Health, Wealth, and Murder (6 page)

“But you said she was sincere, devout. Why would she let herself be used like that?”

“They tell her that they want her to come forward when Josiah gives the altar call to help give the rest of the crowd courage. And they only tell her to be in her wheelchair so she can keep her strength up. They don’t tell her what they are really thinking.”

“But they told you?”

“I don’t have to be told. I see through them.”

“Francine, what happened? When did you begin to see the cracks in the ministry?”

Francine shook her head. “As soon as I found out they used drugs to manufacture visions. What else would you need?”

Jane tilted her head a little. “Yeah, that would be enough for me, too.”

After Francine left, Jake came back to his office to be briefed on the interview.

“I want to know about the other nine task force members.” Jane crumpled up her burger wrapper and lobbed it into the garbage can on the other side of the room.

“You don’t think one of these guys was responsible?” Jake leaned back in his big wooden desk chair, his arms crossed behind his head.

“If Josiah and Christiana are as awful as Francine thinks, it could have been her. Robert has a lot of question marks as well. Question marks aren’t enough to make me immediately think it was Robert. Lucas and Tiffany seem to only lose from the death, as does Evelyn. And that Win guy…no. I just don’t think it was him. The next thing I need to do is go one more circle out.”

“What about Francine? She claims to be the number-one suspect of the police, but she isn’t in custody, and she won’t tell you why she’s a likely suspect.”

“Do you think she did it?”

“What if she did?” Jake asked.

“If she killed him, then she hired me to make someone else look guiltier than her.” Jane shivered. “I don’t like that at all.”

“Then don’t take her off of your suspect list.”

A knock on the office door made Jane jump.

“Jake…it’s the mayor’s assistant.” Jake’s secretary had a deep crease between her eyes.

“Send him in.”

Jane pulled her chair around to Jake’s side of the desk and put her notebook on her knee. She wanted to look like she was supposed to be there.

“Crawford.”

“Ted.” Jake jutted his chin, just a bit.

“I see you’ve given out freebie coupons to every single church in Maywood.”

“Yup.”

“That’s bribing voters.” Ted pushed his glasses up on his stubby nose.

“It’s advertising.”

“Good only on Sunday?”

“That’s the day they get the coupons at church, isn’t it?” Jake raised an eyebrow.

Ted snarled. “You do realize there is an obesity epidemic in this country, don’t you?”

“We don’t supersize, so it’s all good.” Jake allowed a controlled smile, but his eyes were steely.

It was like a tennis match, and Jane couldn’t tear her eyes away. She hadn’t realized Maywood was still toying with their blue-laws idea after all this time, but
Jake didn’t seem surprised by the unplanned visit.

And he seemed to be a good match for the older man, who was lightly sweating, though that could have been from walking across town.

“Maywoodians won’t like to be bought off.” Ted cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m here to let you know that your coupon trick was noted, and you won’t get away with it.”

“Is that threat from the mayor
himself, Ted? Because Miss Adler was just recording our conversation so we could refer back to it later, and I don’t think she’s turned off that app yet.”

“It’s not a threat, Crawford. It’s a fact. Just as it’s a fact that Bob, your good father, was going to turn this place into a Yo-Heaven just like all the Portland locations. He wasn’t going to keep making burgers.”

“May he rest in peace.” Jake’s jaw twitched, but he kept his cool. “Dad’s not with us anymore, so I have to make the best decisions that I can. And I like Roly Burgers. They’re delicious.”

Ted sniffed. “Like Roly Burgers? Everyone
likes
Roly Burgers. That’s half the problem. But right now, you are bribing the voters.”

“A BOGO coupon is hardly a bribe.”

“It is if it is only good on Sunday, and we are asking the voters to agree to shut down all fast food restaurants on Sundays.”

“Blue laws, Ted. Blue laws. Is that the kind of commuter community you want to live in?”

“I want to live in a healthy community, Crawford, and so does the mayor, and the city council.”

Jake stood up. “Thank you for your input into this matter. I will give it all the consideration it deserves.”

Ted looked at Jane for the first time.

She smiled, feigning wide-eyed innocence.

“You’ll both understand when you’re older.” Ted let himself out.

“Still on that, is he?” Jane asked.

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do about it, I mean, besides the coupons?”

“I’ll do what I need to do.” Jake had his eye on the window, watching Ted walk down the sidewalk of Maywood’s Main Street. “The more interesting question is, what are you going to do next about this murder?”

