Chapter 5

"Jane Ladling. As I live and breathe," Abigail cooed, her fingers flying up to stroke what could only be called a statement piece. A necklace adorned with stones more suitable for a red carpet than a police station. Proof of her newfound wealth. "I must admit, I expected you to make an appearance sooner. You're nothing if not predictable."

Hmm. This was the second time she'd heard that particular insult. Compliment? "Hello, Abigail. I'm sure you remember my friend Beau. Is your ex-husband waiting in your getaway car, ready to speed you and your new companion away?"

"Landon moved to Texas months ago." Flicking invisible locks over one shoulder, the socialite proclaimed, "This is Mason Thorton."

Mason and Beau shook hands. Abigail settled a palm on the chest of Hannah's ex, staking a claim while simultaneously displaying her numerous rings. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds glimmered from platinum bands.

"He's my fiancé," Abigail added. "We're getting married."

What! Suddenly, Jane was rethinking her murder club theory. What if Mason had needed money, despite his "substantial" inheritance? Abigail must be going through his windfall fast. Perhaps he'd even helped plan the scheme to take out his ex and Abigail's enemy at once.

"Nice to meet you," Jane said with a nod, revealing none of her thoughts. "I wish our introduction happened under better circumstances. Hannah was a lovely lady."

"She had her moments." His gruff voice held notes of regret, grief, and anger.

All of which could be faked. Or a byproduct of his encounter with Conrad. Or stem from a realization that his new girlfriend was the worst. Or Mason was truly in mourning. Just because he and Hannah divorced didn't mean they'd hated each other. Unless they had. But either way, Abifail was the weak link in their relationship. Jane comprehended the gold digger's core motive for everything: more money.

She broadcasted an all-innocence expression at the other woman. "I'm told you write books. Is this a recent hobby or a long-term thing?"

Abigail's eyelids slitted. "That's an abrupt change of topic, but all right. I'll move on and pretend you aren't asking for a so-called investigation. To be honest, I was born an author."

Jane would verify with Tiff. Not that she knew what an affirmative verification proved. That Abigail hadn't used the club as cover? Or that she had a long con going? Maybe Jane should put the newly engaged "author" to the test. "Beau and I are both writing books, too."

"Manuscripts," Beau corrected without missing a beat.

"Yes, manuscripts," Jane agreed with a nod.

Her target's eyelids slitted further. Afraid of competition or feeling like a cornered rat?

"How nice for you."

"It is, isn't it?" Trying not to go "super villain" again, Jane modulated her tone. "I'd love to read what you've written. Or at least hear something of your story. A quick synopsis even."

Abigail raised her chin. "Yes, I'm sure you would."

"I'll be in the car," Mason announced. His gaze slid to Jane and Beau for a split second. "Don't be long." He stalked off as his companion sputtered.

Oookay. Talk about a hasty getaway. Both suspicious and logical. Either his emotions had gotten the better of him, or he'd feared inadvertently revealing too much.

Abigail humphed, lifted her nose even higher and sauntered past Jane, saying nothing else. Not so brave without a partner, huh?

"I don't know the details of her book, but I do know my story will smoke hers," she vowed to Beau.

"I'm sure it will," he said, whipping out his phone to fire off a text.

Her cell beeped, and she checked the screen.

Beaudyguard: If you don't send me the first chapter of your novel tomorrow morning, I won't send you a brief on Maggie. Consider me your muse.

Jane sucked air between her teeth. "Oh! You fiend! You may find yourself cursed into a frog within the pages of my story."

"A price I'm willing to pay. Though a cursed frog isn't a punishment. Toads get kissed by pretty girls and turn into princes."

"Not in my tale." As they rode the elevator up to the third floor, the desire to see Conrad magnified. Words built upon her tongue, ready to spill out. She had so much she wanted to tell him.

More potted plants greeted them as they stepped off the elevator. Seriously, what was with the abundance of foliage?

This floor was a flurry of activity, housing the police dispatch and 911 services, in addition to Conrad's new office. Two wooden chairs flanked either side of a door, simply bearing the word "office". The desk for Conrad's non-existent assistant remained vacant.

