Good, Clean Murder (14 page)

“They both died of
cardiac arrest. Heart attacks. Their hearts stopped.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all it
takes.”

“Nothing more? The
lady at the desk at the M. E.’s office said it would say that, but doesn’t it
say anything else?”

“I suppose
something could come up when the lab reports are back.” Jake laid the papers on
the floor. “But they’ll be buried and memorialized long before that. She said
it would be at least two weeks more.”

“Do you think the
‘light altercation’ could have caused a heart attack?” Jane reached for the
papers. Jake’s paraphrase might have left out something important.

“You knew them.
Dad was a recovering burger-a-holic and mom, while a fine figure of a woman,
huffed and puffed climbing the stairs. I would guess for two people not used to
‘light altercations’ it could have given them a heart attack.”

Jane read while
Jake spoke. He was back in his mood again—erratic and sarcastic. Whatever
serious, grown-up personality he had found while they searched the bedroom had
been tucked safely away, but as far as she could tell from the M. E.’s report,
his paraphrase had been accurate.

“I know if I had
seen them in a ‘light altercation’
I
would have had a heart attack.”

Jane smiled,
though not with her heart. “Me too. I can’t imagine them fighting, much less
using force against each other. Bruising each other? It’s unbelievable.”

“Suing each other,
I could see. But bruising? About as likely as a slap fight, hair pulling, or
kung fu. More likely mom fell and he dragged her up, bruising her wrist and she
pushed him out of the way or something like that.” Jake leaned back against the
big, old walnut desk.

“But where would
she have fallen?”

“Bathtub? If she
fell in the bathtub, it would have been slippery. She might have needed help
up. He might have bruised her wrists while he was helping her. I don’t know. Is
it more likely that there was a third man in there having a push fight with
them?”

“No. It’s not more
likely.” Jane stood up and stretched her legs. “The trouble is, no one who had
a motive had any access to your parents. I am beginning to think it really was
just a tragic coincidence.”

“But it wasn’t. By
no stretch.”

“Wouldn’t it be
better if it had been?” Jane shut the window.

“That’s like
asking wouldn’t it be better if Bob Dole had been the President. It’s not what
was, so it doesn’t matter.” Jake stood up too. He picked up several papers that
had blown to the floor.

“I feel that way
too, but I have nothing solid to pin my suspicions on.”

“Nothing solid?
Ask yourself this: Why did Fitch refuse to order new restaurant equipment for
me?”

Jane’s heart sank.
If Jake was going to revert to nonsense as a way to deal with the tragedy again
then she’d have to continue her hunt for the killer on her own. He was no use
to her if he wouldn’t be serious. “If you figure out the answer to that one,
let me know. I’ve got to go study for a while. I’m pretty behind on my school
work.” Jane left Jake sorting the papers on his father’s desk. She was honest
at least, and once in her room she took out the articles that Isaac had sent
the class off with and settled in for some study time.

Several hours
later, Jane woke up, the staple from the photocopies pressed into her forehead.
She sat up, rubbing at the spot. Bleary-eyed, she patted her bed for her phone.
When she found it, she pressed it at random with her thumbs to wake it up. When
she finally managed to unlock it, she checked the time. Ten pm. Class was out.

She flopped back
on her bed. She couldn’t remember a thing she had been reading, but she was
intensely aware that she had parted with Isaac more than a little annoyed with
him, and then skipped his class.

She crossed her
arms over her head and yawned. She’d have to find a way to let him know she
hadn’t missed it on purpose, because of the thing with Jake. She tried to focus
on how she might do that without seeming forward, or breaking the law from
Pastor Barnes. Before she had any solid idea, she had drifted back to sleep, to
dream of punctured tires, dead friends, and little rats chewing their way
through her homework.

Jane stood in
front of the hot stove on Thursday morning trying to put the perfect crisp on a
batch of hash browns. She wanted to put a feast in front of Marjory, get her
happy and comfortable, and then ask her a few questions about Switzerland and
the corporation. It wasn’t just an excuse to put off planning her own future,
she told herself. She was helping solve the crime.

The potatoes were
soggy on the outside, raw on the inside, and sticking to the pan. Jane gave up
on them. She checked the oven. The frozen quiche seemed to be doing fine.

