Health, Wealth, and Murder (11 page)

“Secret because of the ministry. Of course. Josiah and your mom were already married when they had Haven. But why did Haven have to move away?”

“No one ever told me that part. If I knew who her dad was, or where they lived, I’d ask her myself. I miss that kid.”

“I’d like to find out for you, if you don’t mind, and if I can.”

He shrugged, but the worry in his eyes lessened. “Why not? Might as well try.”

Jane left Wendy and Nick to their donuts. She munched her bear claw on the way back to her own place. If finding out why Haven was sent away revealed that Christiana was the killer, it would break Nick’s heart. She was completely sure of it.
Oh, dear God
, she prayed.
Don’t let Christiana be the one who did it.

Jane forced herself to go to her class before she went to the Malachi house. She needed to, it was the right thing to do, and doing the right thing, she tried to convince herself, was its own reward.

She stared at her list of suspects while the video interview with the retired private detective played during class. She had intended to pay attention, but he had mentioned narrowing down suspects by eliminating those you knew couldn’t have done it, and it had lit a spark of hope in her heart.

Nick was off the suspect list. He didn’t have a motive that she could pin down, but if his response to admitting his mom’s indiscretion told her anything, it told her that he wanted to protect the family reputation more than anything, and murdering his stepfather was not going to do that.

Tiffany was off the suspect list because she wasn’t on the stage. Couldn’t have gotten on the stage without help, and had also been identified by Francine as sincere in her faith.

Likewise, her husband, Lucas, was in the sound booth during the murder and was equally devout and sincere. No, he wasn’t in the sound booth. Francine was. Where had he gone?

Nguyen…Jane hadn’t done any looking into the background or motives of the elderly Asian man who spoke little English. Did that make her ageist? She just hadn’t considered him a possibility. But if she could get together with Stacy and Reg again, she might be able to sort him out. Being on the local task force, they’d know him well.

Evelyn was also an issue, but as Francine had said, the Malachi Ministries were her bread and butter. She’d be unwise to kill her brother. Also, she seemed pretty stricken by his loss. Or, if not stricken exactly, she seemed to grieve more naturally than the widow.

The widow. Christiana had had an affair, so her heart hadn’t always been fully given over to her husband. And she was separated from her daughter, which, depending on the reason why, could be a strong motive for murder. Jane shivered. Christiana was her top suspect.

Except for Francine.

Francine, who had hired her, but didn’t work well with her. Francine’s claims of threats of violence didn’t ring true against what she had seen of the rest of the task force and the family. Jane needed to find someone to corroborate Francine’s side of the story, but it was looking hard.

She tapped her pencil on the paper and tried to remember everything she had seen and heard in the two meetings she had been able to spy on. She had missed something, or misunderstood something, but what was it?

She reread her list of suspects, of team members, of family.

Robert.

She had forgotten about the quiet, all-business voice of Robert coming from the dining room. That voice been missing from the meeting to determine who should preach in Josiah’s place.

Where had he gone? And why was no one talking about him?

Her new to-do list said: hook up with Stacy and Reg to learn about Nguyen, and find Robert.

Back at her apartment, a big white envelope from the Department of Security was stuffed into her small mailbox.

She stared at the corner of the envelope and prayed it was about some new tax
, but she was not filled with comfort by the Holy Spirit. Quite the opposite: she was filled with fear.

She sat on the edge of the stool at the breakfast bar and slit open the envelope with a key.

The thing was, she hadn’t been trying to bend rules to suit herself this time. She was establishing her career path one step at a time. She hadn’t been trying to force her will on God. She was pretty sure of that. She had just sort of set up her website a little early.

And taken a client.

But that was a God thing, because Gemma had set it up at the revival meeting, right?

Jane chewed on her cheek. Using a paying client to justify the rightness of her cause? Sort of like the Malachi family justifying their use of drugs for visions because their ministry was thriving.