"I'll answer some messages while you speak with your lover boy," Beau said, slumping into the assistant's seat.

Did Jane detect a note of envy? She knew Beau once had—perhaps still had—secret feelings for a woman he'd guarded. "One day, a wonderful lady will sweep you off your feet. Maybe you've already met her, maybe you haven't. But either way, your best days are ahead of you, not behind you." Jane patted the golden stubble on his jaw before skipping to Conrad's office.

After giving the door a little tap, she entered the small space. At his GBH office in Atlanta, only certificates of recognition had graced the walls. Not a single picture or personal memento. But that wasn't the case here in Aurelian Hills. Nope. A framed snapshot of Jane sat next to his computer screen. An original campaign flyer she'd disastrously designed–making it appear as though they were already married–hung on the wall with an elaborate frame. On the bookshelf behind him perched one of her favorite hats. A red wool cloche with a black satin ribbon. Jane thought she'd lost it, but she must have left it in Conrad's SUV. Instead of returning it to her, he'd brought it to his office to…what? Have something of hers close by? Ahhh. Her heart melted.

"—warrant for any manuscripts they've written," he told the person on the other end of his cell phone. Pause. "Correct."

They've written, he'd said. Not he, not she. They. Plural? Meaning every member of the writer's club? Or specific members like, say, Abigail and Maggie? Did Conrad already know about Christopher's girlfriend?

The lawman grinned at Jane and ended the call. Striding over to wrap his arms around her, he asked, "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Well, thank you." She snuggled into his chest, drawing in his delicious spicy scent.

"You've been safe today?"

"Oh, yes," she said, pulling away to peer up at him. "And you?"

"I have."

"Good." As everything she wanted to say bubbled to the surface, she adjusted his tie and combed her fingers through his hair, determined to remain professional while spewing facts. "I won't take up too much of your time, you're busy, I get it, but I'm going undercover as an author because guess what, Christopher my ex has a girlfriend, and she's a writer who is friends with Abigail Waynes-Kirkland who is also a writer and who probably hated Hannah as much as she hates me, because she's marrying Mason, Hannah's ex, so perhaps Maggie could be innocent and all the guilt falls on Abigail, who walked from the store to the salon and could've made an extra stop along the way, or maybe the two women worked together and even Mason helped, but also maybe not." Jane paused to draw in a deep breath. "What have you learned?"

His amber eyes glittered with amusement. "Abigail's alibi checks out. Mostly. At the time of death, she was at the grocery store, as you said. And she did walk to the nail salon. No, I haven't found her journey on the camera footage yet. But that doesn't mean she is or isn't involved." He gave Jane's chin a gentle stroke. "I'll explore the partnership angle in more depth."

"So you already know about Maggie Johnson," Jane said, a little bummed she hadn't gotten to break the news.

"Yes. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland mentioned Ms. Johnson."

Jane snapped her fingers. "She mentioned her friend just like that?" Had thrown her good buddy under the bus to get the spotlight off herself? Interesting.

"She seemed confident Ms. Johnson will back everything she said."

Ah-ha! "Proof they're partners."

"Or that they didn't do it. Abigail might risk her life for profit, but risk profit for revenge?"

Oh, man. Oh, yeah. That was an excellent point. "Probably not, but she would absolutely risk profit for revenge if it meant more profit in the long run. Think of the book and movie deals this case will get." Gah! Movie deals. Jane imagined a gorgeous new actor getting his big break by playing the part of the smoldering Sheriff Conrad Ryan. But who to play Jane? Zooey Deschanel? "See, this is the reason I need to go undercover as a writer. If anyone is going to tell this story, it's me! Undercover is drama. I am drama and drama sells."

"But is it really undercover if you plan to write a book anyway?"

How well he knew her. "Shh. Don't ruin this for me." She pressed a finger to his lips. "Now, since I'm an official author, I'm picking up on details you've so obviously missed. Of course Abigail wants you to speak with Maggie. The two have probably crafted rock solid backstories for their real-life selves."

"I'll know more about their relationship after I interview Ms. Johnson."

Then they'd move on to another suspect. "Did Mason Thorton have an alibi?"

"He did, but I still need to verify it. On a same but different note, I cleared the mayor of doing the deed. Unlike Miss Waynes-Kirkland, he's on camera at the time of death."

