Plain Jane Mystery Box Set 1

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  For example… how had he died? Heart attack? Overdose? Slipped and drowned? Head held under the water until he died?

  Jane thought she ought to call the detective. She might be able to pump him for a little information.

  She was back at her apartment munching a bagel and sipping a Yo-Heaven smoothie she had grabbed from a drive through. Kaitlyn would hate her drinking it. Jake would love it.

  And Jake would probably be able to schmooze information out of the cops.

  Or not. That cop had been a cute guy. A bit too old for her, but probably more likely to spill investigation secrets to her than to Jake.

  She’d have to give the detective idea some thought. She wasn’t a natural at weaseling information out of people, and she didn’t have a good reason to call him—yet.

  She did have a free hour or so and a nice fast Internet connection, so she began hunting for information on Douglas Swanson’s first wife.

  It took a few pages of digging, but she did find what she was looking for. An old article from the Gresham Report—about fifteen years old, in fact—with a big picture of Mayor Swanson and his wife Alexandra.

  Alexandra was not the woman she had seen in the pictures. The woman in the pictures was a young, athletic-looking blonde. Maybe not natural blonde, but pretty close. The ex Mrs. Mayor Swanson was a petite woman with a frail look about her and dyed, red hair. Not fake looking like Caramel’s blonde hair, but probably not her natural color either.

  So if Alexandra wasn’t in all of those pictures on the desk, who was? And why were they on the desk?

  Jane wished the Swanson house had been a big old mansion with lots of fireplaces. She could have dug through the ashes to see if the pictures had been burnt. Lacking that, what could she do?

  She could keep her eyes open. That was something anyway.

  After cleaning two more clients, Jane went home for lunch.

  She was certain the woman in the pictures with Douglas wasn’t his wife, but it was clearly someone he was close to. A daughter, which wasn’t likely, if she was remembering the body language correctly, or a lover, which seemed pretty icky but reasonable.

  Douglas didn’t seem like the kind of man to go bar-hopping, so his lover would have to come from some other part of his life—work, most likely. She pulled up every site she could find about Gresham politics. Her list of local officials, from the chief of police to school board, was long. Pictures were almost impossible to find for most of the names, so she had resorted to Facebook. One tab with Google results, the other with Facebook search results. So far, no matches, but Jane was sure she was on the right track.

  In the middle of it, her Facebook instant messenger let off its annoying ding. She clicked over to the Facebook page.

  It was Jake Crawford. His Facebook picture was of him in his Yo-Heaven uniform—complete with the lime green visor and little white nametag. He had embraced the call of healthy fast food, which was nice.

  “Are you ever going to call me?”

  “No.” Jane wasn’t sure why she typed it, besides it’s being honest, and Facebook being the kind of place one wrote first and thought later.

  “Thanks? Whatcha doing? Do you want to go out tonight?”

  “Working. No.”

  “Do people pay you to clean their Facebook now?”

  She lol’d, both in real life and on the private message box. She laughed so hard her side ached. For a moment, she considered what she could charge someone for popping into Facebook and cleaning up their newsfeed. Get rid of spam, ads, people who drink and post, anyone who makes a duck face. Not only could it be profitable, it would be satisfying.

  “Want to go hear some live music?”

  “No thanks.” She tried to keep her eye on the task at hand, but Jake’s messages were coming too fast. The beeps were driving her nuts.

  “Just hang out at home then? Come by and see your old room? You could have a sleepover. Old time’s sake.”

  Jane groaned. Then she typed, “*groan*” She wondered what had spurred Jake’s recent interest in her. Just seeing her at the mall, perhaps? The food court couldn’t be the most intellectually stimulating job ever.

  “I could come by your place.”

  Jane didn’t respond.

  She thought she had a match for the blonde. The only trouble was that she couldn’t remember exactly what the woman in the photo had looked like. This woman hit all the right notes though: trim build, natural look, blonde. She showed up on the Facebook page for the Gresham Mayor’s office, and according to an old copy of the minutes of a meeting she had dug up in the online mayoral office archives, she was on staff back when Douglas had the job.

  Jane squinted at the picture. Could Mary-Grace Hopkins be the mysterious lover? Jane tapped her toes. She had time to drive up to Gresham and pop into the mayor’s office. Maybe chat someone up about their recent loss. A shiver of excitement ran up her spine. Did she have the nerve to do that? It wasn’t any of her business, but it certainly passed the time.

  Another message popped up from Jake. “Earth to Jane. I get the feeling you don’t have time for me anymore…”

  “Not right now, sorry!” The explanation point might have been overkill, but she didn’t want to be rude.

  “I’ll call you.”

  Jane read the message twice.

  It wasn’t flirty, silly, or nonsense. Just a simple sentence. That worried her.

  She didn’t want to worry about Jake. She typed, “TTYL.” She wasn’t saying no, but she was resolutely non-committal. If Jake needed something badly enough, he’d call. She wasn’t going to put herself out for it, though.

  For one thing, she didn’t want to talk to Jake. She wanted to talk to Isaac.

  She stared at her phone, sitting quietly next to her laptop on the table. She thought for a moment it was going to burst into song, and that the call was going to determine her fate: Isaac or Jake.

  But it was silent. Fate didn’t get determined by a phone call, and before Isaac had left the country for his brief stay in Costa Rica, they had been seriously dating, with marriage as the long term goal.

  Jake was just bored.

  And so was Jane, which meant it was time to run to Gresham and have a chat with the staff of the mayor’s office.

