Good, Clean Murder (12 page)

Jake drove his
parents’ Jag to the Medical Examiner’s office.

The supple leather
interior was immaculate, and, Jane had to admit, incredibly comfortable.

“You’ve got to
forgive Phoebe. She’s off her meds.” Jake stared straight ahead, a look of
serious concentration creasing his forehead.

“What meds?”

“For her ‘she’s
crazy’ disorder.” Jake gunned his engine to make it through a yellow. “It runs
in the family.”

“Can you be a
little more specific?”

“Can I? I suppose
I can be honest with Jane Adler, humble but righteous house-cleaner. Phoebe is
bi-polar. She’s a brat when she’s medicated. When she’s off her meds she’s a
crazy brat.”

“How crazy, Jake?”

“She just said she
hated our dead mother. Is that crazy enough?” Jake cranked the wheel and made a
fast, wide left turn.

“Yeah. I’d say
so.” Jane watched the suburbs fly past. Was Phoebe crazy enough to kill? “So,
Jake…do you think your parents were murdered?”

“Of course. Rich
middle-aged Americans of average health don’t just up and die. Not first thing
in the morning. Maybe on the tennis court, or after a long day at work, but not
first thing in the morning.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.
I really am.” Jane cracked her window to let in some fresh air, but the road
noise was too much. She closed it again, willing to suffer the close atmosphere
of the luxury car for the sake of the conversation. “Are you scared?”

“Never.” Jake
slammed his brakes at a stop sign.

“Even though there
is a murderer loose?”

“There’s always a
murderer loose, isn’t there? If all the murderers were contained there wouldn’t
be any murdered people. I can’t be scared every day, can I? So I’m not scared
ever. It saves energy.” Jake took a curve too fast, throwing Jane into her
door.

“Who do you think
did it?” Jane’s stomach was roiling from the driving. The conversation didn’t
help either.

“Fitch.”

“Fitch? In
buildings and maintenance?”

“Yes. That Fitch.
He never ordered my new equipment. He’s clearly out to get us.” Jake stopped
the car in the middle of the quiet road. “Who do you think did it?”

Jane squeezed the
handle of her door. “Shouldn’t you be driving?”

“Sure. Why not.”
He started the car back up, but drove more slowly.

“Jake, why aren’t
you grieving? I’m concerned for you.”

“Didn’t I say it
earlier? Crazy runs in the family.” Jake merged onto a busy road. They were
getting closer to the Medical Examiner's office.

Jane exhaled
slowly. “It’s okay to be scared and sad right now. Do you realize that? No one
expects you to be strong or funny, or brave.”

Jake slammed the
brakes again, this time at a red light. “Leave it, Jane. Okay? No one cares what
the housekeeper thinks.”

Jane left it. She
rode the rest of the way to the ME’s office in silence.

When they arrived
at the office Jane followed Jake inside the building. The receptionist with the
big glasses sat at her desk, alone again.

Jake buzzed the
button three times.

The receptionist
glared at him for a moment. She turned back to the machine.

Jake buzzed the
button again.

“Jake.” Jane kept
her voice low.

The lady stood up
at the pass through in the bullet proof glass. “Yes?”

“You have my dead parents’
stuff.” Jake hit the buzzer one more time.

“Name?”

“Robert and Pamela
Crawford of the hamburger empire. I am Jacob Terwilliger Crawford, Esquire.
Not
at your service.”

“May I see your
ID?”

Jane inched her
way back to the door. As long as Jake was in this mood, she didn’t want to be
seen with him.

Jake handed his ID
over.

“Just one moment.”
The receptionist left the room.

“Jake…I’m sorry.”
Jane kept her distance.

“Sorry that I’m
crazy, or an orphan, or that you are a lemon-sucking prune-faced church girl
who needs to get some action?”

Jane took a deep
breath. “I’m sorry that I was rude. I’m sorry that I overstepped
my…boundaries.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

The receptionist
returned with a parcel wrapped in clear plastic as though it had just come from
the dry cleaners. She pushed it through the opening in her glass wall.

“Jake, can you get
the autopsy report?” Jane stepped a little closer so she could ask in her
quietest voice.

Jake grabbed his
package. He turned around and gave Jane a withering look, his thin, blond
eyebrows drawn together. “No.”

She watched him
exit the office. Before she followed him she tried the receptionist. “May I
have the copy of the autopsy report?”

