake, I haven’t said a word.” Phoebe held a finger up to her lips.

  “It’s okay, Phoebe. Whatever you saw, you can tell us.” Jake smiled at his sister, his eyes wide and innocent.

  “Fitch, my brother offered me five-thousand dollars. Can you top that?”

  “Offered for what?” Fitch flexed his hands open and shut.

  “For silence, of course. For five-thousand dollars, what I saw gets no farther than this room. For ten, I won’t even say it now.”

  “But I don’t have that much money.” Fitch’s voice came out as a low moan.

  “So she did see something.” Jake rubbed his hands together. “You know, Jane, I really didn’t think she had. I just wanted her to shut up about hating mom.”

  “I have an idea about what she saw, Jake. What about you?”

  “Oh I have an idea too. A man who wouldn’t order all new kitchen equipment for a poor orphan boy is capable of just about anything.”

  “Jake, Fitch came in here to get something when Phoebe surprised him.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Very much so.” Jane gripped her phone in her hand. She wished with all her heart she would stop shaking.

  “And Phoebe saw something that Fitch wishes she wouldn’t say.”

  “That much seems obvious.”<
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  Fitch was sweating copiously now, his hands still working nervously. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Phoebe for several minutes.

  “Well, Jane, you know this room, heck, this whole house, better than any of the rest of us. What do you think he wants?”

  “Only one thing comes to mind. I think he wants the bottle of potassium pills that is a little emptier than it should be.”

  Fitch dashed for the open door knocking Jane to the wall. He pushed Jake into the hall and ran for the stairs.

  The sound of running feet echoed down the hall and Isaac flashed past them all. He stretched out his foot in a side kick and tripped Fitch as he reached the front staircase.

  Fitch slammed into the banister.

  The front door groaned open. “Jane?” Stanley Adler stood in the doorway. “Oh! There you are, perfect. This business with your car is taking forever and the police have more questions. I’ve been trying to call your cell.”

  Jane smiled at her dad. Her good old dad. “I’m coming.” She ran down the steps, the beatitudes popping into her head, yet again. Blessed are those who mourn. It wasn’t what followed Biblically, but the mourners were blessed today, for they were about to get some justice.

  Isaac and Jake each took one of Fitch’s arms and led him down to the police.

  “We’ve got a few questions about this registration,” the officer said to Jane. She scrunched her face up, the sound of her father’s voice saying, “You bought a used car online?” echoed through her memory.

  Jake stepped up to the officer. “Excuse me, I need your help.” He tugged Fitch beside him. Isaac kept Fitch’s other arm in his grip. “This man was tampering with evidence.”

  “Repeat that?” The officer said.

  “Nothing of the kind.” Phoebe lowered her eyelids and looked up at the cop. “It’s just that my brother…he walked in on…”

  “Please, Phoebe, not now.” Jane placed a hand on Phoebe’s arm. “Let’s get the truth out, no matter how ugly it is.”

  Phoebe chewed on her lip and then turned her eyes to the ground.