GRAVE NEW WORLD

JANE LADLING MYSTERY SERIES

GENA SHOWALTER

JILL MONROE

Copyright © 2024 by Author Talk Media LLC

All rights reserved. In accordance of the U.S. Copyright Act of 1975, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover Created by Leni Kauffman

Editing by AZ Editing

Proofreading by Naomi Lane

Chapter Header by kytalpa through DepositPhotos

Ornamental Breaks by CRStocker through CreativeFabrica

* * *

This book is dedicated to you! Thank you for going on this cozy mystery journey with us!

Special thanks to Naomi Lane.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About Gena Showalter

Also by Gena Showalter

About Jill Monroe

Also by Jill Monroe

CHAPTER ONE

Conflict ruins a good book. It’s stressful. Give your readers a peaceful escape.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

“Now stretch your arms and wave hello to our beautiful sky,” Jane Ladling said as she demonstrated from her textured, seafoam green mat. Though she’d posted an online ad and invited the entire town to participate in her newest venture, hoping to garner a monthly membership income, only her closest friends had shown up. A true travesty. Graveyard yoga might be the greatest idea anyone anywhere had ever entertained. “Now wave goodbye.”

This was the last Saturday in March, and it deserved a nice send off.

Her bangs fell into her eyes, and she blew them off her forehead. So annoying! She wished she’d let the fringe grow out, but nooo, she’d had to indulge in a moment of uncertainty and cut them again. Once she saw properly, she surveyed the morning participants as they heeded her instructions. Affection overflowed in her heart.

There was Fiona Lawrence, her sixty-three-year-old bestie, knitting partner, and national treasure. Then came Tiffany Hotchkins, a distant relative, widow, former nemesis, and now a long-term roommate. Plus, Beauregard “Beau” Harden, Jane’s dearest childhood buddy, and the head of safekeeping here at Garden of Memories, a landlocked cemetery in the idyllic small town of Aurelian Hills, Georgia.

Her favorite cohorts, Trick, Isaac, and Holden had been forced to leave the morning festivities early for a job. They worked with Beau at Peach State Security and considered Jane their casserole dealer. She fed their addiction, and in return they helped her catch murderers as necessary. Her absolute favorite hobby. Honestly, she was quite the busy honorary detective with an extensive list of solves. Okay, so, four solves. Still. Her talent spoke for itself. She rocked mysteries. Not that everyone cheered her (amazing) skills.

Today she’d set up her yoga studio in the reflection center, a tranquil courtyard boasting concrete benches and tables, with room to walk and, well, reflect. Or pose and reflect. Sunlight glowed through the budding trees surrounding the center’s outer edges. Soon wisteria and gardenias would bloom and scent the air.

A gentle breeze kicked up, not too hot, not too cool. An ideal day to enjoy nature while feigning an expert knowledge about proper breathing and stretching. Also, she wore the perfect outfit for this type of activity. A soft blush pink tank top adorned with peach blossoms and leggings of sage green with an overdone wild botanical print. On the other hand, could nature’s elegance ever be overdone?

“So far we’ve completed Soul’s Embrace, Corpse Pose and Enter the Light Flow,” Beau said, unaware of the fact that his shirt had ridden up, revealing a mid-section packed with an impressive array of tan muscles. The blond war vet clearly worked out for multiple hours every day, and probably even in his dreams. “What’s the name of this particular position?”

“I’m inclined to refer to it as Clean Slate,” she replied. A new day meant a new chance to shine.

“My slate is clean, I swear. Spotless even. Can we be done now?” Tiffany pressed her hands together, forming a steeple. The classic please give me what I want stance. “Fiona promised to make blueberry pancakes if I completed the class without running away and screaming.”

Fiona’s blueberry pancakes? Jane’s mouth instantly watered. For such a culinary delight, she’d do just about anything. Even end her one-of-a-kind routine before she’d gotten to show off her closing pose: the Final Nail.

“Class dismissed,” she all but shouted. Her stomach demanded the sweet treat immediately. There was no better food in the world. Except maybe Conrad Ryan’s cinnamon sugar French toast.

A moan slipped from Jane’s lips. For the food, yes, but also the man. Conrad Ryan happened to be the best sheriff ever to sheriff in the history of sheriffing, and her fiancé. The dreamy lawman had rang her at six a.m. to invite her to lunch in his new office, and she was already breathless with anticipation.

Her gaze dropped to the world’s most perfect engagement ring, and she grinned. The band, forged from the very gold once mined from the nearby Georgia hills, bore subtle engravings reminiscent of the hedgerows that lined multiple sections of the Garden. At its heart gleamed a stunning sapphire, the deep blue hue reflecting the serene skies above these beloved grounds. Surrounding the gem, tiny diamonds sparkled in clusters that reminded her of floral arrangements. Homage to her devotion and care for this sacred space she called home, as well as the bright future awaiting her.

Jane would never regret proposing to Conrad on Valentine’s Day. After giving her a soul-rocking kiss, he’d revealed the ring he’d purchased soon after their first date, yanked her against him and spun her around, laughingly telling her, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes” like any suitable Jane Austen heroine.

Some of the town’s people thought they were moving too fast, as evidenced by the smattering of posts Jane had read on the Headliner, the best source for community updates, either online or in print. In between speculation about the magical, cure-all ingredient in the chicken noodle soup from Daisy’s Diner and the identity of an unnamed local man who’d supposedly won a ton of money in the lottery, she discovered references to the new sheriff needing to take time to date around before settling down with “Cemetery Girl.”

Had she and Conrad met a little less than a year ago? Yes. Had she run from her feelings for him in the past? Also yes. Was she at war with a self-fulfilling, generational love curse? For sure.

Fall in love and lose the guy. Marry him and watch him die.

But Jane had decided. Never again would she make a decision based on fear, the curse’s sole power source. In turn, joy proved to be its greatest weakness. She wanted Conrad, and so she would have him. No one gave her more joy. The curse didn’t stand a chance.

You’ll regret this, the curse whispered in the back of her mind.

Jane didn’t hesitate. Zip it, liar. I’ll regret nothing!

“Ugh. She’s staring at the ring and smiling again,” Tiffany muttered, earning a merry laugh from Fiona. “We’ll have to wait another hour for her to regain her senses. At least! And I don’t understand why. I’ve been married once and engaged twice, but I never looked at my rings the way she does.”

Jane forced herself to focus. Because pancakes. “To the house we go!”

Beau and Fiona chuckled while the widow pumped her ringless fist in the air and jumped with excitement. Together, their foursome hiked over the rolling hills until reaching a cobblestone path. The family cottage came into view. A two-story beauty with a wrap-around porch and windows bracketed by blue shutters. The protesting wooden steps and creaking screen door created music she’d enjoyed even as a little girl.

Inside, Jane scanned the living room for Rolex, her precious fur-child and incomparable guard cat. No sign of him, but as always when she entered her childhood home, memories of Grandma Lily and Pops overwhelmed her. Each piece of furniture sang with their history. From the crushed orange velvet couch to the scarred end tables now covered with metal dies, a hand crank embossing machine and weeding tools. Bits of colorful paper were scattered over the hardwood floor.

Tiffany had a new hobby of her own. Card making.

Fiona, a frequent guest at the cottage, went straight to the kitchen to get started on those cakes. Tiffany got busy picking up the fallen papers. Beau sank onto the couch to answer business emails. When Rolex made his grand entrance, trotting around a corner, he aimed directly for Tiffany. The widow scooped him up and gave him all the kisses he desired. And he desired many, apparently. He purred and soaked up the attention.

Jane felt as if a million needles knifed her entire body, and she wasn’t exaggerating or being dramatic. To see her first fur-child grow into a gorgeous young man mature enough to gift his affections to another woman, well, it was as awful as it was wonderful. Her heart overflowed with love, joy and hurt. What about me?

“I have a meeting in town after breakfast, followed by lunch with Conrad,” she announced, walking over to shower Rolex with her kisses. If cats could blush with embarrassment and give their mothers a look, he did. “Since no one needs me–” she paused, waiting, but no protests erupted. Very well. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry. Rolex and I will be great,” the widow said without a care. “Right, sugar pie?”

Sugar pie? As if such a distinguished gentlecat would ever agree to such a squishy nickname.

“What meeting?” Beau asked, frowning at Jane. “And why did your tone go all super villainy when you mentioned it?”

“Don’t be silly. My tone was as sweet as usual. And I’ll tell you all about the meeting tomorrow.” So far, she’d only told Conrad. Her friends would insist on coming, and she was nervous enough already.

Amid Beau’s groans and protests, Jane made her way upstairs. She shut herself in her room, showered, and donned a three-quarter sleeve fit and flare dress that provided lasting coverage in case the temperature dropped. March in Georgia was fickle. To complete the look, she grabbed a hat. The trim around the brim matched the lilac print of her dress. Perfect, yes, but was it perfect enough?

The most astounding thing had happened. Jane recently received a fancy gold embossed invitation to speak at a hush-hush murder mystery book club for writers. The gig came with a promise of twenty dollars! Considering she might be the foremost unofficial detective around here, well, she was obviously going to dazzle.

They probably hoped she would share trade secrets. The whole town must wonder how Jane had solved the murder of the doctor. And the journalist. Then the attorney. And the deputy. She’d even found her however-many-greats grandfather’s body and proved her however-many-greats grandmother did the deed. Death was Jane’s business, after all, and lately business had been good. Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

In reality, Garden of Memories had welcomed no new residents for years. No new steady income streams, either. She operated on a small family trust. With an unforgettable wedding to finance, Jane needed all the extra cash she could get. She planned to save where she could, of course. Wear Grandma Lily’s dress. Say the vows here at the Garden. Use the flowers cultivated on the grounds. But Rolex, the ring bearer, and Cheddar, the flower boy slash Conrad’s corgi, deserved designer tuxes. And what food should she serve at the reception? Someone had to pay for the ingredients.

Eek! One question led to others. Who should walk Jane down the aisle? Not her father, who hadn’t cared enough to call her in forever. Not that it bothered her. Nope. Not even a little.

What about Beau? No, he couldn’t walk her down the aisle and be a bridesmaid. Decisions, decisions. Which must be made soon.

She and Conrad agreed to move quickly. To rip off a bandage, so to speak. But in a good way. Mainly so she wouldn’t get scared and bolt. Not that she would. When she made up her mind, she never, ever, ever changed it more than a few times. It was just, even though she had overcome a lot in their time together, the past sometimes reared its ugly head, reminding her of the childhood rejection by her parents. How she’d been plagued by a love curse most of her life. Spent years friendless when Beau moved out of state. Though she’d always had her precious Fiona, who’d helped her when she’d lost her beloved Pops and Grandma Lily.

Jane blinked back tears and swiped up her cell phone. This wasn’t a day for sadness but celebration. Oh! Texts from Conrad, Wyatt his foster brother, and Susan, the boys’ favorite foster mother.

Agent Spice: If you bring the leftover peach BBQ chicken casserole, I’ll unbutton the top of my shirt and roll up my sleeves so you can leer at me.

Her pulse raced. A peek at his chest… a prolonged glance at those strong, tattooed forearms with a light dusting of dark hair… She fanned her cheeks, then typed, Deal! Now stop distracting me.

Before she got lost staring at her ring again, she forced her attention to Wyatt’s message.

Why Guy: Did Conrad tell you the great news? I’m his best man! That means the bachelor party is my baby. But I gotta know my hard limits for the “camping” trip I’m planning.

Camping? And why put the word in quotes? Whatever the answer, Jane barely suppressed a full body shudder. Already her mind filled with images of deadly spiders, hungry bear and vengeful snakes. Her response should probably wait until after she’d pondered how best to say IF MY BELOVED RETURNS COVERED IN TICKS, I WILL MURDER YOU AND NOT EVEN CONRAD WILL BE ABLE TO SOLVE THE CASE without sounding violent or mean. Moving on.

MommaSue: I’m guessing you and Conrad weren’t the mysterious lottery winner of Aurelian Hills, so I entered your name into one or two, just a handful really, wedding raffles and such. No biggie. Hope you don’t mind.

Jane fired off a meaningful note of appreciation to the dear woman. And when had Susan started hanging out on the Headliner? Whatever. Jane shot a quick, final text to Conrad, who didn’t need to date around to know his heart, thank you.

By the way, you love me SO MUCH. In case you didn’t realize.

His reply came only a few seconds later.

Agent Spice: Sweetheart, the love I have for you cannot be measured. It is infinite, and I’ll prove it.

Jane: With a poem?

The world’s most romantic form of communication.

Agent Spice: Roses are red, violets are blue. Bring me the casserole and make my life whole. How’s that? Also, stop reading the Headliner.

See? Dreamy. Grinning, Jane grabbed her purse, stuffed her phone, the club invitation, and her wedding journal inside, then gave her wide-brimmed hat a tweak. A plan formed as she made her way downstairs. Enjoy pancakes with her dearest friends, attend her cool new writer’s club, wowing everyone with her expertise, then brainstorm the most brilliant non-yoga ideas for making money at a cemetery before astounding Conrad with details about each.

This was going to be an amazing day. She was sure of it.

* * *

This day sucked.

Jane stood before the entrance to the Treasure Room, hat in hand, after the wind tried to steal it with another sudden gust. On the drive over, she’d gotten stuck behind Raylon Thomas, who refused to go over the speed of nineteen miles an hour. She’d almost turned around and gone home after getting trapped in an honest to goodness traffic jam in front of the Golden Food Market. How could she have forgotten this was double coupon day? Now, she discovered the sign on the tea shop door read CLOSED. Had she mistaken the date of the meeting?

She was only six minutes early, rather than the planned and polite twenty-five, but… She checked her invitation. Nope. Today. She tested the knob. Unlocked. Hmm. Should she enter? Shouldn’t she?

Not knowing what else to do, she texted Conrad.

If I were invited inside a building at a certain time, but the window sign says closed and the door is unlocked, is it technically illegal to enter? No, don’t answer that.

“Better that I not know,” Jane muttered. She stored her phone and entered. A bell tinkled overhead as she examined the area. She expected to see the owner, Hannah Thorton, behind the counter, creating tasty treats. But the eclectically cozy shop was empty.

Shelves lined the store’s walls, each filled with jars of tea leaves or knickknacks made by some of the most creative crafters of Aurelian Hills. Scents of vanilla, lavender and zesty citrus hung in the air, and she breathed deep.

“Hannah?” Jane called, scanning. No sign of the now strawberry blond with her trademark messy bun. No sign of book club members, either. “Ms. Thorton?”

Silence stretched. Should she leave? Stay? Would her audience arrive any second, just as confused as Jane?

After waiting a few more seconds, she adjusted her purse and strolled deeper into the space. Her low heel pumps clacked against the tile. Where could everyone be? Oh! Duh. The top-secret room of course.

During Jane’s last murder investigation, she’d learned Hannah reserved a private space for select, high-profile members, of which Jane herself had never been. But. This was a special occasion, and she was most likely the guest of honor.

Head high, she closed in on the tall bookshelf. Mimicking Hannah, she gave a solid push. Yes! A portion of the shelf opened, providing a doorway. As she sailed inside, she wondered if she should start her speech with a joke. Cemeteries are so popular, people are always dying to get in.

Delicate piano music played over a hidden speaker, greeting her. Excited, and yes, more nervous, Jane blinked to adjust to the dimmer lighting. Her steps halted when she spotted the shattered remains of antique teapots. Broken cups littered the floor with sharp shards of porcelain. A vase the color of midnight had crashed, too, leaving crushed, pale rose petals in a spilled pool. Someone had attempted to soak up half the water with starched cloth napkins.

A small bowl of food and water waited under a side table in back. A litter box occupied the far corner. Hannah had a cat? Hmm. Surely a purrfect little kitty or two couldn’t have created this mess.

“Hannah?” At last Jane caught sight of her hostess. Relief washed over her. “There you are.” The Aurelian Hills entrepreneur who’d meshed a craft store, tearoom, and book nook into one of the town’s favorite spots sat in a hand carved Queen Anne chair at the sole dining table, slumped over with her cheek resting on a plate. Stealing a quick nap before the meeting? Needing a quiet moment before tackling the mess?

Jane closed the distance, approaching the older woman’s side—only to skid to a halt.

Her eyes went wide. No! No, no, no. Not again. She shook her head. But the scene remained the same. A blood splattered candlestick rested beside Hannah’s arm, which draped across a stack of papers. In her half-open hand lay a small envelope.

The envelope’s color gave Jane pause. A deep, rich purple. The same purple envelopes used in the previous case.

Plagued by tremors, Jane reached out and pressed two fingers into the hollow of Hannah’s neck. Please be a pulse. Please!

But there wasn’t.

Jane’s shoulders slumped. Was Hannah…murdered? Maybe. Probably.

Stomach churning, Jane turned her focus inward. She let facts sprout thick limbs inside her mind, forming a wall to keep the worst of her emotions at bay. This wasn’t the time to panic or cry, but to do what she did best. Examine the scene and photograph as much evidence as possible as she waited for Conrad to arrive. But first, she needed to call him.

She withdrew her cell from her purse and—gasped. Her friend, Lucy Chang, darted out from behind a wall tapestry, her expression fearful, and her mouth wide open, as if she prepared to scream.

A second later, a sharp pain exploded in the back of Jane’s skull. Her knees crumbled and her world went dark.

CHAPTER TWO

One adjective enhances. Five elevates.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

“Jane. Jane, can you hear me?”

A familiar voice yanked Jane from a sea of sweet nothingness into a beam of too harsh light. She blinked rapidly, attempting to shoo away the unwanted illumination. The opposite occurred, more and more shadows thinning. Soon she became cognizant of a dull ache in her head. Ow, ow, ow!

A face crystalized in front of her, and she frowned. Uh… Why was Christopher Wellington, her fireman ex-boyfriend, decked out in full uniform, hovering over her as she sprawled on the floor? And why were they inside the secret Treasure Room hideaway?

“Can you hear me?” he repeated. Concern knitted his brows together. A well-worn helmet perched atop his head, and the scent of smoke clung to him, as if he carried evidence of the past fires he’d tamed.

She tried to sit upright, but he held her down as gently as possible. “Whoa. Easy, Jane.”

Still, she struggled. “What…how?”

“You must’ve passed out when you found the–” He went quiet and breathed deep. Being the professional he was, he quickly rebounded. His striking hazel eyes assessed her for injury. “You were unconscious when we arrived, and there’s a nasty bump on the back of your head. At least the rest of you seems to be in good working order.” His relief was palpable. “We’ll get you to Pinetum Regional, though, where they can run tests and scans to make sure nothing’s out of whack.”

She’d passed out? But why? Jane darted her gaze, taking everything in, trying to put the clues together. Broken cups and saucers. Flower petals strewn across the floor. A toppled Queen Anne chair.

A second firefighter stood off to the side, filming the scene with a cell phone. He made sure to focus on her and Christopher. A third fireman snapped pictures of the only table where Hannah Thorton slumped— Hannah!

Memories punched Jane in the throat. Finding the body. Spotting Lucy, a former friend who’d stolen fifty thousand dollars during a case they’d worked on as a team. Then pain. Darkness.

Jane’s hand flew to the back of her head, and she winced at the flare of discomfort. “I didn’t pass out. I was clobbered from behind.” Emotion clogged her voice. Had once sweet as sugar Lucy returned to town to kill Hannah? And go after Jane? But…

No. Lucy wasn’t the one who’d struck her. Jane had noticed the other woman before falling. Of course, that didn’t mean the former bank employee hadn’t killed Hannah. Lucy could’ve worked with a new partner to do the deed, heard Jane’s entrance and hid. After distracting Jane, Lucy waited for said partner to take out the only obstacle to escape.

No, there had to be more to it.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Jane added, resolve straightening her spine. “I’m fine.” She needed to be out there, solving this. Poor Hannah Thorton. Killed in her own shop when all she’d ever wanted to do was to make amazing tea for her neighbors to enjoy.

Merciless, Christopher shone a spotlight in Jane’s eyes, observing her pupils. “I hate that you were injured, but unless you were aided in your fall, it’s possible you sustained further damage than you realize. See a doctor,” he intoned.

Hmm. Had the attacker caught her and eased her down before fleeing the scene? No, that seemed too far-fetched. Except she detected no other wounds. Maybe she’d gracefully lowered herself thanks to cat-like reflexes. No, that also seemed far-fetched.

“How are you here?” she asked.

“We received a call about an unconscious woman.”

Had Lucy dialed 911 while running? Because no one but Lucy and said clobberer had witnessed the event. Right? And really, now that Jane thought about it, her former friend had appeared panicked before the unhinged assailant struck, as if she’d attempted to shout a warning. Forgive Lucy for lying to her in the past? Done.

Christopher timed her pulse. “We didn’t expect to find Miss…” Sadness overtook his expression as he glanced toward Ms. Thorton. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Me, either.” That sadness proved contagious, washing over Jane. Focus. You can’t solve the murder if you’re emotionally involved. When her gaze grazed the bowls of food and water in the corner, she asked, “Have you found Hannah’s cat?”

He shook his head. “We haven’t seen one.”

The little darling must be in the shop somewhere. Jane hated the idea of a pet seeing its beloved mother dead. Rolex would be devastated at her death, but at least he’d have Tiffany, Fiona, Beau and most importantly, Conrad. And dang it, she wanted Conrad now! Needed to feel his arms wrapped around her. Yearned to hear his husky voice demand she be all right.

“I’ve got to contact the sheriff,” she stated, easing up before the fireman could stop her. A wave of dizziness struck, but it didn’t knock her over. Winning!

“He’s been notified.”

Excellent. “Then he should arrive any⁠—”

“Jane!”

“Second,” she finished, her heart leaping.

Conrad raced over and knelt at her side. More heart leaping occurred as she gobbled up the most beautiful man in history with her gaze. Usually restrained dark locks now stuck out in spikes, as if he’d plowed his fingers through the strands again and again. Eyes the color of her Pops’s favorite whiskey glinted with frantic concern. Tension pulled his tan skin taut and compressed his soft lips into a thin, grim line. He wore a crisp white button down and black slacks, his new badge dangling from a lanyard secured around his neck.

“What happened?” he demanded from everyone in the room.

“She fell,” Christopher began.

“I was attacked from behind,” she clarified. “I spotted Hannah slumped in her chair and rushed over to check on her. Right after I discovered she was dead, someone hit me. But Conrad, I saw Lucy Chang across the room.”

Her fiancé’s tension returned and redoubled as each word spilled from Jane, and she didn’t have to wonder why. Her attacker might be the murderer. Had they gotten a good enough look at Jane to clock her identity? If they hadn’t, they would certainly hear her name come up during the investigation. She could become a target.

“She refused a ride to Pinetum,” Christopher piped up as he gathered his tools, ramping up Conrad’s unease. “However, an ambulance is en route and due to arrive any minute.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. After directing a dirty look at her ex, she reached over to link her fingers with Conrad’s and give him a comforting squeeze. “Truly. I’d prefer to search for Hannah’s cat and break the news about his or her mom.”

“I love you,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss on her brow, “but you’re going to Pinetum. No arguments. For my peace of mind and the good of the investigation, let them run their tests.”

Gah! The investigation. Her kryptonite, and he knew it.

He wasn’t done giving her the hard sell. “I’ve got to stay until I secure the scene, but I promise I’ll assign someone to find and care for the cat until you’re well enough to break the news.”

“Fine.” Jane’s thoughts zoomed in a million different directions wondering who could have done this. Maybe, with a little medical care, she could begin piecing puzzle pieces together.

“I’ve already spoken with Beau, but I’ll send Fiona your way. They’ll stay with you until I arrive,” he promised. “I’ll be there as soon as I finish here. I’ll ensure your hearse gets home.”

“And then we’ll work the case together,” she replied with a nod. “Deal.”

He looked as though he wished to protest, but he didn’t make the mistake of doing it.

Maybe because she added, “You know my batting average and could use the win as the new sheriff.” Two could play hardball.

“Good to see your sass isn’t bruised.” He gently but firmly helped her to her feet, then handed over her fallen purse. Her legs proved surprisingly steady, all things considered.

Conrad gave her another kiss before reluctantly passing her to Christopher. As the fireman led her out of the secret room, the love of her life issued orders to his deputies. Decisive. Organized. A leader. Her heart swelled once more.

“Your fiancé is intense,” Christopher muttered as they entered the public portion of the shop. One deputy snapped photos while another carried in forensic equipment.

“Isn’t he?” she agreed with a little smile. It was a trait she hadn’t expected to admire in a significant other. A trait Christopher had never exhibited. In fact, it was his easy, laid-back charm that initially drew her to accept his friendship, and later, a request for a date.

After the first romantic outing, they’d officially become a couple. She’d thought they were rock solid. So often they’d gotten lost in conversations revolving around everything and nothing. But after only two months together, he’d called her emotionally unavailable and dumped her.

The curse had used the situation to its advantage, encouraging her to build stronger, taller walls around her emotions. Then Conrad had come along with his adorable determination, and all those walls tumbled down.

“Did you know avocados are considered a fruit, not a vegetable?” Christopher announced. “They’re a single-seeded berry, if you can believe it.”

“I didn’t, but I do now.” He’d always spouted random facts when they were dating. Nervous, excited, bored, it hadn’t mattered. They just slipped out of his mouth.

“You’re happy?” he asked next, pushing aside yellow crime scene tape and helping her step outside, seeming genuinely curious and hopeful. “Well, besides this.” He motioned to the Treasure Room with a tilt of his head.

“I am,” she replied. A not insignificant crowd gathered on the sidewalk, attempting to peer through the windows. Either the firetruck lights had drawn attention or word had spread via the Headliner. Or both. The small town gossip train never missed a stop. What would the chatterboxes think of seeing her with her ex while engaged to the sheriff?

“And you?” Jane asked, hoping to show she didn’t wish him any ill. Christopher had made the right decision, cutting her loose.

“I am, too.” He removed his helmet and rubbed his temple with the back of his hand. Sunlight washed over him, highlighting the coppers and caramels in his chestnut-colored hair.

He unveiled a more subdued version of the teasing glance she’d once sighed over. “Did you know⁠—”

“Jane, Jane! What did you see?” a familiar voice called from across the street.

An ambulance with flashing lights pulled into the lot, saving her from having to form a reply. It passed Conrad’s haphazardly parked SUV, named Jel. Oh, wow. He’d been so concerned, so intent on reaching her, he’d left his precious vulnerable to theft. Yes, he was totally worth taking on the curse.

Near to the curb waited the fire truck, its lights still flashing. Firefighters controlled traffic and directed any new spectators to stay back. Was the killer among them? Anyone who killed a woman sipping tea was probably the type of person who’d hang around the crime scene to witness the aftermath.

Jane scanned the faces, memorizing as many details as possible. Only a handful of people she didn’t recognize stood in the gathering. Ashley Katz, a reporter at the Headliner who happened to be one of Jane’s favorite nemeses, waved emphatically, trying to get her attention. Had the curious woman listened to the police scanner, as she’d done in the past, or had she created a story to boost newspaper sales?

“What did you see?” Ashely repeated.

Jane pretended not to hear and continued her search. Well, well, well. There was her least favorite nemesis, socialite Abigail Waynes-Kirkland, Tiffany’s former best friend and a literal grave digger. Like many town members, Abigail believed a prior Garden of Memories caretaker had buried gold with certain bodies. The reason she’d snuck over with a shovel to find it.

Had Abigail murdered Hannah in a robbery gone bad? Because that made more sense than anything.

“I know who’s first on my suspect list,” Jane announced, fishing out her phone to take discreet photos of the crowd, intending to study them later, when her head no longer throbbed. Wait. Hadn’t she dropped her cell when she’d fallen? How had it gotten in her purse? “Did you retrieve my phone for me?” she asked Christopher.

“No. I didn’t see it.” His brow wrinkled. “Why?”

“Just because.” Had the killer done it? But why go to the trouble? Why not leave the device behind or nab it and run?

Christopher gestured to the paramedics as they disembarked from their vehicle.

As the techs wheeled over a stretcher, Abigail noticed Jane’s photo taking endeavors and made an obscene gesture, which she captured, thank you very much.

Her companion observed the exchange and shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “I’d heard you were working with the police to solve murders, but I considered it a rumor until now.”

“Why did you doubt?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“You’re…you.”

What did that mean?

“What are we dealing with?” the taller paramedic called.

Her ex explained the situation, and the two medics helped her settle on a stretcher she didn’t need but wasn’t going to waste time protesting. For the case. They wheeled her to the vehicle, Christopher keeping pace at her side.

“I hope this isn’t the last time we speak,” he said.

Maybe he’d meant the words as a token farewell. Maybe he truly wished to stay in touch. Either way, he’d just given her the perfect opener. “I accept your invitation. I’ll come by the firehouse tomorrow. If you’ll be working?” She had questions about what he’d seen when he found her.

He rapid blinked, as if she’d thrown him for a loop. “I will, yes, but–”

“Great. I’ll bring you a dessert to thank you for your help today.”

To her immense relief, he wasn’t given a chance to protest. The ambulance doors were shut in his face, only for them to reopen a split second later and Beau to hop inside the vehicle. After viewing his fierce expression, no one asked him to leave. In a matter of seconds, Jane and company were on the road.

“You got here fast,” she praised, so glad to have him with her.

“I came the moment I heard your name on my radio. I was already en route when Conrad called.”

Beau’s loyalty almost made her forget the pain in her head. Almost. Didn’t help that the paramedic insisted she lay down on the gurney, and she bumped her knot on the mat.

“What do we know about Hannah?” Might as well kick off a Team Truth session, even if they were the only members present.

Beau folded his arms against his chest, his biceps straining the cuffs of his Peach State Security polo. “Nope. I share nothing until you’re fully checked out.”

Jane proceeded as if she hadn’t heard him. “Recently divorced, so of course the ex is automatically a suspect.”

True to his word, Beau remained silent.

No matter. Jane continued her speculations throughout the rest of the drive. Even as the paramedics wheeled her through the corridors of Pinetum Regional Hospital. “Mother of three adult sons. Hmm. I wonder who inherited the Treasure Room. Perhaps one or more of those boys was in debt and hoped to sell the cherished tea house.”

Still Beau kept quiet. When they stopped in a curtained off room, Jane finally quieted, but only after the nurse who attempted to read her vitals huffed.

As soon as the exam ended, someone came in asking for Jane’s insurance card. Then Fiona and Tiffany arrived.

After a round of hugs, Jane asked, “Do either of you remember if Hannah was dating anyone?”

Fiona tsked at her. “You should be resting, hon.”

“How can I rest?” She scooched into a sitting position against the scratchy pillowcase. “I just discovered another dead body.”

Tiffany offered a noise of disgust. “Because of course you did.”

“Maybe someone has mentioned something on the Headliner,” Jane said, fiddling with the edge of her paper-thin blanket.

“Fine. I know a hint when I hear it.” The widow whipped out her phone. “I’ll start searching now.”

Beau glowered at her, while Fiona wagged a finger. “You’re not supposed to encourage this, Tiff,” the older woman said, clearly trying to remind her of a previous conversation.

Tiffany sputtered a protest. “You’re paying me a stack of blueberry pancakes to distract her, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

With a sigh, Fiona clasped Jane’s hands. “We’re more interested in what happened to you. It’s not like you to faint.”

“I didn’t. Someone hit me from behind.” Her gaze swung to Beau. “You don’t have security cameras installed inside the Treasure Room, do you?”

Her best friend shifted his weight from one combat boot to the other, still saying nothing.

“There’s no such thing as security client privilege, you know. I believe I’ve mentioned that before.”

His lips quirked. “You’ve mentioned it, yes.”

She replied with a sunny smile. “Never mind. I’ve already followed the clues and deduced the answer. No, you don’t. Otherwise you’d be with Conrad, watching the footage.”

The color filling his cheeks answered for him. “I had a meeting with Hannah on the books for next week.”

“Oh.” Now that was a good tidbit of information. “Did she mention why?” A stalker? Harassment by her ex, perhaps?

“Shoplifting.”

Well. That was disappointing, to say the least. Though it might point to Abigail.

“I’m honestly surprised it took this long for someone to whack you over the head,” Tiffany said, scrolling on her phone.

“Let’s put the investigation talk on hold until we’ve spoken with the doctor,” Fiona suggested in a no-nonsense tone. “We don’t even know what injuries Jane has sustained.”

“Good advice,” announced a woman in scrubs and a white coat as she swept into the small room. “I’m Dr. Lacipo, and I’ll be checking you out today.”

After Jane’s friends filed out, the doctor got to work. With quick efficiency, Dr. Lacipo palpated the back of Jane’s head, checked her pupils, her responsiveness, and her motor function. “No signs of concussion.”

Jane heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’ll initiate the discharge paperwork, but you need to take it easy for the next couple of days.”

