The Plain Jane Mystery Box Set 2

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  But as she dug around in the cupboards looking for a can of green beans to have with it, she was bummed to discover that the single package of Ramen was all they had left. That, a few tablespoons of pumpkin pie spice coffee creamer, and a box of frozen pierogis.

  She put the Ramen back. She’d need to eat tomorrow, and she didn’t have any grocery money. She made a cup of tea with the teabag left over from breakfast—the Folgers had run out on Monday—wrapped herself in a blanket and snuggled on the couch with her phone. She could read while she waited for Jake and take her mind off the privations.

  She had just settled in when Gemma burst through the door panting.

  “Lions chasing you?” Jane quoted their grandpa.

  “Almost.” Gemma bolted the door and leaned against it. “Someone really iffy followed me from the bus.”

  Jane sat up. “Who? What happened?”

  “I don’t know who. He looked like a homeless guy who was just riding around to stay warm, but when I got off, he got off, and he followed me into the parking lot.”

  A heavy hand beat against the door. Gemma screamed like a puppy who had gotten stepped on and jumped away.

  “You dropped your phone, man.” The voice on the other side of the door was garbled and deep, the consonants slurred and indistinct.

  Gemma held out her phone, and mouthed “No, I didn’t.”

  Jane prayed, her lips moving, but not sure exactly what words she was saying. The door was metal, and couldn’t be broken through. Gemma had dead bolted it and the window to the living room was on the other wall of their second story apartment—impossible to get to from the central staircase.

  Gemma stepped slowly and silently across the room and jumped on the couch with Jane. She wrapped her arms around her knees.

  “I just got your phone, lady.” The person on the other side of the door continued to bang it with a heavy hand.

  Jane’s phone rang.

  Both girls stared at it. The number that came up was Gemma’s.

  Jane held her breath and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “This number said ‘roommate’ on the phone I found on the bus.” The same thick, garbled voice spoke. Jane could hear it through the door and on the phone. The man kept hitting the door with a slow, heavy plunking.

  Jane hung up. She stared at her cousin, while not a level-headed girl, she did seem to have her own phone. “What happened?”

  Gemma stared at the phone in her hand. She swiped the screen to wake it up. “Crap.” She dropped the phone like it was a hot potato. It landed on the rug. “I took my client’s phone home with me on accident. It looks the same as mine.”

  Jane stared at the white iPhone on her rug. It did look just like Gemma’s. And just like everyone else’s who didn’t have a cover on it.

  “What with the baby being twins, none of us were thinking too much about the phones.” Gemma dragged her hands through her hair. She had been gone since the day before with the pregnant mama who had hired her as a doula.

  Jane tried to make sense out of the situation—Gemma on call for more than twenty-four hours, completely exhausted. Mixed up phones, two babies when they had expected one? Or just two expected babies that took a long time? That seemed more likely. But where was Gemma’s trusty Volvo? “Why were you on the bus?”

  Gemma took a deep breath. “Isla went into preterm labor while I was out with Grant, so he drove me to the hospital. I didn’t want to call him to bring me home, so I just took the bus.”

  The pounding stopped.

  “What about my phone?” Gemma stared at the door.

  The pounding started again. “Can I use the bathroom?”

  The man on the other side of the door had Gemma’s phone. That much was true, but the odds that he had stolen it had just increased. He didn’t just want to pass them the phone and go away. He wanted in, and that was not going to happen.

  “Call Grant.” Jane passed over her phone.

  Gemma had been seeing Detective Grant Bryce on and off for most of the year. He had just recently made the switch from the-guy-she-was-seeing to official boyfriend.

  “Yes. Right.” She dialed, but no one answered. “He’s working tonight.” She stared at the phone as Grant’s voicemail took over.

  “Then let’s call 911. This isn’t okay.”

  A text buzzed through first.

  “Can I come early?” It was Jake.

