“Stop.” Jane stepped in. “I don’t believe Vanessa is dead. You are right, she’s not in town and she’s not in Ensenada, or probably in any of the surrounding towns. Chase, have you spoken with your mom or your grandma about Vanessa?”
He jerked his head up. “I’ve asked but they don’t say anything.”
“I talked to your grandma today, Vanessa told them she was headed to the jungle. I think I know why, but I’m not sure that we’ll be able to find her.” Jane turned toward the quiet orphanage glowing in the golden arms of the setting sun. “And I think I know who killed Claude and who killed Pat. Come with me.” The pieces had come together. Her subconscious had been hard at work playing with the information until it was clear that there was only one answer to all of the questions. “Let’s go to the sewing room.”
She led the way.
Esperanza was already there with three of the housemothers, having a heated argument in Spanish.
“Sit down and keep quiet,” Jane instructed Chase, Tory, and Riley. “Esperanza, I have a theory I want to run past the women. They can confirm or not, as they see fit. But Chase deserves answers, and so do Vanessa, Claude, and even Pat, because no one deserves to be murdered. Riley, will you translate?”
“Sí.”
“Parenting trends come and go. The one that came recently is no good, but it was catching on with the fathers and some of the younger boys, too. A whole generation of boys, in fact, was being indoctrinated.”
The three mothers stared at her grimly.
“One family was actively against it, but they were sent away to a new orphanage starting much farther south. That left Vanessa, who was very vocal in her disgust, and Claude who was not vocal about anything. Also, they weren’t locals, weren’t married to native Spanish speakers, and weren’t parents, so their voices had little impact. Or so it seemed.”
She looked to Esperanza who nodded to her to continue.
“But that was just how it looked, because there were a lot of mothers who also didn’t like it, but without the support of Dr. Rodriguez, there was nothing they could do. Or, very little they could do. Then Pat threatened Vanessa and Claude, so Vanessa was sent away, to the new orphanage, in the dark of night. You mothers made the plan, sharing the information with each other secretly, through an art form the men didn’t know and never would. Through woman’s work, so to speak.” She paused and let Riley catch up. She wasn’t used to being translated. “It doesn’t really matter what the threat was, but I suspect it was to have Claude locked up forever. Why did Vanessa have to disappear? Why couldn’t she have just gone back home like other volunteers before her? Because she wasn’t done fighting the book. She had to be slipped away secretly so Pat wouldn’t know where she was, so he couldn’t have power over her. But she was wanted, by the mothers, because she could speak for them to the American donors, to the staff. She was sent to the same place the other dissenter was so they could work together. At least that’s what I suspect happened.”
One of the mothers, a small woman with dark skin and luminous eyes bit her lip, but didn’t speak. The other two twisted their hands, and avoided eye contact with each other..
“Possibly Claude took two weeks to go see her and make sure she was safe. He certainly left, and came back happier, so it makes sense that he was able to confirm the love of his life was well and safe. Then he died. He didn’t get arrested, as had been threatened. He died of a heart condition. It might have been murder.”
“No!” The lip-biter spoke.
“It might not have been.” Jane nodded. “But it gave someone the idea of how to be rid of Pat forever. Perhaps he had hurt his daughter . . . not just disciplined her, but truly harmed her with his beatings. Perhaps he had taken things one step too far.”
One of the mothers in a bright red blouse, with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail nodded slightly.
“And perhaps it was his wife who did it. Not knowing when the death would occur. Just knowing that if he didn’t get his treatment, maybe he too would die of his heart problem, and no one would know any better.”
All three women looked away. “But he had to have some kind of pill to take, yes? And so there was a substitute in his pill bottle, and that’s what the coroner found in his system.”
Riley had been keeping up but looked at Jane in dismay. “I just don’t know the words.”
Esperanza stepped in to help.
Tears rolled down the lip-biter’s cheek.
“Can you help me get in contact with Vanessa, please?” Jane switched tack. “That’s all I need. About the rest, well, I am guessing it happened, but I don’t know. I don’t have evidence. The police have evidence. They have the autopsy. They know how to search for people who sell fake pills. They know how to interview people. I can’t tell you what to do, but murder is wrong. God is the one who is supposed to bring about justice, not us.” Jane was beginning to flounder. The women who sat before her were wracked with grief. Had they been in on the murder or had they tried to talk their friend out of it? Had they only guessed what Jane was thinking? She couldn’t know, and they would never tell her. Their secrets were tied up in knots.
