“Tad, do you have any idea of what these lists are for?” She picked the page up and held it out for him.
Tad looked it up and down. “Looks like an end of month time sheet summary.” He turned back to his own files. “Can’t see how that would be something Mayor Swanson’s widow would care about.”
“Yeah…you’re right.” Danae Monroe 3/1/1993-3/30/1993, followed by a seemingly random list of numbers, though Jane guessed they were the days and times Danae Monroe had logged in to her time clock. If Danae Monroe was a name she had run across at the Swanson house, she might be the mysterious blonde in the picture.
“Hey, how about this?” Tad flapped a paper at Jane.
She grabbed it. “‘Mt. Hood Community College Honors Alumnus, Mayor Swanson.’ That looks good.” The paper was a photocopy from the local college newspaper. Jane had no particular interest in it other than that it was a nice cover for her visit. “May I take it with me?”
Tad scratched his chin. “Let me copy it for you so I can put the original back.”
“Fine by me.”
They went back upstairs to a little nook in the back hall that housed a small office copy machine. Jane lingered by the door while Tad zapped a copy.
The very blonde she had been looking for—Mary-Grace Hopkins—walked past, and then stopped in an open doorway across the hall.
“Knock, knock.” The blonde leaned into the office but didn’t enter.
“Whatcha need?” The voice coming from the office was a bit muddled, but masculine.
“I’m making a coffee run. What do you want?” Mary-Grace stepped into the office.
A coffee run? Mary-Grace had been working in the mayor’s office since the early 1990s—so almost twenty years—and she was still getting everyone else coffee? She was either exceptionally humble or lacked ambitions.
“Here you go.” Tad tapped Jane’s shoulder.
Jane accepted the paper with a smile. She wondered how Caramel would react if she offered her this outdated accolade as a “comfort.”
“Tad, there you are.”
Jane turned to the voice. Mary-Grace Hopkins was in the doorway to their little copy room now. “You and your friend can get the coffees, but don’t take forever, got it?” Mary-Grace passed a piece of paper to Jane.
Jane handed it over to Tad, but not before she got a good look at the handwriting. Big, loopy letters with dark lines that looked like Mary-Grace had pressed hard when she wrote. Jane looked up and tried to memorize Mary-Grace’s face. She couldn’t tell if the difference in looks was because the Mary-Grace who stood before her was several pounds heavier than the lady in the pictures, or if it just wasn’t the same woman.
“Hi, I’m Jane.” Jane thrust her hand forward.
Mary-Grace accepted it and gave it a firm shake. “Mary-Grace. Can I help you with something?”
“Actually, I was looking for anyone who might have been in the office when Douglas Swanson was still mayor.”
“Then you are barking up the wrong tree with Tad here! He wasn’t even born yet.” Mary-Grace let out a big laugh, almost a guffaw. Jane flinched, but plastered a smile on her face.
“Do you know anyone in the office who was here back then?” Of course, Jane knew that Mary-Grace had been, but she wanted to know what Mary-Grace would say about it.
“I just might be the last of us. Such a pity about his death.” Mary-Grace frowned and shook her head.
Jane nodded. Now was her chance… But how? She looked over at Tad, he was inching his way out the door so Jane stepped aside to let him pass.
He slid between Mary-Grace and the door, then bolted down the hallway.
“Don’t mind him,” Mary-Grace said. “He knows he has to get that coffee pronto or we’ll make his next hours a living nightmare. But what can I tell you about Doug?”
Jane licked her lips… What could she tell her? “To be honest, I’m not quite sure.”
“Why don’t you come to my desk? It’s more comfortable.” Mary-Grace led her to a large office space with several cubicles. She took a seat next to her desk, not behind it, and offered Jane the seat opposite.
“Are you from the school paper?” Mary-Grace asked, her eye on the paper in Jane’s hand.
“No. I’m their housekeeper.”
Mary-Grace narrowed her eyes. “You?”
“While the real housekeeper is on vacation.” This was the second questionable response to such a simple statement. Third, if you counted how Caramel herself had acted early on.
“Ah.” Mary-Grace relaxed.
“Mrs. Swanson is just so broken up. I thought a memento of Mr. Swanson’s days as mayor might be a nice thing to bring her.”
“That’s very sweet.” Mary-Grace rolled her chair back behind her desk. “But, I’m sorry to say, it was just so long ago nothing is left. If there had been any great memento, the Swansons already have it.”
Jane nodded and chewed on her lip. Mary-Grace may have been a blonde lady who was around during Douglas’s day, but she didn’t seem to be at all broken up about his death. Sure, she had said the right thing, and even looked sincere, but she wasn’t acting like someone who had spent the quality time with Douglas that those pictures had indicated.
“Thank you anyway.” Jane stood up. “It was really nice of you to take a minute to talk to me.”
Mary-Grace nodded the way people do when they are saying goodbye. “No problem. It was very kind of you to think of Mrs. Swanson. I’m sure she’s lucky to have you filling in.”
The emphasis on “filling in” made Jane pause. Why was Mrs. Swanson lucky? Because she had thought to do something nice, or because she was so young that even Douglas wouldn’t make a pass at her? Or because there was something about the regular maid that no one liked?
