“Are you free to go over there tonight?” Kaitlyn appeared to be looking over Jane’s shoulder. It was all Jane could do to not turn and look behind her.
“Yeah, I am. I could call Paula and see if it is good for her.”
“Uh-huh.” Kaitlyn’s over-the-shoulder gaze suddenly focused. “Hey!” She stood and careened around the table.
Jane swung in her seat.
Kaitlyn had a chubby boy, about twelve years old, by the collar of his shirt. “Look at me!” Her voice was calm, but forceful. “Don’t ever let me see you treating someone like that ever again, do you hear?”
The boy was shaking, but he spit, missing Kaitlyn and hitting the ground. “You’re not my mom, you gimp.” His voice shook, too, despite his big words.
A younger boy with a black eye scooted away from the scene.
Jane stood up, but hesitated. Would Kaitlyn get in trouble if she ran for a security guard?
“You don’t mean that.” Kaitlyn’s voice went lower. “Those are the words of a scared kid.” She dropped his collar, but stood, arms crossed, in front of him, blocking his access to the younger boy. “You bully because you are scared, but you have to stop. Two wrongs make the world an awful place.”
The bully’s face flushed. “I’m not scared of you.” His eye was trained on Kaitlyn’s hand.
Jane felt sick to her stomach. She was no better than a prepubescent little boy, focusing on Kaitlyn’s difference. She joined Kaitlyn. “Would you like me to get security?”
“Nah.” Kaitlyn pulled a bright blue tract from her pocket. The cover said, “Where is God When You are Scared?” “Take this, sit down and read it, and I won’t call security.”
The boy grabbed the tract. He looked around the food court, only a couple of the dozen or so shoppers had looked their direction. The boy sat down. “Terrorizing someone weaker than you won’t make you stronger.”
Kaitlyn caught the boy’s eye. He shrugged and scowled.
Kaitlyn led Jane back to their table. “I hate bullies,” she said. “It’s tempting to knock them upside the head with my bionic hand. It is pretty heavy.” She held her hand up and smiled. “But two wrongs really do just make the world a rotten place, you know?”
“Do you know that kid?” Jane’s smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Bionic hand. She had a feeling that “breaking the ice” about the hand thing was something Kaitlyn had to constantly do.
“Nah. But I see a lot of little boys trying to be big here. You’d be amazed at how little these big kids really are on the inside.”
Jane turned her paper cup of bubble tea around in a circle, an idea brewing. “They’re a pretty needy bunch, hey?”
“You got that right.”
“A pretty needy mission field?” Jane asked.
“Ooh, I think I like what you are thinking.” Kaitlyn’s eyes sparkled. It was pretty clear the kids who loitered around the mall causing trouble had been on her heart for a while.
“Let’s get Paula squared away and then we can meet with Valerie again. If we do want to reach out to these kids, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
“True that. Preadolescent bullies at the mall are a very specific target, and not at all an easy one to reach out to.”
Kaitlyn and Jane exchanged a grin. “All the more reason to try,” Jane said.
Kaitlyn checked her watch. “Break over. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Jane gathered her backpack and jacket. It was a pity that Kaitlyn had such pretty hair and freckles across her nose. Cuteness made people—made Jane—make unfair assumptions.
Jane popped into the mall library and found a comfy chair. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Isaac. Just a “miss you” message. When he had a chance to call her she’d fill in the details.
She stared at the phone willing Isaac to reply to her message, but nothing happened. After her return from exile in Phoenix was over, the summer after she graduated from Bible School, she and Isaac had been inseparable. This Costa Rica teaching gig was their first real trial as an official couple. Jane loved that he was there, in theory. Every day she expected to hear him say that he had changed his mind and wanted to be a missionary. The strain of waiting for that was getting to her.
No text from Isaac came through, so Jane called Paula.
Paula invited her over immediately. They sat together in Paula’s kitchen with steaming cups of tea. The sink was full of coffee mugs, and there was a pan on the stove. There was a smattering of crumbs on the counter by the toaster. Jane tried not to notice, but it was hard. Paula looked as undone as her kitchen. She had deep shadows under her eyes, and her hair hung limply around her face.
“It was very kind of you to call, Jane.” Even Paula’s voice sounded defeated.
“Can I do anything to help? Anything at all?” Jane felt awkward, like her elbows went too far out and she was going to knock over the mantle decorations even though they were all the way across the room. She tried to take a deep breath without being noticed. It didn’t work.
“I spent many years overseas before I was married.” Paula’s eyes lost their absent look. “And one of the things I learned was important to people in the third world is the ability to be together with someone in their grief.” Her voice choked on the last word. Her eyes were mournful, but they held Jane’s gaze. “It would be good for you to sit here with me.”
Jane opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. She needed to just sit quietly, so she nodded instead. She tried to smile, but it felt wrong. She let her smile morph into a sympathetic frown, but that felt condescending.
Paula made the same sympathetic frowning face—or at least, she successfully made the face Jane was trying for.
“I’ve known many young widows.” Paula’s voice had a thoughtful, faraway quality. “In some countries they wouldn’t consider me a young widow, but Mark and I had barely been married two years.” Her voice cracked. “So our marriage was young, even if I wasn’t.” Paula sniffled into her sleeve.
