Killer Heels: A Plain Jane Mystery: The Plain Jane Mysteries, A Cozy Christian Collection, #8

Chapter One

She’s a prostitution whore. The woman’s face contorted with anger. She’s out to ruin my brother, and I’m not going to put up with it. She slapped a photo on the desk. That’s her. She works 82nd Avenue like a cheap crack tramp. I want photos by this weekend so I can stop the wedding."

Flora Wilson sat at her desk at the Senior Corps of Retired Investigators office across from this woman, and she was not amused.

Jane wasn’t sure how Flora managed to keep her calm. Jane herself was having a very hard time not bursting into laughter. If anyone was a cheap street-walker it was the lady in the office with her bedraggled burgundy curls, mini-skirt, and sharp velvet heels. But despite how she looked, Magda Solomon swore the real hooker was her almost-sister-in-law, Sadie Boss.

And she strips at Knockers, too. Magda jutted her jaw out defiantly. We don’t have strippers in our family. Never had, never will.

Flora picked up the picture. We discussed terms and conditions on the telephone. We can’t promise to prove Sadie Boss is a prostitute or a stripper, but you can hire us for four days of surveillance. We will follow her discretely and provide photos to show how she is spending her time. If she is working as a prostitute or a stripper during that period, we will provide the evidence.

Fine.

If you will step aside with Miranda, my assistant, she has the paperwork for you to sign. Flora pressed the intercom button on her aging phone. The client is ready for you.

Right-oh, Miranda’s voice crackled through the old phone speaker in response. It only took her a moment to come around the corner and collect the client.

You need some experience shadowing people. Flora passed the picture to Jane. You have her picture, her location, and her name. In addition to this being good practice for you, it’s convenient. Boss lives in your neighborhood. Go sit in the back office and search for her online. Find her on Facebook and LinkedIn and see how she represents herself. Then head to her house and see what an evening with Sadie Boss looks like. The exact address is in the paperwork Miranda is getting signed.

Jane considered the photo. Sadie Boss looked wholesome enough. Maybe her shirt was a little low cut, but she didn’t appear to be wearing make-up, her chin length-bob was natural blonde, as far as Jane could tell, and she was sitting on a park bench in the sunshine, with a small dog on her lap. Not exactly what Jane imagined when she heard the words crack, whore, or prostitute.

Miranda carried a file into Flora’s office, her nose twitching in disgust. Have fun with this one.

Flora passed the file to Jane, not commenting on Miranda’s attempt to ignore Jane. This should be everything you need to know. Keep your head down. Keep her in your sights, but don’t be seen. She yawned. This looks to be a perfect training case. A client with suspicions founded entirely on envy. Enjoy.

Jane flipped through the papers. Thanks, I will.

Armed with a cup of coffee, a plate of cheese and crackers, and her laptop, Jane settled down in the back office to research.

Sadie Boss had no LinkedIn account. No big deal. Not everyone did. There were four Sadie Bosses on Facebook, but only one in Portland and she looked to be about fifty, so not the same woman. She scrounged around on Google but found nothing for a Sadie Boss from Portland who looked anything at all like the person she was supposed to follow. The only toehold she could get was a two-year-old obituary for a Sarah Boss, who was survived by, among others, a granddaughter named Sadie Boss. No picture attached.

Jane took a screen cap of the obit and shut her computer. She preferred feet on the ground anyway. Time to go hit up the address that was only a few blocks from her own condo.

Jane started watching Sadie’s house that evening. Her address was a condo on a lower level in a converted office building. The building lacked the charm of the old converted warehouse spaces full of artist that gave the Pearl it’s original reputation of ugly on the outside but filled with beauty. Jane’s own building was called The Wellington, a cheeky reference to its past life as a factory that produced rubber boots. The Wellington was trendy and expensive, whereas Sadie’s building looked as though it had housed personal injury lawyers and insurance agents in the 1980s.

Since she was near home, she took a steel mug of coffee and her Kindle and found a bench with a view of the building. She counted windows and tried to guess which one Sadie Boss might live in, but couldn’t.

The sun lingered in the lightly clouded sky. A couple walked around the corner, hand in hand, arguing about the Starbucks opening across the street. A dog barked a block or so away. Jane had a hard time pretending to read. Either her eyes were on the book and she was pulled into the story or she was looking up and around, not fooling anyone.