The woman in the red blouse scribbled something on a scrap of paper and passed it to Jane. A phone number.
“Gracias, señora,” Jane said. “I cannot tell the police my guesses, because I don’t know that they are true, but I will be praying for all of you.”
The looks on their faces revealed that the gist of what she was saying was the truth. And at some point, the police would get to the bottom of it, because they were trained to do that, and because these women were good, caring Christian women, they wouldn’t be able to keep all of their secrets from the police, even if they would never tell Jane.
It only took an hour for the mother who had been biting her lip to follow Esperanza to Dr. Rodriguez’s office. Shortly thereafter, a siren could be heard as the police arrived. Esperanza was right, secrets weren’t healthy or good. And having them was no way to run a Christian orphanage.
Chase followed Jane to the chapel, but this time it wasn’t empty. A whole host of children were gathered there, singing along with a band made up of the short-term volunteers. Their voices rang in the rafters, full of praise and happiness—the happiness that comes from finding a spot away from the anxious and scared adults, a spot where you can just be a kid for a while.
Jane finally settled on the volunteer lounge. She gave Chase her phone and the paper. “Call your sister. She may already know about Claude and Pat, but call her anyway. Hear her voice. Let her put your mind at ease.”
“Thank you.”
Despite wanting to hear everything they said to each other, Jane left to give them privacy. Besides, she still had the little problem of Jake being locked up in a Mexican prison as a person of interest in a murder investigation to sort out.
She went to Dr. Rodriguez’s office again. After their little tête-à-tête she felt perfectly comfortable going to the top to request transport to get her husband out of jail.
The door was ajar, and people were talking inside. One voice in particular stood out.
Jake was lounging in a chair, his legs crossed and his arms behind his head. He laughed at something that had just been said.
A policeman, not one Jane had seen before, and Dr. Rodriguez stood across from each other with the doctor’s big desk between them.
“Jane!” Jake stood up. “You really are the best. I had just gotten hold of good old Cousin Jeff to ask him to send me some big money to bribe my way out. I didn’t think it would take more than five or ten thousand, but I wasn’t exactly sure Jeff wanted me back that bad. How did you arrange my release from in here?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to kiss her cheek.
“I’d have paid twice that, Jake, but I didn’t do anything to get you out.”
“Sure you did. I’ve been sitting hear listening in to the officer and the gentleman discussing my fate for five full minutes and t
he only thing I could decipher was ‘Jane did it’ or something like that. So I know you did.”
“I can only make guesses, but I think we had better slip away now and let these men sort things out.”
“Hold on,” Dr. Rodriguez interrupted her. “We have a situation here that you are solely responsible for.” He glowered.
“I can’t imagine what you are talking about,” Jake said.
The police officer spoke with easy, if heavily accented, English. “I’ve been telling him that you are not a person of interest to us. You are free to go.”
“Thanks!” Jake grabbed her hand and hoofed it outside with his wife. “But really,” he said as soon as they were far from the office, “I had just dialed my lawyer to sort things out, when they dragged me back here. I did my best to follow the conversation, but it was a bit above me. The cop said I was free on new evidence. Dr. Ben said something about you being responsible for it. I swear you must have solved the whole shebang the second I left.”
“Pretty much, but I think I’ll make you wait to hear how it went until I report back to Flora and Rocky.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “How a nice kid like you could turn into a torturer, I will never know.
16
Jane and Jake sat in the yellow velvet chairs across Flora’s desk from her. Rocky stood to the side, leaning on the wall. “Sounds like you bit off more than you expected.” His voice was growly, but his eyes were smiling.”
“It wasn’t the drug cartel, at any rate,” Jake said.
“We work hard not to get arrested while on the job.” Flora frowned at Jake. “And we never volunteer for it.”
“That’s not exactly true, sweetie,” Rocky interposed. “Never forget Cleveland.”
She turned her frown to her husband. “Cleveland is hardly Ensenada, Mexico. He had no business leaving with the police.”
“You’d have to have been there,” Jake said. “It really felt like the most reasonable thing at the time. Besides, Crawfords have good lawyers. Nate Goodwin. You’ve heard of him, I suppose.”
“No.”
Jane and Jake had been back for one night and a day. The last day at the orphanage had been a blur of police and crying and confusion, but that was murder for you.
Pat Bromfield’s wife may have felt like her actions were justified, that she was serving a greater good, but it was still murder. And as distasteful as Pat’s parenting book was, he had the right to live, to learn, and to repent from his mistakes. His wife had taken that from him, in the mistaken belief that he had killed Claude Marshall.
