Killer Calling: A Plain Jane Mystery (A Cozy Christian Collection) (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 7)

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “My wife and I are here on official business.” Jake pulled out his wallet, though Jane didn’t have a clue what he was showing them. “We’re private detectives who have been hired by Victor Trives—you may have heard of him—to follow his daughter and Chase McBane, the rock star. I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  Dr. Rodriguez’s shoulders relaxed. “It has nothing to do with those two, I promise.”

  “Help me see why.”

  “Claude, you see, he just kept forgetting to get his papers in order. He had been here illegally for almost five years.”

  “But he’s dead now, so what could that matter?”

  Dr. Rodriguez stepped closer. “I don’t know. It could be fine, but it might not be. If we have no record of him at all, there isn’t any expired visa for the police to find, is there?”

  “You’re right,” Jake said. “That’s not how a Christian home should operate.”

  “We should have let him go years ago, but he was very talented, and dedicated.”

  “He was a great guy, but terrible with paperwork.”

  “It sounds like it.”

  Dr. Rodriguez laughed softly. “You can see how we are just doing this because of the investigation, right? It has nothing to do with your job.”

  “I can see why you are doing it, but it’s up to Jane to decide if it has anything to do with her case. I’m just her heavy,” He said it lightly, and the two men laughed. “Why don’t we three join Jane in your office, Doctor, and we can talk about it more.”

  Dr. Rodriguez stiffened again, perhaps not enjoying the pretentions Jake had taken. “I think we’ve spoken about this enough.”

  Jake shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” He tipped an invisible hat at the men and disappeared into the darkness in the opposite direction he had come from. Jane lost sight of him, but kept her eye on Dr. Rodriguez and Miguel.

  “Why did you tell him everything?” Miguel asked. He spoke in Spanish again.

  “Because I knew something was unusual with McBane and that girl, and I didn’t like the looks of Jane and Jake either.”

  “But now they will put it in their report.”

  “I’m not concerned with a private investigator from Oregon. I’m concerned about the police, here. Those two won’t report to the police, and now they know there’s nothing to report. Like Jake said, Claude is gone. His immigration status doesn’t matter.”

  The two men walked silently back toward the orphanage buildings.

  They hadn’t shown any sign that they noticed Jane, so the conversation they had had in private seemed to support their confession to Jake.

  She kicked at the ashes herself for a while after they were gone, but the papers had been thoroughly destroyed. Nothing left to say who Claude was, where he had come from, or why he hadn’t been in a hurry to sort out his paperwork.

  The next morning Jane smelled like the smoky remains of a camp fire. She thought about wearing it as a badge that she was onto Miguel, but couldn’t take the stink for very many minutes after she woke up. She hit the showers—the correct showers—and joined her team for breakfast, fresh as a daisy. They only had a few days left to untangle the mess. If they had chore assignments for the day, she wasn’t sure that she could get the job done.

  Breakfast was eggs, beans, hot sauce, tortillas, oranges and little cinnamon rolls. She appreciated the treat and helped herself to three of them with her coffee.

  Jake was nowhere to be seen so she slipped a fourth into the pocket of her hoody. The kids at her table were rambunctious, excited by the freedom, by the weight that had been lifted with the police announcement the day before. Conversation buzzed with what they hoped to get done today, everything from sharing the gospel with the little kids, to making progress on the building project. The excitement was contagious, so when Miguel announced that the orphanage had decided to have voluntary limited freedom she was also disappointed. Dorms, lounge, chapel, cafeteria, and the building project were open. The team leaders would help their own volunteers figure out where they could best help. The school-age kids were staying home again, as everyone was required to remain on the property, and Miguel hoped that the groups would offer some worship and Bible study in the chapel.

  Jane hadn’t had much to do with their leader Owen, but she hoped he’d respect her position and not sign her up for anything in particular.

  Her hope was in vain, so she nabbed Owen after his brief meeting.

  “Owen, you remember why Jake and I are here, right? Trives and Flora Wilson arranged for us to come on this trip with a specific purpose in mind.”

  Owen smiled at Jane, in a way she could only consider condescending. “They may have had one purpose, but God has one, too.”

  “I need access to Tory and Chase if I am going to fulfill my obligation to my boss. You need to quit putting us on the opposite side of the orphanage from each other.”

  “Calm down. You’ll see each other again at lunch.”

  “I recognize as youth pastor of Faith Freedom Church you have a responsibility on this trip, but when you agreed to have a private investigator join the team, you accepted that responsibility as well.”

  He leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable. “I was assured by your boss that you were a devout young woman who would be not only willing, but excited to serve with the team.”

  What really stung about his attitude was that Jane knew she was at least two years older than Owen.

  “Trust and obey, Jane. Be faithful in the little things and you will be entrusted with greater things.” He smiled benignly, and didn’t move, waiting for her response.

  Jane also remained silent. The tone he had taken grated at her in a deep place. His superiority, his belief that her cleaning the dorms would be such a great service to the orphanage that it outweighed her investigation, his staring at her and not saying anything at all.