“Wait a second.” Mary-Grace looked up from her computer. “I almost forgot. Matt came by just about a month ago and cleared a bunch of old stuff out of the morgue. You should call him.”
Jane paused by the fuzzy cubicle wall. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.”
“Matt Swanson, Doug’s son. He left with a carton of old papers. I’m sure he’d have something his stepmom might like.” Mary-Grace looked over the tops of her tortoise-shell glasses, her eyes smiling, and then turned back to her computer.
Jane chewed on her bottom lip. Why had Doug’s son cleaned out the old files so very close to the time of his father’s death?
Jane’s drive home from the Gresham mayor’s offices took her past Paula’s house. She wanted to stop in and say hi, but she didn’t think she could pull off quiet, supportive listening at the moment.
She turned over all the little things she had picked up at the mayor’s office. People seemed to have certain expectations of a Swanson maid. Either it was usually just a particular person or it was a certain “type.” The name Danae Monroe from the time sheet had rung a bell. Perhaps Danae Monroe was both an employee at the city offices and Douglas’s maid. It seemed unlikely, but what was really wrong with the idea? Danae Monroe could be the maid, the woman in all of the pictures, the woman from the mayor’s office, and the reason Caramel held Douglas’s head under the water that fateful morning.
Jane was stopped at a stop light, which was good since her mind was not on the road. Douglas had probably been murdered, but if it had been Caramel, Caramel would be in prison. She wouldn’t still be wandering naked around her house. That was just silly. Someone else must have done it.
Maybe this Danae Monroe herself?
Whatever else she got done tomorrow at the Swanson house, she was determined to find out where she had seen that name before.
13
Back home, Jane tried to get hold of Isaac, but there was no answer. She called Holly, her employee, instead.
“Hey, Jane, listen to this,” Holly said, after the initial greeting. “‘Douglas Swanson, former Mayor of the City of Gresham’s death has been declared a murder. Investigations are underway. The police are looking for an employe
e of his house. They have not released the employee’s name.’ Is that you, Jane? Are they looking for you?”
Jane’s heart stopped for a beat. “But they can’t be! I gave them my address, my name, everything. They have my phone number, even.”
“But you dropped your phone in the hot tub.”
“Oh, that’s true. But they have everything else!”
Jane paced up and down the short hallway of her apartment, stepping over a pile of laundry in front of Gemma’s bedroom.
“What if they think you lied when they interviewed you at the house? Do you think they could think that?”
“Of course not. Why would I lie?” Jane paused by her door, her hand hovering over the dingy brass doorknob.
“But what if you said something wrong, by accident? You know? Because you were scared. Just what if? Then they would think it was a lie. You didn’t write anything down, did you?”
“Yes, of course I did. I signed a statement and everything. But I didn’t lie.” Jane sat down, right in the middle of her hall floor. “You don’t really think they could be looking for me, do you?”
“I dunno, Jane. They might be.”
“But what do your parents think?”
“Oh my gosh, Jane, I didn’t tell them! If I told them you were wanted for murder, they’d never let me talk to you again.”
“I’m not wanted for murder. Oh, Holly, you’re all mixed up. This isn’t about me at all.” Jane stood up again, but leaned against her door, stretching her back out, trying to relax.
“The police are looking for an employee that works for their house, and you are the only one.”
Danae Monroe.
The name popped into Jane’s mind. Of course it had—it hadn’t even been a half an hour since she had seen it on the paper. “Forget about it, Holly. I’m not lost. They must be looking for the real maid who is on vacation.”
“Oh yeah! You’ve got a good memory, Jane.”
“Thanks so much.” Jane let out a long, slow breath she had been holding.
“But whatever happened to that ring?”
“The ring?”
“The diamond that Caramel thinks you stole.”
“My gosh. I wonder how I forgot that. I don’t know. I suppose bigger things are on her mind right now.” Jane scratched the back of her neck. Caramel had either really thought Jane had stolen the ring, or had planned on framing Jane for the loss. Either way, it was smart to remember that Caramel wasn’t on her side.
“I’ve gotta go, Jane. My mom is calling me.”
“Okay.” It wasn’t really okay. Jane didn’t want to end the call at all, not after Holly getting her all keyed up like that. She would far rather use up all of her nervous energy talking to someone. The girls of her ministry group came to mind but… they wouldn’t do. They wouldn’t get what she was up against at all.
Jane clicked her fingernails against each other. She could call Jake, just since there was no one else right now. She tapped the screen of her phone.
Then she stopped.
She could look into Mark Ehlers’ unsolved hit and run case. It would be way better to catch that bad guy than to spend her time fussing over Douglas Swanson, who at his worst was a dirty old man, and at his best was a politician.
But how did one look into a hit and run? Jane went back to her room and set up her laptop. She could spend some time trying to learn what she’d need to know to even start the process. That would be something anyway.
She had gotten far enough into Google to realize that there was really no way to solve an unsolved hit and run as an amateur detective. All she could really do was sit and wait, hoping a witness would come forward.