“Sure, doc.” Wasn’t like investigative work was hard.

“I’ll be sending you home with a list of instructions. Follow them. Judging by the crowd waiting in the hall, you have someone to drive you.”

“That will be me,” Conrad said, striding past the curtain, his expression grimmer than Jane had ever seen it. Her stomach began to churn all over again.

He flashed his badge, and the doctor fled.

“What?” Jane demanded, hit by dread. “Did you not find the cat?”

“No, not yet.” He sat at her bedside and took her hand. Did she detect a slight tremor?

“I’ve got men searching for Lucy Chang. We will find her, I promise you. And the cat.”

Jane finally put two and two together. What if the feline was Lucy’s cat Cartier? But why would Lucy and Cartier be in the secret chamber at the Treasure Room long enough to require a litter box? “What about the murder?”

The tremor worsened ever so slightly. “The killer struck Ms. Thorton from behind multiple times with a candlestick procured from her shop.”

“A crime of passion then?” Maybe Hannah argued with a book club member who grabbed the nearest object within reach.

“No, this was definitely pre-planned.” A muscle jumped in Conrad’s jaw. “Her body was staged, a card placed in her hand, and the first chapter of a manuscript put under her elbow.”

When he paused to draw in a breath, as if bracing himself, the moisture in Jane’s mouth dried. Nothing he’d said should have caused this kind of a reaction. They’d solved worse.

What did he suspect? “Did you know someone called 911 to report my, uh, unawake condition?” That sounded better than unconscious, right?

“Yes, and I’ve listened to the audio recording. It most likely came from a burner phone. The voice is disguised.” His expression grew grimmer and grimmer.

Had the killer called? Why disguise your voice, if not to hide your identity to cover a crime? For that matter, why call at all? “What haven’t you told me?”

He tightened his hold on her, saying, “Your name was spelled on the purple envelope clutched in the body’s hand. The letters were cut out of magazines.”

She blinked with confusion. “My name? As in Jane Ladling?”

“Yes.”

But. “That makes no sense.” Unless Hannah premade a thank you card? “What did the contents say?”

“It was an invitation that read, Player one is ready. Are you?”

Player one? “So Hannah died for a game of cat and mouse between the murderer…and me?”

“Yes. But there’s more,” he added, and she groaned. “The dedication was included with chapter one, and it mentions you and a few other residents of Aurelian Hills.”

“Like who?”

“Ana Irons. Anthony Miller. Marcus Hotchkins, and Joshua Gunn.”

Alarm streaked through Jane. “But all those people are dead.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a flat tone. At least this explained his grimness. “From what we can tell by skimming, the story is a reverse cozy mystery. Instead of being told from the sleuth’s point of view, it’s seen through the eyes of a quote unquote good-natured killer.”

Shocked, she could only mutter, “There’s such a thing as a good-natured killer?”

“Never. Copies are being made, so you and I can read it while the original pages are processed. I know you’re planning to interview your suspects, and nothing I say will stop you. But during this investigation, I’m asking you to always let me know your plans ahead of time and visit no one alone.”

“Deal. Here’s your first update. I’m speaking with my ex-boyfriend the fireman tomorrow. He’s the guy who found me.”

Conrad canted his head, and she had trouble deciphering his emotion(s). “The ex, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it one day.” Her knot ached a little too much for such a deep conversation now.

“Good.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’m confiscating the book club invitation you received.”

“Of course. It’s in my purse.” She motioned to the charming vintage handbag in a muted purple hue on the chair near the window. Delicate embroidered flowers adorned the surface and the decorative clasp shined. “Do you have any suspects?” she asked as he released her and stood. “Besides Lucy, I mean. And every member of the book club. Also Abigail Waynes-Kirkland. She’s involved somehow. She must be.”

“I’ll look into her, but I’m not yet certain there’s an actual club.” He withdrew a plastic baggie and a glove from his pocket, then fit the latex over his fingers, collected her purse, and fished the invitation from the interior.

“I assume you’ll start with the ex-husband,” she said. Significant others were always first.

He nodded. “I like to press them hard and fast in the beginning to knock them out of the running, if applicable, so I can widen the circle.”

As he fit the paper into the bag, Jane asked, “What did you mean, no club?” She had noticed how effortlessly he skipped over her question about suspects, but she simply chose not to push.

“From what little I read of the chapter, the killer, a woman, invites the owner of a landlocked cemetery to a teahouse to attend a fake meeting. The killer then strikes and kills the cemetery owner, causing a haggard detective to come out of retirement to try to solve the case.”

Her jaw went slack. “I was supposed to die? As in, take an eternal dirt nap?” Before her wedding? Yes, she’d suspected this very thing. But still. Having it confirmed cut. “Does this mean the killer is actually playing with you? Are you supposed to be the haggard detective?” Outrage flared in her veins. Conrad was anything but haggard. Also, he better not be in danger.

“I’m not sure. Could be Raymond Moore.”

The former sheriff, aka Fiona’s boyfriend? That Raymond Moore? “But he’s not haggard either.”

“Perhaps the murderer hoped this book would cover a motive to kill Hannah Thorton. In any case, they could strike at you, me, or us again. Which is why I’d prefer you to move in with Cheddar and me.”

Spending more time with her soon to be step-fur-child, whom she already loved as her own, did sound nice.

“You can give him a new nickname,” Conrad added.

The little darling’s list of endearments did seem to grow every time she came over. Cheddy and the Cheese Man were her personal favorites. She suspected Conrad preferred Mr. Cheese and Goodest Boy.

He wasn’t done. “Since your last stay, I’ve installed in an unbeatable security system. No one enters without permission, even if they score a key.”

Longing proved tempting. But. “I can’t, in good conscience, leave Tiffany alone. The killer put a lot of thought into this exhibition, and they’re willing to go to extreme lengths to succeed, even hurt the friend of a friend.”

“Beau, or one of the guys, is moving into the Garden. They’ve already agreed. And it’s only for a short time. Just until we solve the case. Which we will do faster than we’ve ever done before.” Determination hardened his voice.

With all the bases covered, there was no need to consider it further. “Yes, that works.” Jane felt safest with Conrad, and she adored the craftsman bungalow they’d picked out together. She’d even begun to wonder if–gasp–she should add a touch or two to suit her tastes, not just his. “You know what sucks most? Well, other than Hannah’s murder. I didn’t get to hear your poem.”

Conrad barked out a laugh as he returned to her bedside. “Here’s a little something off the cuff. You are more important to me than anyone or thing, and I require you to be alive. You put my heart into overdrive.”

Eek! “Your talent for poetry is unsurpassed.” A talent in need of protecting. If someone was out there, intending to hurt him, well, they were soon to learn the error of their ways.

Player two was ready. She wouldn’t stop until the culprit was locked behind bars.

CHAPTER THREE

Start with an extended dream sequence. Nothing builds higher expectations for your story.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

For the good of the case, Jane obeyed the doctor’s orders and took it easy for the rest of the evening. Probably the most difficult thing she’d ever done, as well as the easiest. One, Conrad insisted. Two, Cheddar cuddled at her side, drooling in his sleep. Three, her head still throbbed. And four, she couldn’t stop thinking about the cat-and-mouse game and how someone hated her and/or Conrad and/or Hannah and/or the former sheriff enough to write a book detailing a murder, print and mail fake invitations, then hang around a crime scene to deliver the final blows.

Had the killer used Jane and Conrad’s romance as a distraction tactic to ensure they overlooked a motive to off Hannah? Was Abigail Waynes-Kirkland involved or not?

Okay, so, Jane buckled under pressure and spent a little time scouring social media. Thankfully, her sleuthing paid off, and she unearthed a tidbit about Hannah’s adult children. They lived out of state, had been cut out of her will, and none had visited either of their parents for years. Something Mason had lamented in several posts, as well as the reason Jane deleted the three offspring from her list of suspects.

Through it all, Conrad refused to leave her side. He worked from the couch, going over photographs and footage from the crime scene, rereading statements he’d obtained from select individuals, sending emails, making calls, issuing orders to his deputies, seeking advice from the former sheriff, and checking on Jane every half hour on the dot. She was snuggled up at his side, and yes, okay, she did go over those photographs, videos, statements and emails of his, too, while simultaneously attending a Team Truth meeting via a texting group chat on her phone. A professional’s work was never done.

The members of her exclusive (real) murder solving club were Conrad, of course, plus Fiona and Raymond, Beau, Trick, Isaac and Holden, and (reluctantly) Tiffany. Trick was the one who’d drawn the short straw and moved into the Garden with the widow.

Oh! New messages were flying in.

The Holden Rule: I spoke with Abigail Waynes-Kirkland at the Manor on Prospect. She claims to have spotted a woman matching Lucy’s description coming out of the Treasure Room minutes before Jane was found and wants to “remind everyone” that she wasn’t Hannah’s biggest fan and despises Jane, but she isn’t a killer.

Holden used to crush on Lucy, so obviously he’d been the one who’d volunteered to hunt for her. What had Lucy seen? And where was Cartier? Also, why did perfect little fur-boys have to grow up and become fur-men? Rolex had chosen to stay with Tiffany at the Garden rather than leave with his adoring mother.

Anyway. That Holden had just proven Abigail was in the area at the time of Jane’s attack, not merely afterward. Suspicious! Even more so was Abigail’s choice of destination tonight. Fine dining? Really? Was she celebrating a successful slaying, perhaps? Or drowning out her sorrows for letting Jane live?

Jane: Did Abigail mention if Lucy carried a cat or not?

The Holden Rule: No mention of a cat, no.

So Lucy had run from the secret room without Cartier, whom she adored.

Jane turned to Conrad, petting the sleeping, drooling Cheddar. “Did you know Abigail spotted Lucy exiting the Treasure Room before the firefighters arrived?”

“I did.”

What! “And you didn’t share that information with me?”

“How was I supposed to know you didn’t read it on my screen at the same time I did?”

Ha! Good answer. Still, Jane tsked-tsked and skimmed the subsequent message.

Tiffinator: Abigail is many horrible things, but she isn’t a killer. Probably. By the way, if you could pick me up a straightedge, razor blade and some distressed ink in pink, that would be great.

Jane: Focus Tiff! We’re discussing murder, not your new card making endeavors.

Tiffany and Abigail were childhood friends. Until the widow lost her fortune thanks to a philandering husband. Then Abigail had dropped her hot potato-style. Before that, the so-called best friend had been one of the many who’d had an affair with Tiff’s hubby. To Jane, an evil heart was an evil heart, and Abigail had the evilest heart of all. Tiffany, for her plethora of faults, hadn’t yet wised up to that fact.

“One of my deputies spoke with Ms. Waynes-Kirkland,” Conrad said. “She was at the grocery store, then a nail appointment.”

Jane tsked again. “I should ticket you for withholding evidence. Obviously, you’re scrolling too fast for someone suffering from a head injury.”

“My apologies. I’ll go slower.”

“Thank you.” A new text came in outside the Team Truth chat.

Jane exited the group exchange to open the individual message.

NewsKatz: Give me the scoop! What happened in that teashop??????

Jane had expected Ashley Katz to reach out sooner. They had an on and off, like-dislike relationship and sometimes helped each other unearth information.

Jane: Prove you aren’t the killer and I’ll give you a quote.

NewsKatz: You are nothing if not predictable. I’m already working on my “innocent of murder” presentation for you. There’s even graphs!

Good.

Jane: You can score bonus points if you tell me who won the lottery.

NewsKatz: That story is hogwash.

Was it really? “What if Abigail pretended to be at the grocery store and killed Hannah, struck me, then chased Lucy, who might have, possibly, witnessed the murder, and that’s the reason Abigail didn’t stick around to make sure I was dead?” Jane asked Conrad. “Then, when Abigail’s search for Lucy proved unfruitful, or fruitful for all we know, she raced back to join the crowd of onlookers, thereby attempting to give herself an alibi and blame the entire thing on the former bank employee.”

“It’s possible,” he replied, “but not probable. I’ll be checking security footage from the street cams, as well as any surrounding buildings.”

“I’ll expect a full report, Agent Inspector Detective Sheriff Ryan.” One of her nicknames for him.

“You’ll get it.” He bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose. “Maybe.”

“Ugh. Stop being preemptive and cute. They’re two of your most annoying qualities.”

He snorted.

Jane read the last message in the text chain.

Beaudyguard: Took some work, but I learned Mason Thorton is the lottery winner everyone is discussing. Only he didn’t win the lottery. He was given a substantial inheritance from his grandfather.

Oooh. Was this what Ashley meant by hogwash?

So. Hannah’s ex recently received a surprise windfall of cash. Finances weren’t a motive for him. Unless they were. He might not have needed to take over or sell the Treasure Room, but what if Hannah had a legal right to a cut of his new funds and he’d feared losing everything? Or maybe Mr. Thorton did the dirty deed for nothing but revenge. Who better to use as a distraction than the best detective in town and her incredibly handsome fiancé?

"When were you planning to share the inheritance info?” Conrad teased, proving he was reading her messages, too. “Seconds have passed, yet you’ve remained silent.”

“Funny man.” But Jane did recall that she hadn’t divulged what she’d uncovered of Hannah and Mason’s kids, so she corrected the mistake and added, “What if Mason blamed his ex for a strained relationship with his sons? Eliminating me as well as Hannah was his only way of ensuring he never got caught?” She reserved the right to change her mind about the kids when she learned who inherited the Treasure Room—wills could be changed, and sibling rivalry could be deadly. And dang it, she tried not to pout because her friends were getting all the juicy details while she was forced to recover.

“It’s possible,” Conrad repeated, but he didn’t sound convinced. “If so, I’ll find out. I’m interviewing Mr. Thorton tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good. We can tag team him. You get him tomorrow, I get him the next day.”

The love of her life pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. “I guess I’m hiring you as a consultant now?”

“I thought that was an understood fact, considering we’re exchanging information. I’m even giving you a friends and family discount. Two murders for the price of three.” Oh! New Team Truth text!

Fionality: Well, this is getting interesting. No wonder Abigail Waynes-Kirkland is dating that old coot, Mason.

What! Another bombshell! Jane jolted upright, startling Cheddar. The abrupt movement compounded the ache in her head, and she winced. When a wave of dizziness struck, she took a moment to breathe with Conrad’s help.

“Focus on your surroundings,” he instructed.

She did, eyeing the powdered cornflower color on the walls. This adorable craftsman bungalow had seen better days when they’d first toured it with the realtor. Since moving in, Conrad had made the place shine. Even the once scratched and scuffed hardwood floors gleamed. She constantly marveled at how well the furniture from his condo in Atlanta meshed with his new life in Aurelian Hills. But what struck her fancy most was the three-tiered cat tree, framed within the large bay window overlooking the front yard. All so Rolex could watch the birds and squirrels.

But she wasn’t going to moon over Conrad’s thoughtfulness right now. Back to the case.

For years, posters on the Headliner had regaled the town with stories of Abigail’s on and off again relationship with her ex-husband. How did he feel about her new man? Angry enough to seek revenge with a frame-job?

Conrad massaged the back of Jane’s neck and assisted her into maneuvering into a more comfortable position at his side. “Show me the snapshots you took of the crowd outside the Treasure Room,” he said, setting his laptop aside.

He knew her so well. She exited from the Team Truth text chain and opened her photos app, enlarging the one of Abigail giving her the bird. “Look at her.” Disgust dripped from Jane’s tone. “Have you ever seen a smugger, more serial killerish face? And why was she getting her nails done at just the right time, anyway?”

“I’ll ask her when I formally interview her.”

“Good. Ask her about her ex-husband, too. He acted as her grave digging sidekick, so, he’s obviously the worst.” Hey! Who was that? Jane zeroed in on a section of the photo behind her nemesis. Was that…Mayor Thacker? Her eyes widened. It was! She didn’t recall seeing him, but there he stood, glaring at Jane’s camera while partially shielded by another spectator.

“Now there’s someone with a grudge,” she said, pointing the mayor out to Conrad.

He swiped the phone for a closer look.

Jane had helped put Mayor Thacker’s wife behind bars for attempted murder, kidnapping and several other charges.

“None of my deputies spoke with him,” Conrad said.

“So he fled the scene.” Suspicious!

“I’ll add him to my list.”

As would Jane. And, since she’d promised not to go anywhere on her own…

She fired off a quick text to Beau.

If you’re not on duty tomorrow, I’d like to hire your bodyguard services for super cheap. Not free! I won’t take advantage. But almost free. To sweeten the pot, I’ll admit we’re speaking with my ex-boyfriend first.

Beaudyguard: Sorry. Conrad already procured my services for the week. He needs my help with the case.

Jane braced to confront her love. “I adore you, Conrad Hotness Ryan, but when did you sneak Beau out from under me?”

“I spoke to him at the hospital before I got to see you.” The most adorable, sweet half-smile bloomed. “I like him. He’s a good man and friend. I’m asking him to be a groomsman.”

“Oh, no!” The words burst from her before she could stop them.

“What?” he demanded, concerned. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I was planning to invite Beau to be a bridesmaid.”

Conrad barked out a laugh. “Yes. That. I want that. Make it happen.”

Phew. Potential crisis averted.

His phone dinged, signaling a new message. He checked the screen and grunted with approval. “Are you ready for a readathon? The first manuscript chapter found at the crime scene is available.”

“I guess now is the right time to discuss my consultation fee.”

“I’ll pay you a dollar,” he said.

“Deal!”

Her pulse sped up as he printed the document. Once he’d collected the pages from his home office, he returned to her side so they could read together. The title page read Grave Actually.

Okay, not a bad start. She flipped to the dedication. It appeared exactly as Conrad had described.

She tapped her finger on the page. “There’s something odd about this.”

Conrad canted his head for a closer look. “Besides your name being grouped with a bunch of murder victims? Here’s what I know. They aren’t listed in alphabetical order or even the sequence of deaths. Nor are they written in reverse order. Ana Irons’s name is flipped, but none of the others are.”

“And what’s with the weird gap between Josh and Gunn?” she asked. “A word processing program wouldn’t write it that way. Every detail must be deliberate.”

“Maybe it will make sense once we dissect the blurb and read the first chapter.”

“Read everything out loud to me,” she pleaded, rubbing her temples. “And use your sexiest voice. Because my head. It hurts.”

Conrad snorted before clearing his throat. “In the shadows, good natured Gilda Jean stood before an antique mirror gazing at her glorious reflection. A self-satisfied smile curved her generous heart-shaped lips as she toyed with the dark hair framing captivating blue eyes that gleamed with intensity, offering a delightfully foreboding prelude to the secrets she harbored. ‘I’ve sown the seeds of suspicion throughout Raven Valley,’ she said and laughed, the sound throaty.”

“Good natured? Ha! She might be a supervillain.” Jane tapped her chin. “Gilda Jean’s lips are bothersome. Heart-shaped. Heart. There’s potentially something there.” Wait. “Flip to the dedication.”

After sliding a finger between pages to keep his place, Conrad returned to page one. She freed the pen she’d stuck behind her ear and traced a shape around the names on the dedication.

Ah-ha! “I knew the details mattered. It’s a heart.”

“Good job,” Conrad said, kissing her forehead.

Head aching a bit worse, Jane snuggled closer to him. “I just wonder what it means. Does the killer love that these people are dead?”

“Not all are dead. And that’s the way it will stay,” he vowed.

They got more comfortable, and each read silently. But before long, Jane couldn’t help but interrupt again. “First of all, the writing is atrocious. ‘Beneath the ethereal luminescence of the orbous moon, Savannah mixed organic tea leaves, creating her special blend elixir of love with the grace of a midnight waltz’.” Jane’s brow wrinkled. “Is orbous even a word?” And she didn’t miss the fact that Savannah sounded very much like Hannah.

Did the name of “good natured” Gilda Jean point to a similar name, like Savannah pointed to Hannah? Or was this a tidbit meant to throw her off the scent?

Conrad winked at her. “Wait till you get to the coaxing whispers of nature part.”

Ugh. “Second,” she said, resuming her rant. “The lead character is the worst. This paragon of homicide who flits around town caring for stray dogs and volunteering to sit with the elderly is totally in love with herself. The compliments never end. And by the way, I’m not loving how the perp resembles me. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Bangs.”

They discussed what they read until the wee hours of the night, finally falling asleep together on the couch. When morning arrived, Jane wasn’t at her best. Her eyes burned, and her neck and shoulders ached. And her back. Ow. Conrad, who was already on his feet, passed her two over-the-counter pain relievers and a glass of orange juice.

“Thank you,” she said and tossed each down the hatch.

“Stay home today,” he advised. “Exactly as the doctor ordered.”

And compromise her investigation? Never. “As the doctor suggested. But no, I’m good.” To prove it, she eased to a stand. Blowing him a kiss, she strode to the main bathroom to prepare for the day.

After a long, hot shower teeming with uplifting citrus scents, she dressed in yoga pants and one of her fiancé’s oversized shirts–perfect for researching. Despite her earlier bravado, maybe sticking close to home wasn’t such a bad idea. For now.

When she emerged from the bedroom, she discovered Conrad had a delightful cinnamon sugar French toast breakfast prepared. “You are the most amazing man in the whole world,” she exclaimed.

“No, I’m a man who’s addicted to seeing this exact look on your face.”

Their gazes met, and they shared a tender moment. He’d showered and changed, too, and oh, he looked good. He wore a fitted collared dress shirt with the town’s insignia stitched onto the pocket along with his name. And because he knew she loved it, he hadn’t shaved. A thicker than usual shadow dusted his strong jaw. Newly retired ex-Sheriff Moore would be scandalized.

The doorbell rang, and Conrad’s features turned sheepish. “I’ve got to head to the office for interviews, so I ate before you came out.” He pressed a gentle kiss into her lips. “As my consultant, you are legally required to keep me updated. Tell me everything you learn.” He gave her a second kiss, then strode off to answer the door on his way out.

Going to work was totally normal, so why the sheepish look?

Beau entered the kitchen a few seconds later. Ahh, that explained it. Conrad had rustled up a watchdog for her to “help” with the case. Sporting khakis, rugged work boots and his signature Peach State Security polo shirt, her best friend made her feel safe and unalone. They hugged tighter than usual.

“You feeling better today?” he asked.

“Of course.” She pulled from his embrace and pretended to knock on her temple. “I’m hardheaded.”

“Yeah, but not indestructible.”

“Well, not even death could prevent me from solving this murder.”

“It’s too soon for talk of you dying.” He booed to emphasize his point and even flashed a thumbs down sign.

Making a face, she waved to the counter. “Have a seat and eat up. You know you love Conrad’s cinnamon sugar French toast as much as I do. You can entertain me as I bake a chocolate lava cake.” Puttering around in the kitchen always fine-tuned her murder-solving skills.

“Chocolate lava cake?” Beau’s green eyes glazed over. “I want that.”

“Nope. That particular treat is for Christopher.”

He lifted a brow. “As in your ex-boyfriend Christopher Wellington? That Christopher?”

“As in the first responder who got me to safety and deserves a thank you.”

“So you’re telling me Conrad is good with you baking a sweet treat for another man? And in his kitchen, no less?”

Jane rolled her eyes, only to pause as a thought occurred to her. How strange. She’d come to think of this as her kitchen. Actually, their kitchen. “Why would he care? I bake for you, Trick, Holden and Isaac. But why do you care?”

“Mr. Fireman hurt you.” Beau plopped a bite of cinnamon toast into his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment, his upset forgotten.

“It was a long time ago,” she assured him. “I’m over it. And he might have spotted the killer fleeing the scene without realizing it. I’ve found baked goods have a way of making people remember lost details.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Give your readers as much information as possible. Who doesn’t want to read an in-depth analysis of made-up technology?

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Using the ingredients Conrad had on hand, Jane whipped up a super easy decadent chocolate lava cake, then tidied up her appearance. Though she’d hated ditching the comfort of Conrad’s shirt and those yoga pants, she exchanged the garments for an ivory silk blouse with subtle darts and a relaxed knee-length pencil skirt in black. A sophisticated look sure to let Christopher know she was a professional investigator who meant business. For the sake of her healing head wound, she forwent a hat. Boo, hiss.

With Beau at the wheel of his truck, they made the ten-minute drive in twelve, arguing about the dessert the entire way. He parked in front of Aurelian Hills Fire Station Number 2, and they exited the vehicle, still arguing. Jane carried the cake. A clear lid provided a glimpse of the sweet delight within, while a latch and two handles allowed for sturdier transportation. She kept an eye out for Cartier.

“Just one taste,” Beau said as he held open the door for her. “The firefighters won’t care.”

She soared inside. “I won’t feed your addiction to my desserts while you’re on duty. You’ll lose focus and only want more.”

“You can’t know that for sure until you give me a taste.” He entered behind her.

“The only thing you’re going to taste is a knuckle sandwich.”

Beau laughed as he led her forward. “You’ve been promising me that particular meal since we were seven.”

They neared four large bay doors, rolled up to reveal a ladder truck, pumper truck and utility truck in standard fire engine red. The unmistakable scent of fuel, brass cleaner and coffee lingered in the air. Uniforms hung neatly against the wall, ready for any emergency. Safety posters graced the walls and men and women walked around the garage talking and joking as they tidied up the station, revealing a tight-knot bond forged in danger.

And there he was, the man with answers she wanted. He stood laughing with a fellow firefighter, his chestnut hair draped across his forehead, the corners of his eyes crinkled in humor.

“Hi, Christopher,” she called.

He brightened when he spotted her. Other firefighters glimpsed her, as well, and grinned. One in particular really seemed to notice. Tall and lean with dark hair, he peered at her hard, his lips curved in a parody of a smile. Did he imagine wearing her skin?

She shifted closer to Beau, who never acknowledged the guy, as if completely oblivious.

“Hey, Jane! Good to see you. Is that a casserole I spy?” Gray Henderson stood next to Mr. Skin and waved. Gray had been one year behind her in school. “Maybe now Chris will stop whining about never having a decent meal.”

Another firefighter waved as well. “We’ve all been missing you and your casseroles.”

“Please tell me that’s the teriyaki chicken you brought the last time you were here?” someone cried with his hand pressed over his chest.

Teriyaki chicken. Christopher’s favorite food. The dish she’d baked most during their time together. “No, this is chocolate lava cake.” As moans of delight rang out, she added, “I’m sure Christopher will share.”

Mr. Skin hadn’t stopped staring at her. Who was he? She’d never encountered him before.

“I won’t share.” Christopher hurried over to meet her halfway. His gaze slid to Beau, and his smile slipped a little. A common occurrence in the powerful war vet’s presence. Beau hadn’t yet learned the art of dialing down his glare. “Um. Hi.”

“Christopher Wellington, meet Beau Harden, my elementary school and current best friend. Beau, meet Christopher, my ex. He attended school in Blueberry Hill, Oklahoma before moving to Georgia his senior year of high school.” Now that introductions were done. “I brought you this chocolate lava cake to thank you for your extraordinary care.” She tilted the handle in his direction, ready to launch into a prepared speech. “Regarding your magnificent rescue, I was wondering if⁠—”

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he rushed out, his countenance falling further. An odd reaction.

“Nonsense. You dashed to my aid, and I will be forever grateful. Speaking of your heroic heroism⁠—”

“Can I be honest with you, Jane?” Guilt passed over his expression. “When the call came in, I was shopping for groceries with some of the guys and picked it up on my radio. As soon as I heard the address, I panicked. Maggie, my girlfriend–maybe you know her? Maggie Johnson. She works at the Golden Gears Auto Shop. She was supposed to be with her friend at the tearoom for a book club meeting. But I saw Abigail at the store without Maggie, and I feared my Mags had gone to the shop early and gotten hurt. I hurried to get to her. Then I found you.”

“Wait.” Jane tried to make sense of his words. “Maggie Johnson, your girlfriend, was expected to participate in a writer’s meeting with her friend, a woman named Abigail. Who you saw at the grocery store before the murder. And this very real writer’s club was scheduled to meet at the tearoom. Did Maggie Johnson, your girlfriend, and her friend Abigail, recently receive a secret invitation to join this club for the first time, or were they regular members?”

His brow furrowed. “Regular members. They attend the last Saturday of every month at ten.”

“So the club wasn’t made up,” Jane gasped out. But. Hmm. Her invitation had demanded her presence at 9 a.m., not ten. “Back to Maggie Johnson, your girlfriend, and her friend Abigail No Last Name. But out of curiosity, do they write murder mysteries?”

He frowned. “Yeah. They aren’t published yet, but I’m sure they would give you pointers if you’re interested. I spoke at one of their meetings.” Pride lifted his chin. “Got to share my knowledge of firefighting. That’s how I met Maggie, in fact.”

Wow. The coincidences were piling up. Perhaps Maggie and her friend Abigail had co-written a horribly executed reverse cozy mystery centering around the slaying of Hannah and Chris’s ex. Then the pair turned fantasy into reality. Hello publicity stunt! Abigail could have spied on her phone across the street while Maggie did the deed.

Well, well. Looked like Jane had a new theory and another suspect. Not to mention Mr. Skin. He’d stepped away from the others and watched her unabashedly from a corner.

“Pointers,” she said, forcing herself to focus on Christopher. “From the girls. Because yes.” She nodded for emphasis. “I’m writing a book. A pre-best-selling novel detailing my experiences. For reference, because I’ll be attending the next writer meeting, what is Abigail’s last name?” Jane asked as casually as she was able. “Maybe I know her.”

“Waynes-Kirkland.”

Cha-ching. “What a surprising and unexpected piece of information.” Do not grin. Do not.

“Will you excuse us, Christopher? After you tell me who the guy in the corner is. Without looking.”

Of course, Christopher looked. So did Beau.

Christopher sighed. “That’s Donnie Eggerson, the new guy. Don’t pay him any mind. He’s the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met. Creeps everyone out. Especially pretty girls.”

So it wasn’t only Jane. Sensing they discussed him, Donnie finally stopped “smiling” at her and skulked behind a wall. “Good to know,” she said. “But as I mentioned before, I just realized there’s something I absolutely must do, and it can’t wait a moment longer. We’ll talk again soon, I promise. Okay bye.”

She shuffled Beau away. Did this line of thought seem too easy? Yes. Entirely. But Jane’s gut shouted, Maggie and Abigail are involved. Somehow! As if to emphasize her point, the clock tower in the town square chimed.

“Hey, Jane,” Christopher called good-naturedly. “Did you know pelicans can weigh thirty pounds?”

She raised her hand, waving goodbye. “I didn’t, but I do now. Bye, Christopher.” Once, she’d found those random tidbits so charming. Now? She had a wee bit too much on her mind to care.

Outside, she once again hunted for any sign of Cartier. Was the poor darling running loose, or had Lucy gone back and rescued her from the Treasure Room?

Hmm. Yeah. Jane would bet the loan officer had discovered a way to regain custody of her baby. “Take me to Conrad,” she told Beau. “I think I’m about to break this case wide open.”

* * *

It took every ounce of Jane’s willpower not to waltz into the lobby of the Aurelian Hills police station singing, “I solved a murder! I solved a murder! And no one can pin it on me!”

Instead, she approached the reception desk in silence, gliding across the durable, tile floor that had covered the concrete subfloor since the early 1950s. The new receptionist was currently handling a phone call, so Jane gazed around.

Conrad hadn’t changed the waiting area after taking over as sheriff. Same nondescript pale-colored walls blanketed with safety tips and a wooden bulletin board that showcased community events. Though, granted, several large potted plants had been added.

Was Conrad a plant person? She hadn’t noticed any greenery in his condo in Atlanta and none had moved in with him when he’d taken up residence here in Aurelian Hills.

The man deserved a plant!

Her phone dinged as she slid it from her purse to add “visit Gold Harvest nursery” to her list of to-dos, and she glanced at the screen. A new text from Ashley Katz.

NewsKatz: Come by my office. I’m ready to prove my innocence and tell you what I discovered re: Hannah. Mostly, I’m eager to hear what YOU have to say to ME!

Oooh! What had the reporter learned of the recently murdered tea specialist? Er, teaist? Even though Jane felt pretty confident she had a handle on the case, she must learn what the other woman knew.

Jane: I’ll be in touch.

A cool, calm response. Excellent.

The receptionist shifted in her chair, and Jane glanced up from the screen. The younger gal mouthed, “Hold, please,” while pointing to the phone pressed to her ear; she flashed a sympathetic look.

Jane used the time to fire off a text to the Team Truth chat rather than collect her thoughts.

Any Lucy sightings, Holden? Beau, I need you to teach the class Maggie Johnson 101. I’ll be your first and only student.

Beau’s phone dinged. He checked the screen and blinked at Jane. “You couldn’t tell me in person since I’m standing right next to you?”

“I could have, yes, but I preferred to have the request in writing in case you take too long, and I need to shame you to the group.”

“I missed a deadline only once.”