  He sat back, one leg crossed over the other, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He was the picture of confidence. She considered his posture and his position at length. A church leader, but probably only part time. Young, in charge of the group. He wasn’t the head of the team last time, just another teammate, like the rest of the kids. There was just that air of unearned authority about him that fit in so well with the troubles at the orphanage. “So,” she said after a lengthy stretch. “You said you come here a lot, right?” She settled into her chair, mimicking his body posture.

  “This is my second trip this year. Seventh total.” He looked pleased with himself.

  “You really love it here, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Losing Pat, Claude and Vanessa, must have been hard.”

  He froze, a look of confusion on his face. “I really didn’t know them well.”

  “Oh no? I had the idea that folks from Faith Freedom were well acquainted with Claude Marshall and Vanessa Thompson.”

  He shook his head, but a red blush was beginning to crawl up his cheeks. “I don’t think so.”

  “No? Aiden sure remembered them well. And Aiden’s girlfriend. Of course, I suspect Chase McBane knows Vanessa even better than you do.”

  Owen’s jaw clenched, but his face was mostly a picture of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I didn’t know any of them. I just come here for the kids.” He gripped the arms of his chair as though to stand, but hesitated.

  “I’m sure we all do.” Jane chuckled. “Except for Jake and I, of course. But before you go, what have you heard of Vanessa Thompson? She seems to have disappeared into thin air, just like Claude Marshall.”

  “I don’t know anything. I swear. I come to serve the kids and to help the youth from our church grow. This trip has been a real mess, but I didn’t do anything.” He looked sick to his stomach, and when he stood, he wavered on his feet. “You have an assignment, just like the rest of us. If you don’t want to do it, I can’t make you, but that’s on your conscience.” He walked out slowly, as though he h
ad to pull himself together.

  Perhaps Jane’s questions had hit too close to home, but if so, she was surprised. She had expected him to sing the praises of Pat and his parenting books, and his life philosophies, not collapse at the mention of the two dead men and one missing woman.

  The trouble now was to find someone who knew anything about this Owen character who would be willing to spill the beans.

  12

  Jane spotted Miguel in the far corner of the cafeteria. The room was clear but for two girls wiping down the tables. She took a seat across from him and smiled gently. “Are you hanging in there?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t had one minute to grieve over mi amigo Pat.”

  “You two were close?”

  “Yes. He was a great mentor. He taught me so much about how to be open and honest, and to feel things strongly.”

  Jane wondered how hard that might have been, since Miguel seemed like that kind of Christian guy who wears his heart on his sleeve.

  “And now I can’t even sit and cry over the man who told me it was okay to cry.”

  “That’s rotten. But cool that he was a sensitive guy.” Cool, and completely at odds with the other things she had heard.

  “He taught me that emotions were a strength, if you harnessed them, and didn’t let them harness you. Cry when you hurt, and get up and do a good work. That was his mission, his message. But has anyone had a chance to cry for him? No. We’ve been too busy trying not to get arrested.”

  “Do you know what makes them think it was murder?” She wondered if anyone else had been given the clues Jake had been given, and if so, what they made of them.

  He looked side to side, then locked eyes with Jane. “I know you’re a private detective.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I was just wondering why they had concluded murder.”

  “I think it is something they learned from the mmm, autopsia. I’m sorry. I don’t know that word in English.”

  “It’s the same. Autopsy. But what did they find, I wonder.”

  “They didn’t tell us. But you saw the body, what did you think?” Miguel had his eyes locked on Jane, as though he hoped she could ease his mind of his fears.

  “I thought he died a completely nonviolent death, if that is any comfort. Whether it was a stroke, or poison, or whatever, he went, well, kind of peacefully, I guess.”

  “I hope so. For him.”

  “You guys say goodbye a lot around here don’t you?” It was time to maneuver the conversation towards Vanessa.

  “People don’t usually die here.”

  “But there is a lot of coming and going. Short term groups, volunteers, that kind of thing.”

  “Yes. You are right. There is a lot of coming and going. Sometimes it’s harder than others.”

  “I bet Pat was good at helping you guys handle that, dealing with the grief and stuff.”

  “That’s exactly what started it. He could see we were hurting, and helped us learn to feel the pain, to grieve, but to keep working. We have some groups that come year after year, you know? We’re close with these people. When they leave, it is terrible. But Pat helped.”

  “And when folks come for a few years and then just disappear?”

  “That can be even harder. Depends on the person.” He seemed to relax a little, as though he had heard what he wanted to hear. That Pat hadn’t suffered.

  “I hear it was hard for Claude when Vanessa Thompson left.”

  “That was terrible. She disappeared. One day she was gone. And he was left with a broken heart. Claude was not a man to give his heart easily.”

  “What was Claude like?”

  “He was the opposite of Pat. Tough on the outside, but soft on the inside. A man of few words. He fell deeply in love with Vanessa, but moved slowly. He’d never been married, you see, and she was widowed. He didn’t want to hurt her, but also didn’t seem to know how to romance her. Like a young boy, almost.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  “Except the night she vanished. That wasn’t so sweet. Not even a goodbye to him. Or anyone. He didn’t speak for days.”

