Chapter 4

Using the ingredients Conrad had on hand, Jane whipped up a super easy decadent chocolate lava cake, then tidied up her appearance. Though she'd hated ditching the comfort of Conrad's shirt and those yoga pants, she exchanged the garments for an ivory silk blouse with subtle darts and a relaxed knee-length pencil skirt in black. A sophisticated look sure to let Christopher know she was a professional investigator who meant business. For the sake of her healing head wound, she forwent a hat. Boo, hiss.

With Beau at the wheel of his truck, they made the ten-minute drive in twelve, arguing about the dessert the entire way. He parked in front of Aurelian Hills Fire Station Number 2, and they exited the vehicle, still arguing. Jane carried the cake. A clear lid provided a glimpse of the sweet delight within, while a latch and two handles allowed for sturdier transportation. She kept an eye out for Cartier.

"Just one taste," Beau said as he held open the door for her. "The firefighters won't care."

She soared inside. "I won't feed your addiction to my desserts while you're on duty. You'll lose focus and only want more."

"You can't know that for sure until you give me a taste." He entered behind her.

"The only thing you're going to taste is a knuckle sandwich."

Beau laughed as he led her forward. "You've been promising me that particular meal since we were seven."

They neared four large bay doors, rolled up to reveal a ladder truck, pumper truck and utility truck in standard fire engine red. The unmistakable scent of fuel, brass cleaner and coffee lingered in the air. Uniforms hung neatly against the wall, ready for any emergency. Safety posters graced the walls and men and women walked around the garage talking and joking as they tidied up the station, revealing a tight-knot bond forged in danger.

And there he was, the man with answers she wanted. He stood laughing with a fellow firefighter, his chestnut hair draped across his forehead, the corners of his eyes crinkled in humor.

"Hi, Christopher," she called.

He brightened when he spotted her. Other firefighters glimpsed her, as well, and grinned. One in particular really seemed to notice. Tall and lean with dark hair, he peered at her hard, his lips curved in a parody of a smile. Did he imagine wearing her skin?

She shifted closer to Beau, who never acknowledged the guy, as if completely oblivious.

"Hey, Jane! Good to see you. Is that a casserole I spy?" Gray Henderson stood next to Mr. Skin and waved. Gray had been one year behind her in school. "Maybe now Chris will stop whining about never having a decent meal."

Another firefighter waved as well. "We've all been missing you and your casseroles."

"Please tell me that's the teriyaki chicken you brought the last time you were here?" someone cried with his hand pressed over his chest.

Teriyaki chicken. Christopher's favorite food. The dish she'd baked most during their time together. "No, this is chocolate lava cake." As moans of delight rang out, she added, "I'm sure Christopher will share."

Mr. Skin hadn't stopped staring at her. Who was he? She'd never encountered him before.

"I won't share." Christopher hurried over to meet her halfway. His gaze slid to Beau, and his smile slipped a little. A common occurrence in the powerful war vet's presence. Beau hadn't yet learned the art of dialing down his glare. "Um. Hi."

"Christopher Wellington, meet Beau Harden, my elementary school and current best friend. Beau, meet Christopher, my ex. He attended school in Blueberry Hill, Oklahoma before moving to Georgia his senior year of high school." Now that introductions were done. "I brought you this chocolate lava cake to thank you for your extraordinary care." She tilted the handle in his direction, ready to launch into a prepared speech. "Regarding your magnificent rescue, I was wondering if?—"

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble," he rushed out, his countenance falling further. An odd reaction.

"Nonsense. You dashed to my aid, and I will be forever grateful. Speaking of your heroic heroism?—"

"Can I be honest with you, Jane?" Guilt passed over his expression. "When the call came in, I was shopping for groceries with some of the guys and picked it up on my radio. As soon as I heard the address, I panicked. Maggie, my girlfriend–maybe you know her? Maggie Johnson. She works at the Golden Gears Auto Shop. She was supposed to be with her friend at the tearoom for a book club meeting. But I saw Abigail at the store without Maggie, and I feared my Mags had gone to the shop early and gotten hurt. I hurried to get to her. Then I found you."