Jane took a deep breath. “Before we get back to the murder, do you think you’ll get in trouble for the coupons?”

“Buying votes? No, I won’t. And the voters won’t vote in blue laws. Maywood is an incorporated suburb, essentially. Two thousand people on the edge of Portland. What good would it do? We’d just drive the half a block across the border and get lunch at McDonald’s. The mayor knows that.”

“Could there be another motive for his push to make fast food illegal on Sundays?” Jane checked the time on her phone. She had another client to get to.

“He really likes smoothies.”

“Is that your serious answer?”

Jake shook his head. “He really wants me to put in a Yo-Heaven, but I don’t know why. If I could figure that out…”

“It would help, anyway.”

Jake sat down again. “It would answer some questions. So, how are you going to get the information you need about the rest of the Malachi task force?”

“I have to work my strengths.”

“You’ll win them over with your smile?”

“Close.” Jane grinned. “I don’t have any authority. I don’t have an air of importance. I’m not related. There’s no threat hanging over my head.”

“You make a strong case against them talking to you.”

“But I’m a coed, and this is a famous murder case. How hard can it be to convince them I’m a bubbleheaded gossip? If I smile a lot and bat my eyes, I can probably get all sorts of information they don’t realize they’re giving me. In my pink rubber gloves with a bandana around my head, I’m completely harmless.”

Jake sized her up. “I think you could pull that off.”

“It’s worth a try, anyway.”

Jake’s gaze had drifted back to the window.

“I’ll go and let you work. I’ve got another client anyway.” She kissed his cheek and left, wondering for the moment more about Jake’s troubles with the sleepy little suburb/town of Maywood than about the murder.

Christiana didn’t want daily cleaning, so it was a couple of days before Jane was finally back in the Malachi rental house, ready to clean, observe, and listen.

The house was fairly clean, no small kids or dogs, so Jane moved quickly through the main floor.

She had two goals this afternoon: find out everything she could about Christiana’s family—and whoever else might be living at the house—and get the other nine task force members’ names. Once she knew who the locals were, she could find them and get down to business.

The two guest rooms that she secretly called the Frat House were still clean from her last time through—a testimony either to the occupants taking the hint that they didn’t have to live like pigs, or that they hadn’t stayed there the last two days. But apart from the books in “Wilt’s” room being on the bedside table instead of the desk, there was nothing new to note.

She moved on to Christiana’s room and gave it a closer inspection than she had the first time through. The master bedroom was small, as the house was an old Portland style. It had been remodeled sometime recently, but the bones were the bones, and this room, like the other two she had been in already, was only big enough for a few pieces of furniture. Christiana seemed to keep it spotless, but Jane put her trusty Roomba on the floor and let it run around the rug while she dusted the dresser tops.

If she had her dates right, Christiana and Josiah had only been in the house for a week or so before he died. Not long enough
to make yourself at home, and generic décor seemed to prove her right. There was, however, a family picture in a folding leather travel frame on the bedside table.

Jane recognized Josiah and Christiana. They stood with a petite, silver-haired lady and three children. The lady had the classic halo of old-lady curls. The children were grade-school aged and younger, maybe a three-year-old and two “big kids.” Jane made a mental note to study height charts or something so she could guess ages better. Either way, the baby in the family was a girl, and the two others were boys. The middle child was small and had Luke Skywalker hair but wore a faded pink shirt, baggy jeans, and basketball shoes. He also had a face full of freckles that would make anyone stand out in a crowd. The oldest child was very pretty. There was no other word for it. Thick eyelashes, full lips, chiseled cheekbones even though he couldn’t have been in his teens yet in the picture.

She dusted the picture and then moved on to the bathroom, making a note of all of the prescriptions on the counter. Depending on the side effects, they could be important.

The house only had the three bedrooms, so unless there was a hide-a-bed in the den, it looked like it was just the family at the house. Pity. She would have liked easier access to some of the other big players in the case.

When she was sure she had cleaned the top of the house as well as she would for any client, she went back downstairs with the hope of trying out her gossipy coed act on one of the people living in the house.

She lingered silently in the hall until she heard the quiet clicks of someone typing in the den. She grabbed a dust rag, started whistling, and let herself in.

“Oh! Sorry!” She smiled at a guy about her age who had floppy hair and a face full of freckles.

