Health, Wealth, and Murder (3 page)

“Sixteen years. He was almost unheard of when I started touring with him.” She sighed.

“He was killed with a knife, I think?”

“Yes, in the melee on stage. After he passed out, he was stabbed. He was supposed to be telling us his visions, but he didn’t. He actually passed out. He tried, I think. Something about a golden throne. It was a first, and maybe the crowd liked it, but it wasn’t in the script.”

Jane scratched her head. “Who do you think killed him?”

Francine opened her mouth to speak, but just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The door rattled.

“Before we get company, or get kicked out, where do you think I should start my inquiries?”

Francine licked her lips, and eyed the window again. “I think you need to start on the inside. But undercover. I want to hire you to be Christiana Malachi’s housekeeper. We’ll have to stay in town for a while, and she’s in a rented house instead of a hotel, so she needs help.” Francine looked Jane up and down, assessing her for the first time. “That’s why I latched onto the idea of you after meeting that girl. Because you could come like a maid while being a detective.”

Jane didn’t like the look of fear and distrust in Francine’s eyes. “Why not just leave it to the police?”

Francine gripped the edge of the table. “Because I will be their first suspect.”

Jane suppressed a grin. Now things were getting interesting.

But the door rattled again, and a short, stocky man with a week’s growth of beard and a big laptop shuffled into the writers’ room. He nodded at Francine, pulled his cap lower to shade his eyes, and found a seat.

Jake leaned against the outer wall, next to the door, reading the
Portland Tribune
. He shook his newspaper, but didn’t acknowledge Jane.

Jane chuckled. Jake, all one hundred forty pounds of him, did not make an intimidating heavy.

Francine took Jane straight to Christiana Malachi’s rental house. A quick glance at the rearview revealed Jake one car behind them. Though she thought he was a bit ridiculous, she appreciated the idea she’d have her own ride home, should she need it.

The Malachi rental house was tucked into a quiet street in the Alameda neighborhood. Francine knocked lightly and let herself in. “Christiana?”

“In here!” Christiana called from the back of the house.

Francine led Jane to a room at the back of the house. Christiana was sunk in a leather recliner, wrapped in a lap quilt. She set her tablet on her knee when Francine and Jane entered. Her thin, blonde-penciled eyebrows drew together. “Is this the maid?”

“Yes, I thought I’d bring her by and introduce her so if you happened to run into her, you’d know who she was.” Francine smiled sympathetically. “We won’t bother you anymore.”

Christiana frowned, deep lines framing her thin lips. “Does she have references?”

“Of course. I’ve got them right here.” Francine patted a clipboard she had tucked under her arm.

Christiana held out her hand, each finger sporting a flashy ring. “Well, let me have it. I’ll want to check all of them.”

Francine let out a little “oh” of pity. “I couldn’t possibly make you do that. Not after all you’ve been through. And the media.” She tilted her head sympathetically.

Christiana rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right.” She sighed. “I can’t call them myself. But…” She lifted her eyebrow. “I want to listen in.” She looked Jane up and down, then turned back to Francine. “Take her away. I don’t have the energy for the calls today.”

Francine gripped Jane’s elbow and led her back outside. “I don’t know when she’ll want to make the calls, but I need you to start immediately. Do you even have cleaning references?” she hissed.

“Yes, of course.” Jane took a deep breath. She had come prepared for almost any challenge, including this one. But watching Francine lie to Christiana within seconds of their meeting didn’t increase Jane’s trust of her client. However, Jane pulled a copy of her reference sheet from her purse. “They’re all legitimate. I’ve been cleaning houses for a few years now.”

Francine sighed, relief washing over her features. “Fine. Great. I’ll try and get her to call with me today. Expect a text from me as soon she’s hired you.” She glanced at the house, shook her head, and then let herself back in.

Jane stood on the doorstep and considered the situation. Whether she got the job or not was up to the widow, no matter how much Francine wanted Jane to get the job.

Down the block, across the street, the Jag flashed its lights at Jane. She ambled over to the car, taking it slowly in case Francine realized she had abandoned her without a ride and popped back out to take her home. Jane would have liked another hour or so alone with Francine to iron out more specifics.