"Wait." Jane tried to make sense of his words. "Maggie Johnson, your girlfriend, was expected to participate in a writer's meeting with her friend, a woman named Abigail. Who you saw at the grocery store before the murder. And this very real writer's club was scheduled to meet at the tearoom. Did Maggie Johnson, your girlfriend, and her friend Abigail, recently receive a secret invitation to join this club for the first time, or were they regular members?"

His brow furrowed. "Regular members. They attend the last Saturday of every month at ten."

"So the club wasn't made up," Jane gasped out. But. Hmm. Her invitation had demanded her presence at 9 a.m., not ten. "Back to Maggie Johnson, your girlfriend, and her friend Abigail No Last Name. But out of curiosity, do they write murder mysteries?"

He frowned. "Yeah. They aren't published yet, but I'm sure they would give you pointers if you're interested. I spoke at one of their meetings." Pride lifted his chin. "Got to share my knowledge of firefighting. That's how I met Maggie, in fact."

Wow. The coincidences were piling up. Perhaps Maggie and her friend Abigail had co-written a horribly executed reverse cozy mystery centering around the slaying of Hannah and Chris's ex. Then the pair turned fantasy into reality. Hello publicity stunt! Abigail could have spied on her phone across the street while Maggie did the deed.

Well, well. Looked like Jane had a new theory and another suspect. Not to mention Mr. Skin. He'd stepped away from the others and watched her unabashedly from a corner.

"Pointers," she said, forcing herself to focus on Christopher. "From the girls. Because yes." She nodded for emphasis. "I'm writing a book. A pre-best-selling novel detailing my experiences. For reference, because I'll be attending the next writer meeting, what is Abigail's last name?" Jane asked as casually as she was able. "Maybe I know her."

"Waynes-Kirkland."

Cha-ching. "What a surprising and unexpected piece of information." Do not grin. Do not.

"Will you excuse us, Christopher? After you tell me who the guy in the corner is. Without looking."

Of course, Christopher looked. So did Beau.

Christopher sighed. "That's Donnie Eggerson, the new guy. Don't pay him any mind. He's the most socially awkward person I've ever met. Creeps everyone out. Especially pretty girls."

So it wasn't only Jane. Sensing they discussed him, Donnie finally stopped "smiling" at her and skulked behind a wall. "Good to know," she said. "But as I mentioned before, I just realized there's something I absolutely must do, and it can't wait a moment longer. We'll talk again soon, I promise. Okay bye."

She shuffled Beau away. Did this line of thought seem too easy? Yes. Entirely. But Jane's gut shouted, Maggie and Abigail are involved. Somehow! As if to emphasize her point, the clock tower in the town square chimed.

"Hey, Jane," Christopher called good-naturedly. "Did you know pelicans can weigh thirty pounds?"

She raised her hand, waving goodbye. "I didn't, but I do now. Bye, Christopher." Once, she'd found those random tidbits so charming. Now? She had a wee bit too much on her mind to care.

Outside, she once again hunted for any sign of Cartier. Was the poor darling running loose, or had Lucy gone back and rescued her from the Treasure Room?

Hmm. Yeah. Jane would bet the loan officer had discovered a way to regain custody of her baby. "Take me to Conrad," she told Beau. "I think I'm about to break this case wide open."

* * *

It took every ounce of Jane's willpower not to waltz into the lobby of the Aurelian Hills police station singing, "I solved a murder! I solved a murder! And no one can pin it on me!"

Instead, she approached the reception desk in silence, gliding across the durable, tile floor that had covered the concrete subfloor since the early 1950s. The new receptionist was currently handling a phone call, so Jane gazed around.

Conrad hadn't changed the waiting area after taking over as sheriff. Same nondescript pale-colored walls blanketed with safety tips and a wooden bulletin board that showcased community events. Though, granted, several large potted plants had been added.

Was Conrad a plant person? She hadn't noticed any greenery in his condo in Atlanta and none had moved in with him when he'd taken up residence here in Aurelian Hills.

The man deserved a plant!

Her phone dinged as she slid it from her purse to add "visit Gold Harvest nursery" to her list of to-dos, and she glanced at the screen. A new text from Ashley Katz.