He looked up at her, paused, and then grinned. “Don’t apologize.” He shut his laptop and kicked his feet up on the chair. She noted his cuffed pants.

Jane ran the dust rag the length of the built-in bookshelf. “So, so sad about Josiah Malachi.” She batted her eyes at the guy and hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

“Yeah.” Freckles didn’t elaborate.

“Were you there?” She watched him from the corner of her eye as she dusted the next shelf up.

“Nope.” He started typing again.

“My cousin was there. She said it was awful. He got really sick, I guess.”

Freckles sat up. He crossed his arms. “What do you think I’m going to tell you?”

“I mean, I’ve just never seen anyone die before. I felt awful for her.” Jane’s hand shook. She tried to smile sweetly, but she only managed a forced grin.

“That’s not what your website says.”

Jane paused.

“Jane Adler, Girl Detective.” Freckles dropped his feet back to the floor and leaned forward. “We’re not stupid.”

Jane finished dusting the shelf. “And housekeeper. It’s not like I could make a living as a detective.” She tried a light laugh out, but it sounded fake.

“Francine hired you for Mom because she wants you to say that Mom killed Josiah, but we all know it was Francine, so you might as well pack up your stuff and go home.” His words came out like his jaw was locked.

“Why do you think Francine killed your dad?” She pushed a step stool over and climbed up to reach the highest shelves.

“He wasn’t my dad.”

“Okay. But why do you think Francine killed
him
?”

“I guess you’re going to have to figure that out for yourself, Girl Detective.” He grabbed his laptop and stalked out of the room.

“Hey, Wilt!” Jane called after him.

He turned and lifted his eyebrow. “Wrong.”

“Not Wilt?”

“Nope.” He turned away and went upstairs.

Jane dusted the rest of the shelves, fuming at herself. “Undercover housekeeper” didn’t work if your website clearly said you were a housecleaning detective. She’d have to work on that.

And maybe some disguises for the future.

School and cleaning for other clients took a big bite out of her time, which was a pain, but a day and a half later Jane was able to carve away time for a lengthy call to Francine.

“Listen, we need to have a long conversation.” Jane sat on her desk chair in the corner of her bedroom with her feet against the wall. “Can you meet me somewhere?”

Francine cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You have Christiana paying me good money for my services, but I can’t help you from where I’m at. If you can’t meet, are you somewhere that you can answer questions for me now?” Jane had prepared a litany of questions for Francine on her bus ride home from school. On the phone she wouldn’t be able to read body language, but it was better than nothing.

“I’m alone.”

“Can you talk freely at this phone number?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Jane pushed off from the wall and rolled to her desk. “I have some very basic questions to start with. Who lives at the house with Christiana?”

“Theo and Nick.” Francine paused. “Her sons.”

“Which one has the freckles?” Jane typed her notes out this time so she’d actually be able to read them when she was done.

“Theo.”

“How old are the boys, and are they Josiah’s stepsons?”

Francine paused. “How did you know?”

“Call it a hunch. How old are they, and what happened to their sister?”

“Theo is almost nine
teen and Nick is twenty.” Francine paused. When she spoke again, her voice broke. “Haven disappeared four years ago. She would be sixteen.”

Jane stopped typing. “That’s awful.” Francine’s words hit her like ice water. Four years ago Haven could have only been about twelve. “Did they, I mean, do they have any idea…?” She stopped. The poor child.

“It wasn’t like that.” Francine cleared her throat, making an effort to sound matter of fact. “One day we were in Toledo at an event; all three kids were in the crowd, with task force members taking care of them. The next morning Haven didn’t come down to breakfast, and no one mentioned her again.”

Jane closed her eyes. “You don’t think Josiah did something?” She could barely get the words out. It was the very last thing she had been expecting from this phone call.

“He did something, I’m sure. But I don’t know what. Once Nick asked about his sister while I was in the room. They took Nick to a different room to speak about it. When they came back, he seemed perfectly cool with whatever he had heard.”

“But didn’t you call the police?”

“What could I do? Her parents weren’t concerned in the least.” Francine sounded angry.

“When a child goes missing, someone should tell somebody. When exactly did you last see Haven?”

“I saw Haven Malachi last on December 15, 2010. She was twelve years old. We were in Toledo, Ohio.”

“I want you to know that I will be telling the police this.” Jane stared at her list of questions, all of them so inadequate for what she had just learned. Toledo. Someone had written angrily about Toledo in their journal. Maybe that was the day that Nick had learned something about his sister.