When it was obvious that Francine was not coming back, Jane crossed the street and got in Jake’s car.

“If you’re going to shadow me—for safety’s sake, I know—you might want to do it in something a bit less flashy.”

“I could get a Lotus…”

“Not exactly what I was thinking.”

“What about borrowing my cousin Jeff’s Smart car?”

“Sounds like a
dumb
idea to me.”

“So what’s the good word?” Jake made his way slowly down the street.

“Christiana Malachi is going to check my references, and Francine is going to text me directions.”

“Did the wife do it?”

“I couldn’t say. But Francine thinks the police are going to think she did it, so that’s where I’m going to start.” Jane watched the old Portland houses with their Craftsman front porches and tree-lined sidewalks as they drove past, each house a little piece of history.

“How?”

“Good question…” They turned onto Fremont and passed the little Alameda library. Jane narrowed her eyes. Her school library seemed to have unlimited access to local newspapers from around the country. “I think I just may try and kick it old school on this one.”

Jake hit the brakes. “Don’t.”

“At the library. I think I’ll do a media search for news about Malachi Ministries, and Francine.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Same subject. I thought I’d kick it old school and go to the library to see what I could find.”

“Again. Don’t. Just don’t try and talk street, Jane.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I think I shall try an old-fashioned research trip. Is that better?”

“Not much, but I’ll accept it—for now.”

Jake took her back to school, where she could still make one of her classes, as well as camp out in the university library until she closed in on what Josiah Malachi might have done to make his personal assistant want to kill him.

The text from Francine came at nine thirty that night while Jane was comparing the articles she had printed off at the library to the video clips of Josiah Malachi events on his website.

She had the job, but she couldn’t start until Friday.

She made a note on her calendar and turned back to her video. It seemed to match Francine’s description. Josiah preached, working the crowd up into a bit of a fervor. They were eating out of his hand by the time he sipped the water and started sharing his visions.

The visions surprised Jane. She had expected golden streets, angel armies, pearly gates—things that indicated material and spiritual blessing—but instead, right before the video was smoothly edited to a song and the fainting in the crowd, Josiah Malachi said he saw golden insects crawling around the people.

Insects? In his altered state he had backed away from the mic, and instead of looking beatified with the glorious visions from God, he looked scared.

Jane chewed her lip and considered the video. She paused it and stared at his face. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. Droplets of sweat had sprung out on his forehead. The scene was cut just as he started to turn away. She would have sworn, if anyone had asked her, that he was terrified.

So, why put this video online? It was already two months old, and yet, according to the website, he had had seven other events since that one.

Had his visions just gotten worse since the insects? She went back a few scenes and watched it again.

He
was
terrified of the golden insects, there was no denying it. But if his acid-induced visions weren’t living up to his expectations, why did he keep that part in his script?

She didn’t get it, but then, she didn’t create false spiritual experiences for the sake of bilking needy people of their money, either.

She hadn’t learned anything particular about Francine, except that she was in several shots of the video, and that she was listed as a contact person in one ad.

Overall she was immensely sorry for Josiah—to die in the middle of conning people at a revival did not bode well for his eternity.

Jane sat on the floor in her missional community leader’s apartment, her head leaning against the arm of the overstuffed chair. Her mind was on Francine. Why had Francine never left the Malachi Ministries, since she so clearly did not believe in it any longer? It could be that Malachi knew something about her that he threatened to reveal if she left. But that would imply he had a really big need for her. But then, maybe blackmail was a bit too old fashioned. People didn’t have big secrets they were ashamed of anymore.

What if she had stayed for some more worthwhile reason, like, she had been secretly reaching out to Malachi’s followers, trying to give them the real gospel and real help? Maybe Francine had left some kind of money trail that Jane could follow—returned donations or something like that.

“And Jane, what about you? Anything new to report?” Sean flipped his long brown bangs out of his eyes. He also sat on the rug-covered floor, and knocked Jane’s foot with his Converse-clad foot.

Jane shrugged at her small-group leader. “I’m all over town between work and school, so it’s been hard to make time to connect with my neighbors. However…” She caught Jake’s eye from across the room and smiled. “I did meet my upstairs neighbor last week, and I plan on inviting her to an outreach dinner next time I see her.”

