Bright New Murder (10 page)

Jake pulled himself up and sat on the table, a silly grin plastered on his face. “Hold your horses, cowboy.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Isaac pushed him with his fingertips. Jake wobbled, but kept his seat.

“Kissing Jane. Did you not see?”

Isaac reeled back and swung. His fist cracked against Jake’s nose with a burst of blood.

“Isaac!” Jane screamed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“You were going to marry me, Jane. You were still going to marry me.” He brushed his eyes with the back of his hand. “We had one dumb fight. That was all. It was going to be all right.” Isaac wavered. He looked at his bloody fist and then at Jane.

“Have you been drinking?” Jane stepped back.

Two women pressed wet towels to Jake’s face.

“Isaac, have you been drinking?” She grabbed his arms in clenched fingers and stared at him.

“Maybe. Why wouldn’t I be? This Christmas is a nightmare.” He wrenched his arms out of her hands.

“Go home, Isaac. Walk it off.” She stared at him. His face was burning red, and droplets of blood from breaking Jake’s nose were splattered across his white shirt.

“You still love me.” He used his teacher voice. Like it was an assignment.

“I don’t even know you.” She swallowed. Nausea overwhelmed her.

Isaac’s face softened, and one tear escaped.

Her head spun. Isaac was broken. Completely brokenhearted. She touched his sleeve.

“I still love you.” Isaac’s voice was different now. Not fighting. Not demanding. Just sad.

“You don’t know me.”

“Can someone drive Jake to the hospital?” an older female voice asked.

Jane looked over Isaac’s shoulder.

Jake was staring at her, one eyebrow raised, half a smile on his face, a wet towel slowly turning pink pressed to his nose.

“I’ll dribe byself.” Jake hopped off the table.

“Don’t.” Jane reached for Jake, but he just smiled and ambled out of the kitchen. “Is he okay to drive?” Jane looked around the room, trying to catch someone’s eye.

The girl nearest her shrugged. “Sure.”

“He seems fine. They’ll stitch him up.” The older woman, not that old really, but with a tired, gravelly voice, waved her glass at Jane and then left the kitchen as well.

Jane spun around ready to yell at Isaac, but he had managed to slip out.

Instead, she found Gemma. Crying.

“I’m so sorry.” Jane stepped forward, her hand out to comfort her in some way.

Gemma scrunched her face up. “Whatever.” She pushed her way through the rest of the guests and left.

Jane stared around the room. A few girls snuck a look at her, then looked away, but mostly people were more interested in their own thing than in her. She slumped against the wall.

It would stink to walk all the way home in her rain boots.

13

The snow fell in soft, dust-like flakes that shone white under the streetlights. It was a dry, cold snow, but the ground was wet from recent rain and the flakes melted on contact. Jane watched them from her seat under the bus shelter. She had walked as far as the bus shelter in her rain boots when she decided that the hot, stinky bus was better than the cold, dark night.

“Why Jake Crawford?” Isaac took a seat next to Jane on the bench.

“Been walking around in the dark?” Jane tapped her toes in rapid staccato.

“Yes.” Isaac ran his hands through his hair. “But I wasn’t drinking. I was just really mad. I don’t like that I got so mad, but…”

She knocked his knee with her fist. “You were pretty mad.”

“You were kissing Jake.”

“Yeah.”

“Again.” Isaac stared into the street as he spoke.

“Yeah.”

“Has it always been Jake?”

Jane shook her head. “No.” She paused. “I don’t know. He’s a good friend. You were a long-distance boyfriend. Long distance is hard.”

“Yeah.”

She reached for his hand. “I can’t marry you, because you don’t want to be married to me. You want to be married to a girl who seems like me but has a different personality.”

“I don’t see it like that.”

“I know.” Jane tipped her head back so it rested against the plastic wall of the bus shelter.

“It’s only ten. Want to go get something to eat?”

“No. I want to go home and make Gemma feel better.”

“Jane…I don’t want to give up.”

“We can’t make this work. You’re too…” She chewed on her cheek. What was he? She was tempted to say too perfect, but she really meant he thought he was too perfect.

“What?”

“You’re too not right for me. I have a dream, and a plan, and a hope, and your dream doesn’t have room for any of those. I can’t give up all of that for something I don’t want.”

Isaac stood up. “The bus is coming.”