The temperature dropped a few degrees as the sun finally set. Jane pocketed her phone and went up to the building. No doorman, no front desk.

Jane decided to go home. Shadowing someone when you didn’t know where to find them was both boring and frustrating.

A loud honking interrupted her walk home. A black Outback—Jane felt a tinge of detectively pride for noting the model—pulled over. The driver, unmistakable with her ragged burgundy hair honked again.

What are you doing here? Magda demanded.

Just checking out her home. Jane squared her jaw. Magda did not need to think she could intimidate her.

Well, that’s stupid. I told you she works at Knockers.

What are you doing here? Jane turned the question.

I came to see my brother. She shifted into park like it was an act of God. "She has convinced him to let her move in This isn’t her home; it’s his."

I’m sorry to hear that. Jane turned to leave.

"You’d better be headed to her place of business. Magda hauled herself out of her car. The sooner you have the evidence I need, the better."

Jane nodded. I have my directions.

Jane was jerked back by the elbow. Don’t you walk out on me. I paid good money for this service and I will have it.

Jane gave her arm a slight twist, putting pressure against Magda’s thumb forcing her to release her grip.

The Senior Corps of Retired Investigators is an excellent service. Jane declared You will get your money’s worth.

A tall woman who looked as much like the picture of Sadie Boss as you possibly could was coming up behind Magda. Jane had a good view of the woman’s boot cut blue jeans, cross trainers, and Portland State University sweatshirt.

Hey, Maggie, coming in to see us? Sadie stopped beside Jane’s client.

Magda’s eyes widened. Her lip snarled. Just for a minute. I want to talk to Thomas.

Stay long enough for coffee at least. Sadie turned to Jane, The more the merrier.

I was just headed home, but thanks.

Sadie’s glance was quick, but Jane had the feeling that her whole person had been registered in some kind of record. And yet, as soon as the icy blue eyes had narrowed, and scanned her, they had gone back to smiling again. Next time then. Sadie put her arm out for Magda, but the future sister-in-law visibly recoiled from the touch. The two walked back to Sadie’s building together, Sadie two steps behind.

Chapter Two

Jane’s cover now blown, and the opportunity to sit and watch the door from the bench ruined by saying she was heading home, she went to her garage. Maybe she could hide in her car and still watch the building.

But the car was gone. Jake must have needed it…maybe the Jag was in the shop? She swore she paid attention when he talked to her, but he talked so much. So, so, so, much. It was hard to pay attention to every single thing he had to say.

She trudged up to her apartment in defeat. Today was not the day to start this mission.

Jake greeted her at the door with a dramatically sad face.

I am so sorry, boo. Seriously sorry. I know how much you loved Suzie.

Excuse me? Jane dropped her coat next to the couch and sat down.

I loved her too. She was as good a little hatchback as you could get.

Do you mean my car?

Yes, of course.

You named my car Suzie?

We needed something to remember her by.

Jane pressed her hands to her eyes. What happened to my car?

I swear by all that is Portland, it was parked in the garage where you left it and some jerk kid with a really big pickup totaled it. While it was parked. In the garage. Security called me, and I had to go deal with it.

Totaled? While parked?

Yes. I swear. I wouldn’t have believed it either. The kid, he came swinging down the turn, lost control and T-boned your parked car. He was going at least nineteen miles an hour in that garage. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but that big old thing right into the side of old Suzie? That’s all it took, and may she rest in peace.

I have a new case. I’m supposed to be shadowing someone tomorrow, Jane stated it as a matter of fact, a problem that needed to be solved.

Then let’s walk down to Jim Fisher Volvo on Burnside and get you something nice.

Jane didn’t respond.

Jake’s job in fundraising and development for a major international non-profit more than met their financial needs, which were few. He had purchased his condo in the Pearl District with cash while he was in college. He had sold some of his shares in the family business to his aunt so he could buy it.

Jane made a little from her own job, and she was constantly being surprised by a nice dividend in her checking account from the same shares in the same family business, the Crawford Family Restaurants. (Now Roly-Poly Burgers and Yo-Heaven Frozen Yogurt.) They were sitting on investments, too, just passively earning more money.

With all of that in mind, she saw no problem walking a few blocks down to the Volvo dealer and buying herself a car. She needed a car. She could afford a car. Deal done. Okay. She stood.

Jake stared at her.

"I need something by tomorrow,