She laughed at herself. She had to be able to follow a leader, because even if she started her own mission organization from scratch and got to be the boss of all of it, she’d still have to follow God. So this was where she was now, and this was where she had to learn.
She’d report, in full, everything she had done remotely connected to the fraud case, summarize her work to date, and organize her facts. Then she’d prepare a similar document about the murder and call it a proposal.
She stopped and thanked God for Rocky. Without that lunch today, she might have really screwed up what was her best opportunity for a happy life in Portland, for as long as God called her to live here.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her reverie.
“Come in.” If Gemma had a cup of tea, or a plate of cookies for her, that would be decidedly good timing on her part.
“Hey.” It was Jake. Without tea or cookies. He dropped to the floor at her feet and sat with crossed legs. “I won’t bother you, I promise. But Phoebe is having a huge party at our place right now.” Phoebe was his sister, a couple of years younger than them both, and their place was the family mansion in Laurelhurst, an old, exclusive neighborhood in Portland. “Want to tell me what you’re up to? If you don’t, that’s okay, too.” He pulled out his phone and started to toy with it.
“Sure, I can.” She explained the reports and how they would save her new job.
“I’m sorry about the phone call,” Jake said. “I was out of line, and I knew it while I was talking, but I still felt right. I wasn’t right, but I felt right.”
“I know.” Jane paused. “And I need to forgive you, and I’m getting there, but I still feel mad.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”
He rested his hand on her ankle. “I don’t blame you, but I would appreciate a wife with a forgiving spirit.”
He had a twinkle in his eye that made her want to kick him. So she did.
“Hey!” He rubbed his nose, though she had hardly tapped him.
“Want another?” She nudged his cheek with her sock-foot. “I want to have a forgiving spirit, in theory. I just don’t have it at this exact moment.”
“We can work with that.” He got up, and then flopped back on her bed. “You have a lot of work to do, but I don’t see any food in your kitchen. I will sit here quietly and order a pizza.”
“Thanks.” She bent to her work. The pizza came a half an hour later, right as she had finished her first summary.
Jake slipped a gooey slice from the box and chewed thoughtfully. “You know, most Christian girls in their mid-twenties get a little more excited about their weddings.”
Jane helped herself to a piece and didn’t answer.
“And even though I am just starting out in fundraising and development, I do have the means to take care of you.”
He referred, of course, to his shares of the family restaurant business. Jane had never asked, but suspected that his dividends were enough to keep him comfortably without working, if he wanted to. That and the cash and investments he had inherited from his parents. And the house. And the Jag.
He couldn’t help it that his parents had died. Inheriting wealth young hadn’t been part of his life plan. But Jane didn’t feel comfortable asking him how much money he really had. And she didn’t like the idea that people would think she was marrying into a life of ease.
Not that she didn’t like it…who wouldn’t like it? She just wasn’t ready for it…not yet. She still wanted to prove that she could make it on her own. She just…wanted to.
She chose to ignore her parents and their constant offers of a safety net—contingent usually on her moving to Phoenix. Likewise, she wanted to enjoy her relationship with Jake without acknowledging the safety net that his comfortable means indicated.
“Never mind.” His words faded away, a hint of hurt in his voice. “While you work on your second report, can I proofread this one?”
“Yes, that would be nice.” She rolled her chair to the bed and stroked his sock foot.
He sighed.
She should explain her feelings better, but how? Jake had always had money, but he had always worked hard. He wouldn’t see the problem. But even if the problem was all in her head, it was her problem to get over.
“Jane…”
“I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”
Jake sat up and exhaled loudly. “Can I get a whole sentence out before you cut me off?”
“Sorry.” Jane rested a hand on his knee. “I guess I’m just…”
“Pause for a moment please, and let me say this.”
“Ooh-kay.” Jane leaned away. Jake was sending weird vibes. Stiff body posture, clipped words, and yet those kind of sad eyes. He was really, really not himself.
“I’ve got to go out of town again. I will be gone a week. You’re pretty heavily invested in this murder case, and it worries me. I’m just saying it. I’m not saying don’t investigate. I’m not saying you aren’t well looked after, I’m just saying it worries me that you are digging into this thing. The people sound dangerous. At least online they do.”
Well looked after? Jane frowned. She was well looked after? Not competent? Strong? Intelligent?
“I can’t tell you where I am going, or connect while I’m away. It is part of the ministry, and it’s all very safe-house related. So I just can’t say anything. They sprung it on me.”
Jane nodded. Weird. Super-secret safe house fundraising weirdness. What do you say to that?
“This is kind of new for us—for you and me—but I was wondering if we could like…” Jake blushed. “Could we pray together about it? I have to leave tomorrow. I’ll be safe, but will you? Will the kids I’m working with? I don’t know and it’s kind of freaking me out.”
Her heart melted. How could it not? He reached across the pizza box and they gripped hands and prayed, he in a jumpy, kind of nervous way. Scared for Jane’s life, scared for the kids he hoped to protect, and scared of showing fear to the one person he wanted most to be strong for. She prayed silently, in her head, echoing everything he said and adding her own request that God nip her stubbornness in the bud because it was slowing down what could be a beautiful life partnership.
