The Plain Jane Mystery Box Set 2

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “Good. Thanks.” Another yawn.

  Jane hung up. The ride along would be awesome. And she would appreciate it without letting it distract her from the matter at hand.

  She filled her hour of waiting with more breakfast, a shower, all that normal morning stuff, then she skipped calling and hoofed it across the street to Wendy’s apartment, thanking God that Sean made them all rotate hosting events to get into each other’s lives more deeply, which was the only reason she knew where Wendy lived.

  By the time she was ready to knock on the door, she was a quivering mess. Her hand shook as it banged on the hollow steel.

  She waited.

  She knocked again.

  The door swung in, and the handsomest man she had ever met stared down at her, his hair messed up and his clothes looking like he had slept in them. It was Nick, obviously, as Jane could count him as the only working model she had ever met.

  “Um…” She choked on the word. Surely she wasn’t facing down a killer. “Er…”

  “Come in. Wendy is making coffee.” Nick yawned.

  Jane entered, not quite relieved yet. The thought did cross her mind that by “making coffee” Nick had meant “dead” and by “come in” he had meant “you’re next.”

  But he hadn’t. Wendy was in the kitchen, making coffee. “Mornin’, Jane!”

  “Morning.” Jane relaxed, as much as she could, and took a seat at the little round Ikea table. “This makes my idea of having a morning gossip about your date a little awkward.”

  Nick laughed. “Agreed.”

  “Nick brought donuts by. He was headed to his mom’s for a morning meeting and took an out-of-the-way detour.”

  Jane sized him up again. His clothes looked slept in, true. But she was positive he hadn’t been wearing a hunting-vest-orange T-shirt yesterday, so the odds of him having slept here were slightly diminished. She recognized the irony of worrying about that considering how many times she parked it at Jake’s.

  But…since he wasn’t going to let her do that anymore…

  Wendy passed her a coffee cup and the box of donuts. Jane took a bear claw and tried to pull herself back to the matter at hand.

  “Nick, you’re Christiana Malachi’s son, right?”

  “Yup.” He sat down with a thump.

  “I’m doing her housecleaning.”

  “Oh, yeah? Want a ride over there?”

  “No, I’m not going in today. I was just saying.”

  Nick shrugged.

  “How is she holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected.” He dunked his cruller into his coffee and took a soggy bite. After a moment he spoke again. “Actually, she’s a wreck. The love of her life was murdered, and now it looks like there is going to be a hostile takeover with the ministry.”

  Jane took a quick breath and tried not to look too excited. “What do you mean?”

  “They don’t want to let her preach—the task force. They are trying to push her out.” He finished his cruller. “I don’t trust them.”

  “What are you going to do? Can I do anything?”

  Nick narrowed his eyes. “Did you say you were the housecleaner?”

  Jane just nodded, but her face heated up about forty degrees.

  “Theo told me about you.” He turned to Wendy. “Did you set up this meeting so your detective friend could meet me?”

  “I promise no. You set up our date!” Wendy’s ears turned pink. “But she was worried and said she was going to come and sit far away just to be sure you were safe.”

  “Josiah was murdered, Nick. What was I supposed to do? Just let her meet some guy she met on the Internet who was claiming to be you?” Jane took a risk and pulled out her big guns. She had to. “I asked her a few questions, and she didn’t even know you had a sister.” She would get kicked off her first case for good if she didn’t convince Nick she was worth his time.

  Nick nodded. “No, I hadn’t told her about Haven.” He took a long drink from his mug. “I can see why you were worried.”

  “I had no idea you knew Jake.” Jane shrugged. “That spun me for a loop. I had planned on sitting quietly in the corner, having a coffee, and keeping an eye on you to make sure all was well. But when you two walked in together…”

  Nick grinned. “It was fun to see old Sideshow. Haven’t seen him in years. It is a small world, isn’t it?”

  “Portland church circles are very small…but…what were you doing all the way up here for camp?”