  “Did Pat help him with his grief?” Jane wanted to reach a hand across the table to comfort Miguel, she was so grateful for his open conversation.

  Miguel shook his head, but smiled. “No, they were like oil and water. Claude took two weeks off, did a little travelling, and then came home, much better off.”

  “He got over her in two weeks?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but he was more his old self.”

  “Gosh. This place is a regular soap opera.”

  “Telenovela. This is Mexico, after all.”

  “Was all of that years ago?”

  “No. It was this summer. Claude had only been home a month when he died.”

  Facts spun through Jane’s mind like cards in an old fashioned rolodex. Bits of information flashing past her mind’s eye, finding their spot in the big picture.

  Vanessa with the adopted sister.

  Chase with the adopted sister.

  Claude who was dead who had loved Vanessa.

  Pat who was dead who had been Claude’s opposite, maybe even enemy, who also seemed to be a really bad father.

  The women telling their stories safely, in knotted string.

  The teenagers angry at Pat for how their sisters were treated.

  Sisters, adopted, orphaned, and missing.

  Mothers, plotting, hoping, scheming.

  And those knotted strings—they just had to be the key to how and why.

  “What did Vanessa’s family say about her disappearance?” Jane asked.

  “It was very strange. they didn’t say anything. She didn’t have any kids, of course, but we had contact information for her parents. Dr. Rodriguez called them and talked, but, I don’t know. I would have expected them to be very upset. To contact police, and newspapers, television maybe, but I never heard a word.”

  Jane doubted the phone call had been made. Vanessa, like her true love Claude, seemed to be another person who had never existed at the orphanage. Her file was probably ashes in the orchard, maybe her body, as well.

  After a sullen dinner, Jane and Jake found themselves pacing up and down the aisle in the chapel. “I don’t see how we can take that next step without involving the police.” The words stuck in Jane’s throat, but as soon as she heard herself say them she had a different perspective. “But if I worked it right, it would be like the police were my tools.”

  “I sort of love this perspective.” Jake stopped and perched on the arm of a pew. “I love your independent streak. It’s very sexy in a wife. But I hate to see you fight against a system that is built to help solve crimes.”

  “I haven’t really been fighting against the police.”

  “No, but you have maintained a healthy, respectful distance, and in this case, I think you need to make friends.”

  “I agree. I need to tell them what I have heard here, so they can help me out with what they know. We need to discuss the missing Vanessa Thompson with them, at the very least.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up about them telling you anything, but yeah. If no one else is talking about this missing woman, you should tell them.”

  “Do you remember what Claude Marshall died of?” Jane switched the subject abruptly.

  “Didn’t he have some pre-existing thing?”

  “He died of a heart condition. I’m sure that’s what Miguel said.”

  “We should find someone and confirm it.” Jake stood up again, his feet slightly apart, arms flexing a little.

  “It’s a big coincidence, yes? Claude dying of a heart condition, and Pat dying because of his heart medicine . . .” Jane turned around at the altar and faced Jake.

  “Are you thinking that we have a murderer with just one trick up his sleeve?”

  “It sounds like it, but why? If Claude and Pat were opposites, and didn’t really like each other even, why would someone kill both of them?
”

  “Maybe they knew something about what had happened to Vanessa. You don’t have to be on the same side to have the same dangerous knowledge.” Jake joined his wife, and put his hand gently on her back.

  “You’re right. Let’s find ourselves a policeman and an interpreter. We have a potential serial killer here.” Jane went straight to the door and walked into the setting sun of the late afternoon.

  Jake followed, close at hand.

  A young officer stood at attention on the corner of the courtyard nearest the chapel. He had his eyes on nothing in particular, as far as Jane could tell, but was probably trying to watch all of the doors at once.

  Jane paused, squared her shoulders, and marched to the officer. “Hola, señor. Por favor, yo tengo….”

  The office stared at her, looking bored.

  She hesitated too long and couldn’t pull the words out she needed, though they were common enough. She reverted to English with an apologetic shrug. “I need to tell you something. About the murder. I think it might be important.”

  He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Yeah? What is it?” He didn’t even have an accent.

  She sighed. “Oh! Good. You speak English. This is Jake, the cops think he might have done it, and I’m his wife, and we have something we need to tell you.”

  Jake took a step back, his hands up. “Wait a second.”

  She turned her face slightly and mouthed the words “Trust me.”

  The officer pulled out a walkie-talkie and let off a string of fast Spanish police jargon.

  Someone responded.

  Jane’s heart beat like a hammer against her ribs.

  “Okay, come on then.” The officer looked like he wanted to take them away to talk about as badly as he wanted to go to the dentist, but he led them up to the director’s office anyway.

  “The comandante said I could take your statement, since my English is the best of us here. He doesn’t want to talk to you again, unless he has to.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” Jake took the seat that Dr. Rodriguez silently offered him.