Still Stuck!

Will Janelle and Ben ever get out of this elevator? Our story continues in…

Chapter Thirteen

Forty-five minutes later, Janelle sat beside Ben Thorne on the floor of the elevator and held her flashlight upright. The beam shed a circle of light on the car’s ceiling. After trying several phone numbers, Ben finally got in contact with Rod Madison, the elevator repairman.

Janelle was tired of waiting. The excitement of being imprisoned with the handsome boss who barely noticed her had worn off long ago. She was glad her father was out of town on a new case. He wouldn’t be worried that she was late coming home.

But being stuck in an elevator with Ben did have an advantage—it was the perfect setup to discover what he thought of his father’s murder.

         Ben snapped his phone shut. “Okay, Rod will be here in twenty minutes.” He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “We should have taken the stairs.”

         “Well, how did we know the elevator was going to die?”

         “How did we know?” Ben looked at her.

Even in the semi-dark his eyes looked incredibly blue. Janelle’s heartbeat began a slow but steady march in her chest.

 “It’s been terminally ill for a week, and Helga never called Rod.” Ben unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and started rolling it up. “Helga probably wanted to save money, but I knew someone would get stuck in here, and of course it would be me.” He rolled up the other sleeve.        

Janelle nodded, her pulse returning to normal. How could she ask him about the murder? So, who do you think killed your dad? No good. She needed a natural lead-in.

Trying to appear casual, she traced the top of the door with the flashlight’s beam. “Maybe Helga didn’t call the repairman because she’s been stressed out lately, you know, with—uh, with your dad’s murder and all. And Helga has her theory about that—she thinks Corrine killed him.”

         Ben glanced at her, then leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “She does, huh?”

         Okay, that wasn’t very natural, but at least they were on the subject now. “What do you think? Did Corrine kill him?”

         He shrugged. “Sheriff Horton says we don’t have enough evidence to pin the murder on Corrine.”

         “I know Sheriff Horton.”

         “You do?”

         She nodded. “My dad worked at the Greenvale sheriff department for years as a deputy before he retired. My sister and I went to all the department events and Christmas parties. We knew everyone there.”

         Ben raised his eyebrows. “Has Sheriff Horton ever solved a murder case before?”

         “I don’t think so. Murders in Greenvale are few and far between.”

He sighed. “Thank goodness for that.” He closed his eyes.

“In fact, the last murder occurred about twelve years ago—before Sheriff Horton was elected. Dad got bored being a deputy, so he retired early. He loves solving murder cases, and I inherited that interest from him.”

Ben cracked open an eye to look at her then closed it again.

He certainly wasn’t the talkative type. “Dad started his own private company, Weaver Investigation Services, and now he has two employees. They take cases all over the United States.”

Janelle gazed at Ben’s handsome profile. Why didn’t he say something? She sighed. He was forcing her to ask questions. “So, uh, do you have any theories about the murder?”

“Nope.” His eyes remained closed.

She shone the flashlight on the wall, creating lazy circles with the light. “You’re not suspicious about anyone?”

“I want to know more than anything who killed my dad.” He glanced at her. “But I think we should let the sheriff and his deputies handle it. They’re trained for that sort of thing.”

“True, but I know about these investigations. If the murderer isn’t found right away, within the first few days, the case might never be solved. I mean, look at this case—it’s been three weeks.” She lifted her hands, causing the light to bounce around. “The trail is getting cold!”

Ben gazed at her, as if deep in thought.

She had to convince him. “That’s where I can be helpful, Mr. Thorne. I can ask questions, snoop around, gather facts. Then we’ll put all the facts together and come up with the murderer.”

Ben stared at her another second, and then that slow smile appeared. It was only the second time Janelle had seen him smile, and she was thankful she was sitting down.

“You make it sound easy,” he said.

“No, it’s difficult.” In fact, concentrating on the subject was downright difficult with Ben Thorne looking at her like that. “But someone has to snoop around.”

“Is that what you were doing when I saw you drive by Hillaker’s Restaurant? Snooping around?”

Janelle’s lips parted. At least he didn’t know she was inside. “Well, you see, I was driving—”

“Corrine said she saw you leave the dining room.”

The game is up! “Okay—I was there.”

“Snooping, huh?” The smile lingered. “So you already started your own investigation.”

“Well…" How embarrassing.

His smile faded. “What have you learned so far?”

“Not much. Basically, the only info I have is from Helga.” And Aunt Ida, who was not much help, but Janelle couldn’t tell Ben she was snooping at his house.

He leaned back against the wall. “I’m not surprised Helga thinks Corrine killed my dad. Helga always hated her.”

“I guessed that.”

“Of course, Helga hated my dad, too.”

“Really?” Janelle set down the flashlight and removed the notebook from her purse. “She told me the murder weapon—the bra—was made by Corrine’s Lingerie.”

“Yeah. Funny thing…”

Janelle poised her pen over the paper, ready to write, but Ben seemed lost in thought. “Funny thing about what?”

He stirred. “The sheriff had the bra analyzed. It had been laundered about forty times, although how they came up with that­—"

“Oh! That’s revealing!” Janelle scribbled her thoughts on the paper.

“Revealing? You mean, the bra?” Ben chuckled.

This was one embarrassing conversation. “No, the fact that it was washed. Do you know what that means, Mr. Thorne?”

He frowned. “It was clean?”

Janelle’s heartbeat picked up. Had she discovered new evidence? “I had pictured Corrine grabbing a bra box to do the job—just any size. But if the bra in question was laundered, someone had worn it. And since it was laundered repeatedly, that means it belonged to someone.”

Ben squinted. “And it probably belonged to the murderer. That makes sense.”

“Now.” Janelle wrote down her thoughts. “Helga is much larger than a 38B, but Corrine might wear that size.” She glanced at Ben.

His face tinged red.

Warmth flooded her own face. She hardly knew this guy, and they were discussing women’s bra sizes. “Uh, are there any other women who are suspects?”

The color drained from his face. “My mom.”

Janelle drew in a sharp breath.

“Hullo up there!” a male voice echoed from the heart of the building.

“The repairman!” Ben moved to the three-inch opening. “Rod, is that you?”

“Yep! I’m in the basement. Hang on! I’ll bring you down.”

“Thanks!” Ben moved back to sit beside Janelle. “Miracles never cease. You know, I’d like to keep discussing this with you.” His blue eyes gazed at her. “Would you go out to dinner with me when we get out of here?”

“I’d love to!” Miracles never cease, indeed!

Thankfully, she was sitting down.

* * *

Until tomorrow…