Then they kissed, just a little bit more than they should have.
Ten
Jane made it to the SCoRI office feeling well-prepared. Jake had stayed until one in the morning to help her get both reports in order. It might not have taken that long if there had been less kissing, but that was as may be.
Flora welcomed Jane into her private office with a warm smile. The room was crowded with cartons. One of the chairs opposite Flora’s desk was stacked high with them. Jane pulled up the other chair and took a seat.
The cartons were stacked in precarious towers behind Flora, beside her, and along three of the four walls.
“Sorry about this.” Flora waved her hand at the boxes but didn’t explain. “I hear you got a quick lesson in reports yesterday.” Her eyes twinkled like Rocky’s had, as though maybe lunch had been her idea.
“Yes.” Jane bit her lip. “May I show you what I’ve got?”
Flora held out her hand.
Jane passed over both reports.
The second hand on the wall clock ticked loud and slow. The passing clacks bringing Jane back to the days of standardized tests in school. Her skin prickled with nerves.
Eventually Flora looked up, one eyebrow raised and a little frown on her face. “Not bad.” She leaned forward and looked toward her office door. “Did Miranda help you write them?”
“Oh no! I did them myself. Well, I mean, my fiancé Jake proofread them, and we really worked hard, Rocky and I, at lunch yesterday. But I wrote them myself.”
Flora’s frown turned into a small smile. “Then I’m impressed.”
She laid them down. “It’s time to talk about the murder case.” The frown was back. “I can see how you might have felt like the situation was a little ambiguous as the murder has a connection
to the insurance case.”
Jane smiled, nodding, hoping to change the tune she was hearing with a bright, cheerful, attitude.
“So let me be clear: You are not to be investigating this murder case. Do you understand? Finish the fraud up today. From the look of your report you can. Go confirm and reconfirm every last detail. Get in touch with the real caterer. Have one more conversation with the bride, and then bring it to me. I’ll contact the insurance and we’ll close the thing out. And,” Flora’s face lightened up a little, “it looks like the bride will get her money. The insurance won’t be happy, but this poor girl has had enough trouble, from the looks of both reports.”
“Does SCoRI ever get murder cases?” Jane wove her fingers together and squeezed her hands.
“No.” Flora’s word was firm, but she wasn’t yelling.
“What if a case turns into murder? Do we give it over to the police and drop it at that point?”
Flora leaned her elbows on her desk. “Rocky and I have investigated plenty of murders in our day. But we’re semi-retired now. We look into little cases of fraud on behalf of insurance companies. Things like that. We leave murder to the police. They have the training and the tools.”
“I get it.” Her gift from Grant had been meant to keep her out of trouble. That’s what she was getting. “So what do I do if Ayla calls again?”
“Tell her you’ve got everything you need and thank her for her time.”
“Should I give the information I gathered to the police?”
“Jane,” Flora’s tone was very teacher-y. “You didn’t really gather any information.”
“There were the mystery numbers.”
“I’m sure the police have already been over his apartment.”
“What about the guy that we followed? The one who has been impersonating SCoRI?”
This time Flora’s frown was legit.
Jane braced herself, afraid that when Flora opened her mouth the roar would send her flying into the stack of boxes behind her chair.
“I’ll discuss the matter with Rocky. Just leave it with us, for now.”
For now?
Those were the two most hopeful words Jane had heard all week.
Jane liked the words, “for now” and was willing to leave the PI-impersonator-situation in Flora’s and Rocky’s capable hands for exactly that long. So she spent her day confirming and reconfirming wedding details, and leaving messages for Maggie.
Clouds had rolled in as she drove home, soaking the world in a gray drizzle, but it wasn’t late enough for the big lights in the parking lot to have come on.
She shivered both with chill and nerves as she mounted the steps to her apartment door.
“Ahem.” A hoarse, throat clearing, almost at her ear.
Jane spun, putting her back to her front door.
The black-haired, glasses-wearing, fake detective was inches from her, his brow furrowed. “I suggest you keep your distance from the Fish family.”
Jane tightened her grip on her door key. “Why?” Her word came out like a pop, surprising her with its strength and volume.
Black-haired guy backed up half a step.
“Because this is murder, and you are not ready for it.”
Jane squared her shoulders. “No? Ask Matt Swanson if I’m ready. He was sentenced for murder just last month.”
He glanced behind him as though he thought the patricidal son of her old, now dead, client was behind him.
“Or Finch, who is currently serving time for manslaughter.” Jane took a step forward. “Do you want me to go on?” She lifted her eyebrow.
He cleared his throat again.
She sized him up. No jacket that he could be hiding things in, no bulging pockets indicating a gun. He trembled slightly, but his face looked angry.
“Let’s get out of here. Meet me at my office.” She gave the address to the Senior Corps of Retired Investigators. She knew Flora and Rocky were staying late tonight, and she wouldn’t be alone there.