"Which is?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, bracing. "Right around the time you texted that you both were and were not breaking into the building."

Oh, wow. If Jane hadn't experienced so many mishaps on the way to the tearoom, she might have arrived before the murder. She could've helped Hannah. Or died alongside her. "Well, I'm not crossing the mayor off my list. He could've hired a hitman and hung around to enjoy the aftermath."

"A hitman isn't interested in playing a game, only doing a job."

"A hitman would absolutely be interested in playing a game if he's an expert at covering his tracks. He'd do whatever proved necessary to ensure all blame pointed at book club members so no one would ever suspect the mayor."

"I love your brain." Conrad kissed her temple.

She loved his everything. "Have you learned anything surprising about Hannah herself?"

"Like what? What are you hinting at?"

"I'm not sure." What had Ashley Katz discovered? "I think I'll head home, cook dinner and contemplate my story, which will help me solve the case." And she'd pet Rolex to remind him that Mommy loved him best. "Come to the Garden after work, and we'll eat there."

"I'm so glad you're mine. Now go ponder your best seller."

They shared a smile, and she sauntered out of his office.

On the drive home with Beau, her friend was unusually quiet. Jane let him gather his thoughts while she drafted a mental to-do list. Cook, think, write. Make an appointment with Golden Gears Auto Shop. The family hearse could use a tune-up. Score a meeting with the mayor.

"Is something wrong?" she asked when the silence became too much.

"Nothing I can't handle. A few hiccups with my renovation."

"You mean your Murder House." Beau had purchased the home of a deputy who'd accidentally shot himself, setting off a complicated investigation into his death. A mystery Jane had solved, thank you.

"I've got some competition with the new owner of the Clayton Boarding House, whoever they are."

"I still can't believe two people engaged in a bidding war for what's basically a shack on a hill," Jane said. "I wonder if the new owner knows how many men took their last breath there in the 1920s."

Beau gave an exaggerated shudder. "Or that it's haunted."

She cocked her head. "Beauregard Thomas Harden, please tell me you don't believe in ghosts after working in a cemetery."

His shoulders began to shake. "You used my full name."

"Only because this is serious business. But if I know my Bo Bo, and I do, you'll come out of this competition thing on top. Besides, the recent slaying that took place in your new house beats a fake haunting every time. Also, here's something guaranteed to brighten your day. Beauregard Thomas Harden," she repeated to stress the importance of the moment, "will you be my bridesmaid?"

He grinned so big. "Jane Eleanor Ladling, I would be honored." He opened his mouth to say more after she squealed with delight, but they'd reached her cottage. He parked his truck next to three vehicles surrounding her hearse in the gravel driveway.

Recognizing each, she emerged into the warm afternoon sunlight and hurried into the cottage to find out what was going on. Tiffany sat with Rolex on the couch in the living room, eating something tasty looking from a bowl. Fiona and Susan, Conrad's foster mom, lounged in recliners near the fireplace.

"—and then my darling Raymond issued me a citation for being too adorable," Fiona was saying.

Tiffany and Susan laughed. A long length of white lace draped the lap of Conrad's foster mother. The dear woman was usually quick with a smile, but today she beamed.

Fiona noticed Jane first and hit her with an adoring grin. "Jane, my dear girl, I didn't want you to have to worry about food after your awful ordeal, so I brought you and Tiff a few casseroles."

"Twelve," Tiffany interjected, her green eyes glinting with amazement. "She brought us twelve casseroles."

Fiona shrugged. "I needed a distraction. Now then. The meals can be stored in the freezer and thawed before baking. I remembered to include the loaded red potato casserole you enjoy so much."

Jane's heart swelled with love. Needing an outlet, she passed out hugs to one and all. Even Tiffany. Rolex got a thousand kisses too. Her fur-baby finally recalled his great love for her and bumped his face into hers, making her the happiest woman on Earth.

"Beau," Trick called from the kitchen. "You gotta try this cornbread and sausage casserole Fiona brought. I'm eating manna, dude. Manna!"

Beau licked his lips. "Ladies." He offered the combination greeting and farewell, then hustled to join his buddy.