  Chapter 12

  After finding the Gresham city office building, Jane drove around the block to park and to try and come up with a reason for her visit. She’d love to walk in and ask for Mary-Grace, but she didn’t have any reason to. She could go in and say she wanted to interview people about the former mayor for school or something but… that would be a lie. If she could think of something to ask that was both useful and true, she’d feel a lot better about it. But what did a housekeeper from Portland need from the Mayor of Gresham?

  Jane drummed her fingers on her steering wheel. If only Caramel had sent her down for something—anything. Something for the funeral maybe.

  Or something for herself? That wasn’t a bad idea.

  Jane smiled. Her boss was grieving. This could work.

  Jane parked and went straight to the reception desk. Old industrial fluorescent bulbs flickered above the laminate desk, and a smell that reminded Jane of cleaning whiteboards at school hung in the air.

  “Good morning.” The receptionist was an older lady—curly white hair, wire-rim glasses on a chain. She had a sweet smile. The noises coming from her computer sounded a lot like Words with Friends.

  “Good morning.” Jane clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking. If she focused on her plan and just kept her eye out for Mary-Grace, she wouldn’t be a liar. “I’m not entirely sure where to start, but I’m Douglas Swanson’s maid.”

  The receptionist narrowed her eyes. “You are?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Their regular maid is on vacation, and I’m kind of like the substitute.”

  “Ah.” The receptionist relaxed, her smile coming back. “I thought you were a bit young for Doug.”

  “I was just think
ing about Caramel and how sad she has been.” A little lie, but maybe that was okay? “And I was thinking that maybe if there was anything here from Mr. Swanson’s days as mayor, like, I don’t know…” Jane froze. Like what? His desk? Newspaper clippings? His red Swingline stapler?

  “You were wanting to bring her something?”

  Jane chewed her lip. “Bad idea?”

  “Not at all.” The receptionist stood up and reached a hand out to Jane.

  Jane accepted the warm, grandmotherly handshake. “It’s a kind idea, dear. A memento of an important man. I don’t know what we have around here from his days in office, but someone might. Why don’t you have a seat? I won’t be a minute.”

  Jane sat on the edge of a threadbare, upholstered waiting room chair. She took a deep breath and tried to gather her wits. The receptionist had hinted that she had expected a different kind of woman for the Swanson maid. It might be interesting to learn something more about the woman she was substituting for. But for the moment, she’d have to concentrate on phrasing her sentences for the most impact. Bring up Douglas’s social life if she could. Mention Alexandra and the kids. See what kind of reaction she could surprise out of the staffers, if any.

  A thin young man in a golf shirt and khakis came out to the waiting room with the receptionist.

  Jane stood up and offered him her hand. “You don’t look old enough to have worked with Mayor Swanson.”

  The man, who had the slightly pimply jawline of a teenager, laughed. “No, I’m not. I’m an intern. I probably wasn’t even born yet when he was mayor.”

  The receptionist swatted him on the elbow. “Of course you were, Tad. You might have been in kindergarten, but you were born.”

  Tad laughed. “When was he mayor again?”

  “From 1989 to 1995.”

  “Ha! I was right, you were wrong.” Tad squared his shoulders, a grin spread across his face.

  “Youth isn’t something to brag about.” The receptionist chuckled, and then ambled back to her desk.

  Jane smiled a little as well—she had been born in the middle of Douglas’s term as mayor.

  “So, what did you need?”

  “I was just wondering if there was anyone here who had worked with Douglas back then who could, I don’t know…” Jane heard steps coming from the hall behind her. She turned a little. It wasn’t the blonde.

  “Someone who would remember him?”

  “Yeah. Something like that. I really didn’t have a firm idea. I just want to do something nice for his widow.”

  Tad checked his watch. “I wasn’t here—obviously. But I can take you down to the morgue and let you dig a little.”

  Jane cringed. “The morgue?”

  “The file morgue. All the outdated stuff.” Tad shrugged. “I don’t know that we have anything that old. But if we do, that’s where it will be.”

  Jane followed Tad out of the reception room and down a staircase to a basement full of old tan filing cabinets. The same kind of fluorescent lights they still had upstairs flickered and buzzed to life when Tad flipped the switch. The room wasn’t huge, but there were still more drawers than she could look through in a week. She tugged her ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair. How would she lay eyes on the blonde down here in the basement?

  Tad wrenched a drawer open. “This is the kind of stuff interns get to do.” He laughed. “But I don’t mind. I get a little work experience, with very little real work involved.” He began flipping through the file folders.

  Jane looked back up the staircase. The door at the top was shut. She might as well dig, since she was here. She pulled open the drawer labeled “1993,” in a cabinet next to the one Tad was using.

  At the back of the drawer, almost the last file, was a folder labeled “personnel.” She slid to the floor and sat cross legged with the folder open on her lap. She hadn’t come ready to do research—she didn’t have scratch paper or a pen.

  She yawned.

  “No luck?” Tad slid his drawer shut. “I haven’t found anything particularly memorable. Just meeting minutes and stuff.”

  “Me neither.” Jane flipped to the next page in the file, but didn’t look at it. “My idea was probably a dumb one. Thanks for looking anyway.”

  “No such thing as a dumb idea.” Tad pulled open another file drawer.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be no such thing as a dumb question?”

  “An idea is just a question you put to the test.”

  Jane scrunched her mouth up. Tad was clearly headed for political life. She turned back to her folder. This page was just a list of names and dates with no clue as to what the people did or what the dates indicated. She read them. None were familiar.

  The next page was exactly the same. The only name that looked remotely familiar was Danae Monroe. She knew she had seen it somewhere before because the “ae” at the end of Danae and the “oe” at the end of Monroe had stood out.

  “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.