Chapter 10

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.