  Jane tapped the screen of her phone lightly, trying to decide how to respond. “How big was the scary homeless guy? Could Jake take him?”

  “He was big.” Gemma’s eyes were huge. “Bigger than Grant. He sounds drunk, and what if he has a weapon?”

  Jane texted “No.” It was risky, with the whole relationship feeling up in the air, but she didn’t want him to get knifed on her front step.

  Then she dialed 911.

  After a brief description of the trouble on the front step, the operator promised to send an officer.

  The pounding hadn’t stopped, but for one horrifying minute it was joined by the sound of running water. The guy really had needed to use the bathroom.

  “Oh no!” Gemma whispered. “What if he’s just like, a good guy, but down on his luck, and we wouldn’t even let him use our bathroom?”

  “What if he has to go number two?” Jane gagged. “A good guy, down on his luck would not have peed on our front door.” Jane was desperate to move to the bathroom, lock the door, and crouch behind it with some kind of weapon. The Swiffer was too light weight so it would have to be the toilet plunger, but with the police on the way, she held off.

  Her phone buzzed again—another text from Jake. “I’m coming anyway.”

  “What do I say?”

  “Tell the truth.” Gemma pulled the blanket off Jane’s knees and wrapped it around her own shoulders. “He’s been out there for five full minutes.”

  “If I tell Jake the truth he’ll come for sure.”

  “If you don’t tell him he’ll come for sure, and the weird homeless guy will have the element of surprise on his side.”

  Jane texted: “Crazy homeless man beating at our door. He has Gemma’s phone. Please don’t come until after the police get here.”

  A second later the phone rang. Jane was relieved. She had been dying to hear Jake’s voice.

  But it was Gemma’s number.

  She answered it, even though her heart was in her throat.

  “Yes?”

  Just heavy breathing.

  She hung up and buried her face in a throw pillow. The nubby upholstery was a comfort of sorts, and she pressed her cheek against it while she tried to figure out her next move.

  Gemma grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard.

  Distant police sirens rang in hope, but the sirens went right past the apartment building.

  Her phone rang again.

  It was Jake.

  “Jake, we called the police. They are on their way, but we don’t know what to do.”

  “Just sit tight and pray.”

  “I think he peed on our door. And he just called, breathing heavy.”

  “Gross.”

  Jane laughed, a moment of welcome relief. It was gross, and she was locked safely inside, so how scared should she technically be?

  “How long has he been out there?”

  “Six or seven minutes now.” The pounding continued, and the man had begun shouting. Mostly incoherent, but some of the words, the most disgusting ones, were too easy to understand. “I think he stole Gemma’s phone on the bus—picked her pocket—and then followed her home.”

  “Why was she on the bus? Where is Grant?”

  “It’s a long story, but Grant is working. We called him—he didn’t answer.”

  “You called him, but not me?” He sounded hurt.

  “Umm…”

  “It’s all good. I understand. He has a gun. However…”

  Jane didn’t like the sound of the however. Too confident.

  “Grant and his
gun were somewhere else, and I’m already here.”

  “What? No.”

  “The power of Bluetooth, baby. You didn’t even know I was driving.” There was a pause. “I can see him at your door, going kind of crazy.”

  “That’s exactly why I told you not to come.”

  “Okay. I’m getting out of the car, and I’m leaving the Bluetooth in.”

  Jane heard the car door shut.

  “I’m going to go around the back side of the stairs.”

  The stairs to her block of apartments were open toward the parking lot and the green space. Jake had to walk all the way around the building to get to the other side. Jane hoped the cops would show up before he got to her door.

  The phone on the floor rang. Gemma reached for it with a shaking hand and stared at it. Then she answered it. “Yes?” She paused. “Yes, it is.” She laughed nervously. “I am so sorry. It looks exactly like mine.” She paused again. “I am a little tied up right now, but I can get it back to the hospital in an hour. No, no. You don’t want to come here, I’m sure. If you don’t mind waiting just a bit, I can. No, honestly.” Another long pause. “I know I’m not far from the hospital, but please, you don’t need to come now.”