Jane saw it down the road, just a couple of blocks away. “I’m sorry about not answering your calls.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It was rude.”

The bus pulled up.

“I’m going…” Jane pointed at the bus.

“Yeah.” Isaac narrowed his eyes, but looked away.

“Montreal…” The bus door folded open. “Just…enjoy it. It’s your dream.” She climbed into the bus. From her seat, she watched him as the bus pulled away.

He walked slowly, eyes to the ground.

***

At the apartment, Gemma paced the living room. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her eyes were red and swollen. “You know how I feel about him, and you didn’t even want to give me a chance.”

“You invited Isaac to the party, didn’t you?”

“You’re an idiot for leaving him. He’s nice, handsome, has a good job. What are you thinking?”

Jane pressed her lips together. “He is nice, and handsome, and has a good job, but so are hundreds of other men in the world I’m not going to marry.”

“You shouldn’t ruin your friendship with Jake this way.” Gemma paused in front of the window and crossed her arms. Her brows were pulled down over her eyes.

“I agree.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Gemma’s whole body quivered.

“I don’t know.” The apartment seemed small with Gemma so angry. Jane grabbed her purse and went back out. She drove past her aunt’s house, but it was pretty late, and Jane was fairly sure Aunt May would take her daughter’s side. She drove past the library and really wished it was open twenty-four hours. She drove past the Miramontes, a small, fancy hotel not far from her apartment, but even if she did have an expense fund from Jake burning a hole in her pocket, she didn’t think it would be a wise use of money.

She drove to the big Crawford house and stared at the dark windows.

The front porch light flicked on.

Jane whapped her head against the steering wheel. Why did he have to be home already?

Phoebe Crawford, Jake’s sister, came running down the steps, wrapped only in a silky robe. She knocked on the window of Jane’s car. “Are you coming in or not?” she asked. “It’s cold out here.”

Jane followed Phoebe into the house.

They stopped in the front living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been when Jane was cleaning it. A little messier, but mostly the same.

Jane slumped onto the loveseat.

Phoebe lounged in a wingback chair. “The important question now is: what are you going to do about it?”

“You heard?”

“Uh, yes. Jake’s not going to let a war wound go uncommented on, is he?”

Jane checked her watch. “But he’d hardly be out of the emergency room yet. It’s only been an hour and a half.”

“He called.” Phoebe shrugged. “He took a hit for you. How will you repay him?”

Jane stared at the ceiling. “Is it wrong to say that I don’t know?”

Phoebe slid onto the couch and crossed her long legs. “You don’t have a lot of experience with this, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Was Isaac your first boyfriend?’

Jane smiled, embarrassed. “There was another guy, back in high school, but…”

“Isaac was your first. And you just dumped him, and you feel like it’s breaking some kind of important code to immediately replace him with someone you like better.”

Jane took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And you feel guilty for liking Jake better because if Isaac had lived here, you probably would have liked
him
better.”

Jane lifted her eyebrows.

“Years and years of therapy, Jane. I may only be twenty, but I’ve got more meds on my chart and more therapy under my belt than the Real Housewives of New York.”

Jane looked away.

“It’s okay, really. It’s a good thing. You wouldn’t rather my bipolar disorder go untreated for all these years, would you?” She laughed.

Jane smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m confused. I don’t know where to start.”

“Start like this: how hot is Liam Hemsworth on a scale of one to one hundred?”

“Uhh…” Jane scrunched her face.

“Okay then, Joseph Gordon-Levitt?”

Jane grinned. “Ninety-nine point five?”

“Exactly. Cute, charming, talented. But you don’t know him, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Because he doesn’t live here. He’s an actor, not whatever it is you are. And your paths won’t cross—ever. You might like him way more than Isaac if you ever met him, but will you? Nope. Would you move to LA so you could meet him and make him love you?”

“No.” Jane saw where this was going, but it wasn’t the same. She had met Isaac, and she…

“Earth to Jane. Don’t abandon the conversation. It’s important. Maybe you would like Isaac or Joseph Gordon-Levitt more than Jake, but what good does that do? They aren’t a part of your life. Not a real part.”

“I get it, but it’s a stretch.”

“Okay then, back to good old Joseph G-L. How hot do you think he is?”

Jane laughed. “He’s my type.”