As far as Claude’s medical records, though spotty, indicated, Pat hadn’t done it. Claude had been a ticking time bomb all along.
Chase and Vanessa had had a long talk. And then Vanessa and the police had had a long talk, and then Vanessa and Dr. Rodriguez who ran the orphanage had had a long talk, the result of which was she had been sent home to St. Louis.
Bromfield’s God’s Way for Girls and Boys was banned at the orphanage now, and Vanessa was going to have to trust that God had the situation in hand.
“I spoke with Victor Trives this morning and gave him the full report,” Flora said. “He is satisfied with your work. He’s also a very compassionate man and the situation at the orphanage spoke to him. He has sent ten complete sets of Dr. James Dobson’s parenting books, translated into Spanish, and has established a fund for a full-time chaplain, someone local who understands the culture, but who has gone to seminary so he can help everyone with their understanding of what the Bible actually says.”
“That’s amazing,” Jane murmured. And completely unexpected. To think one man mistrusting his teenage daughter would lead to such a blessing for all of those kids and families.
“Not if you know him,” Rocky said. “Old Vic’s a good guy.”
“Enough.” Flora closed the file. “Jake, God bless you, you need to keep out of your wife’s way. Understand?”
“No,” Jake said with a smile.
“Relax, Flor,” Rocky said. “He’s a good husband. Young, but good. Don’t you remember being young?”
Flora pushed her wire-rim glasses up her nose and gave her husband a very sour look.
He ruffled her grey curls. “What Flora means is that while Jane is our responsibility—that is, for the next couple of years while we are supervising her—you need to keep out of the investigations. She’s probably right. If Jane had had to go rescue you from prison she might not have been able to crack the case. Too distracting.”
“Unless I become a detective, too, right?” Jake grinned.
“There is no way on God’s green earth I would supervise your hours for your license, so forget that right now,” Flora said. Then she sighed. “Oh, maybe I would. But not yet. Go home and think about what you’ve done, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And give me five more minutes with Jane.”
Jake stood, shook Flora’s hand, then Rocky’s, and left to sit around the waiting room for a few minutes.
“Good job, Jane.” Flora’s tone softened. “Very good job. You have a fast mind, good at puzzles, and good instincts. The more experience you get, the faster you will get at this. I’m pleased to have you on our team. Not all young detectives can do what you just did.”
“Or experienced ones, either,” Rocky said. “And personally, I’ve got hope for Jake too, if he ever decides to give up his fundraising gig.”
“Before I let you go,” Flora pulled another file out of her file drawer, “I have another job for you. How much do you know about felony flats?”
“What I don’t know, I can learn.” Jane leaned forward to have a look at the file. She might have just gotten home, but she was ready for her next case.
About the Author
Traci Tyne Hilton is the author of The Plain Jane Mysteries, The Mitzy Neuhaus Mysteries and the Tillgiven Romantic Mysteries. She also writes short romances as Traci Valentyne Hilton.
When not writing she has been known to knit socks, play the spoons, and teach Sunday School, though these days she is most often seen in her role as taxi-driver to busy children.
She was the Mystery/Suspense Category winner for the 2012 Christian Writers of the West Phoenix Rattler Contest, a finalist for Speculative Fiction in the same contest, and has a Drammy from the Portland Civic Theatre Guild. She blogs at TheWriteConversation.blogspot.com.
Traci attended Fackelbararnas Bibelskola in Holsby Brunn, Sweden, and earned a degree in History from Portland State University. She lives in the rainiest part of the Pacific Northwest with her husband the mandolin playing funeral director, the two busy kids, and their dogs, Dr. Watson, Archie Goodwin, and their newest addition Kitty Biscuits.
Join her at the Good Clean Book Club http://www.tracihilton.com and never miss a new release or a great deal!
Novels by Traci Tyne Hilton
The Plain Jane Mysteries
Good, Clean Murder
Dirty Little Murder
Bright New Murder
Health, Wealth, and Murder
Spoiled Rotten Murder
Killer Honeymoon
Killer Calling
The Tillgiven Romantic Mysteries
Hard to Find
Dark and Stormy
The Mitzy Neuhaus Mysteries
Foreclosed
Eminent Domain
Buyer’s Remorse
Frozen Assets
Other Titles
Hearts to God
Gone: The Tangle Saga
Love and a Side of Chips
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Killer Calling: A Plain Jane Mystery (A Cozy Christian Collection) (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 7) Page 12