“Exactly.” She’d never forgotten the time she’d requested photos, and he’d promised to send them the next day but hadn’t. “I’m one hundred percent justified.”

He pinched the skin between his brows. “Just so you’ll know, I’d planned on providing you with a full dossier.”

“I’m rooting for you to actually come through this time. I really am.” Oh! Responses.

The Holden Rule: I’m being outwitted at every turn and I hate it as much as I love it.

Tiffinator: Now that we’re on the subject of love, I’ve made the most adorable card!!!!!! And Jane, the most brilliant idea popped into my head. I’ll make the invitations for your wedding. All I’ll need is glitter, duct tape and some foam letter stickers. Think of the money you’re going to save.

That would so not be happening. Though glitter could be nice. And foam letters.

“How may I help you?” the receptionist finally asked them.

Jane tucked her phone away. “I’m Jane Ladling, Sheriff Ryan’s fiancé.”

The other woman’s face brightened. “Oh, yes, of course, Miss Ladling. Go on back.”

With a press of a button, the door buzzed and unlocked, allowing Jane and Beau to pass through to a restricted area. The place was a maze, having been added onto and remodeled repeatedly throughout the years, but she’d been inside numerous times, traversing different conference rooms and even an interrogation space complete with two-way glass. And how could she forget the night she’d spent in a basement jail cell as a “guest” after demanding Sheriff Moore arrest her.

They stopped in front of a single elevator installed in the early 1990s. Beau jabbed the button, and Jane’s mind returned to her ex. Did a terrible fate await him, thanks to his connection to a possible killer?

“Poor Christopher,” she said and sighed.

“Why poor Christopher? Besides the fact that he lost you. That’s tragic.”

A smile bloomed, and Jane patted her friend’s shoulder. “It’s his girlfriend, Maggie. She’s involved somehow, I know it. She’s Abigail’s friend. And a mystery writer. Plus a frequent visitor at the Treasure Room. Factor in Abigail’s presence near the murder scene, at the exact right time, and boom, clear picture. Christopher even confirmed seeing the socialite at the grocery store down the street. Yes, she could’ve been in the area to attend the writer’s meeting, as usual, but the book club is probably nothing but a cover for her.”

One way or another, Jane would learn the truth.

“I’m confused.” Beau shook his head, amusement glazing his features. “Who exactly is your suspect? Abigail, who has an alibi, or Maggie?”

“Both. Clearly, they worked together.” A bell above their heads dinged, and the elevator door opened.

A grim-faced couple strode out. Mason Thorton, Hannah’s ex, who Jane recognized thanks to Conrad’s records, and none other than Abigail Waynes-Kirkland. The pair must not have confessed to the crime, considering they were walking away from a formal interview with the indomitable Conrad. No matter. He’d loosened the lid, now she would open the jar of trouble.

Mason stood tall and slim with jet-black hair despite being in his mid to late fifties, with weathered features taut from strain. The sophisticated Abigail stunned in a tailored, knee-length coat the same color as the shadows and made from the finest cashmere. Her dark brown hair wowed in a fancy twist, as sleek as her style, not a strand out of place.

Upon spotting them, Abigail drew up short, forcing Mason to stop with her. She tapped one pointed-toe stiletto against the floor. The two groups faced off.

Ding, ding, ding, let the showdown begin.

CHAPTER FIVE

Settings? Boring! Go ahead and skip.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

“Jane Ladling. As I live and breathe,” Abigail cooed, her fingers flying up to stroke what could only be called a statement piece. A necklace adorned with stones more suitable for a red carpet than a police station. Proof of her newfound wealth. “I must admit, I expected you to make an appearance sooner. You’re nothing if not predictable.”

Hmm. This was the second time she’d heard that particular insult. Compliment? “Hello, Abigail. I’m sure you remember my friend Beau. Is your ex-husband waiting in your getaway car, ready to speed you and your new companion away?”

“Landon moved to Texas months ago.” Flicking invisible locks over one shoulder, the socialite proclaimed, “This is Mason Thorton.”

Mason and Beau shook hands. Abigail settled a palm on the chest of Hannah’s ex, staking a claim while simultaneously displaying her numerous rings. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds glimmered from platinum bands.

“He’s my fiancé,” Abigail added. “We’re getting married.”

What! Suddenly, Jane was rethinking her murder club theory. What if Mason had needed money, despite his “substantial” inheritance? Abigail must be going through his windfall fast. Perhaps he’d even helped plan the scheme to take out his ex and Abigail’s enemy at once.

“Nice to meet you,” Jane said with a nod, revealing none of her thoughts. “I wish our introduction happened under better circumstances. Hannah was a lovely lady.”

“She had her moments.” His gruff voice held notes of regret, grief, and anger.

All of which could be faked. Or a byproduct of his encounter with Conrad. Or stem from a realization that his new girlfriend was the worst. Or Mason was truly in mourning. Just because he and Hannah divorced didn’t mean they’d hated each other. Unless they had. But either way, Abifail was the weak link in their relationship. Jane comprehended the gold digger’s core motive for everything: more money.

She broadcasted an all-innocence expression at the other woman. “I’m told you write books. Is this a recent hobby or a long-term thing?”

Abigail’s eyelids slitted. “That’s an abrupt change of topic, but all right. I’ll move on and pretend you aren’t asking for a so-called investigation. To be honest, I was born an author.”

Jane would verify with Tiff. Not that she knew what an affirmative verification proved. That Abigail hadn’t used the club as cover? Or that she had a long con going? Maybe Jane should put the newly engaged “author” to the test. “Beau and I are both writing books, too.”

“Manuscripts,” Beau corrected without missing a beat.

“Yes, manuscripts,” Jane agreed with a nod.

Her target’s eyelids slitted further. Afraid of competition or feeling like a cornered rat?

“How nice for you.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Trying not to go “super villain” again, Jane modulated her tone. “I’d love to read what you’ve written. Or at least hear something of your story. A quick synopsis even.”

Abigail raised her chin. “Yes, I’m sure you would.”

“I’ll be in the car,” Mason announced. His gaze slid to Jane and Beau for a split second. “Don’t be long.” He stalked off as his companion sputtered.

Oookay. Talk about a hasty getaway. Both suspicious and logical. Either his emotions had gotten the better of him, or he’d feared inadvertently revealing too much.

Abigail humphed, lifted her nose even higher and sauntered past Jane, saying nothing else. Not so brave without a partner, huh?

“I don’t know the details of her book, but I do know my story will smoke hers,” she vowed to Beau.

“I’m sure it will,” he said, whipping out his phone to fire off a text.

Her cell beeped, and she checked the screen.

Beaudyguard: If you don’t send me the first chapter of your novel tomorrow morning, I won’t send you a brief on Maggie. Consider me your muse.

Jane sucked air between her teeth. “Oh! You fiend! You may find yourself cursed into a frog within the pages of my story.”

“A price I’m willing to pay. Though a cursed frog isn’t a punishment. Toads get kissed by pretty girls and turn into princes.”

“Not in my tale.” As they rode the elevator up to the third floor, the desire to see Conrad magnified. Words built upon her tongue, ready to spill out. She had so much she wanted to tell him.

More potted plants greeted them as they stepped off the elevator. Seriously, what was with the abundance of foliage?

This floor was a flurry of activity, housing the police dispatch and 911 services, in addition to Conrad’s new office. Two wooden chairs flanked either side of a door, simply bearing the word “office”. The desk for Conrad’s non-existent assistant remained vacant.

“I’ll answer some messages while you speak with your lover boy,” Beau said, slumping into the assistant’s seat.

Did Jane detect a note of envy? She knew Beau once had—perhaps still had—secret feelings for a woman he’d guarded. “One day, a wonderful lady will sweep you off your feet. Maybe you’ve already met her, maybe you haven’t. But either way, your best days are ahead of you, not behind you.” Jane patted the golden stubble on his jaw before skipping to Conrad’s office.

After giving the door a little tap, she entered the small space. At his GBH office in Atlanta, only certificates of recognition had graced the walls. Not a single picture or personal memento. But that wasn’t the case here in Aurelian Hills. Nope. A framed snapshot of Jane sat next to his computer screen. An original campaign flyer she’d disastrously designed–making it appear as though they were already married–hung on the wall with an elaborate frame. On the bookshelf behind him perched one of her favorite hats. A red wool cloche with a black satin ribbon. Jane thought she’d lost it, but she must have left it in Conrad’s SUV. Instead of returning it to her, he’d brought it to his office to…what? Have something of hers close by? Ahhh. Her heart melted.

“—warrant for any manuscripts they’ve written,” he told the person on the other end of his cell phone. Pause. “Correct.”

They’ve written, he’d said. Not he, not she. They. Plural? Meaning every member of the writer’s club? Or specific members like, say, Abigail and Maggie? Did Conrad already know about Christopher’s girlfriend?

The lawman grinned at Jane and ended the call. Striding over to wrap his arms around her, he asked, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Well, thank you.” She snuggled into his chest, drawing in his delicious spicy scent.

“You’ve been safe today?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, pulling away to peer up at him. “And you?”

“I have.”

“Good.” As everything she wanted to say bubbled to the surface, she adjusted his tie and combed her fingers through his hair, determined to remain professional while spewing facts. “I won’t take up too much of your time, you’re busy, I get it, but I’m going undercover as an author because guess what, Christopher my ex has a girlfriend, and she’s a writer who is friends with Abigail Waynes-Kirkland who is also a writer and who probably hated Hannah as much as she hates me, because she’s marrying Mason, Hannah’s ex, so perhaps Maggie could be innocent and all the guilt falls on Abigail, who walked from the store to the salon and could’ve made an extra stop along the way, or maybe the two women worked together and even Mason helped, but also maybe not.” Jane paused to draw in a deep breath. “What have you learned?”

His amber eyes glittered with amusement. “Abigail’s alibi checks out. Mostly. At the time of death, she was at the grocery store, as you said. And she did walk to the nail salon. No, I haven’t found her journey on the camera footage yet. But that doesn’t mean she is or isn’t involved.” He gave Jane’s chin a gentle stroke. “I’ll explore the partnership angle in more depth.”

“So you already know about Maggie Johnson,” Jane said, a little bummed she hadn’t gotten to break the news.

“Yes. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland mentioned Ms. Johnson.”

Jane snapped her fingers. “She mentioned her friend just like that?” Had thrown her good buddy under the bus to get the spotlight off herself? Interesting.

“She seemed confident Ms. Johnson will back everything she said.”

Ah-ha! “Proof they’re partners.”

“Or that they didn’t do it. Abigail might risk her life for profit, but risk profit for revenge?”

Oh, man. Oh, yeah. That was an excellent point. “Probably not, but she would absolutely risk profit for revenge if it meant more profit in the long run. Think of the book and movie deals this case will get.” Gah! Movie deals. Jane imagined a gorgeous new actor getting his big break by playing the part of the smoldering Sheriff Conrad Ryan. But who to play Jane? Zooey Deschanel? “See, this is the reason I need to go undercover as a writer. If anyone is going to tell this story, it’s me! Undercover is drama. I am drama and drama sells.”

“But is it really undercover if you plan to write a book anyway?”

How well he knew her. “Shh. Don’t ruin this for me.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Now, since I’m an official author, I’m picking up on details you’ve so obviously missed. Of course Abigail wants you to speak with Maggie. The two have probably crafted rock solid backstories for their real-life selves.”

“I’ll know more about their relationship after I interview Ms. Johnson.”

Then they’d move on to another suspect. “Did Mason Thorton have an alibi?”

“He did, but I still need to verify it. On a same but different note, I cleared the mayor of doing the deed. Unlike Miss Waynes-Kirkland, he’s on camera at the time of death.”

“Which is?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, bracing. “Right around the time you texted that you both were and were not breaking into the building.”

Oh, wow. If Jane hadn’t experienced so many mishaps on the way to the tearoom, she might have arrived before the murder. She could’ve helped Hannah. Or died alongside her. “Well, I’m not crossing the mayor off my list. He could’ve hired a hitman and hung around to enjoy the aftermath.”

“A hitman isn’t interested in playing a game, only doing a job.”

“A hitman would absolutely be interested in playing a game if he’s an expert at covering his tracks. He’d do whatever proved necessary to ensure all blame pointed at book club members so no one would ever suspect the mayor.”

“I love your brain.” Conrad kissed her temple.

She loved his everything. “Have you learned anything surprising about Hannah herself?”

“Like what? What are you hinting at?”

“I’m not sure.” What had Ashley Katz discovered? “I think I’ll head home, cook dinner and contemplate my story, which will help me solve the case.” And she’d pet Rolex to remind him that Mommy loved him best. “Come to the Garden after work, and we’ll eat there.”

“I’m so glad you’re mine. Now go ponder your best seller.”

They shared a smile, and she sauntered out of his office.

On the drive home with Beau, her friend was unusually quiet. Jane let him gather his thoughts while she drafted a mental to-do list. Cook, think, write. Make an appointment with Golden Gears Auto Shop. The family hearse could use a tune-up. Score a meeting with the mayor.

“Is something wrong?” she asked when the silence became too much.

“Nothing I can’t handle. A few hiccups with my renovation.”

“You mean your Murder House.” Beau had purchased the home of a deputy who’d accidentally shot himself, setting off a complicated investigation into his death. A mystery Jane had solved, thank you.

“I’ve got some competition with the new owner of the Clayton Boarding House, whoever they are.”

“I still can’t believe two people engaged in a bidding war for what’s basically a shack on a hill,” Jane said. “I wonder if the new owner knows how many men took their last breath there in the 1920s.”

Beau gave an exaggerated shudder. “Or that it’s haunted.”

She cocked her head. “Beauregard Thomas Harden, please tell me you don’t believe in ghosts after working in a cemetery.”

His shoulders began to shake. “You used my full name.”

“Only because this is serious business. But if I know my Bo Bo, and I do, you’ll come out of this competition thing on top. Besides, the recent slaying that took place in your new house beats a fake haunting every time. Also, here’s something guaranteed to brighten your day. Beauregard Thomas Harden,” she repeated to stress the importance of the moment, “will you be my bridesmaid?”

He grinned so big. “Jane Eleanor Ladling, I would be honored.” He opened his mouth to say more after she squealed with delight, but they’d reached her cottage. He parked his truck next to three vehicles surrounding her hearse in the gravel driveway.

Recognizing each, she emerged into the warm afternoon sunlight and hurried into the cottage to find out what was going on. Tiffany sat with Rolex on the couch in the living room, eating something tasty looking from a bowl. Fiona and Susan, Conrad’s foster mom, lounged in recliners near the fireplace.

“—and then my darling Raymond issued me a citation for being too adorable,” Fiona was saying.

Tiffany and Susan laughed. A long length of white lace draped the lap of Conrad’s foster mother. The dear woman was usually quick with a smile, but today she beamed.

Fiona noticed Jane first and hit her with an adoring grin. “Jane, my dear girl, I didn’t want you to have to worry about food after your awful ordeal, so I brought you and Tiff a few casseroles.”

“Twelve,” Tiffany interjected, her green eyes glinting with amazement. “She brought us twelve casseroles.”

Fiona shrugged. “I needed a distraction. Now then. The meals can be stored in the freezer and thawed before baking. I remembered to include the loaded red potato casserole you enjoy so much.”

Jane’s heart swelled with love. Needing an outlet, she passed out hugs to one and all. Even Tiffany. Rolex got a thousand kisses too. Her fur-baby finally recalled his great love for her and bumped his face into hers, making her the happiest woman on Earth.

“Beau,” Trick called from the kitchen. “You gotta try this cornbread and sausage casserole Fiona brought. I’m eating manna, dude. Manna!”

Beau licked his lips. “Ladies.” He offered the combination greeting and farewell, then hustled to join his buddy.

There was no way she was gonna miss out on Fiona’s delicacies. Jane hurried behind him and scanned the food spread across the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living area.

“I’ve been meaning to ask why I have to be a writer, too.” Beau handed her a plate.

“Because writers only hang out with other writers and readers. It’s science. Therefore, I’m not the only one who needs to start drafting my manuscript right away to better blend in. That way we can discuss our characters, plots, and so on with confidence.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always heard everyone has a book in them. How hard can it be?”

“Let’s find out. And you know,” she continued, typing into her phone, “as long as we’re each drafting a book for the case, we might as well sell the stories to the world and rake in millions of dollars.” Hello, perfect wedding!

Fiona’s sweet chuckle filled the room as she and the other ladies entered the kitchen. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Right?!” Tiffany clucked her tongue. “I’m glad I’m not the only person seeing it. Think, guys! If it were super easy, everyone would publish. Besides, I’ve already tried. Nobody had any interest in my chronicle of a gloriously beautiful trophy wife pining for some hulking beast man to come crashing into her mansion and sweep her into a fantastical fairy tale world.”

“I’ll read it,” Jane and Fiona piped up in unison.

Pleasure tinged the widow’s cheeks. “I only wrote the first paragraph. But my point is valid. Writing is hard, guys.”

Well, now Jane had something to prove. The sweetest victories came after the toughest battles. Since there was no need to cook, there was no time to ponder. Guess she’d jump straight into the writing. As soon as she finished visiting with her friends, of course.

“Not to change the subject, but let’s talk wedding.” Susan waved the length of lace in the air as she rushed over. “Look what you won in a contest!” She pinned the material to Jane’s crown. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Ah. A veil. “It is indeed.” Setting her plate down, she examined the delicate lace. In its current configuration, it might not pair well with her Grandma Lily’s wedding dress, but that was okay. Jane had scissors and thread, a gift for style and a determination to save money wherever possible. She could fix anything. “Thank you so much.” She gave Conrad’s foster mother another hug.

“My pleasure. Oh! Wyatt texted me.” The other woman grew thoughtful. “A couple times. More than a couple, really.”

“Me, too,” Fiona and Tiffany piped up in unison. Uh, when had Tiff met Wyatt?

“He asked about the theme for the bachelor and bachelorette parties,” Susan continued, unpinning the veil from Jane’s head.

“Same,” Tiff and Fiona agreed with nods.

This was the perfect opportunity to ask Fiona and Tiffany to be her other bridesmaids, but a niggle stopped her. “Um. Did you say manna, Trick?”

His mouth was too full of casserole to respond. She eyed a cheesy chicken and rice dish. Oh, what was this? Beside the foil pan was a big red envelope with her name scrawled in a fancy font.

From Fiona? “I have the best friends,” she said, turning the envelope around.

“I found that on the floor of your hearse when I drove it home from the Treasure Room,” Trick said after swallowing another bite.

“So it’s not from Fee?”

“I figured you dropped it.” He went still. “Did you not?”

“Nope. This is the first time I've seen it.” Jane slipped her finger into the gap of the envelope.

The guys jumped to their feet in unison, practically leaping over the counter as they shouted, “Don’t!” and “No!” Too late. She’d already opened it. A bouquet of black paper roses popped out, glitter raining to the floor. Her stomach dropped when she noticed cut out magazine letters spelled the sentence: Get ready. This fun is killer!

Foreboding prickled the back of her neck. Was this from the murderer? Meant as a threat? A taunt? But why change things up and go with a red envelope instead of purple? To throw her off?

Yeah. To throw her off. The game was in full swing.

At her side, Beau scrubbed a hand over his face. “I failed at my job today. What if the paper had been laced with some kind of poison powder, Jane?”

“You aren’t the only one who failed,” Trick replied, his tone flat.

So. Jane was the killer’s focus, not Conrad. She held the proof in her hands. And she was relieved. Better her than the lawman. Suck it, family curse!

This development solidified her certainty that each of her theories had merit. But. The colored envelopes and cut out letters suggested someone obsessed with words and imagery. Who in this town would fixate on such details? Well, a writer, of course. This murder was definitely probably committed by someone in the club. And Jane was about to be their next member.

CHAPTER SIX

Liberate your narrative soul with an abundance of flashbacks. Consider your story an enthralling puzzle assembled piece by piece with clips from the past.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

“That’s different,” Conrad said, staring at the rollaround board Jane wheeled into her living room.

Rolex meowed loudly, as if to agree.

“Thank you.” Jane had spent the night building her characters and drafting an outline for her novel, doing far more than she’d expected. “I brainstormed everything that will happen in my book except the ending, outlined the cast and even crafted the most sublime setting. And it’s all brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

Conrad’s eyes got big as he looked over her notes. “Your plotting reminds me of your casework. A mental connect the dots inside a maze scattered throughout three different dimensions.”

“Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ve realized solving a murder and plotting a book are pretty much exactly the same. Suspect everyone of everything. Except…”

“Go on.” He handed her a cup of coffee.

Breathing in its fresh scent, she stared hard at the board. The list of questions. The lines and arrows. “I mentioned my lack of ending. It must be perfect. But who’s the real killer? How do I write the big reveal?”

He kissed her temple. “If there’s something I’m certain of, you’ll figure it out.”

Warmth spread through her. She’d also penned chapter one. After having an in-depth conversation with a tree, a hotshot detective who’d never let a dead client down stumbled upon five bodies. The words had flowed from her as easily as breathing.

Conrad motioned to a list of questions she’d written, reading aloud, “What’s the killer’s endgame? Why is Grave Actually heroine the ultimate kill? Revenge? Fun and games? Prison rules in action? The ole defeat the town’s greatest expert sleuth to prove you’re the hottest new murderer in town? What should I serve guests at the wedding reception? Is a blueberry pancake feeding station possible?” He turned to her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’ve mixed your personal life with the case.”

She blinked tired, burning eyes and hid a yawn. “Yeah, I think that happened around three in the morning. Things began to mesh.”

“Your dream of a blueberry pancake feeding station is absolutely possible. It’s our wedding day. You should have whatever you want.”

No words in the English language had ever sounded so wonderful tied together. “Fiona will already have so many duties as matron of honor.” But was Jane certain Fiona was her first pick for matron of honor? Gah! She didn’t know. Something held her back, but what?

“Drink your coffee.” Conrad’s happy command pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m meeting Maggie Johnson this morning, and you’re coming with me. We’re partners today.”

“You just don’t want to let me out of your sight,” she said, stretching. He’d been uber protective since she’d discovered the card in her vehicle. After showing up with a deputy to collect it, he’d asked a ton of questions, then assigned an officer to drive by her residence for the rest of the day. But this worked out in her favor. Actually meeting with Maggie via police business was better than making an appointment to service the hearse.

“I plead the fifth,” he replied.

As she took her first gulp of morning perfection, she noticed her phone on the coffee table. A line of texts filled the screen.

Oh! Beau must’ve sent what he’d learned about Maggie Johnson. Jane returned the mug to Conrad and swiped up the phone to read. Whoa. Beau wasn’t her only messenger.

“I need five minutes,” she muttered, scrunching her features. “I’m a popular girl today.”

“You’re a popular girl always. But don’t concern yourself with me. I’m highly entertained watching your expressions.” He was grinning as he sipped from her mug.

Why Guy: I know you’re busy, that’s why I’d like to come up this weekend. Conrad mentioned camping is out, so the three of us need to sit together and talk all things wedding parties. Boundaries, that sort of thing. It’s no problem, I’m happy to do it. Yay!

“Wyatt wants to stay with you this weekend,” she muttered. “Or us, since I sorta moved in. He’s eager to learn our boundaries for the bachelor party.”

Conrad scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll speak with him.”

Jane canted her head. “What are our boundaries for the parties?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not interested in a farewell party for my single life. My celebration begins after I make you mine.”

Good answer. Honestly, it was as if he’d stepped straight out of a romance novel. Maybe they could do a joint event? She was grinning as she read the next message.

NewsKatz: Come on. Let’s meet up. You want this tidbit, trust me, and I want the scoop.

Jane’s lips pursed. “Ashley Katz claims she’s got info on Hannah. I’m setting up a meeting for us. Does today work for you?”

“Sure. Make it for ten.”

Type, type, type.

Jane: All right. This morning. 10. But this better be good!

Next order of business.

Tiffinator: You know what will really make your wedding invitations stand out? Adding shakers. I can picture it now. A flower or something behind a little window, with sequins and teeny tiny beads. Maybe even tiny bells. Wedding bells. Get it?

Oh, good heavens.

Jane: I think it’s time for you to start dating again. And you’ve come to the right person for help. Other people’s relationships are my sweet spot. Let me solve this case, and I’ll find your ideal match. Be thinking of your must haves in a SO and nothing else.

Next.

Fionality: I’ve been considering your bestselling story. What if you add a ghost? I did a little search and I’m pretty sure the paranormal stuff is super-hot right now. If not a ghost, berserkers. Yes, yes, I’m loving berserkers more and more. Or double down and go with a ghost berserker.

“Do you have any desire to meet a ghost berserker?” Jane asked Conrad as her brows drew together.

He rubbed his fingers over his mouth. To hide a grin? “In what capacity?”

“A fictionalized nonfiction autobiography slash cozy mystery slash true crime slash rom-com slash paranormal romance. Never mind, I know how to respond.”

Jane: Done!

She envisioned it now. In chapter two, that ghost berserker would emerge from the talking tree and help the hotshot detective piece the clues together. And then, a slow-burn love story would unfold…

Next.

Beaudyguard: Where’s that chapter? I got the goods. Do you?

Dang him!

Jane: Fine. Just remember, this is a rough draft.

“I need a couple more minutes. Beau is forcing me to send him the chapter I wrote last night,” she told Conrad, kneeling in front of the couch to power up her laptop.

“CC me. For the case.” Conrad took another drink of coffee before sauntering off, whistling the rest of the way.

“You boys are incorrigible,” Jane admonished, but she did include him in the email.

Once sent, she shot her friend a new text.

Jane: I emailed you. Pay up!

The text arrived only seconds later.

Beaudyguard: Margaret “Maggie” Selene Johnson is a twenty-seven y.o. mechanic who co-owns Golden Gears Auto Shop with her brother. Co-workers refer to her as “the Breaker of Lanes.” Reviews are a mix bag. The good ones praise her straight-forward manner, the bad seem to come from those who asked her out and got turned down. She’s been a member of the book club for six years.

She sounded interesting, and not at all like the rich jetsetters Abigail usually preferred.

Although Maggie was a business owner. Perhaps she made enough money to garner Abigail’s interest.

Mulling over the information, Jane hurried through a shower and dressed in a casual, pale rose A-line dress with a hem that skimmed her knees. Once again, she forewent a hat. And once again, Conrad had breakfast prepared when she exited. Avocado toast with poached eggs. He was such a wonderful man.

After they’d eaten their fill, they hopped into his SUV and drove to Golden Gears. The building had been refurbished from Aurelian Hills’s first filling station, retro signage evoking a sense of nostalgia. Classic gas pumps flanked the parking lot entrance. Four large service bays were equipped with vintage-inspired rolling doors. Past them, skilled mechanics utilized state-of-the-art diagnostic machines and equipment.

“Is this a good cop, bad cop situation?” Jane asked as they unbuckled.

He softly chucked her under the chin. “This is an I talk, you listen situation.”

Fair enough. “Well, do us both a favor and remember my cover. I’m Jane, the future bestselling author now.”

“Got it.” He exited and rushed around to open her door.

They headed inside. Conrad flashed his badge to the man behind the counter. “We’d like to speak with Maggie Johnson.”

The guy paled but nodded, led them into an office, and mumbled, “I’ll go get her.” He closed the door on his way out.

Only a few minutes later, a short, curvy brunette with arms sleeved in tattoos and smears of oil on her cheek strode in. She wiped her hands on a rag and peered between Conrad and Jane with big, blue eyes. “May I help you?”

Jane did a double take. Minus bangs, the mechanic epitomized the murderer described in the killer’s manuscript. Same dark hair and crystalline eyes. She thought Conrad might have performed a double take too.

Surely Maggie wouldn’t be foolish enough to describe herself? Or maybe she’d done it to throw off suspicion?

“May I help you?” the mechanic repeated, taking a seat behind the desk.

“I’m Sheriff Conrad Ryan, and this is AHPD consultant Jane Ladling. We’re investigating the murder of Hannah Thorton.”

No mention of Jane’s authorly endeavors, but it hardly mattered. She preened under the “consultant” description.

“I understand you’re a member of the Golden Page Book Club scheduled to meet at Ms. Thorton’s shop this past Saturday at ten,” he said.

“I am.” Maggie’s shoulders rolled in. “It’s pretty tragic, what happened.”

“It is,” Jane concurred. “I was slated to speak to the group that morning.”

Her brows knitted together. “No. That’s not accurate. I help Jacob Thacker, our club president, line up our speakers. We discussed approaching you, but no matter how much I wished otherwise, he ultimately opted to go another route.” She winced, adding, “Sorry.”

“No big deal.” Big deal! Obviously, the club was real, but Jane’s invitation had been faked. Ouch. It must’ve come from the killer.

She gripped the arms of her seat. Had Conrad connected the same dots? His expression remained impassive, but she knew he had. The man was brilliant. But also, bombshell! The mayor’s son had discussed Jane with her ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend.

“Just so we’re clear, you’re referencing Jacob Thacker, your neighbor, as well as the son of Mayor Thacker and Jessica Thacker?” Conrad asked.

Jessica Thacker, the woman in jail for shooting him and threatening Jane’s life. Huge motive for Jacob. Who just happened to be Maggie’s neighbor. How interesting.

“Correct,” Maggie said before refocusing her attention on Jane. “I admit I recognized your name before Jessica’s case. Chris mentioned you dated him a few years before me.”

“That’s right.” Play it cool. “Christopher came to my rescue so bravely at the tearoom. He stayed with me until the ambulance arrived.” He may have rushed in, thinking the injured woman mentioned via the phone call was Maggie, but his kindness had kept him by Jane’s side. And yes, okay, also his job. “He couldn’t stop singing your praises.” She seized the opportunity. “I hear we’re both writers.” Bam! Important detail added to the conversation.

Excitement sparked in Maggie’s eyes. “What do you write?”

“I’m still finding my voice and searching for the right critique group,” Jane said, thinking she remembered reading something similar somewhere, “but for the time being I’m pre-published, crafting a fictionalized version of my life and how I’ve solved some of Aurelian Hills’s most complex crimes. Your turn. I’d love to hear your book’s elevator pitch.” Man, she was nailing the lingo.

Interrogating suspects really was easier than the average citizen might think.

“I’m writing a series featuring a plucky heroine who fixes cars by day and solves crime by night. Very high concept.” Maggie grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, then wrote something down. “You should come to my house tomorrow evening at seven. I’m hosting a special book club meeting to honor Hannah.”

Jane almost shouted, “Yes!” Somehow, she managed to smile politely and say, “I will do everything in my power to clear my schedule.” But, um. Surely Abigail had mentioned her absolute loathing for Jane at some point. And then there was Christopher. Yet, Maggie had offered the invitation so easily. Did the gals want her to attend to further the game?

Maggie leaned over to hand Jane the paper. Ah. An address.

“You and Hannah were close?” Conrad asked, taking control of the conversation.

“Once. Then her ex-husband showed up during a meeting, and they fought about their kids. That’s when he met my friend Abigail. The two started dating. Hannah held grudges, and she never fully forgave me for refusing to get involved and kicking Abigail from the group. And no, I don’t think Abigail or Mason killed Hannah. They’re good people.”

Other than having great taste in speakers and terrible taste in friends, Maggie might be innocent. Emphasis on might!

Jane rearranged her suspect list. In the number one spot remained Abigail, however, where she would stay until proven innocent. Mason was second, the mayor’s son third, the mayor fourth, and Maggie now fifth. She might have jealousy issues, considering she hadn’t fought harder to invite Jane to speak at a writer’s meeting.

If Holden ever got around to finding Lucy, things would be easier. Jane could learn the identity of her attacker.

“—but I know nothing more than that,” Maggie said, and Jane realized she’d lost track of the dialogue. Oops.

“Why weren’t you at the grocery store with Abigail before the writer’s meeting?” Jane asked.

Surprise flickered inside Maggie’s eyes. Because Jane knew such a detail? “I was running late. Lost track of time while working on an Audi.”

Hmm. Plausible. But honest?

“Please call me if you think of anything that could help us find Ms. Thorton’s killer,” Conrad said, handing over his card. “No detail is too small.”

He stood, and Jane did the same. They headed outside without saying a word. Rather than crossing to the parking lot, he drew her along the sidewalk.

“We can talk about what we learned later,” he said, wrapping an arm around Jane’s waist to draw her closer. He’d grown dead serious. “Right now, I need you to listen to me. All right? I clocked the mayor twice this morning. He’s following us, and I’m going to catch him in the act. Beau’s office is two streets down. I know he’s there. Text him and tell him to go outside and wait for you. As soon as you’re in his orbit, I’ll backtrack to apprehend the mayor.”

The seriousness of his tone sent Jane’s heart into overdrive, but she obeyed without protest or hesitation, sliding her phone from her purse to send the message.