Marjory, dressed
in a business suit with full make-up and hair, like always, stood in the
doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. “It smells heavenly in here.”

“Thanks. Why don’t
you sit down? Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Save it for the
kids, Jane. I don’t have any time this morning.”

Jane tried to keep
her smile in place. “Are you sure? Not even a little?”

“I’ll take a cup
of coffee with me, but I need to shut myself in the office. I’m swamped with
work.”

Jane decided to
plunge right in, before her few seconds with Marjory vanished. “What you need
is a vacation.”

“I needed a
vacation before Bob and Pamela passed. Now I need a personal assistant, and a
vacation.” Marjory filled a mug with coffee.

“Will you have
time to get away after the funeral?”

“If only I could.
I don’t dare leave until probate is over and the estate is settled.”

“How long could
that take?” A bitter, burning smell hit Jane. She dug into the potatoes with
her spatula trying to turn them.

“I can’t say for
sure, but the lawyer indicated it could be up to a year.” Marjory frowned at
the stove. “You need to take that off of the heat.”

Jane moved the
pan. “Who is in charge while you all are waiting for probate?”

“You really aren’t
a cook, are you?” Marjory stared at the pan of potatoes. “Didn’t you ever work
in your father’s kitchen?”

“Of course I did,
but we deep fried those potatoes.” Was Marjory avoiding her questions?

“Ah yes, that’s
right. We do deep fry them. Well, I don’t yet know who will be in charge after
the estate is settled. It’s a private company so Jake and Phoebe will each own
half of the lion’s share. They’ll have to make a lot of decisions about the
future of the company.”

“Are they ready
for that?” Jane stirred her potatoes around, trying to look casual.

“No. Not at all.
I’m trying to hold the ship together for them until then. One good thing about
probate: it gives them a year to learn about the business.”

“And when you are
done schooling them you’ll really be ready for a vacation.” Jane turned and
smiled at Marjory, hoping her look came off as sympathetic.

“I will.” Marjory
looked at her watch. “The worst part about all of this is that Pam needed a
break too. We were headed off together.” Marjory’s voice cracked. “She had
invited me back to her favorite little Swiss village for some R and R.” Marjory
shaded her eyes with her hand. “Next time I have a break, I won’t get to have
it with my best friend.”

Jane pulled a
paper towel off the roll by the stove and handed it to Marjory.

Marjory held it
under her eyes. “Thank you. I need to keep it together until the funeral.” She
dabbed with the towel to mop up the tears that were beginning to smudge her
mascara. “And I need to pull myself together for the business meeting. The
board wants to run away with the business before Jake and Phoebe have a chance
to make any decisions. I can’t let that happen.” Marjory looked up at Jane with
a grim face. She folded her paper towel into quarters and slid it into the pocket
of her suit jacket. “Thank you for thinking of a nice breakfast, Jane. We’ll
have to try again another morning.” Marjory wrapped her hands around her mug
and left.

Marjory didn’t
seem to relish running the business. Jane thought it was impossible that she
would have killed her best friend for any reason, much less to get control of a
business she didn’t like running.

Jane dumped her
potato mess in the scrap bucket. She considered taking it out to the compost
when there was a knock at the back door. Killing two birds with one stone, she
grabbed the scraps and went to the door.

She opened it to
find Isaac on the other side of the screen with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Want to play
hooky with me?”

Jane looked from
Isaac to the scraps. “I can’t.”

Isaac opened the
screen and took the bucket of scraps. He walked beside her to the compost. “I
missed you yesterday, but I don’t blame you for not wanting to see me. I kind
of overstepped.”

Jane gave him a
bit of a smile. “Agreed. You kind of overstepped, but I didn’t mean to miss
class. I fell asleep reading the sociology report on teen suicide in resource-poor-communities
that you sent us home with.”

“I agree. Very
dull paper.” Isaac tipped the scrap bucket, letting the potatoes, et al, spill
into the compost bin.

“It’s not that. It
wasn’t a thriller, but I was just exhausted. It’s been a rough couple of
weeks.” Jane took the scrap bucket back from him and headed to the house.

“That’s why I
thought it might be a good idea to play hooky together. I skip class, you take
a day off. We do something relaxing. Just hang out. Get to know each other. No
pressure, no murder solving, no discussions of your future plans.”