“You’re the
housekeeper, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I’m sorry,
miss. You can’t.” The receptionist sat down at her desk again.

Jane heard the
engine of the Jag start up. She ran out to catch it.

Jake let her get
in.

“I thought we
wanted to get the report.” Jane buckled herself in. She didn’t dare make eye
contact.

“
You
wanted
to get the report.” Jake tore out of the parking lot.

“It would be good
to know what happened.” A wave of nausea rolled over her as he whipped around a
turn.

“Why? It won’t
bring them back.” Jake spoke in a low rumble.

Jane snuck a
glance at Jake. His shoulders were stiff and his jaw was tense. “No, you’re
right. It won’t.”

She sunk down in
the leather seat. So was her service to this family really going to just be
cleaning and cooking? Was she not going to be able to solve the murders of Bob
and Pamela after all?

Jake dropped Jane
off at his house, but immediately pulled away again, driving off with his
parents’ personal effects. At the very least, Jane had been hoping to go
through them with him, to help him process his loss…and see what clues might be
hidden in their clothes.

She let herself
into the house by the door to the mudroom. There weren’t many things left on
the funeral to-do list. A rest before her next client’s house sounded like a
dream come true, but on her way to the third floor bedroom she called her temporary
home, she stopped.

She had dusted and
tidied in Bob and Pamela’s room since the accident, but she hadn’t purposefully
searched for clues to what had happened that morning. The police had, but they
hadn’t told her what they had found, of course. Would there be anything left to
find now?

She wandered down
the hallway to their bedroom. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look.

The room smelled
empty. It was a weird, hollow smell, similar to her apartment this morning, but
without the layer of old appliance. It was the smell of a closet full of winter
clothes the first time you open it in the late fall.

She sat down on
the small, round stool in front of Pamela’s mirrored dressing table and pulled
open a drawer. Nothing but small make-up compacts. Jane shut it and pulled open
the drawer below it. This one was full of carefully organized costume jewelry.
Small dishes held rings, and chains were laid out lengthwise in a velvet box
with long compartments.

She tried the
drawers on the other side, but nothing looked important. Just the every day
things a middle-aged lady needed to get ready in the morning. Jane tried the
bedside table on Bob’s side of the bed.

She hadn’t known
which side was his, before she had found him dead.

The image of the
paramedics pulling him off the bed flashed in her mind. She had to sit down and
steady herself. She didn’t want to make finding bodies a habit. It was terribly
uncomfortable. The drawer next to Bob’s side held a notebook and a pen. It was
deep enough to keep extra pillows in, but that was all it had.

She took the
notebook out and opened it. The pages were blank. She rubbed her fingertips
across them but couldn’t feel the indentations of previous writing. It appeared
to be completely unused.

Jane crawled
across the king-sized bed and pulled open the drawer next to it. It was chock
full. Paperback novels, handkerchiefs, several colorful sports watches, hand
lotion, a crochet hook, a pair of nail clippers. Jane knelt on the bed, leaning
over the drawer and pawed through it trying to figure out what all else was
there. This was exactly the opposite of the dressing table. Unorganized and
unimportant—the last stuff Pamela held in her hands before she went to bed.

Jane found a
crumpled picture of Phoebe tucked in the mess. She looked about twelve years
old. At some point in time Pamela had reminisced, holding a picture of her
daughter in her hands, right before she went to sleep. A little sob welled up
and stuck at the back of Jane’s throat.

Then the bed
shook.

Jane rocked
forward and steadied herself on the side table.

“I am so sorry.”
Jake grabbed Jane around the waist and pulled her to himself. He wrapped his
arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. “I am so sorry I was a jerk.
So, so sorry.” He wept as he held her.

They were both on
their knees on Bob and Pamela’s bed. Jane held Jake and let him cry.

Jake’s weeping
subsided. He lifted his head off Jane’s shoulders. His eyes were round and red.

She wiped his
tears away with her thumb. Her face was hot, and Jake was inches away, his
breath sweet like minty toothpaste.

He leaned in and
kissed her.

Jane pushed him
away. Her hands were sweating and she could hear her heart beat in her ears.
“Jake, no. I’m sorry.”

He stared at her
with his big, sad eyes. “No?”

