Chapter 11

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 fa?ade 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.