  The man outside the door let off another long string of invectives that turned Jane’s stomach. She wondered why her neighbors didn’t come out to see what was wrong, but she had only met her upstairs neighbors in passing and they probably couldn’t hear it. She guessed the rest of them just didn’t care.

  “Jane, I’m a story below yours. He can’t tell I’m here. Who lives in these apartments? Any bruisers?” Jake whispered.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met them.”

  He knocked on a door just loud enough that she could hear.

  “Hola.” Jake's voice was cheery. Someone had opened the door, and Jake sounded relaxed. “We’ve got a problem upstairs.”

  Jane could only hear enough of the other person to tell it was a low voice, most likely a man.

  “You got a minute to help out? My girlfriend and her cousin live there.”

  She heard the door shut, and then nothing more than the continued pounding and incoherent yelling from the other side of her own door.

  The whistle of the tea kettle broke through the tense air. It had been simmering after she made her sad cuppa long enough to boil again. The noise set off the man on the other side of the door. He beat it like a drum now, or like he was trying to break it down.

  Jane felt like she was crossing a molasses lake as she moved to the kitchen. She picked the kettle up by the round handle and held it at arm’s length. A kettle of hot water was a better weapon than the toilet plunger.

  Gemma had followed her and stood just to her side, gripping a plastic handled kitchen knife. It wasn’t very strong, or sharp, but Jane gave her points for thinking of it.

  “We’re two steps away from him, and he doesn’t see us yet. Whatever you hear, don’t open the door.” Jake’s whisper buzzed through Jane’s phone, almost too quiet to hear, but it stirred something inside of her. No matter what she heard she wasn’t supposed to open the door? Like if she heard him screaming for help? There was no way she’d keep that door shut. Not a chance on earth.

  She held her kettle to the side, and inched her way to the door, listening. She placed her hand on the doorknob which shuddered under her fingers as the man jerked at it, and beat the door.

  “Hey there, buddy!” Jake’s voice was bright, cheerful, and excited.

  “Hola, amigo!” the other voice was firm, loud, and with an easy accent.

  “Get away from my apples this house is my apples and you aren’t coming in.”—or at least that’s what the garbled words coming from the crazy person sounded like. But the pounding had stopped for a moment.

  Jane pulled the bolt back and pulled the door in fast thinking she might upset the homeless guy’s balance if he was still holding it, giving Jake and his new friend a chance to grab him.

  Just as fast as she had pulled the door a hand grabbed her arm.

  The kettle jerked, spilling the just boiled water across her body and on the person who grabbed her. She flipped her head, to see who had her; it was a big man with a face covered in a grizzly, bristled beard and creased with age and dirt. He dragged her to the ground. She slipped, trying to get her feet under her, her feet panicking like her mind.

  As she fell, she swung the kettle around again connecting with his head, but spilling more of the contents on herself.

  Jake threw himself on the trench-coat-clad person, his fingers clawing at the face.

  Jane squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to twist out of the grip.

  “Despacio!—Slow down.” The neighbor’s voice was calm and steady.

  Jane opened her eyes. She took a deep breath and then grabbed the hand that the neighbor offered her. He yanked her from the flailing man’s grip.

  Jake pulled the homeless man to his feet, and held him from behind by both of his arms. The man twisted in Jake’s grip. “Get back in the house Jane,” Jake ordered with more than a hint of pride in his voice. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m not,” She lied. The burns from the hot water were beginning to make themselves known.

  Gemma stood in the doorway, shaking, one white knuckled hand still gripping the handle of the small knife.

  The spewing, bearded man was tall—a good half a foot taller than Jake—and broad, despite being skinny. He continued to rail against Jake and apples and phones, his beard quivering as his lower lip moved on a face with few teeth.