There was no way she was gonna miss out on Fiona's delicacies. Jane hurried behind him and scanned the food spread across the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living area.

"I've been meaning to ask why I have to be a writer, too." Beau handed her a plate.

"Because writers only hang out with other writers and readers. It's science. Therefore, I'm not the only one who needs to start drafting my manuscript right away to better blend in. That way we can discuss our characters, plots, and so on with confidence."

He shrugged. "I've always heard everyone has a book in them. How hard can it be?"

"Let's find out. And you know," she continued, typing into her phone, "as long as we're each drafting a book for the case, we might as well sell the stories to the world and rake in millions of dollars." Hello, perfect wedding!

Fiona's sweet chuckle filled the room as she and the other ladies entered the kitchen. "You two are ridiculous."

"Right?!" Tiffany clucked her tongue. "I'm glad I'm not the only person seeing it. Think, guys! If it were super easy, everyone would publish. Besides, I've already tried. Nobody had any interest in my chronicle of a gloriously beautiful trophy wife pining for some hulking beast man to come crashing into her mansion and sweep her into a fantastical fairy tale world."

"I'll read it," Jane and Fiona piped up in unison.

Pleasure tinged the widow's cheeks. "I only wrote the first paragraph. But my point is valid. Writing is hard, guys."

Well, now Jane had something to prove. The sweetest victories came after the toughest battles. Since there was no need to cook, there was no time to ponder. Guess she'd jump straight into the writing. As soon as she finished visiting with her friends, of course.

"Not to change the subject, but let's talk wedding." Susan waved the length of lace in the air as she rushed over. "Look what you won in a contest!" She pinned the material to Jane's crown. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

Ah. A veil. "It is indeed." Setting her plate down, she examined the delicate lace. In its current configuration, it might not pair well with her Grandma Lily's wedding dress, but that was okay. Jane had scissors and thread, a gift for style and a determination to save money wherever possible. She could fix anything. "Thank you so much." She gave Conrad's foster mother another hug.

"My pleasure. Oh! Wyatt texted me." The other woman grew thoughtful. "A couple times. More than a couple, really."

"Me, too," Fiona and Tiffany piped up in unison. Uh, when had Tiff met Wyatt?

"He asked about the theme for the bachelor and bachelorette parties," Susan continued, unpinning the veil from Jane's head.

"Same," Tiff and Fiona agreed with nods.

This was the perfect opportunity to ask Fiona and Tiffany to be her other bridesmaids, but a niggle stopped her. "Um. Did you say manna, Trick?"

His mouth was too full of casserole to respond. She eyed a cheesy chicken and rice dish. Oh, what was this? Beside the foil pan was a big red envelope with her name scrawled in a fancy font.

From Fiona? "I have the best friends," she said, turning the envelope around.

"I found that on the floor of your hearse when I drove it home from the Treasure Room," Trick said after swallowing another bite.

"So it's not from Fee?"

"I figured you dropped it." He went still. "Did you not?"

"Nope. This is the first time I"ve seen it." Jane slipped her finger into the gap of the envelope.

The guys jumped to their feet in unison, practically leaping over the counter as they shouted, "Don't!" and "No!" Too late. She'd already opened it. A bouquet of black paper roses popped out, glitter raining to the floor. Her stomach dropped when she noticed cut out magazine letters spelled the sentence: Get ready. This fun is killer!

Foreboding prickled the back of her neck. Was this from the murderer? Meant as a threat? A taunt? But why change things up and go with a red envelope instead of purple? To throw her off?

Yeah. To throw her off. The game was in full swing.

At her side, Beau scrubbed a hand over his face. "I failed at my job today. What if the paper had been laced with some kind of poison powder, Jane?"

"You aren't the only one who failed," Trick replied, his tone flat.

So. Jane was the killer's focus, not Conrad. She held the proof in her hands. And she was relieved. Better her than the lawman. Suck it, family curse!

This development solidified her certainty that each of her theories had merit. But. The colored envelopes and cut out letters suggested someone obsessed with words and imagery. Who in this town would fixate on such details? Well, a writer, of course. This murder was definitely probably committed by someone in the club. And Jane was about to be their next member.