While Conrad steered her, she typed, 911! Being followed. Get outside. I’m coming to you.

Send.

“You’ll be safe?” she rasped.

“Always.”

Beau responded as they turned the second corner, with a straight shot to the Peach State Security Building at the other end.

Beaudyguard: Which direction are you dimint reinvent

Uh…? Had he texted while on the move? Jane squinted, searching for him. “He’s there!”

“Go straight to him. I love you, and I’ll be back soon.” Conrad backtracked swiftly, disappearing around the corner they’d just cleared.

Fighting the urge to follow him, she picked up the pace, eager to reach Beau. Had he seen her too? He stood there, looking left and right—aaah! Someone grabbed hold of Jane’s wrist and yanked her into an alley. She pulled back her elbow, ready to throw a punch.

“It’s me, it’s me,” the offender rushed out.

“Lucy?” Jane gasped, lowering her arm. Her body acted before her mind gave permission, and she hugged her former friend. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, too.” Lucy hugged her back, relief heavy in her voice.

The last time Jane had seen this woman, she’d opened her mouth as if preparing to scream. “You tried to warn me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Easing away, Lucy launched into a swift pace in front of her. Gone were the pencil skirt and heels. Her dark hair no longer fell in an elegant cascade, but was anchored in a haphazard ponytail. But kindness still dominated her brown eyes. The same kindness she’d displayed in school.

Sitting alone in the cafeteria? Don’t worry, Lucy would plop right beside you. Your friends ditch you in the parking lot as a joke? No need to fret. Lucy always gave you a ride home.

“I wish I’d alerted you sooner.” Lucy kicked a rock on the uneven asphalt. “I didn’t think…hoped…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m good, and I’m grateful.” Jane bit back a smile because man, oh man, was Holden gonna be mad she’d found the former bank employee first. “Why are you here in Aurelian Hills? Returning to the scene of the crime is dangerous.” The fact that she’d stolen fifty thousand dollars of Emma Miller’s money hadn’t changed.

Lucy stopped pacing, glancing from an employee parking lot to a delivery truck parked at the rear entrance. Anywhere but Jane. “Being on the road was tough. The money ran out quickly and–”

“Whoa! You spent that much cash in less than six months?” Jane demanded.

Her friend resumed pacing. “The money wasn’t for me. I just…I needed a friend, so I came home. And besides, Cartier really misses Rolex.”

“Well, Rolex misses Cartier too.” Was Hannah the friend?

Lucy flinched, as if the news was too much to bear.

“You gotta give me more info,” Jane said. “Who or what did you need the money for?” Only one scenario made sense. “Is Cartier okay?”

Another flinch. “Cartier is fine. I desperately required the cash for a person I loved. I’ll explain some other time.”

Loved, past tense. Meaning that person had died? Jane’s chest squeezed.

Lucy glanced toward the parking lot again. Already planning her escape? “We don’t have a lot of time. Here’s what I know. I was living in the secret room at the Treasure Room. Hannah invited me.”

“Why would she do that?”

“We were friends. Mostly.” The muscles of her throat worked, her swallow audible. “Plus, I helped her with financing when no one else would. When I returned, I promised to take care of her taxes in exchange for secret room and board. The store was locked up, and we were tidying the shop in preparation for the book club. I’d gone to the back to grab specific jars of tea leaves. I heard a man’s voice in the secret room as I returned.”

Jane’s spine straightened. A male murderer then, not a female. Which meant the mayor, his son, the ex-husband, a hitman, or someone she hadn’t yet considered had done the deed. Or someone she had considered, then forgotten. Maybe someone new to town. Someone off like that Donnie guy. “Did you recognize anything about him?”

The other woman shook her head. “I snuck inside just in time to witness her death.” Tears streaked down Lucy’s cheeks. “As he rearranged the room, I stayed hidden. Then you showed up, and he hid. I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t expect you to enter… When I saw him sneak up on you, I reacted. When you went down, I ran, hoping to draw him away and find help. I knew I couldn’t overpower him.”

Jane’s blood flashed cold. “What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s tall. Fit, I guess. On the lean side. He wore gloves, so I didn’t get a look at his hands. Every inch of him was covered up.”

Tall and lean described both the mayor, his son, Mason and yep, Donnie too. “You didn’t recognize his voice?”

“He used some kind of vocal disguiser.” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m scared, Jane. Whoever he is, I think he’s after me. I feel like I’m being watched all the time.”

“You need to come in and talk with Conrad,” Jane told her. “He’ll keep you safe.”

“Safe? Hardly. Conrad will lock me up for taking that money,” she cried.

“Jane!” Beau’s frantic cry reached her ears, and her breath hitched.

Lucy went still and croaked, “Please hurry and solve this. Lives depend on it.” She bolted, vanishing in the distant shadows as if she were the ghost Fiona recommended Jane weave into her story.

Beau caught her by the arm and pulled her behind him. He looked left, right. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Jane took a moment to breathe. “The mayor followed Conrad and me. Our wonderful sheriff gave chase. I made my way to you and found Lucy. Well, she found me. She witnessed the murder. I just learned the killer is male and built like the mayor, Jacob Thacker, Mason Thorton and Donnie the fireman. So? What are we waiting for? Let’s go rescue our mansel in distress.”

“There’s no need.”

Conrad’s rich baritone reached her ears, and she gasped, spinning. There he stood, in the entrance of the alley, his expression grim.

She raced over and threw her arms around him, repeating Beau’s words. “What happened? Talk to me!”

“Someone followed the mayor in a car. The son, I’m guessing. As soon as the mayor realized I had spotted him, he hopped in and the two drove off. I noted the vehicle’s make and model, but they made sure I couldn’t see the plate number. Which isn’t a crime, but I’ll still be hauling in Mr. Mayor for questioning. Not that it’ll do much good. He’ll lawyer up and say nothing.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “The investigation needs Lucy’s testimony on the record.’”

Conrad had heard what Jane said regarding the loan officer. Good. “Let’s go see Ashley and find out what info she’s got on Hannah. Then I’ll speak with Jacob tomorrow at Maggie’s book club party.” She’d also do a little online sleuthing to dig into Donnie Eggerson’s past. No one was that creepy without a reason.

The boys groaned, which Jane took as enthusiastic approval. Maybe the buck stopped with the Thackers, maybe not. But if they had started this game to punish her for testifying against Jessica Thacker, well, they’d just have to deal when Jane ended it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Don’t be afraid to share the thoughts of everyone who enters the page, even the dog.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

While Beau tracked Lucy, Jane and Conrad hopped in his SUV and headed for Aurelian Hills Media.

Don’t ask his opinion of your writing. Don’t ask his opinion of your writing.

“Did you have a chance to read my chapter?” she blurted out.

A long pause ensued. Until… “I did, and your punctuation is outstanding. The talking tree is a surprisingly fantastic character.”

That was it? All he had to say? “You hated it,” she groaned.

He flipped his blinker and sighed. “Jane, there’s three things I’ve learned in this life. Never let your mom mess with your hair when she’s mad at your dad, never respond when a woman asks if she looks bad, and never do anything but encourage the woman you love when she’s excited.”

Jane slumped against the seat. “So you think I’m a hack.”

He answered her with an even heavier sigh as he pulled into a space and parked. “You aren’t a hack, and I didn’t hate it. I very much enjoyed the peek inside your brain.”

She rotated to face him. “Then give me something constructive. Don’t hold back. I’m writing a pre-bestseller, and I need all the advice I can get. Plus, your opinion is important to me.”

He pursed his lips but nodded. “Very well. One tip. Your detective heroine gets the forensics report too early.”

“Are you sure? Because I read on the internet that–”

“I’m sure.” He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Fine. I’ll fix it. Are you impressed with my maturity?”

He snorted. “Very. That’s why I’ll give you a second tip. Instead of combining all five Aurelian Hills murders in the opening scene, consider spacing them out and going through them one by one. That way, you’re not throwing so many names and histories at readers.”

Not a bad tip. If she started with Dr. Marcus Hotchkins, the first body she’d found, she would have more room to describe the ghost berserker. Yes! Inspiration struck, and she could hardly wait to write again. “Thank you, Conrad.” She leaned over to kiss his lips.

“You’re welcome.” He was grinning as he exited and jogged around the car to open her door. Offering his hand, he asked, “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

They hustled from the parking lot and entered the building, sweeping through the lobby. Shocker, Ashley waited for them at the reception desk. A first. The reporter tapped one blood-red stiletto against the tile floor, impatient. She tucked a tendril of curly hair behind her ear and waved at Jane. Noticing Conrad’s presence, she pursed her lips. But she also motioned them over, letting them bypass security without checking in.

Ashley led them down a hallway and into her office. A wall of monitors dominated the small room, all displaying various threads on the Headliner. As usual, she’d covered up her white board with a sheet secured by binder clips, and oh, Jane longed for a peek. She and Conrad claimed seats on one side of the desk, and Ashley sank into the chair on the other.

All business, the reporter linked her hands, rested her weight on her elbows and leaned forward. “I’m not revealing a single piece of information until you issue a statement about discovering Ms. Thorton.”

“That’s funny, because I’m not giving a statement until you offer proof of your own innocence.” Two could play this game.

Hmm. Did Ashley enjoy playing other games?

“That is proof I require as well.” Conrad, being Conrad, adopted his cold detective face. He withdrew a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and flipped to a specific page. “You were seen visiting the tearoom the morning of the murder.”

She was? Jane had clocked Ashley’s presence in the crowd but hadn’t known she’d visited Hannah earlier that same day. Um, why hadn’t the good sheriff told her of this development sooner?

Conrad’s focus on Ashley remained steady. She peered back at him, unwavering.

Not knowing what else to do, Jane joined the staring contest. The three of them continued their silent showdown. Only the hum of the computer fan filled the small space.

“Fine!” Ashley burst out. “You convinced me. I’ll talk first.” She stood and moved to the white board, lifting the covering to reveal candid photos of Hannah, Mason and Abigail. “I’ve been working on a story I’ve titled Gold Rush Murders. It’s about the men and women of Aurelian Hills who recently met violent ends because of the deadly combination of greed and a relationship gone bad. Dr. Hotchkins. Anna Irons. Anthony Miller. Even Josh Gunn and his love affair with his job.”

“How does this connect with Hannah?” Jane asked, only a little—lot—envious over Ashley’s amazing title. “Also, I should probably mention I’m a writer now, and penning a similar story from a different angle. Currently, there’s a sexy ghost berserker in the mix. I just wanted you to know. So please, do continue.” Bonus: maybe something the other woman said would spark Jane’s imagination, and she’d finally figure out her book’s ending.

Ashley waved a hand through the air. “I’ll deal with your toe dip into writing later. My story deals with real people going after other people’s money. Hannah—” She used a pen to specify the teashop owner “—is a focal point. The morning of her death, she returned a text I’d sent the night before, agreeing to be interviewed at the shop. But when I got there, she pretended to be surprised by my presence and my questions about her attempt to get a cut of her ex-husband’s inheritance.”

Wow, wow, wow. Information bombs exploded, one after the other. Motives abounded for both Abigail and Mason. And he did fit Lucy’s description of the killer. Perhaps Jane was right in the beginning, and he and Abigail had worked together, both getting revenge against their enemies. But were they capable of hunting Lucy? And what had kept Lucy from calling Jane with the killer’s details? Why arrange an alley meetup?

Okay, she would ponder Lucy later.

Why hadn’t Abigail and Mason attempted to frame Jane for Hannah’s murder? Wouldn’t that be true revenge? Abigail got rid of a potential romantic rival and pinned it on the girl she’d viewed as a pest since grade school. Also, how was playing cat-and-mouse like this revenge? Unless the game was meant for Conrad, while he mourned Jane’s death after she’d succumbed to her injuries? An idea she had dismissed after opening the red envelope. Exactly what the killer hoped?

“I’d like to check your phone,” Conrad told Ashley.

The reporter keyed up her cell and showed him the exchange.

He made a notation on the pad after eyeing the screen. “That isn’t Ms. Thorton’s number.”

She gaped. “I communicated with someone pretending to be Hannah?”

Score another point for the killer.

Conrad ignored Ashley’s question and returned to his own track. “Detail Ms. Thorton’s response to your questions for me.”

“After an initial breakdown, Hannah admitted the Treasure Room had been hemorrhaging money for a while, and her ex was blowing his inheritance on a quote unquote cash stealing cow. Hannah felt he owed her for all the wasted years she’d devoted to their marriage and thought she had good legal standing for a case.”

Hannah had confessed to all that? To a reporter? Jane wasn’t convinced. Could Lucy verify? “Was anyone with her?” Had Ashley spotted the former bank loan officer?

“No, she was alone, as far as I could tell. And when I left, she was alive. Security footage will prove this. She walked me to the door and locked up.”

Locked up? And yet, Jane had strolled right in.

Conrad made another notation. “How did you originally discover Hannah’s intention to gain access to her ex-husband’s money?”

“An anonymous source alerted me. And no, I’m not just saying that. I don’t know their identity. They kept it a secret.” Ashley’s gaze shot to Jane. “Why did you visit Ms. Thorton?”

“I was invited to the book club.” Jane scooted to the edge of her chair. “How did the source keep their identity secret?”

“Some kind of voice disguising device.”

Ding, ding, ding. The same device used by the murderer, who then called the authorities to report Jane’s injuries?

“Have you spoken with Mr. Thorton or Abigail Waynes-Kirkland regarding your story?” Conrad asked.

“No, actually.” Ashley shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to either of them. Yet.”

Wow. Another surprise. Had Mason and Abigail not known of Ashley’s story? Or had they heard the rumors and decided to strike while they had plausible deniability?

Say neither of them was the whistleblower. Who was? Someone attempting to set them up? Or someone they’d paid?

Paying a source allowed the pair to distance themselves from the reporter. Or was the informant genuine? Ohhh. That line of thought had fuel in the tank. The mayor or his son, Jacob, were ideal candidates. Didn’t Jacob sit on the Headliner’s board of directors? He could’ve learned of Ashley’s work-in-progress story and called with a tip to help her out. And he’d already proven he might be callous enough to deprive book club members from hearing Jane’s speech by blocking her hiring, so. He was obviously a monster. Not to mention a co-stalker with his dad.

Jane really, really wanted to observe Ashley with the book club members. Would anyone be observing the reporter in kind? “You should come to the book club memorial for Hannah tomorrow evening. I’ll text you the address. I can’t say the killer will be there, but I can’t say the killer won’t be there, either.”

Intrigue lit the reporter’s eyes. “Oh, yes. I’ll be there.”

Conrad handed over his card and stood, then helped Jane to her feet.

“I have three of these already,” Ashley pointed out.

Conrad appeared unbothered. “Then it should be easy to find my number when needed.”

They made their way to the exit, not saying anything until they were buckled in his SUV. From behind the wheel, he said, “Waynes-Kirkland is the one who mentioned seeing Ms. Katz enter the Treasure Room.”

Interesting. “Do you think Abigail and Mason are hoping Ashley takes the fall? Maybe they sent her that text to invite her to Hannah’s. Though they would also need to invent a good motive for Ashley to kill Hannah. Though creating her own story to promote her book is a good one.”

“I don’t have answers yet, but I’ll learn how the mayor is involved. If he’s involved.” Conrad pressed the ignition button, firing up the vehicle’s engine. “I’m even more eager to schedule an interview with him and his lawyers to see what shakes out.”

She remembered the mayor’s interview during the last case. He’d refused to speak, and his team of representatives had revealed nothing.

“We’re missing something,” Conrad said. “I sense it.”

“My gut agrees.” But what hadn’t they considered? Jane ran through her list of suspects and possible team ups. Abigail. Mason. Abigail and Mason. Maggie. Maggie and Abigail. Jacob. The mayor. The mayor and Jacob. What of Jacob and Maggie? Or Jacob and Abigail. Or Jacob and Mason. Or Jacob, Abigail and Maggie. Perhaps all six had worked together. Or some unknown individual was involved. Jane rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe the sudden headache.

“Where to now?” she asked as Conrad eased onto the street.

“The station. I’ve gotta make some calls.”

A thought occurred to her. “Do you know if Hannah’s having a public funeral?”

He shook his head. “The family chose to have a private service at her home.”

So no way to horn in. Drats! Although…

“You don’t need to attend,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You have a novel to write and off-the-wall theories to concoct to set me on the right course.”

True. She also had a wedding to plan. Mostly, Jane had a game of cat and mouse to win.

* * *

Jane spent the rest of the day deep in thought, sleuthing, wedding planning and book plotting, still unable to create the perfect ending for her story. Conrad had set her up in the small area that was once reserved for the sheriff’s assistant, a position cut long before Sheriff Moore had walked these ancient halls.

With the slew of murders that now plagued the town, the city council had approved a new hire. Since Conrad hadn’t yet filled the position, Jane claimed the desk for herself. She even eked out chapter two of her book, but oooooh goodness gracious. She had to extract every word with a pair of invisible pliers. Why was writing so hard? And why did Donnie Eggerson have no online presence?

The phone rang on and off. She answered calls from her fellow Aurelian Hills citizens, fielding everything from the supervisor of Dashwood Farms, complaining of teenagers tipping the cows again to an illegal lemonade stand. How she loved helping. Bonus, the ringing phone saved her from having to write more. But mostly helping was the right thing to do.

She offered amazing advice, jotted down notes, and kept deputies from invading Conrad’s space with non-case related issues. A lull in the calls came. Hmm. What else could she do to legitimately avoid writing—er, to help the love of her life? Jane snapped her finger. Why not pretty up the third floor?

Her phone beeped. Oh! A text had come in.

Beaudyguard: Your book is amazing.

Jane beamed, then slumped, Conrad’s advice fresh in her mind.

Jane: Amazingly good or amazingly bad?

Beaudyguard:…

Beaudyguard:...

Beaudyguard: I want more talking trees. But also a legit reason for talking trees.

Jane was just about to ask him to explain himself when she realized she’d missed a few other texts.

Juniverse: Hiya sis!

Jane’s brow wrinkled. Her baby half-sister, June Moonrose, was the oldest of her mother's children with Arthur Moonrose. Arthur wasn’t the love of her mother’s life, which was the reason her marriage had lasted almost twenty years, sidestepping the Ladling Curse. Or so Jane had once thought. And nope, she had never been, not once, jealous that the name Moonrose paired perfectly with a cemetery. But until recently, Jane and June had rarely spoken. Why continue to reach out now? Because of the wedding?

Like all things that had to do with her sister, Jane pushed this into the background.

Tiffinator: Have you seen my corner rounder? It’s nowhere in the cottage.

As if Jane even knew what that looked like.

Jane: I’ll keep an eye out.

Fionality: I hear you’re running the police station now. Jane, this is so wonderful! I have a feeling our crime rates are about to drop to 0%

Running the–well, not yet. No, no. Definitely not ever. She ignored the little flutter of excitement. Because she worked at the cemetery. And now authored stuff. Although Grandma Lily had always said the key to her happy marriage with Pops was doing everything together.

And dang it, Jane needed to ask Fiona to be her matron of honor. And yet still she hesitated. Why? There was nothing she would rather Fiona do. Right?

MommaSue: Jane!!!!!! You won a two hundred and fifty piece puzzle with a photo of you and Conrad!

It warmed Jane’s heart how much Conrad’s foster mother was enjoying the wedding planning.

MommaSue: It’s for the reception. You give each guest a piece and they’re invited to “Piece Together Love.” Isn’t that romantic?

Well. She teared up for a moment.

Jane: It is romantic indeed.

The elevator dinged, the door opening as her gaze flipped up. When she spotted the visitor, she jumped to her feet without thought.

“Christopher,” she said with a smile and a wave. “Hello.”

He did a double take upon his approach. “Jane. Hi.” Quickening his step, he returned her smile with one of his own. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

No reason to explain the situation. Even out of his uniform, he carried himself like a man ready to charge into any disaster as needed. His jeans and T-shirt looked great on him but had never really meshed with her hats and vintage lifestyle.

When he leaned over to offer her a hug, she jolted. Um, okay. Unsure what else to do, she hugged him back, and it was kind of awkward for both of them, but it was too late to backtrack. When they pulled apart, they both laughed it off.

“The lava cake was delicious.” He gave her a teasing glance. “Maybe the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Thank you.” She beamed at him as she sank into her seat. “Hey, since you’re here, I have a question. What’s Donnie Eggerson’s story?”

“Oh. Well. He moved here from Atlanta. Lives alone and loves video games. Doesn’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t think I have to explain why.”

Loved video games, did he? Hmm. If she had written Mr. Eggerson into her story, he would’ve been the perfect red herring. But even better than a red herring—making the supposed red herring the killer. Hello plot twist! “Was he with you at the grocery store?”

“No. He was off that day.”

Did he have an alibi for the time of the murder?

“Why?” her former flame asked with a frown. “Did he do something?”

“No, nothing like that.” She smiled her sweetest smile and changed the subject. “How can I help you?”

“I came to speak with Sheriff Ryan, actually. I remembered something I saw at the Treasure Room.”

Her cake had done its job! “He’ll want to hear every detail.” So did she. Jane picked up the landline and dialed into Conrad’s office, a perk she’d learned to do earlier. As soon as he answered, she rushed out, “You’ve got an important visitor, and we’re coming in. Okay. Bye.”

She hung up before he could respond, stood, and led Christopher through the door, which was already opened. Conrad looked Jane over before standing and turning his attention to Christopher. The pair shook hands. Jane noticed not even a speck of jealousy sprang between them, which wasn’t irritating. Nope. Not the least bit. Everyone took a seat.

Forearms resting on his desk, Conrad joined his fingers. “How may I help you, Mr. Wellington?”

“It’s probably nothing, but here goes. I was the first to enter the Treasure Room, with another fireman, Brent Lancaster. Jeb Hathaway, who was with us, went through the front. Or tried to. It was locked, so we let him in once we came through the back.”

“The front door was locked?” Jane interjected. Again? “You’re sure.”

“Very.”

But. When she herself had stepped inside the building, it was unlocked. Even though Ashley Katz had specifically stated Hannah had escorted the reporter to the door and locked up behind her. Jane should have never been able to get in. But then there was Lucy. The wild card in all this. Lucy had run out of the secret room. Had the former bank officer gone through the front or back? If the front, she wouldn’t have had time to lock it behind her. If the back, why lock the front while being chased?

And again, why hadn’t Lucy called Jane with the killer’s details? Why arrange a secret alley meetup when she feared for her life? Was she hiding something? Or playing a game?

Abigail had mentioned spotting someone matching Lucy’s description leaving the shop. Had the socialite truly seen her or lied, hoping to cast blame? Lucy would be the perfect fall guy. A known criminal in Aurelian Hills that no one had spotted in months. Except, Abigail didn’t know Lucy was in town. Or did she? Could the two be working together?

Jane didn’t want to suspect her friend. So. Supposing Abigail had told the truth, which was highly unlikely, but still supposing… if the killer had followed Lucy out at top speed, intending to stop the only witness, Abigail would’ve seen him, too. But she hadn’t. So, either he hadn’t chased Lucy, Lucy had lied, or Abigail was covering for the killer. He could’ve hung back and locked up. Even cleaned up, putting Jane’s phone in her purse. But why not kill her and finish the job? Unless he thought her already dead. Perhaps he’d never intended to kill her. He needed his player two, after all. But where did that leave Conrad in the equation?

Argh! So many roads to travel.

“I don’t know if this matters, but I saw a pair of men’s shoes near the back door. On the outside,” Christopher clarified. “Jeb doesn’t recall seeing them, though. They were dress shoes. I’m not sure what size. Over ten, if I had to guess.”

Dress shoes. Over ten. Had the killer feared leaving prints on the store’s floor?

“That’s it,” the fireman added. “That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

“Could you identify the shoes from a photo?” Conrad asked, making Jane think they weren’t there when the police arrived.

“Maybe?” Christopher hiked his shoulders. “I glimpsed them once but didn’t regard them as a thing of importance at the time. Maybe they aren’t. But I’ve been replaying the event again and again.” A shudder rocked his entire body. “I haven’t been able to turn off the mental feedback, actually.”

Jane’s chest squeezed. She reached over and patted the top of his hand.

He gave her a small smile before telling Conrad, “I hope I’ve helped in some way.”

“You have.” The world’s most perfect lawman stood, and Jane followed suit.

Christopher stood as well, and the two men shook hands again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at Hannah’s memorial. If you attend, of course,” Jane said.

“Yep. I’ll be there to support Maggie.” The fireman paused only a moment before saying, “Did you know Australia is wider than the moon by six hundred kilometers?”

“I didn’t, but I do now. Okay. Bye.” She smiled and waved, then hurried to open the door.

Her ex breezed through the opening. Brimming over with thoughts, she shut the door behind him, ready to dissect this dress shoe bombshell. But when she turned to face Conrad, he crossed his arms over his chest. Grim expectation etched his features.

“What?” she asked, looking left and right.

“Tell me everything you know about Christopher Wellington.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The dialogue tag “said” is boring. Let your characters whisper vehemently or blast with indignant fury!!!

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Whoa. Jane jolted with realization. “You suspect Christopher of being the killer.” She trudged to her seat and plopped down. But that was preposterous. Wasn’t it?

“He certainly fits Lucy’s description of the killer.” Conrad stated the words flatly, then sighed. “But no. He would’ve had to be in two places at once, killing Hannah while buying groceries with three other firemen.”

Hmm. A thought occurred to Jane. She remembered what Christopher had said. How the call had come in, mentioning an unconscious woman, and it had frightened him because he’d believed it was his girlfriend Maggie. He’d gone running. “Did the anonymous caller, who is probably the killer, give a description of the unconscious woman?”

“They mentioned a dark-haired female, but no other details.”

On the run, Lucy wouldn’t have taken the time to describe Jane’s hair color to the 911 operator. Right? And why mention that particular detail unless on purpose?

What if the caller hoped to lure Christopher to the Treasure Room? Perhaps Jane had been nothing but bait, and the killer had stuck around to strike at Christopher upon his arrival, but Lucy blew the plan to smithereens. A total possibility, especially as the caller gave the very detail needed to convince Christopher that Maggie was the victim.

Or perhaps the killer liked the idea of pitting Jane’s ex against her fiancé?

The fireman should go through his mortal enemies list STAT. Did Donnie Eggerson have a beef with him? Although, considering all the connections to certain book club members, that might be the better place to start. And since significant others were always the first suspects, Jane turned her attention right back to Maggie. Up the suspect list she climbed.

Did the mechanic hope to hurt Christopher by hiring a hitman to play this game? Get Christopher out of the way because she’d fallen in love with someone else, maybe? What better method of discarding him and gaining sympathy from others than losing him to a game of murder? But why choose Hannah, a close friend, as the first victim? A simple matter of opportunity?

An interesting line of supposition.

“While I don’t suspect Mr. Wellington of murder at this time,” Conrad said, picking up their conversation, “I do suspect him of being in love with you.” He sat and picked up a pen. “Tell me about your relationship with him. You’re ready. I see it in your eyes.”

She was ready. And now, at least, she understood what was going on here. Her darling was jealous, and he’d expertly hidden it during his interaction with Christopher. How adorable was that?

“I met him fiveish years ago when I accidentally started a small fire at the Garden. There was more smoke than anything,” she added in her own defense. “I hadn’t yet gotten over my sadness from Grandma Lily’s passing. I let memories get the better of me while cooking. My oil caught fire.”

Fearing the worst, she’d called for help. By the time the professionals arrived, she’d already put out the flames. Even still, in had raced Christopher, tall, dashing and decked out in his uniform. He’d returned the next day and offered to repair the damage. They’d talked, and yes, flirted. He’d asked her out, but she’d said no, too afraid of the curse to take a chance. But he’d proved persistent and hadn’t given up.

“We hit it off and remained in touch on and off for a year and a half or so,” she continued. They’d occasionally chatted on the phone and exchanged silly facts. Every so often, he’d asked her out again. One day, she’d realized they could see each other as long as she didn’t fall in love with him. Keep her feelings under control, and the curse had zero power. Finally, she’d said yes. “Eventually, we went on an official date.” Then another and another.

“Did you love him?” Conrad’s voice remained unworried.

“No.” Though it had been difficult to resist at times, especially when Christopher had smiled with his easy appeal. “I liked being with him and thought he liked being with me, too. He never requested more. Then, only a couple months into being exclusive, he came over, accurately accused me of being emotionally unavailable, something he’d never complained of before, and broke up with me.”

Relief glittered in Conrad’s beautiful amber eyes as he reclined in the chair and rubbed two fingers over the dark stubble on his chin. “I bet he fell for you, and instead of being a man and telling you how he felt, he tried to get you to chase him by breaking up with you.”

“Doubtful. He began dating someone else pretty quickly.”

“Another childish ploy,” Conrad said. “Did you stay in touch?”

“Other than a few texts asking how I was doing or running into each other in town, no. We even stopped waving at each other a whole year before I met you.”

“Thank you for sharing with me.”

“You’re welcome. But what makes you think he still loves me?” After all, Christopher had a potentially wonderful girlfriend who may or may not have participated in a murder. “Other than your raging jealousy issues, of course.”

A corner of Conrad’s mouth twitched. “I happen to know firsthand a guy never gets over you.”

Jane snorted. “He’s had plenty of time to win me over, yet he never even tried. So give me a reason that isn’t Conrad Ryan specific.”

“I did. But here’s a second one. If he’s anything like me, seeing you fall in love with another man when you didn’t fall for him riled him up.”

She waited to hear more. Like, say, how Conrad had found a secret love letter. Or someone had called to reveal Christopher had created a shrine and spent the past few years waxing poetic about her amazing amazingness. Or maybe Maggie had come in to complain of the fireman’s incessant obsession with a former flame. But nope. Silence.

“He’s not like you,” she said. “He wasn’t willing to slay the dragon.”

Conrad’s features softened. “Also, I’m not raging with jealousy. Not totally. I trust you implacably.”

“Wow.” Jane feigned a horrified expression. “Lying to us both. Not concerning your trust, but the jealousy.” She tsked, tsked. “This calls for a severe punishment. Perhaps the worst I’ve ever dished to you or anyone.”

The corner of his mouth began twitching again. “If you revoke my casserole privileges, I will revolt.”

“Oh, no. I’ll not be letting you off so easily.”

“Easily? Sweetheart, that’s the worst thing someone can do to another person.”

“You’re soon to learn otherwise,” she said, lifting her nose high in the air, going for an aura of pure snob. She stood and smoothed the sides of her dress. “Soon you’ll long for the days of missing my southern smothered chicken. Just know this will hurt you far more than it hurts me. I’m forbidding you from attending the book club meeting with me. I’ll go with Beau, but you will stay home.”

Conrad’s eyes narrowed in an instant. “No. We go together.”

Jane had known he would insist. With the threat of danger magnifying each day, he refused to let her out of his sight without a battle royale. And she needed to be out of his sight for a bit.

“Nope,” she told him. “Not this time. You weren’t invited. I was. Without probable cause to attend, you’ll be trespassing.” Boom! Legal speak always got the job done. “I’ll go with Beau, as stated.” The sheriff’s smoldering intensity and ferocious sense of authority was guaranteed to intimidate the guests and stifle conversation. “Besides, you’ll be busy looking into a fireman named Donnie Eggerson. There’s something about him…”

“Jane,” Conrad growled.

“Take your lumps, darling.” She sashayed to the door, paused and looked over her shoulder to blow him a kiss. “I’ll spill everything when I return.”

* * *

Jane walked side by side with Beau, ready for anything. She’d had a productive day. She’d done more writing and managed to pry chapters three and four from her innermost being. After a while, words had flowed once again, the book really coming alive.

A cool evening breeze ruffled the hem of her midi A-line vintage skirt in olive green that screamed writer. She paired it with a white buttoned top and knitted scarf for an extra Bohemian flair. Of course, Beau ruined her look with khakis and a lightweight turtleneck rather than the berserker chic costume she’d suggested.

“You looking for a job in a bank?” she teased.

He swung his truck keys from his index finger. “I can always turn around. Conrad even suggested it.”

She looped her arm through her best friend’s. “I’m just surprised by your attire, is all.”

“I know how to go undercover, too. I call this look professor lite,” he said, and she snorted.

“Always take my advice when it comes to undercover fashion. I’ll never steer you wrong.”

They approached Maggie’s front door. The mechanic lived in a craftsman not too far from Conrad’s, but it had undergone several remodels to make it more modern, including the addition of a large garage. Maggie must enjoy tinkering with cars at home, too.

Before knocking, Jane straightened Beau’s neckline. “When the time comes to create a distraction, start reading the first chapter of your novel.”

“That will be difficult, considering I didn’t have a free moment to do any writing.”

“Nope. No excuses.” She rapped her knuckles against the raised panel of the solid wood door. “You can make it up as you go along.”