“Exactly. He was the actor who looked and acted the most like Jake that I could think of.” Phoebe stood up. “I’m going to bed. I’m glad we got this sorted.”

Taking love advice from Jake’s surprisingly insightful sister…another new experience to chalk up for the year. She curled up and closed her eyes. Apparently Phoebe was okay with her spending the night.

***

“Psst, Jane.”

Jane pressed her face into the pillow. It couldn’t be morning yet. She turned and peeled one eye open. It was still dark.

“Wake up, just a little.” Jake pushed her shoulder.

Jane rolled onto her side and hugged the throw pillow to her chest. Jake had a bandage across his nose and bruises under his eyes. She reached out and touched his bandage, just barely. “Did Isaac break you?”

“Only fair. You broke him, after all.”

She stroked Jake’s hair. “Poor Isaac.”

Jake leaned back against the couch.

“I thought you didn’t live here anymore.”

“I don’t, but it was closer than home, and, to be honest, this kind of hurts.”

Jane kissed his cheek. “It looks like it does.”

Jake wrapped her hand in both of his. “I don’t ever want you to leave that couch. But I also don’t want to rush you—which is a lie. I do want to rush you. But I won’t.”

Jane sniffled. She didn’t know exactly what she was sniffling about, but the tears were coming anyway. Good girls didn’t jump from man to man like this.

“You’re really close to my ear right now, and that snot-slurping thing you just did was disgusting, but I still want to kiss you. That’s how I know it’s love.”

Jane laughed. “I keep running to you when things are hard. Or when they are good.”

“And that’s how
you
know it’s love.”

Jane didn’t respond, but he was right.

“We’re family, Jane. Not kissing cousins or anything weird like that. Just family. It’s meant to be.”

“Maybe so.”

“I’d better not tempt fate.” Jake kissed the back of her hand, and left.

14

Rose of Sharon finally responded to Jane’s earlier Facebook message to get together at Sprouted Quinoa. She had also friended Jane on Facebook. They were to meet for breakfast at nine, which gave Jane plenty of time to read everything Rose of Sharon had posted. There were a dozen posts about the Fro-Yo Murder, and how a good woman had given her life for the cause.

Would Rose of Sharon murder to create a martyr?

Jane went to the little vegan restaurant with all senses on alert.

Rose of Sharon was smaller up close than Jane had expected. She was no taller than Jane, in fact. Five three and a half at the most.

Rose of Sharon took Jane’s hand in hers and held it for a moment. Her skin was papery like an older woman’s, but warm. “Thank you so much for coming here to meet me.”

They sat in a small booth at the back of the restaurant. “How are you holding up?” Jane’s heart twinged with sympathy. Rose of Sharon’s eyes were red and her signature curly hair was pulled back into a bun.

“Michelle was a good woman. Stabbing is a painful way to die.”

“I can’t think of worse.” Jane sipped her kefir. “How long was Michelle a Helper?”

Rose of Sharon wiped her eyes with an unbleached cotton napkin. “She wasn’t. We were just friends.”

“I had heard…”

“I know. That’s a problem I have. My girls went to Trillium. I have a deep respect for Michelle, and we were friends. But she wasn’t a protester.”

“When were your kids at Trillium?” Jane was writing as she spoke, but Rose of Sharon didn’t seem put off by it.

“Clover was there ten years ago, and Isis was there about fifteen.”

“Michelle supported the work of HLP though, didn’t she?”

“She was a kindred spirit, for sure, but she was never involved in any protest.”

“Could any of the protesters have had a problem with her? Maybe they thought she was benefitting from the work and from her friendship without giving back in return.”

Rose of Sharon picked up a wafer that Jane didn’t recognize and nibbled it. “Maybe.” She put her food down. “The Human Liberation Party is not as organized as people on the outside think. We meet like flash mobs do, and always have. We don’t have an official roster or membership list. I can’t vouch for everyone who calls themselves a Helper.”

“Do you wish it was different?”

Rose of Sharon nodded.

“Really?” Jane raised an eyebrow.

Rose of Sharon smiled and rolled her eyes. “I know it doesn’t seem like it from the news, but I do like a bit of organization in my work. You might have noticed that when I rally, it is an organized event. We meet at a specific time and place. We have a specific mission, a goal to meet before we disband. You can change the world a lot faster with a plan.”

“I admit, that does surprise me.”