  “It’s the best Pentecostal church camp in the nation. Dad, Mom, and Josiah all agreed it was worth the travel.”

  “Did you kids like it?”

  “Yeah, it was good.”

  “I’ve been trying to keep my eyes and ears open. But I really am cleaning too. I mean, sometimes I overdust the shelves so I can be in the right place at the right time, but I really do clean everything. I don’t fake that part.”

  “Who hired you?” Nick ran his fingers through his thick hair.

  “Francine is worried that the cops will think she did it, so she hired me. But…I don’t know. Maybe she did.”

  “No. She’d never do it.” Nick looked like he meant it.

  His response took her by surprise. A member of the Malachi family who liked Francine? Surely not. “What do you think of Francine?”

  “She’s good people. She’s devout, sincere. I—I worry about her. I really do.”

  “All I want to do is try and help her, and you, and your mom. Everyone, if I can,” Jane said.

  “How close are you to having this thing solved?”

  “Not even remotely. The more I learn, the less I know. Your sister, for example. I learned she was missing, which made a possible motive, but now I hear she is fine, so there went that motive. But where is she? Heck if I know.”

  “She lives with her dad.” This time Nick blushed. “It’s the ugly truth. Theo doesn’t know. None of the task force knows. Oh, maybe Aunt Evelyn does, but no one else. They told me because I was asking too many questions.”

  Jane swallowed hard to keep from choking on her coffee. “But Josiah’s not her dad? Or your dad? What do you mean?”

  “I mean my mom isn’t perfect. And Haven has a different dad, and that’s where she lives now.” Nick’s jaw flexed. Between the throbbing vein in his forehead and the deep red blush, he looked both embarrassed and angry.

  “No one is perfect.” Wendy rested her hand on Nick’s arm, and he relaxed.

  “But why…I mean…why did she move? Why be so secret about it all?”

  Nick lifted his eyebrow sardonically.

  “Secret because of the ministry. Of course. Josiah and your mom were already married when they had Haven. But why did Haven have to move away?”

  “No one ever told me that part. If I knew who her dad was, or where they lived, I’d ask her myself. I miss that kid.”

  “I’d like to find out for you, if you don’t mind, and if I can.”

  He shrugged, but the worry in his eyes lessened. “Why not? Might as well try.”

  Jane left Wendy and Nick to their donuts. She munched her bear claw on the way back to her own place. If finding out why Haven was sent away revealed that Christiana was the killer, it would break Nick’s heart. She was completely sure of it. Oh, dear God, she prayed. Don’t let Christiana be the one who did it.

  Chapter 18

  Jane forced herself to go to her class before she went to the Malachi house. She needed to, it was the right thing to do, and doing the right thing, she tried to convince herself, was its own reward.

  She stared at her list of suspects while the video interview with the retired private detective played during class. She had intended to pay attention, but he had mentioned narrowing down suspects by eliminating those you knew couldn’t have done it, and it had lit a spark of hope in her heart.

  Nick was off the suspect list. He didn’t have a motive that she could pin down, but if his response to admitting his mom’s indiscretion told her anythin
g, it told her that he wanted to protect the family reputation more than anything, and murdering his stepfather was not going to do that.

  Tiffany was off the suspect list because she wasn’t on the stage. Couldn’t have gotten on the stage without help, and had also been identified by Francine as sincere in her faith.

  Likewise, her husband, Lucas, was in the sound booth during the murder and was equally devout and sincere. No, he wasn’t in the sound booth. Francine was. Where had he gone?

  Nguyen…Jane hadn’t done any looking into the background or motives of the elderly Asian man who spoke little English. Did that make her ageist? She just hadn’t considered him a possibility. But if she could get together with Stacy and Reg again, she might be able to sort him out. Being on the local task force, they’d know him well.

  Evelyn was also an issue, but as Francine had said, the Malachi Ministries were her bread and butter. She’d be unwise to kill her brother. Also, she seemed pretty stricken by his loss. Or, if not stricken exactly, she seemed to grieve more naturally than the widow.