“Come in,” several people called in unison.

Beau opened the entrance and motioned Jane forward. Head high, she marched inside. He joined her in the foyer, and she scanned the crowd. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland sat in a straight-backed chair, holding court as only a queen could. She conversed with Christopher and Maggie, who appeared casual and not at all like a killer and her unwitting victim.

The fireman had his arm wrapped around the mechanic’s waist, his fingers draped over her hip. A possessive hold Conrad often used with Jane. Proof her ex wasn’t hung up on her. Clearly, he adored Maggie.

A handful of people Jane didn’t know interacted here and there. Ashley Katz hadn’t arrived yet. Still planning to come? Maggie’s home was comfortable, a mishmash of different furniture styles, exactly how a woman in her twenties who’d inherited various pieces from relatives and slowly replaced them with ones she bought herself as she could afford them would look. A small table had been set up with a tea service in honor of Hannah.

Jane’s throat tightened as she thought of the slain woman, known for giving crafters and artisans a place to showcase their wares.

Another table provided snacks. From vegetables and dips, to stuffed mushrooms, to spinach and feta pinwheels. Not to the level of a Jane and Fiona spread, but certainly respectable. She would sample everything to be sure, of course.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Beau said, pulling her to his side when she attempted to motor over. “As long as I’m reading from my nonexistent novel, you’re not focusing on food rather than people.”

Good call. Because she spotted Donnie Eggerson filling a plate with finger foods. Once again, he stared at Jane and smiled as if he imagined mounting her head on his wall like a prized deer. This time, she stared back.

He flushed and lost his smile, then ducked his head and scuttled off. Okay. So. Some time this evening, she should confront him. Had he heard about her appearance tonight and come to continue this game? Was he a writer, doubling his chances of being the killer? But then she caught sight of the mayor and his younger doppelgänger. Must be Jacob Thacker, the son. The two tried and failed to hide the fact that they were watching Jane. She intended to question both.

“All right. Let’s do this.” She slapped a smile on her face and urged Beau straight to the hostess. If she ignored the Thackers, who oh, so clearly wished to speak with her, they’d come to her. Especially if she did something to set them off. Which she would totally do, if it proved necessary.

Game of cat and mouse? Bring it!

Oh! Was that artichoke dip at the edge of the snack table?

“Jane,” Beau muttered.

Right. “So good to see you again, Maggie. Christopher,” she greeted. She humphed at the remaining trio member. “Abigail.”

The three repositioned to fully focus on her. Abigail sneered. Maggie double blinked at the war vet before clearing her throat and nodding at Jane. Christopher may have recoiled the slightest bit, as if he feared having his girlfriend clash with his ex. Afraid Jane might talk about his behavior during their breakup and scare the new love away? And look at her, plotting like a pro.

Maybe she was born to be a legitimate author, not just an undercover one?

“Good to see you too.” With his free hand, Christopher pulled at his collar. He glanced between his ex and his current girlfriend. Oh, yeah. He definitely feared what might be mentioned about him.

“I’m glad you could make it, Jane,” the mechanic replied, her tone neutral. She’d unpinned her fringe of bangs, and oh, they looked fierce. Plus, she now matched the description of the killer’s heroine as much as Jane. The rest of her long dark hair was anchored in a low ponytail that positively oozed relaxed creativity. The cat-eye glasses were to die for. Were they prescription or added for a writerly flare?

Maggie’s gaze slid to Beau a second time, then all but bounced off him to return to Jane. “Sheriff Ryan wasn’t able to attend?”

“He’s busy working on Hannah's case.” Also, he’d abided by the punishment because one, he believed in justice, even against himself, and two, he’d found no probable cause, despite his best efforts. Of course, he’d insisted Trick, Isaac and Holden stake out the place. They, too, were undercover as authors. “This is Beau Harden, my most beloved childhood friend. He’s a struggling, unpublished author I’ve taken under my wing.” She squeezed his arm. A signal to turn up the heat and win everyone over.

Beau, drat him, merely nodded a greeting, saying nothing.

“Aren’t you unpublished?” Abigail asked.

“Only temporarily. You’re flying solo, I see.” Jane held her gaze. “No fiancé?”

Her majesty flipped her hair over one shoulder. “Mase wasn’t feeling well.”

Because he’d feared the worst–that his new girlfriend had killed his ex-wife? Perhaps guilt wouldn’t allow him to celebrate the life of the woman he’d murdered. Or had he just needed a break from Abigail? All were good, plausible options, though the third was more of a certainty.

“Hopefully he recovers swiftly. So. How do you know Donnie Eggerson?” she asked Maggie. Why not dive into the deep end?

“I invited him,” Christopher piped up. “After you requested information about his life, I realized he must be pretty lonely as the new guy in town and thought he could use a friend.”

Well. That was very sweet. And logical, dang it. Jane switched her case-sights to the Thackers. To provoke the duo into approaching sooner rather than later, she darted her gaze in their direction before leaning in to whisper a “secret” to her hostess. “I’m so happy to see the mayor here.”

“Oh. Um.” Maggie smiled, uncomfortable by her closeness, and glanced at the Thackers, exactly as Jane had hoped. Then the mechanic focused on Christopher, as if asking, what even is happening, really selling the illusion of salacious gossiping. “Yes. Well. Mayor Thacker is a majority stockholder of the Headliner, so he’s always interested in writers.”

So Jacob was on the board of directors, and the mayor was an owner. Hello, connection to Hannah. How many book club meetings had the mayor attended on the hunt for new talent?

“Maggie mentioned you’re writing a book retelling the different murders that have taken place in our town, including this one,” Abigail said with a flourish. She sipped from her flute of wine. “Well, so am I. So is Maggie. So is Jacob, for that matter.”

The urge to go home and write without pause until Jane reached the end bombarded her. If Abigail thought she would publish a bestseller featuring the Case of Cemetery Cat and Deadly Mouse—Murder in the Treasure Room? Invitation to Murder? Romancing the Gravestone? Grave Reviews?—well, she was sadly mistaken. Unless Abigail had written the original crime scene manuscript chapter, and this was a taunt.

Jane offered a tight smile. “How could I know what you were writing? You refused to say.”

“Are you or are you not detective enough to find out?”

Ohhh. Nice one. Was this the reason Jane had received an invite? Either she pretended to have heard about the other woman’s drivel, or she admitted to being a poor investigator.

“Perhaps I discovered you’re the killer,” she said to the other woman as sweetly as she was able, “creating a story for yourself.”

Abigail glared, snapping, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Christopher’s eyes got wide. He gazed from woman to woman. Maggie pursed her lips. Jane opened her mouth to respond but paused instead. Was that… no, it couldn’t be. But it was. Lucy stood in the far corner, near the snack table, waving Jane over to join her in the shadows.

She just stopped herself from doing a double take. Oh, wow. The former loan officer had drastically changed her appearance. Her friend had chopped off most of her hair and bleached the strands white. Or she wore a wig.

“Excuse me. I would love to try that artichoke dip.” True statement. She shuffled away before Beau could stop her and made her way to Lucy. But dang it, so did Beau.

He kept pace directly behind Jane. “Why the hasty exit? You never back off from a showdown.”

“I didn’t back off. I postponed. There’s a difference. And I specifically remember mentioning that artichoke dip.”

He nodded, pretending to believe her. No matter. Jane was a woman on a mission. Her target had vanished, and she quickened her step. When she turned the corner, there was still no sign of Lucy. But there were signs on Maggie’s walls directing guests to a bathroom. Was Lucy inside it?

In front of the door, Jane stuck out her arm. “I’m going in, and you’re staying out.”

“Jane—” Beau began.

“Period,” she burst out, and he went quiet.

Triumphant, she slipped into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. Black and white square tiles covered the floor, a sharp contrast to the powder blue tiles on the walls. A pendant light cast the room in an amber hue, yet it was the stained-glass window that really transformed the space.

Lucy stuck her head beyond the curtain hiding a clawfoot tub and whispered, “Jane!”

Heart thumping, Jane turned on the sink. “What are you doing here?” she whispered back. “I’ve been so worried about you. And I’m glad you keep arranging our meetings, I am, but why not take the safer route and call?”

“My calls are being monitored, and I don’t want to be tracked. Listen. I found a note Hannah wrote suggesting she’d provided Maggie with paperwork naming her the inheritor of the Treasure Room.”

What! Jane’s thoughts raced. The two had been that close? “Maggie hasn’t come forward with it.”

Which meant what? Hannah had changed her mind, or someone had lashed out because she refused to change her mind? Maybe Maggie planned to keep the information private until the investigation concluded, fearing she’d become a suspect as soon as she was named the Treasure Room’s beneficiary. The mechanic could’ve grown tired of waiting for Hannah to pass naturally, so Maggie had taken matters into her own hands.

Maybe Maggie and Abigail had worked with Mason, Jacob, and the mayor. Motive abounded for each, so why not pair up for a common goal? Take out Hannah, and taunt/torment Jane before taking her out too. When everything blew over, Maggie could gain possession of the Treasure Room, and the entire group could enjoy a cup of tea together to celebrate a job well done.

“This case is getting more interesting by the day,” Jane muttered.

“Do you have a clear lead?” Lucy asked, brimming with hope.

“Well, it’s currently a six person tie between Maggie, Abigail, Mason, Jacob, the mayor, and a fireman named Donnie. Or all six combined. But I’m inching closer to pinning the winner, I feel it.” In fact, she’d go back to the party and search for any hidden paperwork in between questioning each of her suspects. “Come to the Garden tomorrow. Conrad could use your testimony. Think of the immunity you could buy!”

Lucy pursed her lips, but she didn’t automatically deny the request. “I can’t promise. But maybe.” She turned toward the window and opened the pane. Someone–Lucy herself?–had already removed the screen.

Before she could dive through the opening, Jane asked, “Hey, did you notice the killer’s feet? Was he wearing shoes?”

“I think he was, yes.” Lucy’s brow wrinkled. “I mean, he must have. Right? I never once noticed his socks. Though, to be honest, I was distracted by the blood and violence.”

Hmm. Not really a definitive answer. They’d try the question another way. “Did you escape through the backdoor of the teashop?”

“Yes. Why?”

Abigail hadn’t seen her, then. “Did you lock the front door?” she continued.

“No. Why?” Lucy insisted.

The killer must have done it. “Did you spy a pair of men’s dress shoes on your way out?”

“I think…no?” Regret and anger flickered over the former loan officer’s features. “I don’t know. So much of the episode is clear as crystal, but some parts are a blur of panic and terror. Now answer my questions.”

A knock sounded at the door before she could. “Jane,” Beau called through the block of wood.

Lucy climbed through the window without another word. With a sigh, Jane closed the pane.

“Jane?” Beau insisted. “If I don’t hear from you in the next five seconds, I’m coming in. Period or not.”

Deep breath in. Out. Okay. “Coming, Beauregard.” Time to catch the mice at play.

CHAPTER NINE

Use clichés like there’s no tomorrow. There’s a reason a phrase becomes old hat. Everyone loves the tried and true.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Jane opened the bathroom door to find Beau resolute with his arms crossed over his chest. A line of three waited behind him. His expression demanded answers.

Because she had a long-standing rule to never lie to her friends, or anyone–though, yes, she sometimes misled for a case–she smiled sweetly and tugged Beau down the hall to rejoin the guests.

“Be on the lookout for paperwork that gives the Treasure Room to Maggie Johnson,” she instructed softly.

His eyes narrowed. “How do you suddenly know there’s paperwork when I’ve heard nothing about it?”

“You have your ways, I have mine.” Her gaze landed on Jacob Thacker, who seemed to have been waiting for her. He glided toward her. Excitement and triumph flooded Jane. Ignoring him and his father had worked, luring over the weaker link. “Game face on,” she muttered.

“Jane Ladling?” Jacob asked, his tone pleasant. Not the route she’d expected him to take.

“Yes. That’s me. And please, Mr. Thacker, call me Jane. This handsome slice of pound cake is Beau.” The war vet faced the town’s first son. “Hello,” he grunted.

“I’m Jacob Thacker. Though you clearly knew that. I’m also president of Golden Pages Book Club.” He extended his hand, and they shook. Then he shook Beau’s hand. Then she shook Beau’s hand because she got caught up in the moment.

Get it together, Jay Bird.

Beau tried not to laugh at her.

“Please, call me Jacob,” the newcomer added.

“Nice to meet you, Jacob,” she said. “Out of curiosity, and no hard feelings, did you block my invitation to speak to the book club members?” How smooth would he be, getting out of the hot water she’d just poured all over him?

He blinked, as if stunned. Then he surprised her by blushing a little and laughing nervously. “I did, yes. After my mother’s arrest, my lawyer advised me to avoid everyone with a connection to her case.” He shrugged his shoulders, all you understand, right? “That’s why I asked Mags–Maggie to strike your name from the list.”

Oh, he was good. Not just smooth, but slick. Bringing up his mother’s arrest without becoming accusatory was either the move of a perfect gentleman or a great gamer.

Attempting to lull Jane into liking him, so she would remove him from the official suspect list? Too bad, so sad.

“How long have you served as book club president?” she asked.

“This is my first year. I took over for Mags. Maggie,” he clarified once again.

Time to dig deeper. “Are you and Maggie close?” They must be, for him to continue using such a personal nickname.

He offered a wry smile as his glance strayed toward the mechanic, who remained in Abigail’s court. “You could say that.”

Ooooh. Did he love her? He loved her, didn’t he? That’s why he lived in the house next door to hers.

How easy it would be to go back and forth between residences planning Hannah’s murder. A man in love might kill to make the object of his affection happy.

The idea had merit. But so did the supposition that Jacob had worked alone to ultimately eliminate the main witness against his mother, with Hannah being collateral damage. “Did you two ever date?”

He flinched, as if he found the concept repulsive, and Beau covered his mouth with his hand. “No. I can honestly say I’ve never dated Mags.”

What a strange reaction and way to word his denial, as if he were overcompensating. Or gay?

“Mind if I join you?” a gruff voice asked. The mayor entered their three person circle, his demeanor and countenance as sour as ever since his wife’s arrest.

Perhaps Jacob had worked with his father, as Jane had speculated. “Please do,” she replied, mentally rubbing her hands together with glee. Dig, dig, dig. “Why did you follow my fiancé and me yesterday?” Might as well keep being blunt. Look how far it had gotten her already.

A noise of surprise escaped Beau.

Mayor Thacker’s mouth formed a small O before he narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to blame me for what happened to Hannah? I knew you would!”

“Dad,” Jacob said, his cheeks reddening. He darted his gaze. “Please don’t do this. That isn’t what she’s doing. Is it?” he asked her. “We had nothing to do with the murder, so we couldn’t possibly be suspects.”

Jane didn’t miss the fact that neither man had answered her question. “I only ever go where the evidence takes me.” A statement he could take as reassurance or a threat, depending on his involvement.

He nodded, as if she’d just proven his point, and Jane glanced at Beau, hoping to prod him into speaking up. The darling man had reinstated his I will tackle anyone who looks at my friend wrong stance.

Very well. She continued. “So, let me see if I understand this, Mayor.”

“Robert,” he grated.

“Robert. You expect me to believe you feared being implicated in a murder, so you followed the case investigators to ensure we didn’t implicate you? That’s an odd thing to think unless you have some kind of relationship with the victim.” Or the murderer. Like, say, he hadn’t participated in the act, but he knew his son did the deed and now he hoped to muddy the evidence.

“I’m not claiming anything.” Robert lifted his chin. “I wasn’t following you.”

Lie! What other whoppers had he told?

The clang of silverware against a glass sounded, and the crowd went quiet. “I want to thank everyone for coming,” Maggie announced, and all eyes focused on her. “Hannah was such a dear friend, ever since we sat next to each other at the Aurelian Hills Women in Business Association. Now defunct, sadly.”

There’d been a women in business club here and Jane had never known about it? Hadn’t even received an invitation to attend a single meeting? Wow. Clearly that explained why it went bust. They’d ignored the owner of one of this town’s oldest ventures.

Well, no matter. Jane wouldn’t have wanted to join, anyway. She notched her chin.

“Hannah saw the best in Aurelian Hills and hoped to keep the town thriving. Who knew her plan of opening a market for local crafters would become a tearoom and bookstore?” Maggie swallowed and blinked back tears. Real or faked? “I’ve seen her waive booth fees time and time again. I only hope…”

Hmm. What had Maggie stopped herself from saying? She only hoped she did just as good a job when she took over the Treasure Room?

Jane observed the crowd to gauge whether people were buying what the mechanic was selling. A remorseful, smug, or skeptical expression might just lead to the killer, but she spotted only sorrow and tears.

Still no sign of Ashley Katz. No sign of Donnie Eggerson either. Had he left?

Christopher remained at Maggie’s side. Though his arm no longer wrapped around her waist, he watched his girlfriend with an adoring smile. Sensing someone’s attention, he scanned the room until he found Jane. His smile widened, and he shrugged as if to say, Isn’t she wonderful?

“Hannah enjoyed hearing our stories,” Maggie continued, drawing Jane’s focus back to her. “That’s why I thought we could all read a passage from our work in progress.”

“Beau would love to kick things off,” Jane declared.

He glared at her then nodded to the guests, who zeroed in on him, as he whipped out his phone. “I’ll share the opening line.” Staring at a blank screen, he improvised on the spot, saying, “Once upon a time, a military vet threw the maddening woman who constantly embroiled him in situations over his shoulder and carted her outside to deliver a long overdue–”

“Dance party? Surprise picnic? Hot-air balloon ride?” Jane exclaimed, so enthralled with the story she forgot to search for any documents. Maybe the rest of the audience was engrossed, too. No one spoke.

“How…interesting,” Abigail said amid the quiet. She clapped somewhat woodenly and others joined in. “Why don’t I go next?” She reached behind her to lift a notebook from a side table, then flipped to the first page. After casting a smug smile Jane’s way, she read, “Death at the Cemetery by Abigail Waynes-Kirkland. Chapter one. Zane Maddening, owner of Forest of Recollections Burial Grounds, died as he deserved. Badly. My name is Tabby Paynes-Murksand, and I did the deed. Let me tell you how…” She closed the notebook and grinned. “If you want to hear more, you’ll have to wait for the publication.”

Beau stiffened, and Jane’s jaw went slack. Had Abigail just issued a taunt, cat and mouse style?

* * *

Jane reeled for the rest of the evening. Reeled as she relayed everything she’d learned at the memorial to Conrad, who verified the details Christopher shared about Donnie Eggerson and promised to take a deeper look at the video game expert. Conrad also promised to look into the paperwork Maggie might or might not possess, Jacob’s maybe-maybe-not crush on the mechanic and Abigail’s story. Jane reeled harder as they dissected the pros and cons of each suspect. Reeled faster as she wrote more on her own book, letting scenes flow from her all night long. She only began to calm when her amazing lawman drove her to a mystery locale “for the wedding” late the next morning.

With one hand on the wheel, he reached over to twine his fingers with hers. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart. We get closer every day. I’m reviewing the phone records of our suspects, and I can tell you Jacob Thacker and Maggie Johnson speak often. Thacker and Abigail Waynes-Kirkland speak almost as much. If they conspired to commit murder, we’ll catch them. But as for today, we aren’t investigators. We are two people very much in love, planning our wedding, intending to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He wasn’t wrong. They were two people in love, planning their wedding. And knowing Jacob Thacker often spoke on the phone with Maggie and Abigail satisfied Jane’s need to learn more, more, more—for now.

“All right,” she said. “Today only, there’ll be no case talk. Except to say Abigail is the worst, she might have worked with Jacob, and Maggie might or might not know.” Jane’s current working theory. “But I’m only doing this because you handled your punishment like a champion, and this is your reward.”

He snorted, then lifted her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “If we learn how to bottle your sweetness, we’ll be millionaires.”

They reached the town square, and he parked his SUV in front of—Jane gasped with excitement. Daisy’s Diner.

“Is Daisy catering our wedding even though she refuses to cater anyone’s wedding, even her own mother’s?” Jane disengaged her seat belt and bounced in her seat while clapping her hands. “Is she?”

“She is not.”

Oh. Jane deflated in a hurry.

Then Conrad added, “But she has agreed to make our cake. Or cobbler. Or pie. Or bread pudding. Whatever we decide on.”

Squealing, Jane began jumping up and down again. “That’s even better! How in the world did you swing this?”

“A man’s gotta have his secrets.” Her amazing lawman gave her a wolfish grin as he exited. He rushed around to open her door, and they headed into the diner. Half the town sat crammed inside the small space, enjoying the brunch special. Country fried steak, with a side of cheese dumplings, cornbread and okra fries. None of them were her suspects, however. Not that she was an investigator right now.

Conrad led her to the kitchen. The actual kitchen where the world’s most amazing food was prepared. Oh! The scents! The buttery aroma of freshly baked biscuits, the savory scent of simmering gravy. Even hints of cream cheese frosting tinged the air, wafting from a display of red velvet cake. Oh! There was Daisy in her usual floral-patterned dress. Despite being in her mid-sixties, she sported not a speckle of silver in her auburn hair, now pinned in a bun as no-nonsense as the woman herself. She chatted with a waitress as she stirred a crock of her famous chicken noodle soup.

Jane experienced a total fan-girl moment. Here was a rockstar who could cook Jane and everyone she knew under the table. Would it be bad form to ask for an autograph?

“Have a seat, you two,” Daisy said with a welcoming smile, her eyes crinkling in the corners. Though she could be commanding and firm, the master chef had never met a stranger. She motioned to a small round table off to the side, where several dessert servings waited. “Taste everything, tell me your favorite, and it’ll be my wedding gift to you.”

Eek! A wedding gift. From Daisy. Jane practically floated to the table. Conrad held out her chair, and she sank down. He eased beside her.

Beaming at him, she kissed his cheek. “You are the most amazing man in the entire world.”

“I would conquer worlds to see this look on your face.” He kissed her knuckles a second time before piling both their plates with samples. “Should we start with the—” He barked out a laugh as Jane shoveled in the first bite. “The peach cobbler then.”

The sweet flavors exploded on her tongue, and her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. “This one! I choose this one.”

He forked a bite of the bread pudding into her mouth. A groan burst from her.

“This one,” she repeated.

His next laugh contained a dollop of enchantment. How Jane adored his laugh. During the first few weeks of their acquaintance, he’d rarely even cracked a smile. Now he almost always exuded joy. When he wasn’t standing near dead bodies, of course.

They tasted everything once, twice, thrice, and Jane had to accept a clear fact. She couldn’t decide.

Conrad’s phone rang. He frowned and withdrew the device. “Let me turn off the ringer.” His frowned deepened after he spied the screen. He heaved a heavy sigh. “I need to be an investigator for a couple minutes and take this call.”

“Absolutely, yes. Go, go,” she said, shooing him away. “I expect a full report upon your return. Because I’ll get to be an investigator for an equal amount of time.”

A half-smile spread as he grazed his fingers along her jawline. Then he stood and strode into a quiet corner to take the call. Jane used the time alone to eat more food and check her messages. Her eyes widened as she saw the string of texts.

Fionality: You’re not gonna believe what just happened.

Jane: What? Tell me! I must know!!!!

Three dots followed. Bless her, Fiona knew how to build anticipation and stretch out the drama.

NewsKat: Someone slashed all four of my tires! I didn’t make the party, but I’m hoping you’ll share your thoughts with me. PLEASSSSE!

For this, Jane lowered her fork. So, someone had immobilized Ashley just before Hannah’s memorial? Since there was no such thing as a coincidence, the killer must have known of the reporter’s plan to attend and taken measures to stop her. Which meant the killer might have access to her schedule. Like, say, Jacob and his father, thanks to their connection to the Headliner.

Beaudyguard: Why would someone cover beautiful hardwood floors with carpet?

Jane: A moment of insanity?

Juniverse: Have you heard anything about a love curse? Mom keeps mentioning it.

Nope, not touching that one.

Fionality: …

Come on, Fee!

Tiffinator: Can you DIY distressed ink?

Jane knew what those words meant, but all together in a sentence, they made no sense.

Trickster: You owe me a feast of casseroles for dealing with Tiffany. I’ve been to the Cave of Wonders Hobby Shop three times. Three. How much cardstock does one woman need?

Though Jane hated defending Tiffany, a woman needed several packs of cardstock. Different shades, different weights, different patterns.

Trickster: And she’s convinced she’s seeing aspirations in Autumn Grove.

Trickster: *apparitions

Autumn Grove? Hardly. That section of the cemetery was steeped in tranquility.

Jane: For the hundredth time, the Garden isn’t haunted.

Fionality: Molly Gallaway called my pancakes subpar!

Jane: How dare she! No falser claim has ever been made in history!

Conrad returned, his frown still in place and seemingly set in stone.

Her heart skipped a beat, everything else forgotten. “What’s wrong?”

“Jacob Thacker was killed in his home last night.”

CHAPTER TEN

An abundance of foreshadowing is a cheat sheet for your reader. They will love you for your transparency.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Jane entered Jacob Thacker’s home directly behind Conrad. Built in the Tudor revival style that had inexplicably taken hold in the late 1940s, the steeply pitched roof cast long shadows over the lawn. He’d inherited the place from his grandmother and had done little updating to the compact foyer. An old hatstand waited by the door, and pictures of relatives from bygone centuries graced the walls.

Deputies sporting crime scene protective gear worked to process the scene, placing plastic numbers here and there, dusting for fingerprints and taking photos to document everything. Billy McCullough, the coroner, crouched beside the body, his lips in a grim line.

Conrad offered Jane a pair of latex gloves and a pair of booties, but she turned down the first and donned her own. His were a little too big; the reason she kept a baggy with multiple pairs of a smaller size inside her purse. And they were pink! Because crime solving didn’t have to be drab. She pulled the paper booties over her shoes.

One of Conrad’s newest hires, Deputy Poteet, stopped in her tracks upon spotting Jane, surprised. Then she shrugged and hurried on to do her job. Jane’s murder solve rate in this town was unsurpassed.

She scanned the home’s finer details as she moved through it. Framed candid shots of Maggie and Abigail decorated a long side table. Other book club members graced a few of the images, but not many. To Jane’s surprise, there were more pictures of Abigail than Maggie. She wondered…

Had Jacob cast Abigail those longing glances, rather than Maggie? The two women had been side by side.

Maybe his death had nothing to do with Jane and the game of cat and mouse. What if Jacob and Abigail had dated in secret? The socialite could’ve cheated on Mason, who could have found out and struck. Or maybe Jacob insisted they come clean about their “love,” and Abigail feared being discovered, losing her meal ticket, so she struck.

Jane and Conrad joined Deputy Poteet in the space between the living room and kitchen, where the body slumped over the table.

“Tell me,” Conrad commanded.

“There’s a small envelope in his hand,” the woman replied in a bleak tone. Danielle Poteet was new to Aurelian Hills, not just the force. She’d replaced the recently passed Joshua Gunn. From Atlanta, she’d left the big city looking for a change in pace and an opportunity to work with a former GBH agent. “We haven’t removed it yet. Chapter two of Grave Actually is resting under his elbow.”

Conrad scowled. “The judge is giving me fits about a warrant to read the club members’ manuscripts, but maybe this will change his mind.”

Jane listened to the conversation while examining the scene. No obvious sign of struggle. Jacob either had no fear of his killer or he’d never suspected his home had been invaded until it was too late. A bloody wrench rested on the table near a stack of manuscript papers.

First a candlestick, now a wrench? What, was the killer playing a game of Clue too? And was that creative or cheating? Should she use it for her book’s ending?

Poor Jacob Thacker. Either a partner—or partners—had turned on him, or he’d been innocent all along.

Would the mayor sacrifice his eldest son to save himself?

Conrad blanked his expression as he and Deputy Poteet drew closer to the body. With an abundance of caution, he explained to the deputy what he was looking at and doing, teaching her on the job. He pried the manuscript chapter from beneath Jacob’s elbow and scanned the pages. “Definitely written by the same author.” He passed the papers to another investigator.

So. The killer was truly writing a book. Or had already written it, but now opted to share a chapter per murder. Was he attempting to make a name for himself? Or hoping to increase sales? Her stomach pitched. Just how many chapters were in this book anyway?

Jane envisioned a bloodbath in her small town and shuddered.

Deputy Poteet used the same cautious technique to withdraw the small purple envelope from Jacob’s hand.

Purple for murder scenes, and red for game moves?

Anger, frustration and perhaps even fear pulsed from Conrad when the deputy drew his attention to something on the envelope. He ran his tongue over his straight, white teeth.

Curiosity squeezed Jane’s chest. “What?” she demanded.

A muscle jumped beneath his eye as he nodded to the deputy, and she showed Jane the name on its front. Well, well. J A N E spelled out in magazine letters.

Before anyone realized what was happening, the deputy withdrew and unfolded the paper inside. Conrad snapped “Don’t–” and reached for her wrist to stop her, but it was too late. A glittery white cloud sprayed from the card, exactly as glitter had sprayed from the card found in Jane’s hearse.

Both Conrad and the deputy coughed. The card fell to the floor and remained open, revealing a message.

Meow. Or better yet, meouch! Catch me if you can.

Hmm. As far as taunts went, it wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t great either, which pointed straight to Abigail and her book. Again. Maybe if Jane wrote a comprehensive paper explaining how important it was to sample the rest of Abigail's work, Judge Bowman would finally agree to that warrant?

Her fiancé’s coughing continued, his breathing growing more strained, worrying her. Same with the deputy. Jane stepped toward Conrad, intending to help, but he grabbed the other woman and forced her to back up with him, shaking his head.

“Something’s wrong with us,” he croaked. Color drained from his skin, leaving him ashen. Then the deputy collapsed. Conrad caught her but wobbled on his feet. “Poison maybe.”

What! Everyone around them went still. The killer had poisoned them? A crime Beau and Trick had tried to warn her about!

Had the killer overheard them? No, impossible. Security cameras would have detected someone planting a bug.

Stomach lurching, Jane dove for Conrad just before his knees buckled. She caught him and the deputy, and their threesome fell together. On impact, Jane cushioned him and he cushioned the deputy. Jane didn’t care if she inhaled the powder, too. Anything to help him.

Someone shouted, “Call 911 and get out of the house! Now, now, now!”

Panic swarmed Jane, and she lost sight of reality. Her focus remained on the love of her life. He’d passed out, his eyes closed, his body lax. She checked for a pulse. A cry parted her lips. The too slow beats were barely discernible. What in the world worked this quickly, this way?

Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. “You wake up and recover, Conrad Ryan. I mean it. You’re in serious danger of losing your casserole privileges forever.”

He didn’t respond. Nor did Deputy Poteet.

The curse laughed, whispering, Told you.

A whimper escaped Jane. Was this her fault? Should she have resisted Conrad’s magnetic appeal? Would he have a better chance at recovery if she called off the wedding? Ended their relationship for good?

She lifted his lifeless hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles as he’d so often done to hers. Whatever the answer, she couldn’t bring herself to let him go.

In an eternity, perhaps a matter of minutes, masked EMTs and firefighters arrived. She recognized Christopher among them. Someone must have briefed them on the situation.

An EMT pulled Jane from Conrad to examine her while two other techs worked on stabilizing his and the deputy’s vitals. Masked paramedics rushed in soon afterward and took over. After Jane was cleared, she could only watch, pray and let the professionals cart off her fiancé. She trailed them outside, intending to follow in Conrad’s SUV. Except, she was climbing behind the vehicle’s wheel as the ambulance drove away, but she didn’t have the keys. He did.

“No!” She burst outside, intending to chase down the ambulance. They’d already vanished. “No, no, no!”

“Jane, are you all right?”

Christopher’s familiar voice hit her ears, and she spun, facing him. He’d removed his mask, revealing a grave expression.

“I need a ride to Pinetum.” Beau or Fiona or Tiffany could come get her, but how long would that take? “Drive me in the firetruck, lights flashing. Please.”

“I can’t do that, but my car is next door at Maggie’s.” He pointed to the driveway, where a brand-new shiny truck sat at the ready. “Give me two minutes to speak with my boss, and I’ll drive you.”

“Okay yes. Thank you.”

Off he went. She wrung her hands as she waited for his return, her mind roiling. Once, she’d wondered if the killer did all this for Christopher. Now, here the fireman was again. Involved. If the killer knew his schedule…

What if Christopher was entangled in another capacity? Though, yes, okay, he’d been doing his job at each scene. Gah! She didn’t know anything anymore.

Conrad was in danger. Had the sheriff been the target all along? Meant to be the third victim? If anyone had a reason to arrive at a murder scene, it was Conrad. Had the killer wanted the lawman to open that envelope and inhale that substance, whatever it was?

What if Conrad’s harm was meant to energize Jane’s investigation? Was she dealing with an adrenaline crime junkie?

