Chapter 3

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."