Was she Health-Wealth-and-Prosperity-ing her new business? It looked like it on paper.

She
really
needed to quit jumping the gun with these things.

She unfolded the thick stack of papers and laid them on the counter. The D
epartment of Security had been informed that the owner of GoodCleanHouses.com (Housecleaning Detective Services) was practicing private investigation in the state of Oregon without a license.

She had to come into compliance in twenty-one days, or pay up to the tune of $1,500.

She swallowed. Hard.

The stack of papers was mostly the application for the license…reference letter forms, a place to document her three years of experience under a licensed investigator.

She laid her head down on the countertop and closed her eyes.

If God really did Shut Doors to Open Windows Later, this was definitely a shut door.

But who had turned her in? The letter stated clearly that someone had reported her website.

Jane dialed her webmaster, Ben. Time to reinvent herself again.

Who needs a housecleaning detective, anyway?

Housecleaning detective
.

Theo Rizzo.

Christiana’s son had turned her in. He had been snotty about her website. He resented her being in the house. He was the only one with a clear motive for shutting down her business.

She sat up tall and waited for Ben to answer her call. If Theo had turned her in, then he definitely had something to hide. But was he protecting himself or his mom?

She left a lengthy message for Ben about the changes she needed to her website and hung up. She couldn’t get three years of supervised investigative experience in just twenty-one days, so she had better find the murderer fast.

Satur
day dawned clear, bright, and cheery. Not at all the atmosphere she would have hoped for on the day of her ride along, but what it lacked in drama, it made up for in the smell of the cherry blossoms and the happy feeling in her heart. Spring was the best.

Detective Bryce drove a Chevy Impala with a leather interior, a spaceship-like computer and CB setup, and a sunroof.

Jane tried to relax as they pulled away from the police station, but it wasn’t happening. She was as excited as on her first trip to Disneyland.

The detective had met her in his office at the Burnside station. He had offered her a quick tour—things hadn’t changed much since her grade school took a more thorough tour fifteen years before—and then, with few words, led her to his car.

Her high spirits weren’t calmed at all by Detective Bryce’s intimidating figure. He was about twice the size of Jake, both taller and all around bigger. He had a baby face, sure, with dimples and even a faint trace of freckles, but his square jaw was set as they drove through town.

“I spoke with Nick Rizzo, Christiana Malachi’s son.” Jane laced her fingers together and let them sit in her lap, hoping she looked relaxed.

Bryce flexed his jaw. “And now you have something to share with me?”

“Nick said his sister lives with her father now. I want to know why, don’t you?”

“I’m not on the Malachi murder case.” Bryce turned into a neighborhood.

“Yeah, I know.” Jane paused. “Sorry.”

“I’m following up on a call that came in yesterday. It should give you a good taste of real day-to-day detective work.”

“Thanks.” Jane watched the side streets of Northeast Portland pass by. So many medical marijuana shops, so many strip clubs. A few psychics thrown in for good measure. “How does the city keep track of who has been buying pot from the dispensaries?”

“It’s a big job.” Bryce turned into a parking lot and parked. “So this here is my mobile computer. I get messages from it and respond. I can look up whatever I need to.” Bryce’s teacher-like tone was depressing. “I pull over to use it as often as I can. It’s the right thing to do. I’ve got a message now, and I’m going to check it.”

Jane stifled a yawn. So much for the long, private chat about the case.

“All right. It’s all good. A new call came in, but we can do it second.”

“Detective Bryce…Grant…why did you invite me to the ride along?”

“To give you a taste of real-life criminal justice.” His cheeks turned pink, but his expression was unmoved and his eyes glued to the road ahead.

“I had hoped it was to talk about the Malachi case.”

“Nope.”

“So it’s basically to show me that my plan to be a private investigator is silly.”

“Not at all. You’re serious about it, so a ride along is a good idea. I had time today, so why not? ”

“Right. Why not?” Jane watched Portland slip past. They pulled into the driveway of a dumpy little house with a sign advertising gypsy palm reading in the window.