If Jacob had worked with a partner, like his dad or Christopher, perhaps that partner simply sought Jane’s misery. Abigail certainly fit that bill.

One fact remained clear. Whoever had done this would pay!

“All right, let’s go,” Christopher said, jogging over. He’d removed his equipment.

Maybe he was involved. If so, this car ride might offer proof. Either way, she’d have access to a vehicle. Once Christopher unlocked the truck, they both jumped inside. Within seconds, they were winding along the roads. At first, they didn’t speak. She texted her friends, as well as Conrad’s family, letting everyone know what was going on, doing her best not to imagine her sweet Conrad dying alone in a cold, sterile hospital. Hot, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She also asked Beau about possible bugs at the cottage.

“He’ll be okay,” Christopher said, using his most comforting tone. He didn’t sound like a killer. “He strikes me as a fighter.”

She swallowed the barbed lump in her throat. “Did anyone say what poison was used?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. The only poison we’ve ever dealt with is the one used on Ana Irons.”

Jimsonweed, with its irregularly toothed leaves and trumpet-like purple flowers, had taken the life of the young reporter.

Her phone beeped, and she glanced at the screen. Texts came in one after the other.

Beaudyguard: I’m on my way to Pinetum. I’ll be in the parking lot waiting for you. Doubtful on the bugs, but I’ll have the boys do a check.

Fionality: Oh, my sweet Jane. I know this is devastating, but I also know Conrad will recover. He’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Raymond and I are on our way.

Tiffinator: Stay strong! Conrad will live for you if nothing else!

Why Guy: I’m picking up Susan, and we’re heading to Pinetum. Conrad has overcome worse. This? It’s nothing! Right? Tell me it’s nothing, Jane, and mean it.

She wasn’t in a mental headspace to respond yet, so she moved on to the next message.

NewsKat: What can I do to help?

So she already knew what was going on. Probably thanks to her police scanner.

Jane: Please tell me you’ve heard something new about the killer. Anything.

NewsKat: Not yet, but I’m doing everything I can. I won’t let this rest, okay? Know that. We’ll stop this fiend one way or another.

Jane breathed deeper, feeling the warmth of support from an unexpected source. A friend, despite their past differences.

She closed her eyes and attempted to center. For the next however long, she had a captive audience. Christopher, a hero times two, possibly a co-killer, had interacted with all of her suspects. Despite her bombardment of emotions, she still had a case to solve. Right now, asking questions was the only thing she could do.

“To your knowledge,” she said, determined, “have Jacob and Abigail ever had a romantic relationship?”

Christopher cast a quick, confused glance her way. “You really think Abigail did this?”

“Just covering all my bases.” And yes, Jane did. The woman had a lot to lose if Conrad pinned the crimes on her. “So? Have they ever dated?”

Though his confusion intensified, Christopher said, “Maybe. They flirt with each other, and Maggie caught them kissing once, but anytime we’ve asked if they’re involved, they deny it. But I don’t think Abigail did this. She can be catty, sure, but she’s also thoughtful. When Maggie was sick, Abigail brought her Daisy’s chicken noodle soup.”

Sometimes the naivety of others astonished Jane. “That’s called a long con.” Abigail facilitated relationships for her future gain, not due to any sweetness in her heart. Had the socialite conspired with Jacob to bilk Mason of his money, then run away together? Had Abigail gotten greedy and decided to keep all the loot for herself? “What about you? Did you ever have a romantic relationship with Abigail?”

“No. I met her the same day I met Maggie. As you can guess, I only had eyes for my mechanic.”

“Has Maggie ever had a liaison with Jacob?”

“No. Gross. They’re related. Her mother is the mayor’s cousin.”

Jane’s eyes widened. Well, no wonder Jacob had smirked at her suggestion of a courtship. Still. This pointed to a deeper connection than originally supposed.

“There’s no way Maggie is the killer,” Christopher added. “I know that you two didn’t get off to the best start. I also know she can be abrasive at times. But that’s only because she has to be. Not many people take her seriously in her profession. Just trust me. She would never. Nor would Donnie. He might be weird, but he was too excited at the prospect of making a friend to harm someone.”

One fact didn’t negate the other, but Jane didn’t point that out. She hadn’t spoken a word with Donnie yet and until she did, she refused to rule him out.

To Christopher’s credit, they reached the hospital. Jane’s mind blanked on everything but Conrad. She threw off her seat belt and shot from the vehicle before her ex finished parking. He called her name, then shouted a goodbye, but she rushed across the lot without responding.

Wait. He wasn’t the one who’d called her name. She recognized Beau’s voice. Her friend caught up with her and planted himself at her side as she entered the lobby of the emergency area.

“Conrad Ryan was brought in by ambulance,” she bellowed at the receptionist, unable to temper her volume.

Thankfully, the woman understood and did some typing. “He arrived, and doctors are with him now. You won’t be able to visit until they finish.”

“Can you tell us his condition?” Beau asked.

She winced. “I can’t. I didn’t see him arrive and there’s nothing in his data. But if you have a seat, someone will get you when there’s an update.”

Jane’s shoulders rolled in. Beau wrapped his arm around her and led her to an area with chairs and a lone coffee table. A TV propped on the wall, playing an old episode of LOST.

“This is a good hospital. Conrad’s in capable hands,” her childhood best friend assured her.

Oh, how she needed to believe that.

The sliding double doors opened over and over, people coming and going. Fiona and former Sheriff Raymond Moore arrived and joined them. Trick, Holden and Isaac weren’t far behind.

Seeing Fiona’s beloved face propelled Jane to her feet and into the arms of her oldest friend. The other woman hugged her tight and kissed her cheek. “We’re gonna be so strong for him.”

Hugs abounded, the love and support comforting Jane in a way nothing else could have. Except, as hours passed with no word from physicians, her panic resurged.

Two deputies came gliding in, but they refused to share any information about any evidence found at the scene.

A doctor motioned for the pair soon after, and Jane nearly revolted as they headed back.

One minute passed. Two. Four. When would⁠—

“Jane Ladling,” a man called.

“That’s me!” She jumped up, raising her arm school-kid style. “I’m Jane. Conrad’s fiancé.”

One of the deputies stood in the entrance, his features etched with exhaustion. “Please come with me.”

She rose on shaking legs and rushed to his side.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Everything’s a symbol if you try. Each minute detail should mean something. Even a ham sandwich.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Jane peppered the deputy with questions as they strode along the sterile corridor. “How is he? How’s the deputy? What poison was used? Why aren’t you replying to me?”

He stopped and opened a door. “I’ll let him explain.”

Him? Conrad or a doctor? Stomach churning, Jane hurried into the room. Conrad! He sat alone, reclining on a gurney. He was pale with bruises under his eyes and unease etched in his features, but he was awake. Alive!

Whimpering, she rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “You aren’t dead!”

“As if I would allow some pesky fireman to swoop in and win you over. Also, the curse did not do this. A living, breathing criminal did.”

And yet guilt assailed her. Once she’d vowed to never again permit the curse rule her world. Then he’d almost died, and everything had changed. “But⁠—”

“No buts,” he told her, his rough voice firm. “I’ll make a full recovery without any side-effects. Please don’t ice me out. You asked me to marry you, and there are no take backs.”

Some unnamable emotion squeezed her chest, constricting her ribs. “But⁠—”

“No buts,” he repeated.

Tears welled. As her chin trembled, the hot droplets spilled over and glided down her cheeks. Different emotions spiked and crashed. Everything she’d felt since the love of her life had first fallen into her arms. Fear. Desperation. Confusion. Anger. Uncertainty. Frustration. Agitation. Relief. They congealed, blending with things she’d battled her entire life. Issues that decided to bubble up, one after the other.

The rejection of her dad, who’d never wanted to be part of her world.

The mother who’d shipped her off to live with her grandparents.

The dread of the curse.

The years of loneliness after Beau moved out of town. Zero other peers had been willing to hang out with the weird cemetery girl who hoped to plan their funerals.

The misery of losing her beloved Pops and Grandma Lily.

The need to prove herself worthy of affection.

A giant wrecking ball formed, shattering her façade of calm.

Jane sobbed. Conrad, bless him, found the strength to settle her atop the gurney at his side. He petted her hair and cooed sweet words in her ear until she quieted.

“I love you,” he told her. “I’m here to stay. Even if you attempt to postpone the wedding, I’m not going anywhere. Deputy Poteet is good, too. We’ll both make a full recovery.”

Good. Too raw to discuss next steps, she croaked, “Tell me about the case.” Because whoever hurt her man was going down hard.

He kissed her temple. “Here’s what I know. It wasn’t poison I inhaled, but a very potent heart medication that was ground into powder and mixed with the glitter. Not a beta blocker, but similar, used to quickly slow down a too fast heartbeat. Only takes a little to do the job.”

Okay, this might be the break they’d needed. “Medication is traceable.” Paramedics had access. Firefighters too? Patients, definitely.

“Yes. And we think we’ve already identified who has a prescription for it. During the course of the investigation, we learned Mason Thorton has a genetic condition that causes his heart to race at random intervals.”

Connection! This one led to Mason, as well as Abigail, who most likely had unfettered access to her fiancé’s medication. But was this too easy?

No. Nothing about this case was easy, and this explanation fit what Jane had suspected from the beginning. “So I was right all along. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland is involved. Maybe with Mason’s aid, maybe not. Probably not. Who’s dumb enough to use their own medication? Meaning, this could be a setup to blame the ex-husband. A continuation of the cat-and-mouse game. Unless that’s what we’re supposed to think, and Mason is using reverse psychology. Did he and Abigail work with a hitman? Perhaps Jacob. What better reason to off him? He knew their secrets. And what about Lucy?”

Had she lied about what she’d seen? Jane stiffened. What if the former bank officer was involved and a woman did the deed?

Conrad echoed Jane’s suspicions, saying, “Lucy stole fifty thousand dollars mere months ago. She’s obviously for hire. Someone could’ve paid her to weave a false narrative.”

Jane’s stomach sank. Perhaps. And all along she’d been falling for her friend’s act. Again. “What if she’d been in on it from the beginning?”

“Yes. What if?” Conrad gave Jane’s temple another kiss. “Keep walking me through your thought process.”

Very well. “At the time of Hannah’s murder, Abigail is grocery shopping and having her nails done. Lucy is in the room with me, and someone is behind me. Maybe Jacob. Did Lucy pretend to attempt to warn me to throw me off the scent? Except, she didn’t corroborate Abigail’s story about seeing a woman run out the front door. And why would Lucy need to flee? Did she actually make the 911 call to report an unconscious dark-haired woman, all to galvanize both you and the fire department, starting the game?”

Although, again, Lucy’s terror struck Jane as genuine. But considering she’d taken a whack to the head, how accurate was her memory and judgment? Plus, the woman had snowed her once before.

“Maybe Jacob chose to come forward,” she continued, “causing Abigail and Lucy to panic. They decided to kill him and use the opportunity to take out the sheriff while hobbling his crack investigator fiancée with emotional anguish. So Abigail stole Mason’s pills, hoping to blame the man she supposedly loves, even knowing we’d suspect her. Yet, she convinced herself we’d only be able to prove Mason’s involvement, never hers. He’d go to jail, and she could spend what remained of his money after Lucy got her cut.” If she didn’t strike again, killing another partner.

It all made sense. But was it on target?

“I’ve got my deputies looking deeper into Waynes-Kirkland, Lucy and Mr. Thorton,” Conrad said. So he’d suspected them before hearing from Jane? Such a smart, smart man. “As soon as I’m solid on my feet, which will be no later than tomorrow, two of the three will be hauled in for formal questioning.”

Jane and Conrad discussed the particulars until his dismissal from the hospital. He was surprisingly steady. As they passed through the lobby, the gang noticed and followed them out. Wyatt and Susan had arrived, and once again, hugs abounded. And also, Jane had won a gift card registration journal.

Everyone followed Conrad to his adorable bungalow. In the driveway, a sedan Jane had never seen was parked next to her hearse. Hmm.

“Do we have a guest?” she asked.

“We do.” He said nothing more, but his leading tone prompted immediate curiosity.

How had the mystery person gotten inside?

Jane entered first and found Tiff balancing on a ladder, hanging a banner, while Rolex and Cheddar watched. Jane’s sister June clapped behind them, directing the other woman.

“To the left,” June said. She’d sucked up all the height genes in the family, standing at five foot eight. They shared the same dark hair, but her sister’s eyes were a deep, dark brown.

Noticing the crowd flooding into the living room, Tiffany and June called, “Happy engagement!”

“And even happier recovery!” Tiffany added. She climbed down, swiped a paper horn from a bowl, and blew. In addition to the banner, balloons were scattered along with bunting and a decoration that looked like someone tried to combine a blow-up engagement ring with a hospital gown.

Uh… “Are you okay with this?” Jane asked Conrad for his ears alone. He didn’t feel the greatest right now.

“They texted me, and I gave permission. Thought we could use a distraction.”

No, he’d thought Jane could use one. And she loved him so hard for it. As she took everything in, she spun the real engagement ring around her finger. Dread, joy, and love overflowed inside her. But she didn’t cry again. Because she refused. Though yes, she sniffled a bit as she made her way over to hug her sister and Tiffany for their efforts.

“It’s good to see you again,” she told June.

“Really? You mean it?” June brightened as if she’d just swallowed the sun. “I’m so glad you said that because I am here to stay! I’m starting over, and I thought, what better place than my sister’s hometown? I’ll help you with the wedding and with the Garden and we’ll get to know each other better and become best friends and life will be great. And I’m happy to be a bridesmaid if you need one. But no pressure! Except pressure! I’d love to be a bridesmaid.”

“Don’t hold your breath, expecting a request,” Tiffany announced. “I’ve nearly passed out every day.”

Jane laughed at the widow’s joke. Who knew Tiff would express a sense of humor? Of course, she wasn’t funny, but that wasn’t the point. That she felt comfortable enough to try, that she’d come here tonight to do something nice for Jane and Conrad, that was all that mattered. Any last remnants of resentment toward her several times removed relative completely faded.

Wait. Back up a bit. June was moving here? As in forever? Jane hadn’t seen her sister in years. Had barely spoken to her on the phone and only recently had they started texting regularly. Not that a couple texts every month equated to regularly.

Conrad closed the distance and wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist. “Hi. I’m the fiancé.”

Oh yes, introductions. “June Moonrose, this is Sheriff Conrad Ryan, my forever. He will be sitting down in just a few moments and not getting up again for hours.”

The two shook hands. When Rolex rubbed against Jane’s leg, she bent down to pick him up and plant kisses all over his beautiful face.

Conrad smiled and said, “I see the re⁠—”

Trick, Isaac, and Wyatt hurried over, basically shoving him out of the way to introduce themselves, too, and June blushed.

“—semblance,” Conrad finished with dry amusement.

Jane examined his features, making sure there was no evidence of strain. His color was improving with every hour, but yeah, she detected signs of fatigue. She rose on her tiptoes and wound her arms around his neck to draw his face closer to hers. With her lips at his ear, she whispered, “Want me to send everyone home?”

He clasped her hips and whispered back, “And skip our engagement party? Never.”

“Save that for the honeymoon, you two,” Fiona said with a laugh. She shooed the boys aside and hugged June as if they were long, lost family. “I’m so pleased to meet you, young lady. I’m Fiona Lawrence, and I love you already. We’re going to be amazing friends, you and I.”

“She makes the best blueberry pancakes in the world. And she’s the only person I want to walk me down the aisle.” Jane blinked, the truth suddenly so clear. Of course she wanted Fiona to escort her. Because this wedding was happening. No curse would ever be as powerful as her love for Conrad.

Actually, the curse wasn’t powerful at all. It was a lie and lies crumbled when under pressure. The curse had just launched its best shot—and it had failed. Fear wasn’t stopping Jane. Her lawman was right. They were stronger together than apart.

Joy spread over Fiona’s lovely face. Jane set a squirming Rolex on the floor. As he raced to Tiffany, Jane and Fiona threw their arms around each other, laughing and crying.

“You’re sure?” Fiona cried, and even Conrad grinned.

“I’ve never been surer.” Fiona had loved and adored Jane from day one, treating her as a treasured gift. Seeing the best in her, never the worst. She’d protected Jane’s heart as if it were her own, being a father, mother and friend as needed.

“Then my answer is yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Jane laughed again. Now that she understood Fiona’s role, other things fell into place. “Tiffany and June, please be my bridesmaids. Beau, of course, is matron of honor.”

“Obviously,” the war vet replied.

“Maid of honor,” Trick corrected. “Beau isn’t married.”

Laughter rang out, the most beautiful sound.

Bouncing on her feet, June grinned. “I’m in shock you thought of me but honored!”

“Finally!” Tiffany anchored her hands on her hips. “Now I get to share the comprehensive wedding guide I’ve been preparing for you. From the colors that work with your skin tone to everything else, no detail is too small.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “But for now, I have something different in mind. Come and behold the incredible feast I made.” Grinning from ear to ear, she waved everyone into the kitchen.

As people grouped up, they followed her to the counter, where the most awful looking dishes waited. Soggy coleslaw that gave off a slightly sour smell. Rubbery fried green tomatoes somehow both over and under cooked at the same time. A motor oil-thick gumbo with mystery meat. Heck, mystery everything. And goodness. Even the sweet tea appeared gritty with undissolved sugar. She must have added the sweetener while the tea was cold. The horror! And the cake. Oh heavens no. It was lopsided with thin, watery icing.

No one spoke a word for several minutes, everyone too busy fighting to maintain a look of non-horror.

Rolex jumped onto the counter, sniffed a dish, and hopped down.

“I did good, right?” the widow asked, hopeful and uncertain, yet somehow confident, too.

“So, so good,” Fiona praised, patting Tiffany on the shoulder. “Your hard work is a gift to each of us, and we are grateful. Aren’t we, gang?”

“Grateful,” many parroted.

“I helped with the catfish. A few pieces might be a little over sauteed, but the flavor is still excellent,” June piped up, and Fiona patted her shoulder too.

“Grateful,” everyone repeated.

“Please, dig in!” Tiffany said with a wave of her arm.

Unable to do anything else, they did. And, Jane noticed, the entire group cleaned their plates. Of course, the guys did their best to discreetly spit out their bites into napkins while Fiona and Jane choked everything down. The travesty of flavors nearly murdered her tongue, and her stomach threatened to rebel in a thousand different ways.

“I know my dishes don’t look like Jane’s or Fiona’s,” Tiffany said, beaming after swallowing a bite of a yellow blob, “but I see I had nothing to fear. This is actually pretty good.”

“So good,” someone muttered.

Jane made a few noises in the back of her throat.

“Give Jane her gift.” Wyatt nudged Conrad, who motioned to Beau, who stalked into the hall, disappearing from view.

“You know about this?” she asked her fiancé.

“He helped plan it,” Tiffany said with a grin. “He loves you so much, it’s disgusting, and I’m trying not to hate you.”

Beau reappeared with a huge, brand new white board, a variety dry erase pen pack and an eraser.

“I wanted you to have a board here, too.” Conrad slapped a dry erase marker in Jane’s hand. “So get back to work. You’ve got some threads to unravel.”

Oh! This was her true engagement present, wasn’t it? “I love it, and I love you. But I didn’t get you anything,” she groaned, gazing up at him with all kinds of remorse.

His amber eyes glittered, his features softening. “Yes, you did. You decided to fight for me. For us.”

Affection constricted her airways. He read her so well.

As excitement overtook her, she did exactly as requested, and got to work.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Just tell. Tell readers exactly how the character feels, thinks and moves.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

There was a new sheriff in town. Jane Eleanor Ladling, self-deputized and on the job.

In addition to the new murder board, Conrad provided a stack of photo IDs and access to clips of security footage, plus yarn and file folders in various colors, a map of the town square and magnets.

Her friends resumed the party, pretending to eat Tiffany’s food while tossing it in the garbage, so the widow’s feelings never got hurt and there were few leftovers.

Jane listed each suspect on the board, their location before, during and after the murder, and considered every possible partnership pairing, all while scrutinizing motives. And yes, okay, on the backside of the board, she adjusted her book outline as thoughts occurred to her. She now hated all the characters for some reason. Though the ghost berserker and his tragic backstory were her favorite part, they didn’t fit the narrative. And Beau was right. The talking tree needed a logical explanation to be there. On top of that, she still had no ending.

“Is she always like this?” June asked the group as a whole.

Jane’s trio of bridesmaids stood behind her, observing, supporting and making suggestions.

Fiona clucked her tongue. “Honestly, I’m not usually around for this side of her process.”

Focus. Jane stared at the names of her murder suspects until she had a clear direction. After grouping individuals together, she added motives and crossed out others. Conrad remained at her side, sneaking her house-made parmesan potato chips from Daisy’s he had stashed for a special occasion. But no matter what angle Jane considered for the case, her gut shouted, You’re missing something!

Argh! What? What wasn’t she seeing?

She dragged a hand over her hair, sparking an idea. “I need my phone.”

Beau strode over and offered her the device. "By the way. Holden found no bugs in the cottage.”

Then how had the killer known to use powder in the card? Although, it was a commonly used device in books and movies. She’d even uncovered it on a plotting website. Hey! Maybe the killer had visited the same sites?

Could that mean the killer wasn’t a writer by nature?

Jane dashed off a message to Ashley. The reporter challenged her thinking, and she required a good challenge right now.

Jane: Are the purple envelopes found at the crime scenes a coincidence or on purpose? Was there a sale on that particular shade of envelope? And why use red for me personally?

In the beginning, she’d assumed every detail was on purpose but now she wasn’t so sure. She had started to doubt herself.

Her non-nemesis nemesis didn’t hesitate with a response.

Ashley: Its all on purpose for sure. It’s part of the game.

Well, of course it was on purpose! She should never doubt herself.

But, uh, how did the reporter know about the game? No one but the killer and the police force were privy to that particular detail. On the other hand, Ashley was an excellent journalist, so most likely she’d obtained the information amid her investigation. Or Jane had mentioned it and forgotten. A total possibility right now, with the chaos trapped inside her head. But either way, she trusted the woman, dang it.

Jane: Let’s say only book club members are targets. Is the killer after the presidents? Do you know who served before Maggie?

Ashley: According to my notes, Abigail Waynes-Kirkland.

Another connection! Jane had known this conversation would pay off. Not that she knew what this new clue meant.

Ashley: I’d love a peek at the killer’s manuscript. Hint, hint.

That would be a hard no from Conrad. A forensic team was at work on it, and so far they claimed it matched nothing published. But…

Jane: I’ll see what I can do.

One by one, her friends took off. The guys helped Tiffany carry the numerous serving dishes to the hearse. After the last guest pulled out of the driveway, Conrad, the darling, ordered pizza. As they awaited its delivery, Jane rewatched the security footage from various shops surrounding the Treasure Room the day of Hannah’s murder.

Jane huffed with frustration. She found no sign of Donnie in the frames, which didn’t mean he didn’t have an alibi. It didn’t mean he did, either.

Conrad’s cell phone buzzed. He read the screen and released a sad sigh. “Deputy Marshall left the mayor’s house.”

Though Robert Thacker had given her a fright when he’d trailed them, she ached for the man. To lose his son while his wife was in lock-up was a travesty of the highest order. “I can’t imagine that he’s holding up well.”

“He’s demanding the killer be found within the next three days or heads will roll.”

“I echo the sentiment.”

A pdf of the killer’s chapter two arrived in Conrad’s inbox, just as the pizza was delivered. They cuddled on the couch with Rolex, Cheddar and the pie, and read.

Sometimes I gaze tenderly at the grace of my hands. An immaculate vessel for stealing another’s life. Each finger dances with the rhythm of creation, leaving no trail of clues in their wake.

Ugh. More drivel about the killer’s amazingness. “Abigail had to write this. We must get a copy of her other manuscripts.”

“Tomorrow we’ll talk to her, Mr. Thorton, and Miss Johnson. I can use what we learn to finally score that warrant. Mr. Eggerton has an alibi I’m in the process of verifying.”

A tag team? Sign Jane up for yes! “Each one of them could or couldn’t do this, together or on their own, for a dozen different reasons, and it’s maddening.” And what about Lucy? Jane remained undecided. She refused to rule out Christopher also.

“If this is truly a game to the killer, or killers,” Conrad said, “he, she or they are thinking in terms of a competition. We should, too.”

“Excellent idea.” So good she would’ve thought of it herself eventually. Probably. If she hadn’t already and just forgotten.

Rolex meowed in Conrad’s face, a clear demand for food. Which the lawman delivered. Cheddar woke up and started slobbering all over the couch.

“Stop drooling please,” Conrad told him, preparing a bowl for the corgi as well.

And how wonderful was it to see her fur-child, step-fur-child and her man living life together?

“In any competition,” she said as soon as Conrad returned to the couch, “there are at least two teams. In this case, Team Grim Reaper and Team Truth. But what is the prize?”

“If we learn the answer to that, we win, guaranteed.”

Jane considered the question the rest of the night, getting little sleep as Conrad fielded calls between drifting in and out on the couch. She remained curled into his side, checking on his breathing often, just in case. Before the sun rose, she wiggled free and prepared him a feast worthy of a king. Freshly squeezed orange juice, a fluffy omelet, buttery biscuits, bacon and sausage gravy and fresh fruit.

His soft, enchanting—and enchanted—smile pierced her heart with arrows of happiness. “It was my turn to treat you,” she told him, sliding a plate his way. “How are you feeling?”

“Almost as good as new.”

After they ate their fill and fed the pets, they dressed for a day of hard-core interviews. Conrad wore a button-up shirt with Aurelian Hills embroidered over his heart, black trousers and a duty belt complete with firearm, handcuffs and flashlight.

Jane prepared to cringe as she opened the overnight bag Tiffany had packed for her. The widow had made questionable fashion choices in the past. But a relieved smile spread as Jane spotted a practical knee-length cargo skirt armed with multiple pockets, perfect for storing Truth Be Told, a pen and whatever evidence she might spot along the way. Tiff had paired it with a polka-dot top with vintage-inspired wide sleeves. The clash of utility and whimsy proved delightful.

Determination grew in Jane on the drive to the station.

Deputy Poteet, who had indeed made a full recovery like Conrad, greeted them in the lobby. “Mason Thorton is waiting in Interview Room 1 with his lawyer.” The woman handed Jane a lanyard, which she assumed granted her VIP status and total run of the place.

“Thank you, Deputy,” Conrad said. “We’ll be in shortly.”

The woman opened her mouth, most likely to apologize for what happened, but she dashed off instead.

He led Jane to the bank of elevators. On the ride up, she asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

A smile graced his lips. “Probably not. Your mind is a wonderland of imagination and creativity.”

“Then I’ll explain. You’re playing mean cop, and I’m playing meaner cop.”

“I’m good with that. But sweetheart? Be warned. I’ve got a few surprises lined up for you. One of which could be the case wrapped up in a nice, pretty bow.”

What! He might have solved Hannah’s murder?

With a wink, Conrad ushered Jane into his office. She attempted to gather her wits. He’d just topped himself as the sexiest man on the planet. Her sputtering continued while he gathered a small stack of files. As he guided her through the maze that was the Aurelian Hills police station, she didn’t need to see him to know his expression remained blank for the benefit of those they passed.

She blanked her own expression as they entered the small, sterile room. A camera perched in the corner, ready to capture everything. Did someone stand behind the two-way mirror stretched across the entire back wall?

Jane and Conrad sat on the other side of a square metal table.

Mason fidgeted in his chair, his immaculate jet-black hair mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through the strands over and over in agitation. “She left me,” he burst out, earning a grunt of displeasure from the prim, bespectacled lawyer beside him. She placed a hand on his wrist to silence him. It didn’t work. “Abigail spent all my money, packed up and moved out. I bet she killed Hannah and Jacob, too. I don’t have proof—yet—but she’s evil enough.”

Agreed. But oh, wow, Abigail had already ditched her fiancé? “Did she give back the ring?” Jane might have maybe asked out of pure nosiness. But only maybe.

“She did not,” he grated and perked up. “The ring is mine. It was my mother’s. I loaned it to Abigail and now she’s refusing to return it. That makes it stolen property. I wish to file charges.”

“Obviously, this isn’t an admission of guilt to murder,” the attorney stated.

So. Abigail was a confirmed thief and Mason wasn’t afraid to seek revenge.

“When did you discover your fiancée was sleeping with Jacob Thorton?” Conrad asked.

Whoa! Was that true? Or was he herding the other man into a verbal trap? Argh, it was tough playing meaner cop with this bombshell exploding around them.

The attorney shook her head. “My client won’t be answering that.”

“That’s all right.” Conrad smiled a cold smile. “I have a feeling Miss Waynes-Kirkland will provide the answer with receipts.”

Wow, Conrad was hardcore, and Jane dug it.

Mason paled, a tremor working through him. “Look,” the widower growled. “I wasn’t a fan of Hannah, but I did love her, and if Abigail killed her and Jacob for my money, I demand justice. If I appear guilty in the process, so be it. So here’s the truth.” He held up a hand, palm facing his protesting attorney, demanding silence. “I found out about Abigail’s cheating the night of Hannah’s book club memorial. But I didn’t kill Mr. Thacker. He was welcome to Abigail. I’d already realized she was a heartless snake.”

“Do you happen to have a copy of her manuscript?” Jane asked. Maybe the socialite had left one tucked somewhere.

“It’s possible. I have her laptop. Well, it’s my laptop, just like the ring. I let her borrow it.” Mason puffed up, defensive. “I’m not giving her access to the contents until I get my ring.”

Jane made mental grabby hands. His laptop, not Abigail’s, yet the socialite had used it? What Jane wouldn’t give to read the rest of Abigail’s story. How closely did it mirror the current situation? “May I borrow it for a bit?” Who needed a warrant now? And time to toss her intent to play mean cop. This guy required a different approach. Helper. “It might prove her guilt.”

Conrad tensed as the attorney issued another protest. Again Mason proceeded anyway.

“I’ll bring it by later today.”

Yes! A true win!

“I appreciate that,” Conrad said, relaxing. “Let’s talk about your heart medication. Did Abigail have access to your prescriptions?”

Mason worked his jaw. “Is that how she did it? Trying to blame me? Yeah, she had access. We shared a bathroom, and my pills are kept in an unlocked medicine cabinet.”

The lawyer took over from there, and this time, Mason allowed it. No other questions were answered.

“What do you think?” Jane asked after the ex and his council exited.

“I don’t think he’s our guy,” Conrad replied and scrubbed a palm over his face. “His pride is bruised. He’s angry, but he’s willing to go against the advice of his attorney for the slightest chance Abigail is guilty. Meaning, he isn’t sure, just hopeful.”

“I concur.” Yeah, Jane no longer believed Mason was the culprit. His perplexity over the heart medication struck her as genuine. And he didn’t seem the cat-and-mouse game type. More like the kind of person who preferred his enemy to remain alive; you couldn’t hurt them if they were dead.

“You ready for our next interview?” Conrad checked his phone. “Waynes-Kirkland is locked and loaded in room two.”

Dang. Working for the police department certainly had its perks. No chasing down people for interviews–they came to you. “I am beyond ready.”

He stood, pulled out her seat, and escorted Jane into the room next door, where Abigail sat alone. Opted not to spend money on counsel? Of course the woman had been in her fair share of scrapes with the law, having her first arrest at the age of eighteen for vandalizing storefronts. But Abigail knew how to put on an air of respectability, that was for sure. Today she wore a silk blouse with a demure bow at the throat, a long black skirt and fashionable stiletto boots. Her dark hair was slicked back and her gaze untroubled. Guess who wasn’t wearing her engagement ring?

“She can’t be in here,” Abigail burst out, pointing an accusing finger at Jane. Did fear spark in her eyes, her ease fading? “She’s the killer, and she’s attempting to frame me!”

“Me?” Jane demanded, thumping her chest to be certain she’d heard correctly. “Are you implying I hit myself on the back of the head to cover up a murder, then poisoned my own fiancé?”

The other woman smirked, though, yes, there was definitely fear in her dark eyes. “If the horns and hooves fit.”

A muscle jumped in Conrad’s jaw as he helped Jane ease into her chair then claimed the seat beside her. “Jane is a consultant on the case with a rock-solid alibi for both murders.”

Jane jutted her chin. “What he’s saying is, if you’ve ever seen a TV show or movie featuring an expert crime solver with an extraordinary talent utilized by law enforcement, well, that’s basically my story. I’m even getting paid.”

The socialite ran her tongue over her straight white teeth. “If you’re an expert, I’m the Treasurer of Intergalactic dating. I didn’t kill Hannah, and I didn’t kill Jacob. I was at the grocery store. Ask Christopher! He was there with a few other firefighters. I saw them, and they saw me.”