Jane scooted
backwards on her knees until she reached the edge. Then she stood up. He looked
so small, kneeling on the bed, that she sat down again, but on the edge of the
bed, a couple of feet away from him. “I’m sorry.”

He flopped back on
to his father’s pillow, his eyes closed. “No one else on Earth would say no to
me, right now.”

“You’re probably
right, but I don’t kiss boys I don’t love, and I am not in love with you.” She
bit her lower lip, sure she meant what she said, but also, just a little
unsure.

“What are you doing
in here?”

“I’m looking for
anything that can help me understand what happened to your parents.” Jane shut
the side table drawer.

“Are you having
any luck?” Jake asked.

“No.”

“Me, neither.”

“Why didn’t you
want the autopsy report?”

“Because they are
my parents, not a science experiment. I don’t want to read about them getting
cut up and looked at.” Jake rolled over and leaned up on his elbow. “I could
really love you, you know.”

“Maybe you could,
but you don’t yet, so you don’t need to try.” Jane walked over to the highboy
dresser and sifted through a stack of papers on top. “How did your mom feel
about the businesses closing?”

“She didn’t like
it.”

“Why not?”

“All that change
at their age? No way. She liked status quo—especially since she had pretty good
status. What if the new business venture had failed?”

“But everyone
loves Yo-Heaven. Why would it fail?” The stack of papers all seemed to be
school-related, soccer meet schedules, class schedules.

“That trendy
locavore stuff? Lots of veggies and fruit and yogurt for lots of money? The
Roly Burger crowd were not going to like it.”

“What’s going to
happen to Roly Burger now?” Jane opened the top drawer of the dresser. Pamela’s
underwear. She shifted through the silky garments, all of which she had washed
and folded many times.

“I can’t decide.”

“Is it up to you?”
Jane found a travel wallet, the kind that hides under the waistband of your
clothes, in the underwear drawer. It felt stiff.

“I can’t tell. I
keep thinking if I wait long enough everything will go back to normal.” Jake’s
voice broke on the word
normal.

Jane turned back
to him, the wallet in her hand. He was watching her with his big blue eyes. She
needed to finish what she was doing before the temptation to go back and let
him kiss her overwhelmed her.

He lifted an
eyebrow at her.

She looked away.
The zipper on the wallet stuck as she tried to open it.

“What is that?”
Jake asked.

“Travel wallet.
It’s probably got old papers in it.” Jane pulled out a sheet of printer paper
and unfolded it to reveal a travel itinerary. The ink was bright and fresh.
“Was your mom planning a trip?”

“I don’t know.”
Jake lay back on the bed and covered his eyes with his arm. “I don’t want to
think about my parents right now.”

Jane sat on the
edge of the bed. “I think you need to start thinking about them.”

“I thought about
it last night. For real. It was awful.” Jake’s voice was serious, for the first
time since he had come down the stairs without his shirt on the week before.
Possibly for the first time since she had met him. There was a weak sound to
it, the bravado stripped away.

“Yeah.” Jane
patted his knee. “I could tell.” She pulled her hand away and set the itinerary
on the bed. “You needed that. You’ll probably do more of it—the grieving, I
mean.”

Jake inhaled
deeply, his chest rising. Then he sat up. “So what did you find?”

“A travel
itinerary in your mom’s wallet waist pouch thingy. You know, the one you hide
under your clothes when you travel?”

“I hate those, but
mom always made us wear them. Where were they going?”

Jane read the
paper, her face puckering. “Your mom and your aunt were going to Switzerland
for a month. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Do they have
business in Switzerland? Or family?”

“No.”

“Do they ski? Is
there any reason at all for your mom and aunt to go to Switzerland in March?”
Jane followed the travel dates with her finger as she read it, trying to figure
out exactly how long they were traveling.

“No, they don’t
ski. It’s not a mystery Jane. Mom and Marjory like Europe. They go all the
time. At least once a year.” Jake leaned over the paper.

Jane was aware of
how close he was, but the heated moment had passed. He wasn’t interested in
her, not really. He had just been overwrought, and wanted to escape his emotions.
And as for her…she looked up from the paper to watch his face. No, she wasn’t
interested either. His face was familiar from too many years of school
together. She knew him for a player and a jerk. Yes, when he kissed her she had
been…moved. But that was all. The moment had passed, for both of them.

“Can we at least
ask your aunt about it?” Jane left her finger under the departure information.
They were meant to leave early in the morning, the day Pamela had died.