NewsKatz: Come by my office. I'm ready to prove my innocence and tell you what I discovered re: Hannah. Mostly, I'm eager to hear what YOU have to say to ME!

Oooh! What had the reporter learned of the recently murdered tea specialist? Er, teaist? Even though Jane felt pretty confident she had a handle on the case, she must learn what the other woman knew.

Jane: I'll be in touch.

A cool, calm response. Excellent.

The receptionist shifted in her chair, and Jane glanced up from the screen. The younger gal mouthed, "Hold, please," while pointing to the phone pressed to her ear; she flashed a sympathetic look.

Jane used the time to fire off a text to the Team Truth chat rather than collect her thoughts.

Any Lucy sightings, Holden? Beau, I need you to teach the class Maggie Johnson 101. I'll be your first and only student.

Beau's phone dinged. He checked the screen and blinked at Jane. "You couldn't tell me in person since I'm standing right next to you?"

"I could have, yes, but I preferred to have the request in writing in case you take too long, and I need to shame you to the group."

"I missed a deadline only once."

"Exactly." She'd never forgotten the time she'd requested photos, and he'd promised to send them the next day but hadn't. "I'm one hundred percent justified."

He pinched the skin between his brows. "Just so you'll know, I'd planned on providing you with a full dossier."

"I'm rooting for you to actually come through this time. I really am." Oh! Responses.

The Holden Rule: I'm being outwitted at every turn and I hate it as much as I love it.

Tiffinator: Now that we're on the subject of love, I've made the most adorable card!!!!!! And Jane, the most brilliant idea popped into my head. I'll make the invitations for your wedding. All I'll need is glitter, duct tape and some foam letter stickers. Think of the money you're going to save.

That would so not be happening. Though glitter could be nice. And foam letters.

"How may I help you?" the receptionist finally asked them.

Jane tucked her phone away. "I'm Jane Ladling, Sheriff Ryan's fiancé."

The other woman's face brightened. "Oh, yes, of course, Miss Ladling. Go on back."

With a press of a button, the door buzzed and unlocked, allowing Jane and Beau to pass through to a restricted area. The place was a maze, having been added onto and remodeled repeatedly throughout the years, but she'd been inside numerous times, traversing different conference rooms and even an interrogation space complete with two-way glass. And how could she forget the night she'd spent in a basement jail cell as a "guest" after demanding Sheriff Moore arrest her.

They stopped in front of a single elevator installed in the early 1990s. Beau jabbed the button, and Jane's mind returned to her ex. Did a terrible fate await him, thanks to his connection to a possible killer?

"Poor Christopher," she said and sighed.

"Why poor Christopher? Besides the fact that he lost you. That's tragic."

A smile bloomed, and Jane patted her friend's shoulder. "It's his girlfriend, Maggie. She's involved somehow, I know it. She's Abigail's friend. And a mystery writer. Plus a frequent visitor at the Treasure Room. Factor in Abigail's presence near the murder scene, at the exact right time, and boom, clear picture. Christopher even confirmed seeing the socialite at the grocery store down the street. Yes, she could've been in the area to attend the writer's meeting, as usual, but the book club is probably nothing but a cover for her."

One way or another, Jane would learn the truth.

"I'm confused." Beau shook his head, amusement glazing his features. "Who exactly is your suspect? Abigail, who has an alibi, or Maggie?"

"Both. Clearly, they worked together." A bell above their heads dinged, and the elevator door opened.

A grim-faced couple strode out. Mason Thorton, Hannah's ex, who Jane recognized thanks to Conrad's records, and none other than Abigail Waynes-Kirkland. The pair must not have confessed to the crime, considering they were walking away from a formal interview with the indomitable Conrad. No matter. He'd loosened the lid, now she would open the jar of trouble.

Mason stood tall and slim with jet-black hair despite being in his mid to late fifties, with weathered features taut from strain. The sophisticated Abigail stunned in a tailored, knee-length coat the same color as the shadows and made from the finest cashmere. Her dark brown hair wowed in a fancy twist, as sleek as her style, not a strand out of place.

Upon spotting them, Abigail drew up short, forcing Mason to stop with her. She tapped one pointed-toe stiletto against the floor. The two groups faced off.

Ding, ding, ding, let the showdown begin.