Sasha Henry phoned while Jane was still in the shower, a fact Jake used to his advantage.
“My eyes are closed, I promise.”
“GET OUT!” Jane poked her head around the shower curtain but held it against herself with an iron grip.
“Trust me, you want this interruption. Maybe not as much as I do, but you want it.” He held up her phone and waggled it a little.
“Jake.” Jane took a deep breath. “Get out of my bathroom.”
“It’s the Henry woman, but if you don’t want to talk to her, I can.”
Jane shut off her water. “I think I hate you.” She reached for the phone with one hand, but kept the shower curtain tight in her hand.
Jake pulled the phone back, just a tad.
Jane gritted her teeth.
“Kidding.” Jake set the phone on the bathroom counter and left, shutting the bathroom door behind him.
“Sasha? This is Jane Adler. Thanks for returning my call.”
“Not at all. You’re Nancy Adler’s girl? The one who cleans houses?”
“Yes, that’s me.” Jane sat on the edge of the bathtub, shivering. Her towel hung from the hook on the door, but she was afraid of messing up the phone call, so she didn’t grab it.
“What can I do for you?” Sasha’s voice was raspy and emotional. “You said you wanted to talk about Michelle?”
“I do, if you don’t mind.” Jane had a reason for the conversation all lined up, but a twinge of guilt struck her as she was about to say it. It was mostly a lie. “I, uh…” She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t lie. “I am a criminal justice student, and I’m hoping to help with the investigation of this case.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but if you are willing to talk to me, I’d appreciate it so much.” An overwhelming sense of foolishness, exacerbated by her cold, wet, and naked state, replaced the feeling of guilt.
“A student? Would this be for a school project?” There was more than a hint of disgust in Sasha’s voice.
“Oh, no. Not at all. But…I was there that night, you see. And my cousin and one of my best friends put on the event, so all of us are really…affected by it. Since I’m learning how to investigate crimes, it seemed like talking to you might sort of help us all as we processed what happened.”
“I see.” The disgusted tone was gone, but all that was left was a weariness.
“Are you free to meet for coffee?” Jane crossed her fingers.
“Why don’t you come by and see me around seven?”
“That would be fine. Thank you so much for taking a little time for me.” Jane exhaled slowly. Maybe when she was a real detective, this would be easier. She got Sasha’s address and let her go. She had enough time to make a casserole for the funeral, if she ran straight to the store.
When she got back from the store, she assembled the casserole ingredients. Rice, frozen vegetables, pregrated cheese, cans of soup, croutons, a bag of frozen chicken breasts. She could make something with this, surely.
She dug around in her cupboards for a big glass dish like her mom used for casseroles, but they didn’t seem to have one. They did have a big soup pot though, so she grabbed it.
The rice and soup part made sense, just put the soup in the pot and then throw the rice in.
She stared at the bag. How much rice? Maybe the whole bag? She weighed it in her hand. It felt kind of heavy. Maybe just, like, one can of rice. She dumped the two cans of cream of mushroom soup in the pot and then added about a can’s worth of rice. Frozen veg was easy. Just dump it in with the rice.
The chicken was a problem. The chicken breasts were frozen solid and she couldn’t cut them.
She got a bigger knife.
She leaned with all her weight on the butcher knife and managed to cut the chicken breast in half. Maybe the microwave would help. She put the whole sack of frozen chicken breasts in to defrost for two minutes.
“Making dinner?” Gemma came out of her bedroom and joined Jane in the kitchen.
Jane took a deep breath. She had so much she ought to say to Gemma, but until a better moment came, she needed to stick to the mundane. “It’s for Michelle White’s funeral.”
“Will there be extra?”
“Probably not.” The microwave beeped, so Jane took the chicken out. It wasn’t floppy like it was supposed to be, but it was softer and easier to cut. She cut three of the chicken breasts into little squares and dumped them in the pot. She stirred it, and then dumped the whole bag of grated cheese into it.
“What is for dinner then?”
“I’m not your mommy.” Jane opened the bag of croutons and poured them on the casserole, too. She stuck the pot in the oven, handle towards the door, so it would be easier to take out when it was done. She checked the clock…the Henrys lived across town, on the west side. If she calculated for traffic, she would need…shoot. She turned the stove up to five hundred degrees. That should get it cooked in time for her to leave.
“I think it’s your turn.” Gemma pulled off her elastic headband and ran her fingers through her bobbed hair.
“To make dinner? Since when do we take turns making dinner?”
“I made dinner for you last Sunday,” Gemma said.
“Take-and-bake pizza. If you can wait until I get home, I’ll bring you one.” Jane chewed her bottom lip. She should give herself an hour to get there. Highway 26 was always a disaster during rush hour. She clicked the stove up to 515. She didn’t have time to mess around.
“You know what we could do…” There was a mischievous lilt in Gemma’s voice. Jane decided to ignore it. “We could order in.” Gemma winked and dialed her phone.
Jane sat at the breakfast bar drumming her fingers. If a casserole took, what…an hour, at a normal temperature, surely at 515, hers would be done in half an hour? Half an hour was more than enough time. She could even get lost on her way.