“You can. I
wouldn’t though. Aunt Marjory is completely overwhelmed right now. She’s trying
to run the business even though it is not her job, and no one is listening to
her. She’s on a warpath, and I want to keep out of her way.”

“I kind of thought
she had mellowed.”

“Around the house
maybe, but I’d watch out. My aunt is under a lot of pressure and she is about
ready to blow. Personally, I don’t want to be around when it happens.”

“Can you tell me
anything more about what she is trying to accomplish with the business?” Jane
stood up again. She wanted to search more of the room while they talked. She
hadn’t even touched the closet or the bathroom.

“She wants to
follow through with dad’s plans, but she wants to wait until the investigations
are over and the estate is settled. I guess the board is trying to get it done
immediately instead.”

“Why does she
think she has the authority to slow things down?” Jane searched the drawers of
the dresser one at a time, but she only found the clothes she expected to find.

“She has a pretty
big stake in the company. As big as mom’s was, but not as big as mom and dad’s
together. With them gone she thinks she gets to be the decision maker, but it’s
still up in the air. The lawyers tell me they aren’t able to make the final
call yet.”

“Have you been
talking to the lawyers?” Jane opened the closet. The clothes were organized by
type and color. No surprise to Jane, as she had organized them. Nothing seemed
to be out of place. The closet was small, as the house was built before walk-in
closets were in fashion. There was a shelf above the closet rod, lined with
boxes. Jane knew they were supposed to be full of hats and shoes that were
stored during their off-seasons. She turned to Jake. He was watching her dig
around in his parents’ stuff. Maybe she didn’t need to pull down all of the
boxes. “Marjory had a lot to gain by your parents’ deaths. If she killed them,
why would she do it the day she was supposed to go on vacation?”

“I don’t think
Aunt Marjory killed them. She really loved my parents.”

“But she could
have done it. What time was the plane leaving?”

“At 8 am.”

“So your mom and
aunt would have had to be there at six, right? Your parents would have expected
your aunt to be at the house first thing in the morning, right?” Jane didn’t
like where her train of thought was headed, but Marjory, who seemed to have
mellowed recently, had both a motive and access to Bob and Pamela.

“No, not at all. I
told you, mom and Marjory went to Europe together all of the time. They met at
the airport. Marjory always took a taxi and dad always drove mom. If Aunt
Marjory had shown up at the house they would have been shocked.”

“Are you sure,
Jake? That’s how they always did it?”

“Yes. Always. Two
trips a year, at least. Sometimes more, except last year. They only went once
last year. This would have been their first trip since dad’s heart attack.”

“But…if she was
going to kill them both it wouldn’t really matter how they usually traveled.
She still could have come here and done it.”

“If she was going
to kill them, why plan a trip?” Jake walked to the master bathroom and began to
dig around in the cupboards.

“Alibi? Maybe she
did it so we could ask ‘If she was going to kill them, why plan a trip?’” Jane
shut the closet door.

“How well do you
know my Aunt Marjory?”

“Not at all.” Jane
joined Jake in the bathroom. A silver tray on the tile counter held their daily
medicines. She picked up a translucent brown bottle and read the label.

“Aunt Marjory is
cheap. Yes, she’s rich. Yes, she travels, but she’s cheap. Did you notice they
were flying economy? They were taking an early flight? She would not have spent
money on tickets if she wasn’t going to take the trip. In my opinion, if she
had wanted to kill them she would have planned a trip by herself and after she
did the deed she would have taken her flight. That would have been an alibi.”

Jane pondered. It
might have been an alibi, or it might have made her look guilty. Hard to say.
She didn’t know what questions the police might have asked Marjory. She didn’t
know if Marjory’s prints had been found in the bedroom, and not having seen the
autopsy report, she didn’t know what the real cause of the deaths had been.

There were several
prescriptions on the silver tray. She read each one with care, though she
didn’t know what most of them were for.

She put down the
bottle she had just read with a huff. She just didn’t know enough to know what
to look for. Then she frowned at herself in the mirror. The bottle she had just
replaced wasn’t as full as it should have been. The other tall, fat bottles had
been, she thought, just a bit heavier. According to the label Pamela had been
one month into a three-month supply. She picked it up again. She tilted it side
to side. She shook it a little. The pills in the bottle just didn’t seem to go
up far enough.
Kal Potassium 99.

