Chapter 1

"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.