Jane jumped up. “Let me get you a tissue.”
“No, sit down.” Paula waved her hand. She dabbed under her eyes. “Sometimes sitting quietly will speak to people from other cultures about the peace of Christ.”
Jane sat down.
“We can be peacemakers in the world, Jane. It’s one of the beautiful jobs of the Church.”
Jane wrapped the cuff of her sleeve around her fingers. “It sounds like a powerful experience.”
“You’re uncomfortable. I know.” Paula’s eyes were filled with tears, but she offered a comforting smile. “You don’t have to stay.”
“No, I want to.” Jane’s voice shook. She wanted to “help,” whatever that would look like. She squeezed her fingers together. Quiet wasn’t the problem, really. She could clean an empty house all by herself in the quiet. She could even deliver the silent treatment to people who were bothering her. But the sympathetic quiet… no. As far as she could tell, she was wired to work. She tapped her foot on the rung of her chair. Her whole body felt coiled to leap into the kitchen and attack the little pile of dishes.
Tears had spilled from Paula’s brown eyes. She wiped them away. “Thank you.” Her eyes turned to the picture above the mantle again.
It looked like a huge family picture, but the family was clearly not American.
“Why don’t you come back tomorrow? I’ll be home all day, so you can just come whenever you are free.” Paula stood up. “I think I might be the one not ready to sit quietly together.”
Jane tried for the sympathetic smile one more time, and it finally felt natural. “I will, Paula. I promise.” She gave Paula a side hug and tried not to look like she was running out of the house.
The thing was, she was sure she could do this overseas. It was weird to sit quietly in America. In Kyrgyzstan or India it would feel perfectly normal. She was sure it would.
On the drive home, she prayed God would give Paula comfort—and give her the ability to relax
at Paula’s house.
Chapter 5
The next day Jane found herself back at Caramel’s house. Rather than being fired, Jane had been offered an extra day of heavy cleaning. Douglas and Caramel were both missing in action, but there was a detailed message on Jane’s voicemail that gave her at least three hours’ worth of housework.
She started her day in the garage. From glossy white walls to the speckled floor, this five bay room was like a jewelry box for vintage cars, not a place people got dirty. Both of the Swansons’ daily drivers were parked in the garage, so Jane guessed the two were out back on the property somewhere.
Though the room appeared spotless, Jane had directions to give it a deep clean.
Mopping the spotless garage floor was one of the weirder feelings Jane had had in her life—right up there with sitting quietly in Paula’s house. A hot wave of embarrassment rolled over Jane as she remembered her failed attempt to offer comfort to Paula. She ought to have better people skills. After all, she was twenty-two now, and had been doing this “grown up” thing for a long time.
Clear water ran out of the mop every time she twisted it in the mop bucket. How like Caramel to make the maid do something that didn’t need to be done. Classic power trip.
Jane ran the mop under the new Mini Cooper—Caramel’s rather modest little daily driver.
At last the mop came back dirty. Jane felt a little thrill of pleasure. She let out a happy sigh and stuck the mop back under the car. When she was sure it was clean, she gave her mop a final rinse and dumped the mop water down the utility sink.
Since she was on the lower level, she ought to clean the hot tub room next. It was just down the hall from the garage, in the daylight basement, and had sweeping views of their vast lawns, but the hot tub room gave Jane the creeps. She paused at the door of the room—her least favorite in all of the homes she had ever cleaned.
The walls were papered in shimmery black with gold flecks and topped with a mirrored ceiling. Jane would have guessed this house was less than fifteen years old, but the hot tub room was straight from the 1980s—years before she was born.
A huge wet bar flanked one wall. A light made from wine bottles strung in a row hung over it. The bar stools were topped with leopard print cushions and the rug was a brilliant zebra print—brilliant because the white stripes glowed in the black light that was positioned over it.
Then there was the hot tub itself. It was the maid’s job—therefore Jane’s until the proper maid returned from vacation—to do the pH test and add chemicals as necessary. The tub was a beast. It looked as though it could seat twenty, and she had to climb a set of black marble—could it be real marble?—steps to get to the lid.
Every time she climbed the steps she felt like a missionary being led into the cauldron by cannibals. Cannibals aside, this hot tub water really was people-broth.
The hot tub room was warm and steamy. It smelled like a locker room. From the small pile of towels at the bottom step to the tub, Jane could tell it had been used recently. All lights but the black light were out, so the towels, the stripes on the rug, and the striations in the steps glowed. Jane crinkled her nose. She flipped the light on before she entered. It was better when the lights were on. Not great, but better.
Jane had the water testing kit in her pocket, so she went straight to the tub. Best to get the grossest bit out of the way first.
At the first step, she grabbed the pile of towels—still damp—and tossed them to the laundry hamper by the door. She missed.
Jane knelt at the top step and leaned over to get her water sample.
Something stringy slid through her fingers.
Hair? Short, gray hair that waved around in the water like sickly seaweed.
Jane wrenched her hand back. Her stomach heaved.