The timer went off for the casserole.
Jane looked up from her computer. She’d just check one more thing, then take it out. She sniffed. It didn’t smell like she thought it would.
While considering what the smell reminded her of, the front door popped open.
“Ladies. I don’t do this for just anyone, I want you to know. And I have to say, I don’t think hamburgers twice a day is good for you.” Jake set a recycled-paper drinks carrier on the counter next to Jane. “So I brought the New Year’s Cookie smoothies—or as the media has been calling them, the smoothies of death.”
“They have not, Jake.” Gemma rolled her eyes.
“They will. Anyway, I threw in some extra protein powders and some powdered veg. A meal in a cup.”
“Gem…” Jane sipped her drink. “You ‘ordered’ dinner from Jake?”
Gemma shrugged. “All our munchies needs, just a text message away.”
“What stinks in here?” Jake asked.
“My attitude.” Jane sighed. “Roommates are always a challenge.”
“What you need is a husband. They’re easy as smoothies.”
“Easy as the smoothies of death? Sign me up.” Jane took a deep breath. “Wait, I smell it, too. What is that?”
“It smells like someone doesn’t know how to cook.” Jake picked up a soup can. “Do you know how much MSG is in these?”
“I don’t know how to cook. But how can casserole smell like that?” Jane gagged. She wouldn’t want to eat a dinner that smelled like a burnt tire, much less give it to someone for a funeral.
“Casseroles can’t smell like that. Why are you cooking a casserole at five hundred and fifteen degrees? Are you trying to burn your house down?” Jake clicked the light on to see inside the stove. “Oh, Jane. Really?”
“What?”
“Plastic handles in a really hot oven? For a casserole?”
Jane exhaled through tight lips, making a pffft sound. “So, that’s not right?”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t kill us all when we were living together.”
“We were not ‘living together,’ Jake.”
“Potatoes, potahtoes.” Jake turned the oven off. “Just leave it there until the tenth of never. Don’t open it. Don’t touch it. Trust me. You don’t want to open that oven.”
Jane reached around him and pulled the oven open. Smokey, burnt-plastic air enveloped her.
“You don’t like to listen, do you?”
“I can’t have it start on fire.” She grabbed a dishrag for each hand and yanked the pot out. One hand sizzled, since the dishrag was wet. The other hand squeezed the hot plastic handle like it was Play-Doh. “Ouch!” She dropped the pan. Hot “casserole” spilled across the floor and splattered the cupboard doors, and her pants.
She kicked the pan.
“Calm down, champ. Spilled milk’s not worth crying over.”
“It’s not milk. It’s goodwill to soften my contact toward me, and a pan I ruined.” Jane leaned back against the sink and looked at her mess.
“Well, at least you didn’t let it catch fire.” Jake jumped onto the counter and sat like it was a stool. “How do you clean a mess like this, Jane Adler, professional housecleaner?”
Gemma leaned on her elbows next to Jake. “Yeah, how do you clean that?” She sipped her smoothie. “Yumm. Thanks.”
“Someone appreciates me around here.”
Gemma bumped his elbow with hers.
Jake jumped off the counter again. “You’re running out of time, Janey. I’ll clean that mess up, and you can change into something less toxic.”
Jane looked from the mess to Jake and back again. He was right—a thing she was getting a little sick of—she didn’t have time to clean up the chunks of chicken, and rice, and soup, and everything else, and still make it to the Henry house for her first-ever intentional investigation.
Ten minutes later—how had the soupy mix gotten into her hair?—she was ready to go. Bleachy rags and tuition fees hadn’t been good to her wardrobe, but she had a button-down shirt that still had all of its buttons and a pair of jeans with only two bleach splatters down by the ankle. She looked, if not professional, at least tidy.
The kitchen was spotless, and so was Jake. She didn’t want to get caught up in one of his lengthy, rambling conversations, so she just waved as she left.
He followed her.
“Safety in numbers, Jane. I don’t want to hear a word against it.”
Jane didn’t speak. She let herself into her car and smacked the lock button so he couldn’t join her.
He knocked on the window. “Plus,” he exaggerated the shape of his words though she could hear him just fine, “you told her you wanted to help us all come to terms with what happened. Doesn’t make sense for you to go alone.” He lifted his eyebrow.
She turned the key. Her engine growled into life.
“And, if you back out, you’ll run over my foot.” He pointed down.
Apparently he had stuck his foot under her front wheel. She was tempted to drive anyway.
“If the Henrys slit your throat and toss you in the Willamette, I could never forgive myself.”
Jane counted to ten. Again, he had a point. Not that she didn’t trust the mom of a Facebook friend she had never met, but knew because someone else knew them in real life…but there were freaks in the world. After all, she was headed there to investigate the murder of this woman’s friend.
Jane drummed her fingers on her steering wheel. This woman had brought Michelle White to the party. Someone had been standing near enough to White to stab her without making her question why the person was standing so close. Sasha Henry wasn’t just a source. She was a murder suspect.
Jane made a fist and hit the door lock button again. “Get in.”
Jake slid across the hood of the car, popped open the passenger door, and climbed in. “Well, what are you waiting for?”