He looked over his shoulder again. “Yeah. Okay.” He didn’t indicate that he recognized the address he had pretended to belong to.
Jane waited for him to go to his own car. She thought about changing her mind and locking herself in her apartment rather than leading him to SCoRI, but that wouldn’t have helped anything in the long run.
As soon as he started up the Honda that she recognized from the chase, she went to her own car and drove to the office.
Rocky was at the reception desk going over a calendar with Miranda.
“Hey there, kiddo.” He greeted her with a friendly gleam in his eye. “Looks like you did good work with your notes.”
“Thanks.” Jane tilted her head to indicate the man standing to her left. “Do you and Flora have a few minutes? It’s important.”
The man was edging back toward the door.
“Sure.” Rocky held out his big, rough hand. “Rocky Wilson, good to meet you.”
Jane put herself behind her new associate and the exit, so he couldn’t escape. He glanced at the door with longing, but followed Rocky to the office.
Flora’s glasses were low on her nose, and her short white hair looked like a windstorm had swept through. She scratched her temple and muttered something, but didn’t look up.
“Darlin’, Jane has a problem, I think.”
The “problem” scowled.
Flora looked up and returned his scowl with her own. “I assume it’s urgent?”
“So do I.” Rocky took a seat and crossed his arms behind his head. “What’s up?”
“You may recall from my notes that I had a brief interaction with a man in a gray Honda.”
Flora locked her eyes on the black-haired man.
“This gentleman is he. And, he fits the description of the person pretending to be a SCoRI investigator. He also appeared to be eavesdropping on my conversation with a contact on my case. In addition—”
“I match your description of what?” the man asked.
Flora took out her phone and snapped a picture. Then she turned her attention from them to her phone.
“What’s your name, son?” Rocky asked.
“I don’t believe it is in my best interest to share that at this time.” He crossed his arms.
“Why were you eavesdropping on our girl here?”
“I was not.”
“They why did you speed away and not help us with our flat tire?” Jane .
“You chased me, and your tire wasn’t flat.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“Yes, I did.”
Jane wanted to smack the smug look off of his lips. “Why are you harassing Maggie? Are you a gamer or something?”
“Am I a male in my twenties? Yes. I have played video games.”
“That’s what I thought. Why are you all such jerks to girls?” Jane’s heart was racing. This wasn’t the question she meant to ask, but it was at the heart of the matter, in the long run.
“If they can’t take the heat, they can stay out of the kitchen.” He uncrossed his arms, and flexed his fingers, like he wanted to start swinging punches. “It’s not like we’re nice to each other.”
“But what did Maggie do, exactly? She created a game.”
“Maggie who?” He crossed his arms again, but his eyes darted from Jane to Flora.
“So you’re going to be that way then?” Jane hissed.
“Now, now. Let’s be reasonable.” Rocky chuckled.
“Brad Carter.” Flora looked up, a tired smile on her face.
Brad swung his face to her.
“Facial recognition is my favorite little internet tool.” She stood up and waved at her threadbare velvet armchairs. “Both of you sit, and both of you be quiet.”
Jane sat on the one right behind her.
Fake-detective Brad stared at the chair nearest him, stacked with boxes.
“Just move those,” Flora said.
He did, and then sat.
“Brad here is
a journalist, of sorts, for an online news outlet of some kind. He has a YouTube channel and many articles to his name. I assume he was listening in because murder is a big story. And maybe he drew our name out of a hat to contact Maggie about her troubles as well.” Flora sat back down.
“That so?” Rocky asked.
“No.” Brad craned his neck to see the exit door around Rocky. The color was draining from his tan face, leaving him ashen.
“You are a journalist and you seem to write exclusively for Marjoram Thymes.”
“That’s a satire site,” Jane said. “And not a very funny one.”
Brad took a loud breath through his nose.
“So what was your angle?” Flora asked. “Harassing Maggie Frances about being stood at the altar for humor or about the game thing for humor?”
“Who is Maggie?” Brad’s voice cracked.
“That’s enough,” Rocky said. “We’re not playing games here. We run a nice little non-profit private agency for retired detectives. A place we can all come and do a little snooping now and again. It keeps us out of trouble. You call a girl like Maggie and get her upset, she calls the cops and gets a restraining order, and we lose our fun. So why did you do it?”
He gritted his teeth so hard Jane could hear it.
She licked her lips and tried not to stare at him.
“I don’t want to write for Marjoram Thymes forever. It isn’t very funny. One knock-out article. One big hook, and I could make it. I could get anyone to publish the right story. Something hot, new, funny, horrible. All of that in one? A girl that the gaming community hates is stood up at the altar. Or was she defrauding the credit card company. Or her insurance. Maybe she’s addicted to crime. I could do something with that, couldn’t I?”
Flora leaned forward. “You’re a jerk.”
He sat back in his chair and sneered. “I’m a satirist.”
“So you were in this for the laughs, and you decided to use our name…why?”
Brad shrugged.
“I don’t think that’s all there is to this,” Jane said softly.
Spoiled Rotten Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery (The Plain Jane Mysteries Book 5) Page 7