“Cool.” Sean nodded. “Everyone can only do what they can do, but I’m glad to hear you are making progress.”

Jane tuned out again as the rest of her small group reported their successes and frustrations with neighborhood outreach.

Another obvious, but disgusting, reason that Francine could be a realistic suspect would be a love affair. She hated the idea, but it made sense. The media loved it when a religious leader broke his marriage vows. If Josiah had had an affair with Francine, but wasn’t willing to leave his wife for her, Francine could have planned his death out of jealousy.

But if she loved him, would she really want him dead? And was she a good enough actress to act like she disdained Josiah, when in reality she was a cold-hearted, jealous killer?

Jane closed her eyes and pictured Francine. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Modest but perfectly tailored clothes. She could see
cold hearted
. Maybe even
killer
.

But, she didn’t want Francine to be the killer. She really didn’t. Her job was a lot harder if the inside contact was the killer.

Jane bowed her head; the group had started praying. Sean started them out, so they’d be a while. She tried to focus on the community needs, but did take a few minutes to commit her investigation to God. She wanted to honor him, and, if at all possible, help people who had been misled by Josiah Malachi.

Gemma elbowed Jane during the prayer.

Jane looked up. Jake stared her down, mouthing “Your turn.”

She cleared her throat apologetically.

After praying first for her neighbors, and then for the Malachi Ministries family, she was done, but she had meant everything she said, and that was something.

Bags of chips, frozen-but-now-cooked lasagna, and other potluck staples covered the vintage laminate table in Sean’s kit
chen for what they all called “family dinner.” In a way, the missional community–style small group did help fill the need for family that both Jane and Jake had. Sure, Jake had a sister, and Jane’s parents were technically still alive—if early retirement to snowbird paradise could be called living—but Jane was beginning to feel alone in the world. The polish had worn off independence.

Independence
, Jane was learning, could be just another word for loneliness and long hours of hard work.

She piled up a plate of food, glad Jake had brought smoothies for everyone as both of their contributions.

In the crowded living room, despite joining the group to have a surrogate family, Jane and Jake took to a corner and turned their backs on the others.

“What’s the news?” Jake dipped a dinner roll in the soupy lasagna and took a bite.

“I start cleaning for Mrs. Malachi tomorrow. I’m hoping Francine will give me some pointers, what to look for, or where, but I don’t know if I will see her beforehand or not.”

“What have you learned so far?” Jake spoke around a mouthful of food.

Jane sipped her smoothie. Then she caught him up with the fruit of her research. “My first goal,” she said after another long sip of her cold drink, “is to learn who Josiah Malachi worked with on the day to day. Then I can branch out from there. Odds are he knew the killer.”

“How many people were at the event where he died?”

Jane shrugged. “I don’t know. I need to sit down with Francine and get some solid numbers. I want to review the film of the scene when he died. I think, for the most part, the people who rush the stage are plants.”

“So most likely the person who stabbed him was someone who was expected to go on stage at that moment.”

“Seems like it. The cops will sort that out too, I guess. Maybe already have.” Jane scooped a forkful of her lasagna.

“You need a contact in the police. Someone you can turn to with questions like these.”

“If wishes were horses.”

“How hard could it be? You’re a fairly likable person. You’re going legit, too. No more of the ‘maid who accidentally solves crimes’ business.”

“Now I’m an undercover maid who purposefully solves crimes. The police just love that kind of thing, I’m sure.”

“In the last few years you’ve helped bring three murder investigations to their conclusion. Surely in all of that, someone has taken notice of you.”

A handsome, baby-faced police officer with a slight southern drawl came to mind. “There was Detective Bryce…”

“But not him.” Jake frowned and put his hand on Jane’s knee.

She laughed. “He did seem to take to me. Not in that way, dope, but he was, like, kind. And listened. I could maybe call him.”

Jake frowned. “I know I sound like I’m joking, but I wouldn’t go with him. I’d try and connect with someone on this case and then develop a relationship with the cop that could be used for future cases.”

“Because Detective Bryce was cute, young, and single?”

“Pretty much.” He leaned in and kissed her, even though she had just taken a bite of bread.