  Jane looked at the ground as a wave of compassion rolled over her. He was demented from either mental illness or drugs, but somewhere, someone was looking for him, worried about him. They had to be. No one knew that their friend or family lived like this and didn’t worry.

  Then she noticed his shoes.

  Shiny, clean leather shoes. Wing tips. The pretty reddish-brown kind her dad used to wear. And the cuffs of his pants, though wet from the slush, were not even slightly ragged. They looked like wool, the thin kind men’s suits were made out of. Where had this crazy person gotten such nice clothes?

  A sick feeling boiled up inside of her.

  Jane stepped slowly back into her apartment. She ran through her mental list of missing persons and suspicious deaths.

  Last week a local businessman by the name of David Best had been reported missing.

  She grabbed the phone Gemma had dropped on the carpet and called Grant.

  This time he answered and a half a moment later the cops arrived.

  While Gemma answered their questions, Jane filled Grant in on the situation. “And,” she concluded, “He is wearing incredibly nice shoes and a pair of slacks. From the size of him, I am guessing they could easily fit David Best, the man who went missing last week. The one who got off his bus downtown but wasn’t seen again.”

  Silence, then, “Jane, pass the phone to one of the cops please.” Grant’s voice was clipped and matter of fact.

  Two officers had already walked the man down to the squad car, but another officer was still taking statements from Gemma, Jake, and the neighbor. Heart beating out of her chest, and burns forgotten for the moment, Jane passed this officer the phone.

  When the neighbor Antonio, and the officers had gone back home, Gemma put Jane in a cool bath for her burns. The cool, room temperature water soothed her. “It looks like second degree,” Gemma said with a motherly cluck. “Glad the water had cooled down a little before you gave yourself a shower.”

  Jane didn’t smile. The sight of those new, shiny, shoes wouldn’t go away. Had the Best family lost their father so close to Christmas? Or was he alive still and this man mentally able to tell the police where he was? The question worried at her like an old dog with a bone.

  “Jake is getting some Second Skin, in case you do blister.” Gemma sat on the toilet, her head resting on her hand. Her eyes were misty. “How could I have let that happen?”

  Jane sat up. �
��You didn’t. This kind of thing could happen to anyone. What could you have done to stop it?”

  Gemma shook her head. “I could have called a taxi.”

  “And the taxi driver could have been a drug-addled maniac. We handled it. You didn’t take any crazy risks, and maybe you got a bad criminal off the streets.”

  “Like bait?”

  “Sure. You were like a baited trap. The guy couldn’t have guessed he was following home a part-time private i whose boyfriend is a police detective.”

  “So I’m really a private i now? Adler and Adler?”

  Jane leaned back in the water and smiled. “Adler and Adler. Why not?”

  Jake brought the Second Skin over and waited in the living room while Gemma dressed Jane’s wounds. “I don’t think it should scar,” she said. “But that spot on the front of your right shoulder worries me, a little.”

  Jane shrugged into her shirt. It worried Gemma, but it hurt her something fierce.

  “Take some Tylenol.” She passed Jane a couple of tablets. “I may not be a real nurse, but I know that much.”

  “You’re a great nurse.” Jane gave her cousin a side hug. The Tylenol would help the pain, but only a call from Grant updating her on the situation would ease her worry for the missing businessman.

  When she finally joined Jake in the little living room she found him sitting on the edge of the Ikea rocking chair, tapping his feet. He looked up at her, and the wrinkles cleared from his brow in slow motion.

  “I wanted to eat at home,” he said. The coffee table was spread with a feast: a large ham, a pile of sweet potato fries, salads—still in their bags, a bowl of deli-style broccoli and raisin salad, a plate of coconut macaroons, three two liters of Pepsi, two loaves of French bread, a bowl of strawberries—all of Jane’s favorites.

  Gemma looked at the food with hunger in her eyes. “I’ve got to get back to the hospital to return this phone to my client.” She didn’t move.