Jane picked up
another bottle about the same size. She read the label—also a three month
supply of once-a-day pills. She opened the lids of the two bottles. The second
bottle was definitely fuller and the pills were smaller, as well. She shut both
bottles and held them up again. The Kal Potassium pills were about two
millimeters lower than the other, smaller pills. Where had Pamela’s missing
potassium supplements gone?

“Jake, look at
this.” She passed the two bottles over.

“Yeah?” Jake
turned the bottles around in his hand. “What am I looking at?”

“There aren’t as
many potassium pills as there should be, are there?”

Jake sucked a
breath through his teeth. “Maybe? I can’t tell.”

“Do they both look
normal to you?”

Jake nodded.

“Do you think they
would both look normal to the crime scene investigators?”

“Yes. They look
the same to me. Plus, this was never a crime scene.” Jake set the bottles on
the counter. He turned back to the drawer he had been searching.

“I thought you
mentioned there was an ongoing investigation.”

“You’re right. I
did say that. There is an open case, I think. Just waiting for the results on
the blood work though. That’s what Marjory told me. Do you remember if they had
turned the house into a crime scene?”

“I—oh Jake, I’m
sorry. I don’t know! I had to leave and when I came back it was two days later
and everything seemed normal.”

“I think everyone
has been working under the assumption that the deaths were natural.” Jake
flipped through a small spiral bound book that he had pulled from a drawer.

Jane stared at the
two bottles of pills. “Do you think the deaths were natural?”

“No, I don’t.”
Jake slipped the notebook into the back pocket of his jeans. “So, what happened
to my mom’s pills?”

“Good question.
And what would have happened if, say, she had been given an overdose of those
pills?” Jane picked up both bottles.

“Time for Google,
Jane?”

“Yes, I’d say it’s
time for Google.”

Jane and Jake
raced down the stairs to Bob’s office. Jake grabbed a seat in the leather and
wood swivel desk chair. Jane leaned over the side and watched as he typed.

Overdose Potassium
Chloride pulled up pages of material. They started with Wikipedia.

“Lethal
injection?” Jake’s voice was low.

“That’s bad,” Jane
whispered. The drug, prescribed for Pamela’s deficiency, was also the acting
agent in Dr. Kevorkian’s death machine. “That’s really, really bad. But are
enough pills missing to kill her?”

Jake shook his
head. “I don’t know. Let me keep reading.”

“What we want to
know though, is are there enough missing to kill both of them?”

“Wait.” Jake held
up his hand. “With dad’s heart issues and meds, it would only have taken a
little bit to kill him. But I can’t tell how mom would have reacted to an
overdose.”

Jane continued to
read over his shoulder. “190 grams? It says the lethal dose is 190 grams. These
pills are only 99 milligrams each.”

“School me—how
many would you have to use to kill someone then?”

“Like, the whole
bottle.” Jane’s heart sank. The missing pills were weird, but not lethal.

Jake rocked back
in the chair. “I have to say, Jane, I don’t mind that someone didn’t break into
the house and kill my parents’ with prescription supplements.”

Jane stroked the
top of Jake’s sandy-blond head. “I know. I don’t blame you. Maybe it was just
natural deaths.”

“What do you
remember from the morning? Anything at all?”

Jane closed her
eyes.  She remembered Bob’s naked, hairy shoulder. She remembered the thud of
his body as the paramedics dropped it on the floor. She remembered the sound of
the cell phone, and the paramedics saying, “coroner,” and “bruising.” She could
remember the horrible, awful bits.

“Jane? Anything
important at all?”

“I don’t know.
They had to call a coroner because it wasn’t normal for them both to be so
young and dead at the same time. Then there was the paramedic who noticed
bruises on your mom’s wrists. Why did your mom have bruises on her wrists?”

“Handcuffs?
Leather ropes? What kind of stuff did you find hiding in their closet?”

“Jake. Please.”

“I don’t know. No
reason, I guess. I don’t live here. I do now, but I didn’t two weeks ago. It
could have been anything.”

Jane rolled her
wrists. No, it couldn’t. Wrists don’t get banged up and bruised in everyday
life. “The autopsy report wouldn’t say anything about Potassium Chloride until
after the blood work comes back, but it would talk about bruising. Could we
please get it?”

Jake nodded. “I
don’t want to, but maybe we’d better do it.”