“I told them yesterday.” She sighed deeply. “I had to go in for an interview. But you can too. Someone should look for that child.”

“Francine…I’m a bit speechless. I wasn’t expecting that, and I hate to even ask the rest of my questions, but I need to.”

“I can give you ten minutes.”

“Do Theo and Nick ever see their dad?” Jane ran her eye over her questions, culling the ones that weren’t immediately necessary.

“Yes, usually for the whole summer.”

“And what is his name?” Jane swallowed hard. She needed to move past the missing-kid thing, at least for the rest of the conversation.

“Dave Rizzo. He lives in Pasadena.”

“Thank you. Now…I think I’d better ask about the other nine members of the task force. Names and ages will do.”

Francine listed off the nine names, all people in their early twenties, and local. Jane knew two of them from high school.

“And why will the cops think you are the number-one suspect?”

Francine took a deep breath. “Because Josiah said if I ever left the organization, he would destroy me.”

Jane let her fingers hover over the keyboard. Was Francine likely to be a liar? Or needlessly dramatic? Hard to say. “How would the police know this?”

“Because Christiana would tell them.”

Jane paused again. She didn’t believe Francine. She wished she could see her face, see how she was holding herself while she said these things. Liars usually gave themselves away. “And why would Christiana say a thing like that about a popular international preacher—who happened to be her own husband?”

Francine sighed. “I knew you looked young when I hired you, but I had hoped you weren’t so naïve.”

“Are you implying that you had an affair with Josiah Malachi?”

“No.” The single word was crisp.

“Did she think you had an affair?” Irritation with Francine was quickly replacing the sorrow that had overwhelmed her when she heard about the missing child.

“Yes.”

“You think the cops will peg you as the most likely suspect because Christiana will tell them that Josiah had threatened you because of an affair.” Jane tapped her fingers on her keyboard. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I wanted to leave a long time ago, but I know too much about how they operate their show, and so Josiah threatened to wipe me out—financially, my reputation. He even said he’d kill me, Jane.” For once her voice broke, revealing a hint of real emotion.

“How did Christiana know? Or how much did she know?”

“Christiana knows about every trick, every threat, and every girlfriend. She knows it all. He tells her—told her—all about it because he was a megalomaniac. So, she will, or has, already told the police that I wanted to leave but he wouldn’t let me, and the only way out was to kill him.”

“Was it?” Jane held her breath. She hadn’t meant to ask that, but it had come out.

Francine didn’t say anything.

Jane waited a moment longer. “I will look up everyone on the task force, but I think my partner was right. I think I need an insider with the police if I am going to get anywhere with this.”

“Christiana is back.” That was all Francine said before she hung up.

Jane stared at her notes. Missing child. Threats. Nine new people to talk to.

No, only seven new people. Two of them were old friends.

At least now she knew where to start—Facebook.

It took five minutes to set up coffee with Reggie, Stacy, and Jake for that night. She realized Gemma would be disappointed to be left out, but…

On second thought, she texted Gemma and invited her along. Now they’d have to talk about the murder. They wouldn’t be able to help it.

A cellist in the corner of the dark little café—Rimsky’s Korsacoffee House—set a melancholy mood. It was Saturday night, so the place was crowded, but eventually Jane and her friends were seated at the low, round table in the southeast corner of the restaurant.

Right off Jane noticed that Stacy and Reggie were holding hands. And Reggie leaned over and whispered something in Stacy’s ear that made her blush. Though they had all been on the lunchtime Bible study committee together, Jane was surprised. Nothing on their Facebook profiles indicated they were a thing.

She should have checked out their Instagrams. Blast Facebook. She needed it to keep in touch with her wealthy, middle-aged clients, but it was no way to stay on top of what her friends were up to.

She’d have to do her best to ignore the weirdness of the speech club president and the captain of the cheerleaders being a thing. This was far from a real social event. They ordered coffee and desserts and settled into the low chairs and benches.

“So…Jake and Jane, eh?” Reggie laughed. “That might be the second most surprising couple to come out of Prez Prep.”

“I don’t think we are even close to your league of crazy. No offense, Stace, but Reggie? Really?” Jake nudged Reggie with his elbow.

Stacy picked up Reggie’s hand, her fingers already laced through his, and kissed it. “I know, right?”

“Whoever has, he will be given more, and will have an abundance.” Reggie laughed.