“We’re responding to a call we got yesterday. Palmistry is legal, but fraud isn’t.”

“And this is a fraud case?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Detective Bryce opened the car door for Jane, an action that, along with his slight southern accent and cowboy swagger, made him seem too good to be real.

The plastic sign in the window of the house said, “Open,” so Detective Bryce and Jane went in.

The room smelled of patchouli and sweaty people, but every inch of the space sparkled. The furniture was all highly polished wood. Red curtains with silver sequins up and down the edges hung from the spotless picture window. The wood floor was spotless, and the zebra-print rug was perfectly clean.

A large, smiling woman with thin black hair and well-tanned skin sat at a desk near the door. “Good morning.” She pushed a pair of gem-covered glasses up her nose. “You here fer a reading?”

“Not today, Yana. I’ve just got a few questions.” Bryce leaned on the doorjamb.

“Come back tomorrow. We talk tomorrow.” Yana turned back to her books.

“Nope. We talk today.” Bryce grabbed the chair in front of him and sat in it, backwards.

Jane suppressed a grin. It was a very theatrical move, and she wasn’t sure if it was to impress her or the gypsy.

“Tomorrow.” She waved her hand away.

Detective Bryce laughed. “Nah. Not tomorrow. I got another call about you yesterday.”

“People don’t like fate.” Yana shrugged.

“People don’t like cheats.”

“Who am I to cheat? I don’t cheat.”

“Do you know this woman?” He pulled a piece of paper from his coat and unfolded it. “This one here.” He shook the paper and laid it on her desk.

“Nah. I don’t know her.”

“That’s not very psychic of you.”

“I read palms, Detective. Not minds.”

“She came in yesterday. She wanted her money back, but you wouldn’t give it.”

“What money? Who is she? I’m a very busy woman.” She turned the page in her ledger book. “You tell me her name, and I’ll tell you if I owe her money.”

“Her name is Susan, and you gave her lottery numbers to play. Said they’d win.”

“Never. Not me.” Yana shut her book. “You can go now, I’m busy.”

“Yana…Yana. I come by here, what, once a month or so? We’re old friends. Why don’t you stick to the palms and leave the numbers out of it, yes?”

Yana shrugged. “I don’t do numbers. Gotta go somewhere else for numbers.”

“Your husband sure does numbers.”

Yana looked up fast. This must have been what they really came about.

“He does numbers on his tax forms that aren’t his numbers, I hear. Makes up lots of numbers, like you did for Susan.”

“Get out. We’re closed.” She reached to the window and flipped her sign.

Bryce pulled another piece of paper out of his pocket. “I could talk to Tony about the taxes, or you and I could talk about Susan, and Mary, and Sasha, and Vicky, and Barb, and Margie. There are more names here too, all saying you gave them numbers. And that you charged them…” He looked at the paper again, but Jane was pretty sure that was more drama. “They say you charged them a thousand dollars each for the jackpot numbers, but none of them won.”

“Closed. So sorry.” Yana stood up. “Come back tomorrow and talk to Tony. He knows people. Maybe he knows who’s selling numbers. It’s not me.” She looked shaken, but not much. The hints about the taxes bothered her, but standing, she looked stronger, more able to deal with them, despite her short stature and small frame, than she had sitting down.

“I’ll come back tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

“Bring the girl back too. I do a reading. She has something she wants to know.”

“Oh, no…” Jane said. “I don’t do this. I’m a Christian.”

“Yes, yes, bless the baby Jesus, I am too.” Yana made the sign of the cross. “Come back tomorrow. I do a reading and give you all your answers.”

“The Bible teaches that fortune-telling is a sin.” Jane couldn’t think of the verse offhand, not having been trained to minister to this particular community. “So I really can’t.”

“No, no, I’m not telling fortunes. I’m not sinning. I will just read your palm and tell you what God wrote on your hand, see? He answers your big questions.”