A witness would be good for both deaths, frankly. A little someone who saw something that could be used to tie up the loose ends. Jane stared at a pocket police manual for writers, which had come up in her search. It had a perfunctory description of a crime scene, followed by the interview process. According to the menu at the top of the blog, there was also a standard format for arrest and trial tucked away on the site. But all the site did for her was make her nervous. Sure, the police were almost certainly looking for the real maid, who was probably Danae Monroe. But what if they were looking for her? She slammed her laptop shut without closing her programs. She would just have to go see Detective Bryce and make sure everything was okay.
She threw her door open and bumped right into Gemma.
“You’re home?” Gemma stood in the hallway in her jammies and bunny slippers.
“Yeah, no clients left for the day.”
Gemma yawned.
“You just getting up?” Jane drummed her fingers on her doorknob. She had to be polite to Gemma, who she really did like, even if she wanted to run right over the top of her to get to the police station.
Gemma yawned again. “I am. I pulled two fourteen-hour shifts in a row, and I was dead to the world.”
“Lots of new babies?”
“Finally. It’s nice to be off ‘call,’ but now I’ve got to go find a few more mommies-to-be.”
“If you have any trouble, you could probably pick up a house or two with me.” Jane stole a glance at her bedside clock, then reminded herself no one was expecting her at the police station.
Gemma smiled. “Sure, thanks. But you know, it’s not the same. I like being a part of the miracle of birth. Nothing like it in the world.” Gemma padded down the hall to the bathroom. “Don’t go anywhere yet. We need to have a chat.” She pulled the door shut and the lock clicked.
Jane stood still. Needed a chat? Now? Maybe not. Jane grabbed her purse from the hook by the door and left. Nothing her slovenly cousin-turned-roommate had to say could compare with making sure the police didn’t think she had skipped town after murdering her boss.
Jane drove to the same police station where she had picked her dad up the year before, but when she got there, she stayed in her car, her courage completely gone. She dug through her wallet and found the card the detective gave her. She could call him first, and then go inside, if she was needed. Or if he didn’t answer. Either option was better than going in and saying, “Here I am!”
She dialed half of the number and then stopped. The detective was an important man. He didn’t need her bothering him. It would be much better to walk inside and talk to the person at the desk. Much, much better.
She got out of her car, shut the door, and stared at the police station. The low-slung concrete building didn’t look scary. There was even a small lawn with a playground off to the side. As she hadn’t done anything wrong, walking in and just saying she thought they might need to get in touch with her couldn’t do any harm.
She walked to the big, heavy glass doors. She took a deep breath, and then pulled one open.
The waiting room wasn’t empty, but it was quiet. Two people in crisp business clothes stood in front of the bullet proof glass partition, talking with the person at the front desk.
Four more ragged adults, one holding a squirming toddler on her knee, sat in the waiting area. The smell of cold cigarettes and dirty clothes hung over them all like a cloud.
Jane queued up behind the people in the business clothes.
Waiting gave her time to second guess what she was going to say again. “Hi, I’m Jane. You might be looking for me in connection with the murder of Douglas Swanson, but then again, you might not.” Or “Hi, I’m Jane. I saw a little thing in the paper that made me think I should check in.” But… she hadn’t seen it and she was keen not to lie to the police. The people in business clothes brushed past her, and there she was, at the desk.
“Hi. I’m Jane Adler. I work for the Swanson family.”
The man behind the bullet proof glass looked to be about Jane’s age. His hair was buzz cut and he wore a policeman’s uniform. “Can I help you with something?”
Jane chewed her lip. She leaned forward. “I feel really stupid right now, but I heard the police are trying to locate one of the Swanson family employees.”
“Come along with me.” He met Jane at a door next to his reception window and led her down the hall in the interior of the police station.
It reminded Jane of the emergency room, but cleaner and calmer.
The police officer knocked on a door that said “Detective Roberts” on a gold-colored name badge, then opened it. “Here she is, sir.”
“Thanks.” The man behind the desk was a tall, muscular man with silver hair and square, silver glasses. “Have a seat.”
Jane sat.
“You work for the Swanson family in what capacity?”
“I’m the substitute maid, sir.” Jane’s voice and body shook like a kid waiting to get a tetanus shot.
The man looked over his glasses at Jane. “The same maid who found the body?”
“Yes, sir. Jane Adler, sir.”
“Relax, Jane. You’re not in trouble.”
Jane took a deep breath, and held it. Not in trouble. Words she lived for.
“What brings you down here today?”
Jane chewed her lip. She felt twelve years old, and very foolish. “I just heard from a friend that the newspaper said you were looking for their employee, and that’s me, so I came in. At least, I am pretty sure I’m their only employee.”
The officer smiled, though his eyes looked tired. “You’re not. Don’t worry. It was good of you to come down, but you’re not who we are looking for.”
“But who else could it be?” Jane sat up straighter. They must be looking for Danae Monroe, like she was. If they would just tell her that before she left, it would make the trip worth it.
“Don’t let that worry you right now.” He slid a business card across his desk. “You can save yourself trouble by calling this number next time.
Dirty Little Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 2) Page 9