“What if Detective Bryce is the guy on this case?”

Jake grimaced. “Then I’d better marry you now, while I still can.”

Jane rolled her eyes and took a long drink of her strawberry smoothie.

Sean crouched beside them, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Sean.” Jake scooted over to make room.

“So you’ve found getting connected to your neighborhood to be a challenge, yes?”

“Yup.” Jake leaned against the wall.

“Even harder for you, since you don’t live in this area.”

“True.” Jake nodded.

“There’s something to be said for commitment.” Sean made eye contact with Jane.

She smiled, but hoped he wasn’t getting at what it sounded like.

“When you’re young and you move around a lot, those lasting connections just don’t forge. When it’s time to settle down, these things get a lot easier.” This time he gave Jake the intense eye-contact treatment.

Jake lifted an eyebrow.

“You know where I’m going with this, I can tell.” Sean chuckled and turned back to Jane. “So, what’s holding you back?”

Hints. Innuendo. But always the same. That pressure to get married that seemed to underline all of the church activities she had taken part in after hitting her twenties. “I’m fully committed to outreach, Sean. I swear. I’m just learning how to fit it in with a busy work-and-school life.”

Sean grinned, the crinkles radiating from his eyes when he smiled the only sign that he was pushing forty. “I believe that, for sure. I was thinking of that guy.” He jerked his thumb toward Jake. “Every week you bring Jake with you, which is cool, because he’s a cool guy. But he does live across town.”

Jane gripped the edge of her paper plate.

“Sean, you know I’m d
oing my best to take her off your hands.” Jake smiled one of his lighthearted, disarming smiles.

“It’s not that I’m asking you guys to rush, but…” He rocked back on his heels. “Listen, I care about you guys. But it has sort of come to my attention that you are acting more or less like you are married.”

“What?” Jake leaned forward and frowned.

“You guys come here together, work the same neighborhood together.” He chewed his lip. “Hey, I don’t want to judge, I swear, but I’ve heard that Jane has been staying over.” Sean blushed slightly. “I can’t know what is going on with the two of you, if you don’t tell me. But if you are ready to face life as a pair, then you should make it legit. And if you aren’t…” Sean turned his head slightly and looked in the direction of his wife. “If you aren’t ready to face life as a pair, you should cool it.” He sighed. “I hate convos like this. I really do. They make me feel like a heavy, and that’s not what I want to be.”

“Then don’t be.” Jake lowered his voice.

“Listen, I think you need more…information.” Jane shrugged. The conversation was embarrassing, even though the general noise level in the room meant that no one could hear them. “We’re not…you know. I just…and we’re not, um, pretending to be married, you know?”

“I don’t know. But we have a missional community in Jake’s neighborhood too. You guys are dating, and that’s cool.” He shrugged. “But it’s not marriage. You aren’t part of the same neighborhood, so being in the same missional community doesn’t really make a lot of sense.”

Jake stood up.

Sean did too, and laid his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I don’t want to kick you out of the family, brother. I just need to keep us all on the straight and narrow.” He offered his hand to Jane, to help her up, but she ignored it and stayed seated.

“Listen, guys, there are college groups, singles groups, Sunday school classes. There are a lot of ways to be in fellowship together. But this group…you gotta save something for marriage, you know?”

Jake took a deep breath. “Are you saying that only married people can be in your missional community?”

Sean laughed. “No! Not at all.”

A rock had settled in Jane’s stomach. She couldn’t digest this conversation. She slowly stood up and spoke, her voice low and calm. “He’s saying that you need to go to your own neighborhood missional community if you want to do this, not mine. Unless I marry you and you move into the apartment. He’s not saying it to be mean, or strict, or anything, because above all else, Sean is cool. He’s saying it for our own good, to keep us pure.” While she spoke she collected her bag and jacket. She picked up her barely touched paper plate and made her way to the kitchen, where she dumped it into the compost bin.

She walked out of the apartment without looking back to see what Sean might say, or if Jake was following her.

So far, the interference of well-meaning church leaders in her love life was her very least favorite thing in the church, and the one thing most likely to make her abandon the whole mess.

Not God, though. Just
church.