“Maybe Jacob committed the murder at your urging while you gave yourself the perfect alibi,” Jane suggested.

Abigail pointed at her again, saying to Conrad, “I don’t care what Cemetery Girl thinks or what that old sourpuss Mason said. He hated Hannah and vowed to destroy Jacob. He probably killed them both and now hopes to blame me. His heart is as withered as his bank account.”

Conrad let her spout her venom without comment, no doubt making note of every tidbit she uttered. “Tell us about your relationship with Jacob Thacker. And please don’t insult my intelligence by saying you barely knew him.”

The other woman deflated a bit. Her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. An act of sorrow or genuine? “He adored me, and I adored him. I would never hurt him. But I couldn’t be with him, either. He was deeply in debt, so there was no way I could link my life to his on a permanent basis.”

Ding, ding, ding. Debt?

“You were spotted entering Mr. Thacker’s home late last night,” Conrad said.

Whoa. Abigail was with Jacob just before he died? And who was the witness?

The other woman gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders. “Who told you that? Mason? You can’t believe anything he says. He’s a liar. He told me his home was my home, then kicked me out at the first sign of trouble.” Bitterness seeped into her tone.

“It wasn’t Mr. Thorton,” Conrad replied.

Oooh. So who was it? Neighbors Christopher and/or Maggie? Was Maggie ready to snitch on her friend? Perhaps they’d worked together to kill Hannah so Maggie could inherit the Treasure Room sooner, but Abigail had rid herself of Jacob on her own because he’d learned her worst secrets and planned to turn her in. Now, Maggie sought revenge for her cousin.

Abigail frowned and slitted her eyes. “I don’t care who told you what. I visited a friend, which isn’t a crime. He was very much alive when I headed home.” The socialite pursed her lips. “Are you attempting to entrap me? I bet you’re eager to throw me in jail and flush the key. What better wedding gift to your new bride? I think I should call my lawyer.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Conrad stood, as if he hadn’t a worry in the world. Once again, he pulled out Jane’s chair and helped her stand. “Have your council contact me in the next twenty-four hours or I’ll pick you up and bring you back in handcuffs.”

Abigail huffed and puffed before jolting to her feet and racing off.

Jane watched it go down, slacked jawed. What was even going on here? “We hardly asked any questions, and I had so many more.”

“She’s nervous now. Let’s see what she does next.” He urged Jane out the door and motioned to the first room. “One last interview. Maggie Johnson.”

Okay. “Is Maggie the witness who tattled on Abigail?”

He shook his head. “No. That’s Christopher Wellington.”

Hmm. Was that suspicious? Christopher did seem to keep inserting himself into the case. Like, he’d seen those shoes, and now he just happened to catch Abigail entering the other home? Not to mention his presence at both murder scenes. Though, yes, everything had a logical foundation. Was Jane grasping at straws again, desperate to blame anyone?

Conrad opened the door, and they reentered Interview Room 1, now occupied by Maggie. Like Abigail, she sat alone. She’d braided her thick hair and wore clean coveralls, as if she hadn’t yet made it to her place of business. She glanced up at them, her features taut with anger and yeah, fear glittered in her blue eyes.

The mechanic jumped to her feet. “You! You did this. Chris broke up with me this morning. You’re to blame!” She pointed to Jane.

Was she serious? “Me? What’d I do?” Besides get clobbered on the head and drawn into a murderous game?

“He said he admires the love you and Conrad share, and he’s realized that’s what he wants for himself, and that he lacks such deep feelings for me.” Maggie laughed without humor. “You are the standard he uses to judge my food. Apparently my casseroles never taste as good as yours. Maybe he still loves you.”

Not this again. “We only dated for two months, and he broke up with me.” Afterward, he’d never called, texted, emailed, written a letter, or even attempted to send a message in a bottle. But whoa! This newest breakup was a shocker. At the memorial, Christopher had seemed so into the mechanic. Granted, he could’ve been into Maggie then, then fallen out of affection as swiftly as he had with Jane. Love ‘em and leave ‘em might be his MO. “Also, you don’t want to end up with a man who doesn’t love you the way Conrad loves me. But enough about that. Let’s discuss your motive. We’re told you have paperwork gifting Hannah’s Treasure Room to you.”

“How did you–” Maggie pressed her lips together, the color draining from her cheeks. She sank into her seat, as if hoping to find somewhere to hide.

Um. That was as good as a confession, right?

Conrad and Jane took their seats across from Maggie. He smiled politely right before asking, “Miss Johnson, did you conspire with Abigail Waynes-Kirkland and Jacob Thacker to kill Hannah Thorton and turn a story the three of you were co-writing into a reality? Did you then work with Ms. Waynes-Kirkland to kill Jacob Thacker because he decided to come clean and implicate you? Before you respond, you should know we just spoke with Ms. Waynes-Kirkland, and your ex-boyfriend gave us the manuscript.”

Jane’s jaw dropped. What! First of all, Conrad had withheld a lot of info. Obviously, his casserole privileges were hereby revoked indefinitely. Second, had her amazing fiancé just solved the case?

“I want a lawyer,” Maggie squeaked.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Always remember editing can take away from your raw genius.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

The interview concluded. Conrad let Maggie go without making an arrest, just as he’d let Abigail go. He didn’t even issue a sternly worded warning.

“Spill and don’t leave a thing out,” Jane demanded as soon as they were alone. “Why didn’t you lob those same accusations at Abigail? She might have confessed?”

“Ms. Johnson will ask her about everything I said, and Waynes-Kirkland will wonder the same thing. She’ll doubt her friend and be the first to break.”

So smart. “Tell me the rest.”

“After I was taken to Pinetum, my deputies spoke with the neighbors. As you know, Christopher saw Miss Waynes-Kirkland arrive at Mr. Thacker’s home. He said he was concealed in the shadows of the porch, considering his relationship with Maggie when Waynes-Kirkland parked inside Thacker’s garage.”

“Abigail’s actions speak of extended familiarity. Did she have a key to Jacob’s home and let herself in? Or did he help her hide her vehicle from prying eyes?”

“I believe he let her in and yes, to hide her vehicle. Christopher also said he was gathering his stuff while Ms. Johnson slept because he decided to break up with her in the morning, and that’s when he discovered the manuscript.”

Okay, so maybe Christopher was innocent of murder and only guilty of being a fickle boyfriend. “I was right all along. Abigail was involved from the beginning.” But. “Why didn’t you mention the manuscript immediately? And why not arrest Abigail and Maggie?” And why did Jane have a niggle? Even though her suspicions were being substantiated right before her eyes.

“I wanted to surprise you. And both women can prove they weren’t at the Treasure Room during Hannah’s murder. Christopher provided an alibi for Ms. Johnson at the time of Thacker’s death, and I’m unsure when Miss Waynes-Kirkland departed from Thacker’s home. On top of that, I don’t yet know if the mayor’s son killed Hannah or if he—they—hired someone else. I need to speak with Lucy before I slap cuffs on the pair.”

“I like how you’re warming up to my hitman angle.” So he had a few strings to tie before he made any arrests. Got it. “Are you certain the ladies spearheaded this whole thing?”

“Yes.” He heaved a sigh. “And no.”

Yeah. Her shoulders rolled in. “I agree. I haven’t shed the feeling we’re missing something.”

“As far as cat-and-mouse games go, this one is lacking.”

“Or it’s more nuanced than we realize, because we aren’t seeing all the pieces.” She heaved a sigh, too. “Why did they try to kill you?” To stop his investigation? Instead, they invigorated Jane’s.

“For all they knew, someone in a mask would open the card. Deputy Poteet shouldn’t have released the card on site. The goal could’ve been a simple desire to aim our focus in another direction by pretending to want to add to the body count.”

A knock interrupted the conversation. Conrad smiled and stood, saying, “Fiona called me earlier and alerted me that she’d arranged for you and the rest of your wedding party to spend the day at the spa of my choice.” He opened the door, revealing Fiona, Tiffany, June and Beau. “Go relax with your friends and enjoy being pampered.”

Jane pressed a hand over her now thumping heart. “I like you as much as I love you,” she said, rushing over to hug her fiancé, certain of a startling fact. The real family curse was being too afraid to give yourself wholeheartedly to the one you loved. But the curse had lost its hold on her big time.

“I love and like you, too.” He pressed the sweetest kiss into her lips.

“We love and like you both,” Fiona said, grinning the world’s biggest and most wonderful grin. “I’m so glad you two found each other.”

The others nodded their agreement.

“Considering I’m your maid of honor, I obviously love and like you more than most.” Beau’s dry tone drew a snicker from Conrad.

“What about me?” her fiancé asked with an exaggerated pout. “Where’s my declaration?”

Beau hiked his shoulders. “You’re okay, I guess.”

Conrad acted as if he’d received a first-place ribbon at the county fair pie-eating contest, and Jane chuckled. Their bromance was so special.

June sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “This is so beautiful. You’re all so kind to each other, so thoughtful, while I don’t have any friends, and I’m so cranky sometimes, Momma calls it Honey Badger June, and right now I’m hungry for waffles and I want a cuddle and to be left alone all at the same time.”

Conrad snickered behind his hand. Even Jane had to hide a smile, rolling her lips between her teeth.

She gave the love of her life one more kiss before leaving with her wedding party. And oh, wow, she’d never thought to use those two words in conjunction with herself, but here she was, engaged to the most perfect man ever born.

Beau drove the entire group in Trick’s SUV. A quick trip. Jane tried to participate in the chatter, she really did, but her mind continually strayed to the case. What was she missing?

They parked at the Gilded Scissors, exited and made their way to the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob, looked over her shoulder, and focused on the closed down Treasure Room. A piece of yellow crime scene tape billowed in the wind. Her gaze glided over the other shops. At the end of the street was the Golden Food Market, where Christopher had first spotted Abigail.

Had Abigail played the role of Treasure Room lookout from here and signaled the killer at the perfect time to strike?

What if Abigail had worked with Christopher? Was he the missing ingredient? He certainly fit Lucy’s description. Again, if Lucy’s description was accurate. But how could he be in two places at once?

And what of Donnie?

As a pre-best selling author, Jane should be able to plot this out. Okay. So. Could Christopher have run into Abigail at the store, realized she’d be the perfect alibi, then made the short journey to the Treasure Room without his fellow firemen knowing, killed Hannah, hit Jane, then backtracked? Or maybe one of the other firefighters he’d shopped with had done the deed? By being the first people to reach the crime scene, their prints and DNA covered the site for a legitimate reason. But why would Christopher or another fireman kill Hannah and play games with Jane, if not a gesture of love to Maggie by securing the Treasure Room for her?

But why risk breaking up with Maggie in the middle of a case, if she could spill his darkest secrets?

Speaking of Maggie, the mechanic walked down the sidewalk with a paper coffee cup in hand. She spotted Jane, narrowed her eyes, and jaywalked to the other side before disappearing around a corner.

Jane’s thoughts rolled on. What if Christopher had a secret fling going with Abigail? That gave him a reason to kill Jacob–as a romantic rival. And Hannah, too, ensuring Abigail was free to siphon off all of her mark’s money. It also explained his breakup with Maggie.

If Christopher loved the socialite, he might do anything she requested.

“Are you not wanting your hair and nails done, Janie?” Beau asked.

Something about his tone… A grin spread over her face. “We aren’t really here for beauty treatments, are we?” Conrad picked this salon for a purpose, hadn’t he?

“You and I aren’t, no.”

“You aren’t?” Tiffany groaned. “I should have known.”

June’s brow knitted in confusion. “What are they doing then?”

“Investigating,” everyone else said in unison.

As Fiona, Tiffany and June entered the shop, Jane and Beau veered from the group to travel to the rear of the grocery store.

“What are we doing back here?” Jane inquired, wrinkling her nose at the scent of spoiled food coming from the trash dumpster.

“We’re scouting all the exits.”

Good thinking. Next, they timed a walk to and from the Treasure Room.

Then they timed a jog.

Finally, a full-on run.

Jane stared at her watch in surprise. “A round trip can be done in three minutes. One of the shopping firefighters totally could’ve run to the Treasure Room, committed the murder, incapacitated me and returned in less than ten minutes without the others noticing his absence.”

How long was the killer in the shop? Had any of the firemen stepped away from shopping to, say, go to the bathroom?

Beau nodded, only to shrug. “But did they?”

Yeah, something still felt off.

Jane focused on Beau. “Has Holden found any sign of where Lucy might be staying?”

“Every time he discovers one of her hidey-holes, she’s packed up and gone before he arrives.”

Argh! Holden was an experienced tracker. Lucy wasn’t an expert fugitive. How was the loan officer able to conceal herself so well? Unless someone was helping hide her. Like a partner. Did Jane trust her? Did she trust Christopher? What if the two were working together? A modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. But why target Jane for a game?

Or perhaps Lucy had set up several fake hidey-holes. A means of keeping the tracker busy while she maintained her current, and sole, base.

Hmm. Yeah. That one. Jane would bet her last dollar. Well, maybe not her last dollar. But a few nickels and dimes she found on the street, sure.

During the final trip to the store, she noticed a familiar truck being parked in the lot. Her stomach fluttered with nerves as Christopher emerged. What a perfect chance to question him. But why had he chosen this exact moment to shop? What were the odds? Because no, Jane hadn’t started believing coincidences were real. Unless Maggie had called him and mentioned seeing Jane in town, seizing any excuse to reach out to her ex? But why would Christopher want to bump into Jane now? To glean her case findings?

“Do we avoid or confront?” Beau muttered.

“Do you even know me?” she asked, then tsked.

“Jane and Beau,” the fireman called, smiling and waving as they approached. “We go a couple years and barely see each other and now we’re running into each other left and right.”

Did he seem a little too bright and happy, as if he were putting on a show? Of course, she could be noticing strain from his morning break up and discovering his ex-girlfriend might be a killer.

“I’m glad we’ve been able to catch up,” she replied, walking with him into the store. “Why, I was just considering telling Beau I hoped we got to see you today, wasn’t I, Beau?”

“Yep.” The one word response, uttered in a clipped tone, left Christopher blinking with confusion.

“How’s Sheriff Ryan?” the fireman asked as they selected carts.

“He’s recovering.” An idea popped inside her mind. “I should bake him a casserole. Yes, yes. That’s one of the reasons we’re here, now that I consider it. There are ingredients to gather.”

Christopher unveiled a smile tinged with sadness. “After months staying with Maggie at her place, I moved back into my apartment this morning and realized I had no food.”

So maybe he had a decent excuse for being in the right place at the right time. Either way, perfect segue! “Oh? You and Maggie broke up?” she asked, as if she didn’t know. Their group of three headed for aisle one.

“Did the sheriff not tell you? I found the manuscript she was co-writing with Abigail and Jacob. You were right to distrust them. They’ve each kept secrets within secrets. Plotted everything out.” He shuddered. “It’s horrifying.”

“Yes. Learning anyone is capable of anything is always tough.” Secrets within secrets.

The phrasing echoed inside her head again and again until a light bulb switched on. Jane stopped short with a gasp. “I just thought of something else I must do.” Heart thumping, she released the cart and grabbed hold of Beau, intending to speed away.

“Wait,” Christopher said, stopping her. “Did you know teeth are the only part of the human body that can’t heal itself? It’s because they’re coated in enamel, which isn’t a living tissue.”

“I didn’t, but I do now. Bye, Christopher.” With a little wave, Jane turned on her heel, finally leading Beau away. “Guide me back to the Treasure Room while I text Conrad.”

“What’s going on?” Beau asked.

“I think I know where Lucy is.” She whipped out her phone and fired off a text to her fiancé.

Jane: Is the Treasure Room cleared for visitors? Either way, meet me there. And hurry! My brilliance will blow your mind.

Agent Spice: Since it’s clear your magnificent brain has stumbled upon something significant, I will be there in five minutes.

She and Beau reached the destination first, but they didn’t have to wait long. Conrad arrived and shifted the crime scene tape to allow them through the door.

“What are we looking for?” the lawman asked.

“You’ll see.” Jane went straight to the secret room and scanned the space. “Move the table from the rug.” She pointed to the round, solid oak antique atop a square of hand stitched wool with a floral design.

The boys obeyed without question, careful of any markers the police had left behind. Biceps strained, and she fanned her cheeks.

“I should ask you guys to move the furnishings in the cottage because wow. This is the show of a lifetime.”

Both snorted, though their timbres were quite different.

“Now move the rug,” she instructed.

They tried and failed. Frowning, Conrad looked things over. “There’s a hook that connects it to the wood.”

“That’s not normal,” Beau stated, freeing the rug from the hindrance, allowing them to move the fabric without problem.

Well, the hook made total sense if she was right. Jane examined the wood floor and clapped. A faint grouping of lines. She rushed over to feel for some sort of latch—yes! She lifted a bundle of slats, revealing a doorway to a well-lit set of steps.

“A secret room inside a secret room,” she boasted, all ta da.

“How did I not think to look for this?” A frowning Conrad unsheathed his weapon. “I should punch myself.”

A scowling Beau eased Jane backward, saying, “You aren’t the only one.”

The two descended first, and she followed, entering a sprawling underground chamber complete with living space, a comfortable-looking bed and efficient kitchenette.

A woman sat on a pillow-covered couch, headphones on her ears, jamming out as she read over a stack of papers. She didn’t appear to be crunching numbers for tax season.

Noticing her audience, she jumped to her feet with a gasp, knocking over a metal mid-century lamp. The headphones tumbled to the floor. Clad in leggings, oversized sweatshirt and cozy slippers, their “hostess” obviously planned to be here for the long haul.

“Stay where you are and put your hands in the air,” Conrad commanded.

Jane smiled and waved with her fingers. “Hello, Lucy.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Add as many characters as you can name. The chorus of dozens of voices is music to the eyes.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Lucy held up her hands in the classic I-give-up stance and burst into tears. “The killer is holding Cartier hostage.”

Conrad heaved his heaviest sigh and sheathed his weapon. He strode over and patted her down, not finding anything dangerous. “I’m debating arresting you. I’m not sure what you’ve done to my crime scene and⁠—”

“Nothing,” she rushed out, her eyes wide and watery. “I did nothing. I came in through the outside. There’s another doorway. Back when Aurelian Hills was flush with gold, this building used to be the assay offices where miners brought their findings to be weighed.”

Jane nodded. “We’ve all heard the stories of Ezra Sterling fighting off would-be thieves with his bare hands.”

“I think there’s even a song.” Beau thought for a moment. “We had to learn it for Founder’s Day.”

Jane cleared her throat.

“Ezra Sterling, strong and bold,

About his bravery, legends are told.

Faced with thieves, he took a stand,

With wit and grit, he became the hero of our land.”

Conrad shook his head. “This town is so weird.”

Despite her anxiety, Lucy appeared pleased she wouldn’t have to explain the basics and could go straight to the scandal. “Well, let’s just say Mr. Hero didn't mind helping himself to a little bit of each man’s gold. He stored it down here.”

Beau huffed with indignation. “People have been squirreling away gold in this town since the beginning.”

Jane suspected the time she had “requested” they dig up a dead body to look for some of that infamous hidden gold at the Garden had scarred him for life.

“You mentioned another doorway.” Conrad centered them back on the investigation.

Lucy visibly swallowed, tension radiating from her in waves. “I’ve since locked it, in case the killer used it to escape. And he must have. Because Cartier was down here before Hannah’s murder. When I returned, my baby was gone, a note left in her place. It said I’ll be in touch. Respond or else.”

Jane’s chest squeezed. The panic in the other woman’s expression and tone struck a chord deep within her. She’d experienced something similar during a previous murder investigation, when a masked woman had snuck into her home and Rolex went missing. Plus, she knew Lucy. Knew the sweetness in her heart.

Had Jane suspected her of murder not too long ago? Yes. But that was before this. And maybe she could rule out Donnie too? What were the odds someone new to town would know about secret doors? Although, Christopher and his encyclopedia of knowledge might. What if he told those facts to everyone at the fire station?

Maybe Donnie had known.

“Why is there a litter box in the secret room if the cat was kept down here?” Conrad asked.

Lucy sniffled. “Cats wander, and Cartier would sometimes get locked up there. She needed a place to go.”

“Everyone stop talking. I need a second.” Jane whipped out her phone and found her ex’s number. Once, she’d stored his name as—her cheeks heated—Kisstopher. After their breakup, she’d changed it to Craptopher. But she’d since switched it to Christopher.

Jane: Hey, do you know some obscure facts about town history?

A response came within seconds.

Christopher: I do. Is there something you’d like to learn?

Jane: Yes, please. Are there any secret doorways around town?

Christopher: Many. Maggie and Abigail asked the same question a few months ago, so I did some research and put together a map. A few of the guys at the station helped. I have the info stored on a computer at home. As soon as I get back, I’ll shoot the file your way. The town is quite a fascinating maze!

Ah ha! Maggie, Abigail, and probably Jacob had known. Jacob could’ve told his father. And the firemen had assisted. Basically, this pointed to all of Jane’s suspects. Christopher’s willingness to offer up details exonerated him. Mostly. Because it also added to his potential guilt.

She would share the news with Conrad when they were alone. “All right. Please continue,” she said, trying to tamp down her excitement.

Conrad gave her a funny look. “I’m going to ask some questions, and you’re going to answer,” he told Lucy. “Or we can go to the station and have an attorney present.”

“I’ll answer your questions here and now.” Lucy slowly lowered her arms, then motioned to a small round table with the perfect number of chairs and several stacks of folders. “Please, get comfortable.”

“Beau,” he said. That was it. Just the war vet’s name.

“On it,” Beau replied, launching into a slow, thorough search of the room, taking photos with his phone.

Their understanding of each other and what needed to be done was wow.

Lucy, Jane and Conrad sat. Jane noticed the carvings on the table. Oh! One of her ancestors had engraved his name. Silas Ladling. She traced her fingertip over the letters, grounding her thoughts.

“Tell me what happened,” Conrad commanded. “Start from the beginning.”

“My half-sister was sick. She had an operation but died anyway, and I was lost,” Lucy said with a sniffle. “Every action I took, all my thoughts for the last year and a half, centered on getting the money for her surgery.” Her voice thickened as she continued. “Now I have no job, no home, and no savings. I mentioned my financial tie to Hannah to Jane, but our connection goes deeper. Before that, I dated one of Hannah’s sons. When I reached out, she offered me a lifeline and a top secret place to stay.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Jane said, giving her friend’s hand a pat. Stealing that fifty thousand dollars made so much sense now. And was it really stealing if the murderer brought the money in a briefcase, intending to buy a murderer’s silence? “You’ve been through so much.”

“I only arrived two days before the killer struck.”

“Well, our number one priority is rescuing Cartier. Right Conrad?” she asked.

“One priority,” he echoed.

No wonder Jane had agreed to marry him. Or proposed. Whatever. “I don’t think Jacob was the nabber. I didn’t notice any cat supplies at his home or hair on his clothing.” Didn’t mean he hadn’t taken the feline, though. He could’ve kept the sweetie at a remote location. Which meant Cartier needed to be found ASAP. Who was feeding her?

Lucy pulled a stack of those folders closer and rifled through the contents. One by one, she tossed photos and printed papers across the table for Jane and Conrad to examine. The images showed the bank assistant’s beautiful calico cat—Rolex’s first girlfriend—dirty, with matted fur, locked in a crate.

Horror bombarded Jane. The papers showcased messages from the killer, too. She focused on the worst one.

DO WHAT I SAY OR THE CAT DIES

Beau rapped his knuckles over a section of the wall, stating, “You could’ve sent that threat to yourself.”

He wasn’t even at the table. How had he read the note?

“As if she would ever willingly allow Cartier to reach this condition,” Jane said at the same time Lucy spat, “How dare you!”

Conrad canted his head. “How were these messages delivered?”

Lucy hiccuped. “I received texts, which I printed out to create a transcript of our interactions for easier reading, but I’ll show you the originals too.” She reached in her pocket, withdrew her phone, and handed it to Conrad before sliding over a folder with more printouts. “I was told to attend Hannah’s memorial and inform Jane about the paperwork Maggie might have. I don’t know if it’s real or not.”

“It is.” Maggie had basically confirmed it. Abigail would’ve known. Christopher and probably Jacob, too.

“The next set of instructions, which I received this morning, directed me to print and mail chapter three of a manuscript titled Grave Actually to Jane. Which I did. I had to go to that office center in Willowbrook to avoid detection.”

Wait. “This morning?”

Jane met Conrad’s gaze. Jacob had been too dead to make contact with Lucy. Could Abigail or even Maggie herself have the cat? One of the firemen? Mason?

“I made two copies and kept one for myself.” The loan officer pushed another folder Conrad’s way, but Jane snatched it up. As the writer of the group, she should read it first.

She skimmed paragraphs, her muscles growing stiffer and stiffer. When she got to the last line, she glanced at her beloved, distressed. “You die. In this chapter, the haggard detective dies and clues about the killer’s identity are planted at his funeral.” Fear punched her. Did the killer plan to strike again? Was the medication that nearly felled Conrad a warning shot?

Tremors plagued her as she handed him the chapter.

“I tried to help you guys as much as I could,” Lucy said. “I spied on Maggie, since that’s who the killer implicated, which led me to Abigail and Jacob, but other than clocking the three of them together at Maggie’s house, I found nothing.”

All easily explained by being members of the writing club and co-authors. “What about Christopher Wellington and Donnie Eggerson?”

“I overheard Donnie ask Chris if he wanted to play a video game, which made me think of the game in the killer’s manuscript, but other than that, zilch.”

As the lawman read the chapter, Jane decided it was time to go back to the beginning.

“Is what you shared about my attacker being tall and lean true, or something you were told to say?” she asked Lucy.

“True. He demanded I lay low, but I decided to take a chance, hoping you’d get further in the investigation than me.”

Beau joined them at the table. “No cameras. One hidden doorway, which is the entrance and exit to the outside she mentioned. Soundproof walls.”

Conrad nodded, then started reading again. As soon as they received Abigail’s laptop from Mason, they could do a comparison of stories and writing styles.

“Do you have any idea who’s behind the murders?” Lucy asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Yes and no.” Did Jane believe everything the woman had said? She, well, kind of… did. Which either meant she was growing as a person, or she’d lost her edge and wasn’t suspicious enough. Hopefully this trust wouldn’t come back to bite her a second time. “There must be a way to draw the killer out into the open, protect Conrad and save Cartier. If the original murderer is still alive and playing games.” The recently deceased Jacob Thacker remained uncrossed off her list.

An idea peeked from the mire of her thoughts, swirling inside her head, and her jaw slackened. Oh, wow. It was an amazing, wild, dangerous, magnificent plan. A mouse trap with a smorgasbord of cheese. But she would need the cooperation of all her friends. If anything went wrong…

Jane nibbled on her bottom lip. There’d be trouble. But. If everything went right…

“What?” Conrad asked, as if he’d caught the barest hint of her idea.

“Yeah. What are you thinking?” Beau demanded. “Because you’re wearing your evil villain face again.”

Lucy nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. “I’m kind of terrified of you right now.”

Jane looked between her friends, her determination solidifying. Yes, they were gonna do this. “If we want to catch the killer, Lucy has to die.”

* * *

Lucy Chang, beloved daughter, sister and cat mother.

Please join us for a celebration of life on April 6th at 2:30 in the afternoon at Garden of Memories, Aurelian Hills, Georgia.

Jane donned her favorite funeral attire, a calf-length black mourning dress with a high, boxy neckline and graceful skirt. A black sash of silk cinched her waist. She plopped a wide-brimmed hat on top of her hair, adjusting the netting to just below her brows while peering at a full-length mirror in her bedroom at Garden of Memories.

The day had come to lay Lucy Chang to rest. Her precious friend, gone far too soon. Murdered in the Treasure Room by either the original killer or a copycat. No one really knew, the entire case in shambles. Blah, blah. Jane sniffled and dabbed at her eyes.

“I almost believe you’re in mourning, sweetheart,” Conrad said from his post on the bed, with Cheddar the Cheese Man curled up beside him. Rolex enjoyed his cat hammock by the window, surveying all the activity taking place around him.

Wearing a perfectly pressed suit, her fiancé stretched across her lilac patchwork quilt, completely at ease amongst her discarded hats. “Also, you are the most beautiful woman ever born.”

“Thank you.” The corners of her lips lifted, and she stomped her foot. “But you’re ruining my somber demeanor, and I’m minutes away from presiding over Lucy’s memorial.”

Since her friend’s “death” three days ago, Jane’s plan had gone off without a hitch. Honestly, the hardest part was convincing Conrad to announce another murder in a town decidedly skittish from the rash of previous murders.

Somehow, Trick had swiftly arranged for a fake coroner to wheel Lucy out of the Treasure Room under the guise of transporting her body to a morgue. Christopher must have seen all the hubbub before he got home from the store or heard about it online, because he never sent the promised map. Only a note of condolence.

Conrad had officially questioned him and the other two firefighters who’d been at the grocery store the day of Hannah’s murder, but they’d claimed to have stuck together the entire time, no one wandering off for an extended period, which knocked them out of the running for good.

Holden had been guarding Lucy inside a safe house ever since. All the while, Jane did her best to epitomize the grieving friend.

Propped against the pillows, Conrad reviewed the manuscript Mason had finally turned over to AHPD, written by Abigail. Jane had tried to read Abigail’s work, she really had, but four chapters in she’d had to admit defeat and render a DNF grade, two thumbs down, zero stars, pure drivel. But different drivel than Grave Actually. Deputies had yet to find anything actually written by Jacob alone.

“The voice for this story doesn’t match the chapters left by the killer, or the co-written manuscript Christopher turned in,” Conrad observed.

“Well, Grave Actually is so poorly written, it could be part of the game rather than a serious work. We’ll find out.”

Soon they would get copies of Maggie’s individual work. The warrant had come in. Her electronics were seized, but so far nothing had been found. Which made no sense. Didn’t authors keep backups of their backups? Jane certainly did.

She hadn’t ruled out Jacob as Hannah’s killer. But. Jacob had been killed by the same method as Hannah–blunt force trauma. Abigail and Maggie hadn’t swung the murder weapon at Hannah, so Jane wasn’t sure they’d had the chops to use the wrench on Jacob, despite Abigail’s presence in the home earlier that morning. And who held Cartier hostage? What if the entire book club had worked together to pull all this off? Or the firemen? Not out of the running, after all.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand next to Conrad. “Who messaged?” Jane asked.

He reached to pick up the device, only to pause a moment to lightly stroke a green leaf on his potted plant. One of three she’d gifted him with. One for the bungalow, the Garden, and his office. She would never forget the way he’d looked at her. As if she’d given him the world’s greatest treasure.

“It’s Lucy,” he said. “She wants to know why it feels like we’re losing.”

“Tell her–oh, never mind. I will.” Jane closed the distance and perched beside her soon-to-be husband. She muttered what she typed, “We want the killer (or killers) to think they’ve won. Just hold on for a few more hours and it will be all over.” Send.

Conrad, or rather, the AHPD, had filed zero formal charges against any suspects. There wasn’t court approved evidence. Never mind the brilliance of Jane’s suppositions. Even the array of “coincidences” and connections weren’t enough to move forward.

Still talking while she typed to Lucy, Jane said, “As grandiose as Abigail is, and as desperate as she and Maggie must be to gather information for their stories, they won’t be able to stop themselves from attending. Plus, if there’s now a copycat killer in the mix, thanks to us, they’ll want to scope everyone for clues. It’s science.” Send.

Jane put her phone away. This memorial would give her the chance to watch every person involved, all together, all at once, so, the case was as good as solved.

“This will work,” she told Conrad, in case he didn’t know. She laced her fingers with his. The fact that this might be their only chance for success, well, she didn’t let the pressure get to her. “The girls and their other partner or partners, if they have more than one, and they probably do, will make a move to advance the game, and we’ll catch them in the act.”

Tone gruff, he told her, “And you’ll play it safe the entire time. Promise me.”

“From the bottom of my heart.”

Rolex stretched and yawned, hopped from his hammock to the bed to bat at Conrad, demanding pets. Of course, the little darling quickly remembered what a fierce, independent warrior he was, hissed at the lawman, and jumped off the duvet. Cheddar napped through it all.

Conrad sat up and shifted his legs over the side of the mattress. He slid his feet into his loafers. “If anything happens to you⁠—”

“It won’t,” she rushed to assure him. She would’ve thrown herself against his back and given him a hug and a kiss, but a knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

Hinges squeaked as the entrance opened. Fiona entered, a vision in navy blue, gloves and hat. Her expression softened as soon as she spotted Jane. “Oh, my darling girl. You are wow!” She pressed a hand over her heart and slid her gaze to Conrad. “You look pretty wow too.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Jane had picked the clothes herself and for once, he’d acquiesced.

“I do,” Conrad confirmed with a wink.