“Listen, I have a master’s degree in community organization and a doctorate in human development. I wrote the seminal thesis on whole foods, the developing world, and American obesity. My thesis is taught to university students around the world.”

An idea was growing in Jane’s mind, but she wasn’t sure if it was a good one. “How did Michelle feed the kids at the preschool?”

Rose of Sharon frowned. “I sent food with my kids.”

“But how did she feed everyone else?”

“I couldn’t say, really. I think it was good, though.” Rose of Sharon looked over Jane’s shoulder.

She was lying.

Jane moved on. “How well do you know a Helper called Valeria?”

“Valeria Bean? She’s the daughter of an old friend.”

“How is she holding up? She seemed really upset at the event.”

“Oh…” Rose of Sharon exhaled slowly. “She’s not doing well at all. I don’t know why. I guess she’s just very tenderhearted.”

“There was another Helper sitting with her. He seemed very protective. Young guy, dark hair. Would you know who that was?”

“Probably her husband, Yuri.”

“It was really good she had him there, I think.” Jane sipped her kefir again.

“Jane…can I call you Jane? I wish you wouldn’t do that in front of me.”

“Excuse me?”

“The kefir. I just think it’s really insensitive of you to drink that after all that we’ve gone through.”

“Because it’s dairy? But it’s been fermented.” Jane held the drink at arm’s length. It was truly repulsive, but it had sounded healthy, so she ordered.

“Please. That’s just an excuse to feed a dairy addiction.”

Jane took another drink. She gagged a little. “It’s really gross.”

Rose of Sharon laughed. “God made food to give us pleasure. Not to gross us out.” She nibbled the grey-green wafer. “This one is gross too.”

“Rose of Sharon…I’m confused.”

“Good. If you’re confused, you’re thinking. Don’t put me in a box because I won’t eat hamburgers. I want to honor my body. It’s a temple of God. I want you to do the same thing.” She stood up. “I need to get to work, but if I can help you in any way, I will. I cared about Michelle, and am devastated that she died the way she did.”

Rose of Sharon left Jane sitting with the kefir, the tray of raw-food spreads and wafers, and a bowl of fruit. But she didn’t leave Jane with the bill.

Valeria and Yuri had acted suspicious after the murder. Perhaps Valeria had been sensitive, or maybe she had seen her husband cozy up to Michelle at the wrong time.

Before Jane left, she spent some time on her phone, exploring Rose of Sharon’s Facebook friends. She found Valeria Bean, and learned that she worked at a local pet store. Companions was across town, but Jane went straight there.

She recognized the nervous, skinny woman with the dishwater curls behind the counter right away. Before she spoke with her, she toured the stop. Mostly natural and niche pet supplies, but there was also a beautiful selection of birds and fish. One tank had about a dozen clown fish in it.

After her brief tour, Jane joined Valeria at the cash register. “Hey there.” She decided to give Valeria a chance to recognize her from the event, but it didn’t seem to work.

“Good morning.” Valeria smiled, but not with her eyes. She seemed distracted.

“Valeria…my name is Jane. I met you at the fundraiser you were protesting the day after Christmas.”

“Okay.” Valeria’s face blanched.

“Right now I’m working as a private detective to help solve the murder of Michelle Smith. I remember that you were pretty shaken up that night. Did you see something while you were there?”

Valeria chewed her lip. Her cheeks slowly turned red. “No.”

“Please, Valeria. Did you see anything at all? A really nice person died that night.”

“I don’t know what I saw. It was such a crowded room.”

“Did you see someone get really angry? One of the guests, maybe?”

Valeria leaned forward. “I didn’t see anything.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she emphasized the word “see.”

Jane lowered her voice as well. “But you heard something?”

Valeria nodded.

“Anything you saw or heard, anything could help.”

Valeria looked around. Her coworker was helping another customer at the clown fish tank. “I heard the TV news reporter say something scary. It really scared me, but I can’t remember exactly what it was now. Do you know what I mean?”

Jane’s heart sank. She had had those times, when she couldn’t trust her own memory. “What do you think you heard?”

“The reporter was talking to a man in a black sweater. He looked mean, narrow eyed. She was quiet, but she was standing close to me.”

“What did she say?”

Valeria took a deep breath. “Remember, I don’t know if this was really it or not. She said, ‘Do it now while the cameraman is in the bathroom.’”