  The widow. Christiana had had an affair, so her heart hadn’t always been fully given over to her husband. And she was separated from her daughter, which, depending on the reason why, could be a strong motive for murder. Jane shivered. Christiana was her top suspect.

  Except for Francine.

  Francine, who had hired her, but didn’t work well with her. Francine’s claims of threats of violence didn’t ring true against what she had seen of the rest of the task force and the family. Jane needed to find someone to corroborate Francine’s side of the story, but it was looking hard.

  She tapped her pencil on the paper and tried to remember everything she had seen and heard in the two meetings she had been able to spy on. She had missed something, or misunderstood something, but what was it?

  She reread her list of suspects, of team members, of family.

  Robert.

  She had forgotten about the quiet, all-business voice of Robert coming from the dining room. That voice been missing from the meeting to determine who should preach in Josiah’s place.

  Where had he gone? And why was no one talking about him?

  Her new to-do list said: hook up with Stacy and Reg to learn about Nguyen, and find Robert.

  Back at her apartment, a big white envelope from the Department of Security was stuffed into her small mailbox.

  She stared at the corner of the envelope and prayed it was about some new tax, but she was not filled with comfort by the Holy Spirit. Quite the opposite: she was filled with fear.

  She sat on the edge of the stool at the breakfast bar and slit open the envelope with a key.

  The thing was, she hadn’t been trying to bend rules to suit herself this time. She was establishing her career path one step at a time. She hadn’t been trying to force her will on God. She was pretty sure of that. She had just sort of set up her website a little early.

  And taken a client.

  But that was a God thing, because Gemma had set it up at the revival meeting, right?

  Jane chewed on her cheek. Using a paying client to justify the rightness of her cause? Sort of like the Malachi family justifying their use of drugs for visions because their ministry was thriving.

  Was she Health-Wealth-and-Prosperity-ing her new business? It looked like it on paper.

  She really needed to quit jumping the gun with these things.

  She unfolded the thick stack of papers and laid them on the counter. The Department of Security had been informed that the owner of GoodCleanHouses.com (Housecleaning Detective Services) was practicing private investigation in the state of Oregon without a license.

  She had to come into compliance in twenty-one days, or pay up to the tune of $1,500.

  She swallowed. Hard.

  The stack of papers was mostly the application for the license…reference letter forms, a place to document her three years of experience under a licensed investigator.

  She laid her head down on the countertop and closed her eyes.

  If God really did Shut Doors to Open Windows Later, this was definitely a shut door.

  But who had turned her in? The letter stated clearly that someone had reported her website.

  Jane dialed her webmaster, Ben. Time to reinvent herself again.

  Who needs a housecleaning detective, anyway?

  Housecleaning detective.

  Theo Rizzo.

  Christiana’s son had turned her in. He had been snotty about her website. He resented her being in the house. He was the only one with a clear motive for shutting down her business.

  She sat up tall and waited for Ben to answer her call. If Theo had turned her in, then he definitely had something to hide. But was he protecting himself or his mom?

  She left a lengthy message for Ben about the changes she needed to her website and hung up. She couldn’t get three years of supervised investigative experience in just twenty-one days, so she had better find the murderer fast.

  Saturday dawned clear, bright, and cheery. Not at all the atmosphere she would have hoped for on the day of her ride along, but what it lacked in drama, it made up for in the smell of the cherry blossoms and the happy feeling in her heart. Spring was the best.

  Detective Bryce drove a Chevy Impala with a leather interior, a spaceship-like computer and CB setup, and a sunroof.

  Jane tried to relax as they pulled away from the police station, but it wasn’t happening. She was as excited as on her first trip to Disneyland.

  The detective had met her in his office at the Burnside station. He had offered her a quick tour—things hadn’t changed much since her grade school took a more thorough tour fifteen years before—and then, with few words, led her to his car.