Fiona clicked her tongue at them. “I came to tell you we’re ready. The finger foods need to be carted to the reflection center. Every dish you requested is there. Mini-quiches, pinwheels, chicken skewers, cucumber sandwiches, southern ambrosia salad, deviled eggs with brisket, and three different kinds of cheese straws. There’s currently five gallons of sweet tea, which will become six as soon as we fix the jug of unsweet June purchased. Don’t worry. She’ll learn. Guests are expected within the hour.”

Jane’s heart picked up speed. She hadn’t hosted a celebration of life in years. “Beau finished installing all the hidden cameras in the areas previously unwatched?” Such as the cottage and the Valley of the Dolls.

“He did.”

“And Trick and Isaac are in place?” Hidden in the mausoleum, watching camera feed. Holden remained with Lucy. How were the pair getting along?

“They are.”

Perspiration dampened Jane’s palms. “Okay then.” The killer(s) had wanted to play a game, so, they would play. And this had better work. No other option was acceptable. “To the reflection center we go.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When in doubt, just kill everyone’s favorite character

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

“Thank you for coming.” Jane shook hands with the guests as they reached the reflection center. Several people had already taken their seats on the benches that lined the area. The wisteria had begun to bud in gorgeous violet hues, scenting the air with its distinct floral, fruity notes. Beneath the branches stretched a long table, draped with delicate funeral fabric and laden with the food.

Two metal A-Frame stands flanked the podium, one displaying a photo of Lucy, her kind eyes filled with mischief, while the other featured Cartier looking every bit a million bucks.

Conrad stood at Jane’s side, a tower of support and a ready shield against trouble. Beau, Fiona, Raymond, Tiffany, and June intermingled with the growing crowd.

Jane wasn’t shocked when Abigail and Maggie arrived together. They hadn’t known Lucy, but here they were to pretend to celebrate her life. No doubt for the very reasons Jane had given her friend. Or perhaps they were even here to pick their next victim!

Did the pair intend to leave clues for the next murder, as chapter three of Grave Actually suggested? Time would tell. Jane tapped her foot, anxious to get this started so the killer(s) could be revealed, but also, she was hesitant because…what if she were wrong? Or made things worse?

She’d begun to wonder if the killer(s) intended to commit one murder for each weapon in the board game, Clue. What remained was a dagger, rope, lead pipe and revolver. Could Aurelian Hills handle five more suspicious deaths?

Mason strode over, dark head held high, and a new—younger—woman on his arm. Proving to the community the defection of his fiancée meant nothing to him? His eyes narrowed when he spotted Abigail. She wore the ring once again and paid him not one iota of attention.

Ashley Katz came soon after Mason. The reporter showed amazing restraint, not rushing to any suspects and asking probing questions. She simply expressed her great sympathy.

Christopher arrived with Donnie and another firefighter, each man carrying a big bag of cat food in his arms. Jane pressed a hand over her heart. How sweet. They’d adhered to her wishes. In lieu of flowers, she’d asked everyone to bring supplies for a local animal rescue.

Donnie glanced at her and hastily looked away, not staring. Hmm. Because of guilt? Or had someone warned him to stop? He definitely wasn’t out of the running.

When the line of guests ended, Jane drew in a deep breath. Time for phase two of the plan. Her finger went to the wire hidden beneath the collar of her top as she scanned the crowd–all fellow residents of Aurelian Hills. Lucy’s friends from school, the bank and the vet’s office, along with every suspect Jane had hoped to attend. Well, except the mayor.

Peering up at Conrad, she patted his stubbled cheek. “I hope you’re ready.”

“Always.”

With another quick nod, she made her way to the podium on the dais, facing the crowd of thirty. As Lucy had no other living family, they weren’t tricking her loved ones into believing she died.

Jane cleared her throat and tapped the microphone. “Good afternoon.”

Conversations tapered off. All eyes swung to her. People in motion stopped, and anyone at the snack table meandered closer.

She offered her saddest smile. “Today we honor the life of Lucy Chang. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how wonderful she was. As a premier loan officer at the Bank of Aurelian Hills, she loved helping others realize their dreams. There’s probably not a new homeowner or ready-to-tackle-the-world entrepreneur in our lovely town who didn’t have her help in the last few years. She was also a devoted fur-mom, daughter and sister, willing to sacrifice everything for the family she adored.”

Jane scanned the faces of those watching her. Abigail and Maggie whispered among themselves. Mason glared at Abigail and drained a glass of sweet tea. Christopher pressed a hand over his heart, truly mourning the deceased. Donnie stared down at the ground.

“Lucy is survived by her precious fur-daughter Cartier. Someone she loved with her whole heart. With her dying breath, Lucy asked me to find Cartier, who is missing, and that is something I intend to do. Nothing and no one will stop me.” Careful. Rage had infiltrated Jane’s voice. She cleared her throat. “Let’s eat, drink and celebrate the life of our darling Lucy. If anyone would like to share a story about her, please feel free to do so.”

Jane dabbed her eyes before abandoning the stage to join Conrad and the crowd.

Conversations and motions resumed. Now for phase three. Mingling and pretending to be distracted.

Conrad bent down to whisper in her ear, “So far Trick and Isaac haven’t noticed anything suspicious on the camera feed.”

A disappointment, but not a devastation. The event wasn’t over. The killer still had plenty of opportunities to hide clues.

Her gaze fell on the reporter. “Maybe it’s time we stir things up by asking probing questions?” she whispered back. The other woman would be the perfect accomplice.

She’d start with Donnie. Except, he was no longer in his seat. Hmm. Where had he gone?

A thunderous boom shattered the solemnity, shaking the ground and jolting everyone from their quiet mourning. The crowd froze in place. What in the world? Gasps and cries erupted as thick black smoke rolled in from the Autumn Grove section of the cemetery, tainting the air with an acrid residue.

“Fire!” someone shouted, and screams rang out. People went running, slamming into each other. Beau raced toward ground zero.

A fire? Here?

“I’ll call 911,” Fiona proclaimed as Raymond gathered Tiffany and June, both in shock. Blood dripped from a gash across her half-sister’s temple, and Tiffany’s knees were scraped.

“What happened?” Jane demanded, a surge of protection swelling in her chest.

“We fell when the masses stampeded in every direction,” a panting Tiffany told her.

Fighting a tidal wave of fear, Jane shouted to Conrad, “Go! Help the boys. I’ll stay with Raymond and direct the people to safety.”

Conrad hesitated only a moment before commanding, “Keep your promise,” and sprinting off.

“Follow me, and I’ll lead you out of the cemetery,” Jane instructed, launching down the pathway toward the parking lot. Her friends obeyed, and so did the stragglers, remaining close on her heels.

“Stay calm and stick together,” Christopher called, bringing up the rear in perfect teamwork. “Where are your hoses and buckets?” he demanded as soon as they reached the gate. Determination etched every line of his face.

“The shed.” Like most public areas, the Garden of Memories was required to have fire hydrants, but modern fire trucks had difficulty reaching the oldest parts of the cemetery, so provisions were made.

“Stay here and let the emergency personnel know where to go when they arrive.” He took a step in the wrong direction, and she caught his wrist. “I’ll take you there. Fiona, direct the firefighters,” she called. There wasn’t time to waste. If he got lost…

Jane meant to tell Raymond where she was headed, but he was busy seeing to the injured.

Once again, Jane led the way, passing the old business center. Were Conrad, Beau and the others okay? What had caused the explosion? An accident, or a killer determined to cause a distraction?

“Have you seen Donnie?” she asked.

“No, he told me he needed to leave.”

She balled her hands into fists. Had he done this?

The shed came into view, painted to blend into the scenery. Jane punched the correct code into the keypad lock–an upgrade thanks to Beau–and swept inside. Grimy windows allowed in broken shafts of light. The scent of gasoline, cut grass and dust filled her nose. Where were the hoses and buckets?

The bulk of sunlight vanished as the heavy doors shut. She turned, intending to ask Christopher to reopen the access, but the words died when she spotted what he clenched in his fist. A knife.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She held up her hands to ward him off as she backed up, putting distance between them. “What are you doing, Christopher? Why do you have a knife?”

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” he begged. Though his voice brimmed with reassurance, he never sheathed the weapon. “I didn’t mean to kill Hannah. And I love you. I would never hurt you.”

Jane’s jaw dropped, pieces of the puzzle linking, shocking her to her core. His motive made no sense! “You love me?” Although, she had no problem pegging him as the killer right now. All the clues…

His ex-girlfriend’s uncanny resemblance to Jane.

The phone call after Hannah’s murder to ensure he had an excuse to race to the Treasure Room.

How he always seemed to appear just as Jane needed him.

Tattling on Abigail and Maggie.

Finding the co-written manuscript.

Telling everyone about the secret tunnels.

But a profession of love? This, Jane never expected. “You don't love me,” she informed him. “You broke up with me. And also, no one has ever really killed for love, only hate-in-denial.”

“I told you. I didn’t mean to kill Hannah. And our breakup was supposed to flip a switch inside you so you’d do anything to win me back,” he admitted. “Yet you didn’t, and I thought I had let you go and moved on. Then Marcus Hotchkins died, and you reappeared in my life. But you didn’t see me.” His eyes narrowed. “I realized I had to make you see me.”

Conrad was right. Instead of being a man and telling you how he felt, he tried to get you to chase him by breaking up with you.

“You can't love me,” she said, gentling her tone. “You’re holding a knife, threatening my life.”

“I do love you,” he insisted, “and I’ll prove it. But I need you to listen to me, okay?” He took a step forward, and she took another backwards step. His eyelids narrowed again, and his grip on the weapon’s hilt tightened, his knuckles turning white. “I meant what I said. I didn’t plan to kill Hannah. Only intended to injure her.”

“Why?” Jane croaked. Keep him talking. “Why her?”

“She offered the biggest pool of suspects and gave you a chance to seek revenge against Abigail Waynes-Kirkland while also giving me an opportunity to ruin Maggie’s life for cheating on me with a coworker. She doesn’t know that I know, but I do.” Anger infused his voice. Then his posture softened. “I never intended to injure you in the Treasure Room, Jane. You arrived before I was ready…I didn’t expect…didn’t plan for how long it would take to…but I did catch you before you fell,” he ended proudly.

“As if that makes it better,” she snapped. Careful. He has a knife, remember?

“You were supposed to find an unconscious Hannah after I left. Then you would’ve called for help, allowing me to come to the rescue and revive her. You could launch an investigation. Since I was there and a hero, you’d want to include me, allowing me to prove I’m better for you than Conrad.” Once again, anger infused his tone. “But Hannah died, and I panicked, I admit it. I had no other choice but to work with the situation presented to me.” His hazel eyes implored her to understand. “I had no intention of striking you, but Lucy revealed herself, and my body acted of its own accord.”

Air hitched in Jane’s lungs, the rest of the story writing itself. “You did it. You left the grocery store without the other firemen noticing. But they told Conrad you guys stayed together.”

“Obviously, we covered for each other. We were on the clock, but Brent took a lengthy call from his girlfriend and Jeb wasn’t exactly sober.”

“You used the hidden outside door to enter the Treasure Room’s secret chamber,” she continued. “After killing Hannah, you struck me. Then you did your best to place suspicion on Lucy, Maggie, Abigail, Jacob and even Donnie. Did you kill Jacob, too?”

“Yes, but only because he’d started to suspect me. I was there when he, Maggie and Abigail plotted out a story using you as their inspiration. When he realized the tale was coming to life before his eyes, he believed one of the other women was responsible. Until he caught me reading the manuscript.”

The moisture in her mouth dried. So Abigail and Maggie were innocent? They’d acted guilty because they’d done the plotting and had comprehended how badly it incriminated them? That sucked!

“Did they write Grave Actually?” she asked.

His chest puffed up. “That’s all me. Did you like it?” His tone hopeful. “I did it just for you. A love letter.”

He was unhinged! “Were you responsible for that explosion?” Best not to mention her opinion of his writing. “What did you do to my cemetery?”

“Please don’t worry. It was simply a minor distraction. More smoke and noise than fire. I set it off with a remote. Everyone will think Donnie did it. But Jane, with me, you won't have to be Cemetery Girl anymore.” He stepped closer. “You won’t be forced to agonize about this place at all. I know what you really want, and I’m willing to give it to you. A life of adventure. We’ll travel the world together.” Another step closer as she backed up, hitting the far wall. “For the past year, I’ve seen you at every homicide. I noticed how you look at Conrad, and it’s not fair. I deserve your adoration. Me.” Total conviction radiated from him. He believed every word he spoke. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”

He couldn’t be serious. But either way, she shouldn’t rebuff him outright–yet. Better to play along until help arrived. “I’m not saying no, but I’m having trouble getting over the fact that you murdered two people.” Her gaze slid behind him, to the locked door. Surely Trick and Isaac had noticed her with Christopher on the camera feed. Someone monitoring her audio? Conrad and Beau would realize she was missing and come gunning for the fireman.

“I did that for you,” Christopher repeated. “For us. I gave you what you love. A mystery to solve. Suspects. Conrad has done nothing but stifle your talents.”

Jane licked her lips. “Where is Lucy’s cat?” She struggled to filter fear and disgust from her tone.

“Safe. I’ll let her go as soon as we get this sorted out.”

This? A Bonnie and Clyde type romance? “Why are you confessing now? What about the game?” A game he’d won. She’d suspected him too late, and even then, she hadn’t taken the suspicion seriously.

“I hate seeing you sad, and I thought the truth about my grand gesture might make you happy again. Plus, I didn’t want some copycat killer stealing my thunder.” He closed the rest of the distance. The space was so small, with no tables to hide behind. “Let’s forget the game. I was always ten steps ahead of you anyway. When you passed out,” he added as if he couldn’t help but brag, “I ensured your phone gave mine permission to find it, allowing me to track your whereabouts, then I deleted the message informing you of the change. You should really update your passcode. It’s the same now as it was when we dated.”

Yes. Rolex’s birthday. And wow. Christopher really had been steps ahead. Jane had never guessed he messed with her phone. Except she had lured Christopher into making a confession, so she was clearly twenty steps ahead of him. All she had to do now was stall.

Her stomach churned. “Am I supposed to run away with you or stay here and continue blaming Abigail and Maggie and Donnie?”

His entire countenance softened again. “I knew you’d see it my way. They are terrible people, aren’t they? And you don’t even know the half of it. The girls have said awful things about you behind your back.”

As if the opinion of people she wouldn’t trust with hearse, much less with the fabric of her entire life, bothered her.

“Jane,” Conrad called, his concerned voice seeping through the cracks in the wood.

Relief exploded inside her, but Christopher jolted, his attention swinging toward the door.

Jane seized her chance. Remembering a self-defense move Conrad once taught her, she cried, “Hi yah,” and performed the world’s best roundhouse kick. The blade fell from Christopher’s grip, clanking to the floor.

That worked? Well, of course it worked! Grinning, she swooped down and grabbed the handle before the fireman had a chance. At the same time, Conrad and Donnie burst through the doors. The love of her life had a gun aimed and ready.

Donnie pointed at Christopher. “He’s there!”

“Hands in the air, Wellington,” her stunning lawman commanded.

With panic glittering in his irises, Christopher attempted to grab Jane. To use her as a human meat shield or drag her away with him? He’d forgotten she held his knife.

She slashed his hand before he made contact, and he howled with pain. “That’s for blowing up my cemetery, being a lowdown dirty murderer, and worst of all, kidnapping a cat!” Of course the man had a lot to pay for, but disturbing her “guests” first came to mind.

Donnie rushed past Conrad to tackle Christopher to the ground. Beau, Trick and a deputy arrived next.

“Stop! This is just a misunderstanding,” Christopher called, but Donnie subdued the other man easily, allowing Conrad to sheathe his weapon, stalk over and secure metal cuffs to Christopher’s wrists. After reading the firefighter his rights, Conrad jerked the prisoner to his feet.

As the deputy took custody to finish the arrest, Conrad stalked over to wrap Jane in his arms.

She beamed with pride. “Did you see my sweet move? I dropped him to the ground.”

“Give me a minute, woman. My stomach needs to get out of my throat,” Conrad said, his voice strained. “You really are okay?”

“I really am. Christopher did it, by the way,” she told him. “He confessed to everything.”

“We’ve got it all recorded. But you weren’t safe,” her fiancé complained, pulling back to frown down at her.

“Conrad, my love.” She jutted her chin. “I’ve been carrying around a fully loaded roundhouse kick. Totally packing heat. I was never in any danger.”

He snorted. “You owe me so many casseroles.”

“And you owe me another poem.”

A second snort met her words. “I’ve got to go to the station to handle this, but a deputy will take your statement. I’ll return as soon as I’m done.”

She cupped his jaw and peered into his beautiful amber eyes. “We won the game and beat the curse. We are the best sheriffs in the history of sheriffing! But I’m officially undeputizing myself. I’ve got a wedding to plan!”

“Agreed.” He kissed her lips before reluctantly releasing her and stalking from the shed.

She grinned at her friends, and Donnie, who remained behind. “It’s nice to meet you Donnie.”

He blushed and kicked a rock with his shoe. "You too. Sorry I made you so uncomfortable before. Chris told me you liked me, and I…I didn’t mean…I…never mind. He also told me to leave the memorial, that I was making everyone uneasy. I was sitting in my car when I heard the explosion and came running. Conrad asked me questions as we ran to get you, and I realized Chris had set me up.”

“It’s okay.” Jane beamed at him, at everyone. “I finally know how to end my book.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Leave readers haunted by an ending that defies the concept of happy.

Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers

by Tabby Paynes-Murksand

Hours later, Jane, along with the members of Team Truth and a handful of others sat at her dining room table, talking and laughing, with a feast spread out before them. Fried chicken, collard greens, fried okra, toasted pimento sandwiches, BBQ short ribs and desserts. For such a special occasion as this, Fiona had even prepared the cream of the crop. Blueberry pancakes.

Wyatt and Susan had come. Raymond Moore, Holden and Lucy, too. Donnie stayed for a bit before taking off. With the case solved, the delusional Christopher locked behind bars, and the pure gold ending to Jane’s book settled—the ex did it, of course—she enjoyed the camaraderie. The group was only missing Conrad. He’d texted a short while ago to inform them Cartier had been found in Christopher’s shed at home, alive and well. That news had erased all tension from Lucy, who remained by Holden’s side, the two whispering and smiling at each other. It was safe to say they’d patched things up.

“I’m still in shock,” Fiona said, passing the warm maple syrup June’s way. “Christopher Wellington, Jane’s ex-boyfriend, a murderer. I never suspected.”

Jane’s sister accepted the offering, but she didn’t dive into her pancakes like any sane person would. Rather, she remained focused on the banana pudding, as if she’d never tasted anything better. Tiffany snatched the syrup and drowned her cakes before shoveling bite after bite into her mouth. She excelled in table manners until Fiona’s specialty was available.

“I know,” Jane said. “I really let the team down with this case. Though, yes, I did execute the most sublime sting operation in history probably. However, I failed to peg Christopher as a monster right from the start.” Perhaps it was time to hang up her investigator hat?

Beau forked a bite of his greens. “I never trusted him.” The darling man had fixed Jane’s phone, ensuring any trackers were disabled.

Isaac and Holden threw pieces of bread at Beau while booing.

“You were snowed, too,” Trick retorted. “Admit it.”

The front door opened and closed, saving Beau from having to reply. Jane’s heart skipped a beat as familiar footsteps reached her ears. In seconds, Conrad strode through the opening. He looked tired, and his hair and clothes were disheveled, but relief and satisfaction tinged his features.

She jumped to her feet and rushed to hug him. They held each other tight for several long beats. She breathed in his delicious scent. Dry cedar and refined spices. Something she’d loved about him from the beginning.

“It’s over,” he breathed out. “We discovered multiple drafts for Grave Actually in Wellington’s home. He tried out numerous scenarios and used the game of Clue as a blueprint.”

“I knew it,” she replied. Perhaps she shouldn’t hang up her investigator hat, after all.

But. By going undercover as an author, she’d developed a love of writing. And, while on the case, she’d discovered a desire to help Conrad at the office. Perhaps she could do both, one fodder for the other. Plus, “number one worldwide mega best-selling author” did have a nice ring to it.

Should she stick with Jane Ladling—or rather, Jane Ryan—or go with a pseudonym? Dilla Jangen, perhaps? The moniker had come to her in a dream, and for some reason, she adored it. If not a pseudonym, maybe she should change the name of the hotshot detective in her manuscript. Well, she’d go with whatever her agent suggested. When she acquired an agent, of course.

“He had different weapons ready to go,” Conrad said. “According to his final chapter, I was dying by revolver, and you were supposed to pull the trigger and bury my body at the Garden so the two of you could travel the world and live happily ever after.”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head. “So delusional.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the audience.

Jane led Conrad to the empty spot she’d vacated. “You sit right there, and I’ll prepare you a plate.” Isaac carried a chair over and placed it next to the lawman, allowing Jane to sit by her man after heaping a dish high with food.

Beau’s watch buzzed. He looked at the face and frowned. “And there’s another one. I’ve already kicked two lookie-lous off the grounds.”

“I predict tourists will arrive in droves when my book is published, and the movie is made,” she said. “No more financial problems for the Garden. I’ll finally be able to pay Peach State Security in cash instead of casseroles. Also, consider taking Donnie Eggerson under your wing. He needs some lessons in social etiquette, but other than that, he strikes me as a fine young man eager to forge new friendships.”

Beau, Trick, Holden and Isaac gaped at her.

“Are you threatening to withhold our casseroles?” Beau demanded.

“Not if you take Donnie Eggerson under your wing.” Jane blew him a kiss, certain she’d get her way, and lifted her glass of orange juice in toast. “To all of us for a job well done. We didn’t simply survive, we thrived.”

Everyone toasted with her. As Conrad chatted with the guests, growing more and more at ease, as if shedding the tension caused by his profession, she fell more and more in love with him.

He was just so wonderful. Always he made her feel special. He considered her feelings, took Herculean efforts to ensure her comfort and safety. Worked to show how much he treasured and valued her thoughts and opinions. Not once had he lied to her or killed someone to impress her.

He was amazing in every way.

“I want to marry you this weekend,” she blurted out, the words escaping without thought.

The entire room went quiet, and all eyes swung to Jane. The corners of Conrad’s mouth twitched. Was he fighting a smile?

“Okay, so, that isn’t the reaction I expected tonight,” he said, and yes, he smiled. “Though with you, I should always expect the unexpected.”

“But do you want to?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Marry me this weekend, I mean? You and me, here, pledging to adore each other in front of our closest friends, finally making Rolex and Cheddar the fur-brothers they’ve longed to be?”

His smile turned softer than silk. “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

Joy erupted inside her just as chatter burst out amongst the guests. “Well, then. There’s much to do.”

“Why don’t I make a list?” Fiona suggested. “We can check things off one by one.”

“You need thank you cards. And flowers,” Tiffany said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I still have connections,” Raymond chimed in, “so I can help expedite the marriage license.”

“I don’t know whether I should be insulted right now or not,” Fiona muttered, and the former sheriff nudged her shoulder with his own.

“Someone has never asked me to marry her,” Raymond quipped. Fiona humphed, but pleasure tinged her eyes.

Conrad held Jane’s gaze. “Think about giving yourself another week or two to work through your thoughts and figure out where we’re going to live?”

Wait. “Are you getting cold feet?”

“No. My feet are hot.” He chuckled a little. “I’d marry you right now if I could. I just don’t want you stressed about it.”

“Well, I’m sure. And this isn’t stress. It’s joy with an edge.” She’d almost lost him during this case. Why waste another moment? “Also, I know where we’re living.” Suddenly the answer was so clear. She’d spent her life in this cemetery and ultimately became its sole protector. But she wasn’t the Garden’s only source of love now. Tiffany and June were here. “We’ll stay in the bungalow, and Tiff and June will take over maintenance here.”

She and Conrad had picked that adorable bungalow together. It was theirs, not just hers, not just his. The perfect place for a fresh start. She didn’t have to live here to be a part of the Garden; she took it with her everywhere she went.

He planted the sweetest kiss onto her lips. “Then we marry this weekend, and you make me the happiest man on the planet.”

Cheers rang out until Fiona clapped to gain everyone’s attention. “All right, people. We have a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. Let’s get started.”

* * *

“You are exquisite,” June said. She looked exquisite herself in a blush, tea-length lace dress with a sweetheart neckline that had come straight from Grandma Lily’s closet.

“The most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something since I’ve seen myself,” Tiffany told Jane, pressing a hand over her heart. Tiffany, too, exuded beauty. A timeless sleeveless gown in midnight complimented her elegant frame.

“Conrad will tear up when he sees you, and I am here for it.” Beau grinned at her. The handsome war vet had worn some wild getups for her. Everything from her Pops’s short shorts straight from the 1970s to a too tight leisure suit. But he took her breath away in a formal tuxedo that fit him to perfection.

Surrounded by her trio of bridesmaids, Jane beamed. Fiona had altered Grandma Lily’s own wedding dress, ensuring it fit Jane like a glove. The knee-length confection of light and floaty fabric with dotted, sheer lace above the bodice ended with a demure boat neckline. Atop her head rested the most perfect pillbox hat with netting. Dainty peep-toe heels completed her look. Rolex wore a beautiful bow tie. He wasn’t fond of his leash, but he still rubbed against her legs.

Fiona joined them inside the mausoleum, where Jane had chosen to get ready. And how fitting. Before Conrad, her heart was nothing but withered remains. With Conrad, she had new life.

“It’s time, hon.” Fiona handed Jane a beautiful bouquet of pink roses and matching ribbon, symbolizing joy and happiness.

Jane’s heart fluttered, and her stomach churned with nerves. Gah! This was her wedding day!

Suck it, curse!

One by one, her bridesmaids hugged her before leaving the structure to walk down a makeshift aisle created with a row of flowery arches. Soft music wafted through the air, played by Lucy, who’d had piano lessons as a child.

Finally, it was Fiona and Jane’s turn. “I know your Grandma Lily and Pops are smiling down on you right now, proud of how much you’ve grown and all you’ve overcome.”

Jane squeezed her hand. “You have helped me every step of the way, and I will be forever grateful.”

“Just make lots of babies, and we’ll call it even.”

What! She nearly choked on her tongue as her beloved Fiona chuckled. Babies. Cherished additions to her family. Children who would forever know how much Mommy and Daddy loved them. Longing threatened to overwhelm Jane.

“Any fears we need to kill before we head out there?” her friend asked.

“No. I’m good.” And she was. Truly. The churning was already fading. Had the curse attempted to invade her mind today? Yes. Oh, yes. But it was no match for her joy.

“Then let’s go make you Mrs. Jane Ryan.” Fiona linked their arms and led her into the sunlight. Her future awaited her in the gathering area. They walked along the cobblestone path amongst her beloved trees and manicured hedgerow. Wildflowers popped up here and there and big white bows adorned the tree trunks lining the way. Birdsong added to Lucy’s playing.

Only their closest friends and family were invited, and everyone had a job. Wyatt, Susan, and Conrad’s former partner at GBH, Georgia Bureau of Homicide, Tim Barrow acted as groomsmen. Holden guarded the food from insects, and a perfectly recovered Cartier sat at Lucy’s feet, resplendent in a tiny white dress, watching to ensure Rolex behaved. Isaac, it turned out, was ordained. He stood with Conrad at the end of the aisle.

Jane’s breath caught. Conrad held Cheddar’s leash, and he looked magnificent. Like Rolex, the pup wore a bow tie. But back to Conrad. He wowed! He, too, wore a tux, though he’d added a vest and his boutonniere was a pink rose, matching Jane’s bouquet. His customary Rolex watch hugged his wrist.

Jane’s chest squeezed as their gazes locked. Adoration glowed in his amber eyes.

Fiona offered Jane’s hand to Conrad, and he accepted, drawing his soon-to-be wife closer. She peered up at him, and he peered down at her. Here he was, the love of her life. The man who’d had little joy in his life until he’d met Jane. He considered her a slice of Heaven on Earth. She considered him the soothing balm she hadn’t known she’d needed. He’d fought a dragon of a curse with every ounce of his being to prove she was worth any hardship. He enjoyed her quirks while she made him feel as if he were part of a family again. They were imperfectly perfect together.

Isaac began. “Dearly beloved…”

But honestly, she didn’t hear him, her attention riveted on her soon-to-be husband.

“I love you,” Conrad rasped. “So much.”

“I love you, too.”

“I expect casseroles. Daily.”

“And I expect to be hired as your assistant,” she said. “Co-sheriff has a nice ring to it.”

The audience laughed.

“I guess we’re gonna get to the vows now?” Isaac asked, earning snickers from everyone. “All right. Go for it. Jane, you first.”

As her joy overflowed, she told Conrad, “I fell for you at first sight. And first sniff. Then you suspected me of murder, and I knew deep down I had to have you.” Chuckles swept through the onlookers. “You are strong. Loyal. Smart. Brilliant, really. And brave. So brave. You have loved my fur-son as if he were your own. And you trusted an offbeat cemetery girl with your battered heart. I like to think I’ve taken good care of it. But I promise you this. I will cherish your gift for the rest of my life. I give you all that I am, all that I have, and all that I will be.”

A slow grin bloomed on Conrad’s face. He cupped her cheeks and stepped closer to her. “Before I met you, I knew nothing of peace. Then our eyes locked, and I’ve burned without cease.”

Her breath caught. “Am I about to get a love poem?”

His irises literally twinkled. “You broke through my walls and shredded my control, but with your sweetness and wit, you quickly made my heart whole. Here, now, in front of our friends, allow me to tell you how our story ends. We’ll be together today and forever. But live without you once again? No. Never.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and a lump grew in her throat. Had lovelier words ever been spoken? “We’re both best sellers in the making, and I’ve never been so happy.”

With the tenderest of strokes, Conrad wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

“Rings,” Isaac shouted, as if he’d just remembered.

Right. Conrad dug a band from his pocket, and Jane collected the one Beau stretched her way. They exchanged rings, each fitting it on the other’s finger. Before Isaac could tell them to kiss, Conrad cupped her face again and pressed his lips to hers. She wound her arms around him and melted.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Isaac called, “I present to you Conrad and Jane Ryan.”

Applause rang out, and the kiss ended. Jane laughed as Conrad swung her around.

Life was good. She had a feeling it was only going to get better.

* * *

Look for The Wrong Bride - book one in an exciting new paranormal romance series Kings of Fury.

Coming Soon.

* * *

You can hang out with Gena and Jill on their Patreon where they share exclusive content.

* * *

Books in the Jane Ladling Series

Romancing the Gravestone

No Gravestone Left Unturned

Game of Gravestones

Twelve Graves of Christmas

Conrad: Falling For the Gravekeeper

Grave Wars

* * *

Books in the Writing Fiction Series:

All Write Already

All Write Already Workbook

The Write Life

Write Now! An All Write Already Journal

ABOUT GENA SHOWALTER

Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of multiple series in paranormal, contemporary, fantasy, and young adult romance. She’s also written romantasy, and co-writes the Jane Ladling Mystery series with Jill Monroe.

Learn more about Gena, her menagerie of rescue dogs and cats, and all her upcoming books at genashowalter.com

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ALSO BY GENA SHOWALTER

Immortal Enemies

Start with: Heartless

·

Rise of the Warlords

Start with: The Warlord

·

Lords of the Underworld

Start with: The Darkest Night

·

White Rabbit Chronicles

Start with: Alice in Zombieland

·

Tales of an Extraordinary Girl

Start with: Playing with Fire

·

Everlife

Start with: Firstlife

·

Original Heartbreakers

Start with: The Secret Fling

·

Angels of the Dark:

Start with: Wicked Nights

·

Otherworld Assassins

Start with: Last Kiss Goodnight

·

Gena’s Complete List of Releases:

GenaShowalter.com/books

ABOUT JILL MONROE

Jill Monroe is the international best selling author of over fifteen novels and novellas. Her books are available across the globe and The Wrong Bed: Naked Pursuit has been adapted for the small screen for Lifetime Movie Network.

When not writing, Jill makes her home in Oklahoma with her husband, enjoys exploring creativity, texting with her two daughters and collecting fabric for items she'll sew poorly.

Learn more about Jill at jillmonroe.com

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ALSO BY JILL MONROE

Sworn Series:

Sworn Promises

Sworn Duty

Sworn By A Kiss

Sworn Protector

Sworn Enemies

Sworn Instinct

·

Wrong Bed Series

Naked Thrill

Naked Pursuit*

*(Now a movie from Lifetime Movie Network)

·

Formally From Hallmark:

At The Heart of Christmas

·

Spicy Romance:

Fun & Games

Treasure in the Sand (novella)

·

Jill’s Complete List of Releases:

https://jillmonroe.com/allbooks/