“No illicit
flirting?” Jane nudged him with her elbow.

“I’ll do what I
can, but I am only human.” Isaac sprinted ahead of her and opened the screen
door. “We could go to the park and kick a ball around. You do play soccer,
right? It’s a prep school staple.”

“I played field
hockey. Don’t kill me.”

“Kick the ball
around?” Phoebe was in the mudroom in her very short, very thin nightgown. Her
tall, curvy figure displayed in detail. “I’m game.” She smiled at Isaac, cute
dimples popping out in her cheeks.

Isaac put his arm
through Jane’s. “Sorry,” he said to Phoebe. “This is one on one practice. Jane
is in desperate need of help.”

Phoebe yawned, and
stretched so that her nighty pulled a little tighter and got a little shorter.

Isaac kept his
face on Jane. “I’ve got a ball in my car. Get your tennies.”

Phoebe scowled and
slumped out of the mudroom.

Jane wanted to apologize
for Phoebe’s inappropriate clothes, but kept her mouth shut. He was ignoring
it, so she would too. “You know what? Let’s do it. I can play hooky for an hour
anyway.”

“Perfect.” Isaac
dropped her arm and pushed her towards the house. “Go get your shoes.”

“Why don’t you
follow me, just in case.” She nodded towards the door Phoebe had just exited.

“Yeah. That’s a
good idea.”

As Jane passed the
office she heard Marjory in deep conversation. The other voice sounded
familiar, so she paused by the door. It was Vargas, the same man who had been
at the abrupt meeting the week before. She held her finger to her lips to keep
Isaac quiet.

“You believe we
can make Wally agree to this?” Marjory asked.

Wally Walker.
Jean knew she had known that unnamed man at the last meeting. He was Wally
Walker, the head of franchising.

“If you can keep Fitch
out of things, I believe between the two of us we can make Walker see that
patience is a virtue.”

“Don’t talk in
riddles. I don’t have time for it. Will Wally agree to wait on the sale or not?”

“Yes, he will, but
I am serious about Fitch. He’s not on the board and he has no business at these
meetings. I don’t care if he agrees with you.”

Isaac frowned at
Jane. “Eavesdropping?” His voice was a low whisper.

Jane repeated the
international sign for “hush” and nodded
yes.
There seemed to be more
than just paperwork keeping Marjory away from breakfast.

“I only invited
the people who were on the minutes at the last meeting. Fitch is nothing to me,
but if Bob wanted him involved, I thought I had better as well.”

“Bob?” Vargas
laughed. “It wasn’t Bob’s idea to involve Fitch. It was Pamela’s. He was her
protégé while Bob was recovering. I never got the impression that Bob
appreciated it.”

“Neither here nor
there. If keeping Fitch out of the meetings is all you need me to do, I’ll do
it. All I want is to wait until the estate is settled. Sign nothing, agree to
nothing, change nothing, until then.”

Jane tiptoed past
the door with new questions on her mind. What future job had Pamela been
grooming Fitch for, and did it have anything to do with the murders?

Up in her room,
she posed the question to Isaac.

“How should I
know? I know less than nothing about corporations, small, large, or otherwise.”

“What if Fitch
hated the job he was being groomed for and so he killed Pamela?” Jane was on
her knees digging through the stuff she had shoved into the small closet. She
looked to Isaac for his answer.

“Wouldn’t it have
been easier to just quit?” Isaac scratched his chin.

“In this economy?
If he was unstable for any reason he could have seen murder as an easier option
than finding a new job.”

“Before you make
wild leaps, ask yourself this question: What job in the restaurant industry
could have been so horrible that he would rather kill two people than perform
it?”

Jane rocked back
on her heels, a pair of cross trainers in her hand. “There is that. I suppose
someone who managed several locations had already done everything humiliating
and disgusting at that point. There’s no job worse than cleaning the public
restrooms after the little league team comes to celebrate their season.”

“So we can agree
it wasn’t Fitch, and we can go play soccer. Right?”

Jane looked back
at her closet, her shoes resting on her knees. “We can agree that if it was Fitch
it wasn’t because his new job was awful. And yes, we can go kick the ball
around the park. I make no promises that it will look anything like this game
you call ‘soccer.’”