Jane wrote it down. “Do what? Did you watch the man in the sweater to see what he would do?”

Valeria nodded. “I did, but he just meandered his way through the crowd. I lost sight of him pretty quickly.”

“Valeria…” Jane kept her voice very low. “How long after this did the woman scream?”

A tear rolled down Valeria’s cheek. “About five minutes.”

Jane exhaled a breath she had been holding. “You knew the man in the black sweater, didn’t you?”

Valeria shook her head. “No, I didn’t, I swear I didn’t know him.”

Jane drummed her fingers on the counter. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I didn’t know him…” Valeria exhaled slowly. “But Rose of Sharon did. Way earlier, when we were still outside, she saw him. They hugged.”

“Did she say his name?”

Valeria shook her head. “She called him ‘buddy.’ I wish she had said his name.”

“Do me a favor, please, Valeria. Please, tell the police what you heard. I know it’s not much, and you might be scared, but they need to know everything.”

Valeria nodded. “I need to?”

“Please, please do.”

Jane left with a stone in her heart. She was getting closer to the killer now, but it wasn’t pretty.

***

Jane had to clean two houses before she could get back to detecting. But as soon as she was done, she drove by Ben’s house. He had finally responded to her text with a halfhearted comment about how he would try and see if he could help.

Ben let her in. He was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. The house looked like a girl had exploded in it, which kind of shocked Jane until she remembered that Ben had gotten married a couple of years ago. He cut straight to the chase.

“‘Bang-Bang Bambi’s dead’ is a name this user created just for this thread. The poster also uses ‘HuntingisZombieTargetPractice’ and just plain ‘Shoot.’”

“But what’s his real name?”

Ben smiled. “How much is it worth to you?”

Jane sighed.

“I’m kidding. His real name is Ethan Franklin-Miter.”

Miter? That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“What else did you learn about Ethan? Age? Location? School? Work?”

“He doesn’t have a LinkedIn, a Facebook, or a Twitter, none of that.”

“So he’s not a professional, and he is younger than…twenty-five?”

“He doesn’t play on Ask.com and he doesn’t have a Tumblr.”

“Older than thirteen but younger than eighteen?”

“That’d be my guess. So take whatever he says with a grain of salt.”

“I’ve already confirmed his claim. Actually, he was wrong, but it was the kind of mistake a kid would make, I think.”

“So you can leave the kid alone now? It felt really wrong cyber stalking a kid.”

Jane scratched her ear. “Yeah, I can leave Ethan alone. But…”

“I don’t care what you do with his parents. Just leave the kid alone.”

“Of course, of course. Thanks for your help, Ben.”

“No problem. Just remember me when you want a hot new private detective website, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Jane drove straight to Jake’s office. He had his own work to do, of course, but he might be able to help her put her new pieces together.

He was with someone in the office. Jane decided not to interrupt this time. She went back downstairs to the restaurant and had a late lunch while she went over her notes.

The list of what she needed to learn was still a longer list than what she already knew. To start with: Who was the man in the black sweater? How did the reporter know him? Why would the reporter want Michelle Smith dead? Then there was the weirder issue of Del the security guy. Why had he been put on admin leave?

Jane pulled up YouTube on her phone while she waited for Jake. She scrolled through the local news until she found the reporter from that night. Her name was Myra Richardson. Or at least, that was her television name. Jane wondered if perhaps, her real name was Myra Miter…

Jane poked at her chicken salad. She needed an in with the television station so she could talk to Myra—and about Myra. She thought Jake had mentioned her being his contact, but he didn’t seem to have connected with her yet.

She considered the connects she had made with her housecleaning business, but she couldn’t think of anyone who had ties to television.

From the corner of her eye, Jane spotted Jake. He stood in the doorway, the pale winter sun shining on him. Sandy hair. Red plaid scarf. Wooly businessman winter coat. He didn’t really look like Joseph Gordon-Levitt, except when he smiled.

He was smiling.

The good news was that they had a case to solve while they figured out if they were a thing or not.

The bad news was Gemma.

She wished she hadn’t tried to set them up.

Jake joined her at the table. He slung his coat across the back of his chair to reveal a retro raglan-sleeved Roly Burger company shirt. “This thing with the mayor is going to send me to an early grave.” He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Between blue laws and fro-yo murders, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Jane set her phone down. “Tell me what’s going on.”