Douglas Swanson sat in the tub his face submerged just below the surface of the water.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut, and grabbed his head, trying to lift it from the water so she could find a pulse. Her fingers probed his bloated neck, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t hold his head, find a pulse, and not puke.
She turned her head to the side, and wretched.
Her guts were in a vice that wouldn’t stop squeezing, but nothing came out. For the first time ever, she was glad she had skipped breakfast.
She tried again to lift him, so she could attempt CPR, but he was just too heavy. And, she was pretty sure he was dead.
She pulled her phone out of her apron pocket, but her hand was shaking so violently that she dropped it in the tub. She plunged her arm into the water up to her elbow, and the bobbing head butted against her arm as she fished for her phone. The phone lay on Douglas’s knee. She pulled her arm out of the water and stumbled down the steps. She lunged for the door, but tripped on the tangle of wet towels and pitched into the door frame.
Her skull felt like a bell with her brain sounding against its hard sides. She wiped her forehead with her wet hand.
Blood. She was bleeding.
The room swirled around her. She stopped everything and sat down, legs crossed. She leaned forward, her head in her lap, and tried to breathe. “Dear Lord, dear Lord, dear Lord,” she prayed over and over again, thankful that the Spirit would translate her panic into something useful.
When her body stilled she sat up. Her phone, resting on Douglas’s knee, was the only phone she knew of in the house. In the three weeks she had been cleaning here, she hadn’t seen a single land line. Should she run upstairs and search the rooms for one? Or was there a faster way to call the police?
She had seen a bright blue alarm system box in the garage.
With extreme caution, so as not to start the panic back up, Jane stood, and took the long walk back down the basement hall.
The alarm box was above the workbench.
Jane popped the cover and stared at the keys. Could she trip the alarm to make it call the police? Or was there an emergency button she could press?
She held her shaking finger in front of the keypad.
Maybe she should get a neighbor instead.
She turned her head toward the garage doors. The neighbors were so isolated on their acred lots. It would be faster to alert the police this way. If she could figure it out.
But wait.
Do you even call the police when a man drowns?
She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. She needed a phone to call 911.
But she didn’t really need an ambulance, because Douglas was dead.
She looked up at the box again.
She chewed her lip.
How had that alarm gone off when she was a kid?
The switch box.
The switch box was near enough to the alarm box that she could reach it. She opened it up and began switching every one of them on and then off. Before she had done the whole box the alarm was sounding.
A shoulder-shaking sob escaped. She took a deep breath. Then another. Someone would come help her now.
Jane let herself out the garage door. She sat on the edge of the flower box nearest the garage and waited for help to arrive.
Chapter 6
Caramel Swanson stormed across her driveway. She was squeezed into a pair of curve-hugging jeans and shiny brown leather riding boots that were silent on the cobblestone parking circle.
“What is going on here?” Caramel held her phone in Jane’s face like an accusation. “The alarm company just called me to see if I knew why our alarm was going off. I do not know why the alarm is going off.”
Jane’s whole body shook. Her mind told her to stand up and face Caramel, but her legs didn’t agree. She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to hold them still. She opened her mouth, but a garbled choke came out instead of words.
“Well? How did you trip the alarm? It wasn’t even set.” Caramel’s face was violent red. “I was in the middle of something a little bit important.”
Jane threw herself to her feet. She quivered top to bottom. “It’s Douglas.” Her
voice matched her shaking body.
“What’s that dirty dog done now?” Caramel pulled her phone back. Her face wrinkled like she had a mouth full of vinegar.
“He’s dead.” Jane’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Caramel’s eyes bulged out of her head. “What?”
“In the hot tub.” Jane kept her eyes trained on Caramel’s face.
Caramel’s angry red face had bleached white. She looked Jane up and down, then frowned. “What do you mean he’s dead in the hot tub?”
Jane just nodded.
“You mean Douglas is dead? In the hot tub?”
Jane nodded again. If she opened her mouth, all of her fear would come out in great hiccoughy sobs, and she couldn’t do that in front of Caramel.
“What are you doing just sitting here? Call the ambulance!” Caramel’s voice rose to a shriek that sent shivers up and down Jane’s arms.
Jane gulped. “I dropped my phone. In the hot tub.” She flinched.
Caramel waved her phone in Jane’s face. “You are the most inept, useless person I have met in all of my life! Get inside the house and call the ambulance, you fool! They might have been able to save my husband!”
Jane wavered, looking from the door to the phone in Caramel’s hand. “Is there a phone inside?”
“Oh, never mind!” Caramel stabbed her cell phone with a long, red, fingernail. “911? 911? There’s been a death!”
The blare of sirens made Jane’s skin crawl. She stood against the brick wall of the garage door, shaking with fear. When the paramedics poured out of the ambulance, Caramel swooped on them and led them to the hot tub room.
Jane considered running—just running down the street as far away as her feet could carry her. She could always run back again to talk to the police. But an officer reached her before she could will her feet to move.
The officer was a short woman with cropped brown hair and a deeply lined face. She frowned at Jane. “Caramel Swanson?”
“No, ma’am. Jane Adler, the maid.” Jane bit her lip.
The officer looked her up and down as though recording her height and weight.
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