  Her high spirits weren’t calmed at all by Detective Bryce’s intimidating figure. He was about twice the size of Jake, both taller and all around bigger. He had a baby face, sure, with dimples and even a faint trace of freckles, but his square jaw was set as they drove through town.

  “I spoke with Nick Rizzo, Christiana Malachi’s son.” Jane laced her fingers together and let them sit in her lap, hoping she looked relaxed.

  Bryce flexed his jaw. “And now you have something to share with me?”

  “Nick said his sister lives with her father now. I want to know why, don’t you?”

  “I’m not on the Malachi murder case.” Bryce turned into a neighborhood.

  “Yeah, I know.” Jane paused. “Sorry.”

  “I’m following up on a call that came in yesterday. It should give you a good taste of real day-to-day detective work.”

  “Thanks.” Jane watched the side streets of Northeast Portland pass by. So many medical marijuana shops, so many strip clubs. A few psychics thrown in for good measure. “How does the city keep track of who has been buying pot from the dispensaries?”

  “It’s a big job.” Bryce turned into a parking lot and parked. “So this here is my mobile computer. I get messages from it and respond. I can look up whatever I need to.” Bryce’s teacher-like tone was depressing. “I pull over to use it as often as I can. It’s the right thing to do. I’ve got a message now, and I’m going to check it.”

  Jane stifled a yawn. So much for the long, private chat about the case.

  “All right. It’s all good. A new call came in, but we can do it second.”

  “Detective Bryce…Grant…why did you invite me to the ride along?”

  “To give you a taste of real-life criminal justice.” His cheeks turned pink, but his expression was unmoved and his eyes glued to the road ahead.

  “I had hoped it was to talk about the Malachi case.”

  “Nope.”

  “So it’s basically to show me that my plan to be a private investigator is silly.”

  “Not at all. You’re serious about it, so a ride along is a good idea. I had time today, so why not? ”

  “Right. Why not?” Jane watched Portland slip past. They pulled into the driveway of a dumpy little h
ouse with a sign advertising gypsy palm reading in the window.

  “We’re responding to a call we got yesterday. Palmistry is legal, but fraud isn’t.”

  “And this is a fraud case?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  Detective Bryce opened the car door for Jane, an action that, along with his slight southern accent and cowboy swagger, made him seem too good to be real.

  The plastic sign in the window of the house said, “Open,” so Detective Bryce and Jane went in.

  The room smelled of patchouli and sweaty people, but every inch of the space sparkled. The furniture was all highly polished wood. Red curtains with silver sequins up and down the edges hung from the spotless picture window. The wood floor was spotless, and the zebra-print rug was perfectly clean.

  A large, smiling woman with thin black hair and well-tanned skin sat at a desk near the door. “Good morning.” She pushed a pair of gem-covered glasses up her nose. “You here fer a reading?”

  “Not today, Yana. I’ve just got a few questions.” Bryce leaned on the doorjamb.

  “Come back tomorrow. We talk tomorrow.” Yana turned back to her books.

  “Nope. We talk today.” Bryce grabbed the chair in front of him and sat in it, backwards.

  Jane suppressed a grin. It was a very theatrical move, and she wasn’t sure if it was to impress her or the gypsy.

  “Tomorrow.” She waved her hand away.

  Detective Bryce laughed. “Nah. Not tomorrow. I got another call about you yesterday.”

  “People don’t like fate.” Yana shrugged.

  “People don’t like cheats.”

  “Who am I to cheat? I don’t cheat.”

  “Do you know this woman?” He pulled a piece of paper from his coat and unfolded it. “This one here.” He shook the paper and laid it on her desk.

  “Nah. I don’t know her.”

  “That’s not very psychic of you.”

  “I read palms, Detective. Not minds.”

  “She came in yesterday. She wanted her money back, but you wouldn’t give it.”

  “What money? Who is she? I’m a very busy woman.” She turned the page in her ledger book. “You tell me her name, and I’ll tell you if I owe her money.”