Chapter 12

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.