Gemma fidgeted in her seat. She reached for her coffee cup but bumped Jane’s pot de crème. “Oh, sorry!”

“Not a problem.” Jane watched Jake grab for his cup and miss as well. No one had noticed the slowly spinning table, though she thought they all knew the secret. But just in case, she didn’t mention it. “What have you two been up to these days?”

“Reggie is writing for
Portland Tribune
, and I’m still working for my dad.” Stacy missed her cup when she reached for it.

Jane chewed her lip. She needed to swing the conversation to Josiah Malachi, but…no. She could do this. She could play the chatty, gossipy coed, even if Stacy and Reggie knew that wasn’t how she normally was.

“What about you, Jake? Still flippin’ burgers?” Stacy asked.

“Yup.”

“You guys remember my cousin Gemma, right?”

“Prez Prep class of ’03?” Reggie asked.

“Yeah, but I only went there for junior and senior year, so I don’t know how you would know me!” Gemma held her coffee and eyed the table as she talked. “I was five years ahead of you kids.”

“But you were on the championship volleyball team. The only one ever,” Stacy said with a laugh. “You all will never be forgotten at Prez Prep.”

“Even benchwarmers like me, eh?”

“What do you do now? Still play?” Stacy now had her eye on the table as well. “That is so weird; I could have sworn…” She shook her head and didn’t finish the sentence.

“Gemma was at the Josiah Malachi event—the one where he died!” Jane spoke in breathless excitement, feigning innocent, gossipy conversation.

“No way! We were there, too.” Stacy leaned forward. “Where were you when he died, Gemma?”

Gemma set her cup down and fluttered her eyelashes. “I was on the stage.” Her voice was low and dramatic. Jane almost laughed.

“So was I!” Stacy shook her head sadly. “What about you, Reg? Where were you again?”

“I was up in the sound booth with Francine.” His lip curled in disgust when he said her name.

“Ooh, I met Francine,” Gemma said. “I met her in line to talk to the police. I mean, she worked for Josiah, so it must have been the same lady. But what were you doing in the sound booth?”

“I’m on the task force while they are in town. I help with techy stuff during events. Lucas—this guy that runs the showy stuff—had to step out, so Francine joined me.”

“So Francine wasn’t on the stage, or even near it, when Josiah died?” Jane asked.

“No, she was with me the whole time.” Again, Reggie looked disgusted.

“What’s wrong with this Francine chick?” Jake asked. “Every time you say her name, you look like you want to spit.”

“She’s not that bad.” Stacy stared at the table. “What is wrong with this table? Reggie, are you moving my stuff?”

Jake laughed.

“What?” Stacy turned to him.

“Oh, nothing. But Reggie doesn’t agree with you. He thinks Francine
is
that bad. Why? What did she do?”

“It’s nothing she did, really. Just her attitude. She’s not into it. I swear she’s just with the organization for the money, and that is so wrong. Josiah Malachi is about so much more than
money.
He’s changing the world.”

Jane swallowed her instant reaction to the irony. “Maybe she was just having an off night, or something like that.”

Reggie lifted his eyebrow. “A bad two months, more like. We’ve been getting ready for the Malachi Ministries to come to Portland for six months. And for the last two months Francine has been in town prepping the task force. I’ve never met a less spiritual woman in the ministry before. All business and no heart. ”

Stacy scrunched up her mouth. “Are you sure you aren’t just saying that because she’s a woman?”

“Don’t be a feminist, Stace.” Reggie took a drink of his coffee and smirked.

That was the other reason Jane was surprised to see them together. Reggie had always been kind of a jerk.

“Very modern of you, Reggie.” Jake sniffed. He had never much liked Reggie either, if Jane recalled correctly.

Reggie laughed. “Look at Lucas, stuck behind the equipment even though he’s the best preacher they’ve got. He could outpreach Josiah by a mile. But does he complain or act uppity? Nope. He humbly serves. And that’s what Francine should do too, but she doesn’t. She’s cold, and rude, and she acts like working for the most popular preacher in America is some kind of drag.”

“I wouldn’t say Josiah Malachi is the most popular preacher in America.” Jake leaned back in his chair.

“Who’s better?” Reggie challenged.

“I can’t think of a name offhand, but plenty of people can’t stand Malachi. They consider him a heretic. I mean, someone murdered him, didn’t they? He can’t be that popular.”