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She waited to hear more. Like, say, how Conrad had found a secret love letter. Or someone had called to reveal Christopher had created a shrine and spent the past few years waxing poetic about her amazing amazingness. Or maybe Maggie had come in to complain of the fireman’s incessant obsession with a former flame. But nope. Silence.
“He’s not like you,” she said. “He wasn’t willing to slay the dragon.”
Conrad’s features softened. “Also, I’m not raging with jealousy. Not totally. I trust you implacably.”
“Wow.” Jane feigned a horrified expression. “Lying to us both. Not concerning your trust, but the jealousy.” She tsked, tsked. “This calls for a severe punishment. Perhaps the worst I’ve ever dished to you or anyone.”
The corner of his mouth began twitching again. “If you revoke my casserole privileges, I will revolt.”
“Oh, no. I’ll not be letting you off so easily.”
“Easily? Sweetheart, that’s the worst thing someone can do to another person.”
“You’re soon to learn otherwise,” she said, lifting her nose high in the air, going for an aura of pure snob. She stood and smoothed the sides of her dress. “Soon you’ll long for the days of missing my southern smothered chicken. Just know this will hurt you far more than it hurts me. I’m forbidding you from attending the book club meeting with me. I’ll go with Beau, but you will stay home.”
Conrad’s eyes narrowed in an instant. “No. We go together.”
Jane had known he would insist. With the threat of danger magnifying each day, he refused to let her out of his sight without a battle royale. And she needed to be out of his sight for a bit.
“Nope,” she told him. “Not this time. You weren’t invited. I was. Without probable cause to attend, you’ll be trespassing.” Boom! Legal speak always got the job done. “I’ll go with Beau, as stated.” The sheriff’s smoldering intensity and ferocious sense of authority was guaranteed to intimidate the guests and stifle conversation. “Besides, you’ll be busy looking into a fireman named Donnie Eggerson. There’s something about him…”
“Jane,” Conrad growled.
“Take your lumps, darling.” She sashayed to the door, paused and looked over her shoulder to blow him a kiss. “I’ll spill everything when I return.”
* * *
Jane walked side by side with Beau, ready for anything. She’d had a productive day. She’d done more writing and managed to pry chapters three and four from her innermost being. After a while, words had flowed once again, the book really coming alive.
A cool evening breeze ruffled the hem of her midi A-line vintage skirt in olive green that screamed writer. She paired it with a white buttoned top and knitted scarf for an extra Bohemian flair. Of course, Beau ruined her look with khakis and a lightweight turtleneck rather than the berserker chic costume she’d suggested.
“You looking for a job in a bank?” she teased.
He swung his truck keys from his index finger. “I can always turn around. Conrad even suggested it.”
She looped her arm through her best friend’s. “I’m just surprised by your attire, is all.”
“I know how to go undercover, too. I call this look professor lite,” he said, and she snorted.
“Always take my advice when it comes to undercover fashion. I’ll never steer you wrong.”
They approached Maggie’s front door. The mechanic lived in a craftsman not too far from Conrad’s, but it had undergone several remodels to make it more modern, including the addition of a large garage. Maggie must enjoy tinkering with cars at home, too.
Before knocking, Jane straightened Beau’s neckline. “When the time comes to create a distraction, start reading the first chapter of your novel.”
“That will be difficult, considering I didn’t have a free moment to do any writing.”
“Nope. No excuses.” She rapped her knuckles against the raised panel of the solid wood door. “You can make it up as you go along.”
“Come in,” several people called in unison.
Beau opened the entrance and motioned Jane forward. Head high, she marched inside. He joined her in the foyer, and she scanned the crowd. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland sat in a straight-backed chair, holding court as only a queen could. She conversed with Christopher and Maggie, who appeared casual and not at all like a killer and her unwitting victim.
The fireman had his arm wrapped around the mechanic’s waist, his fingers draped over her hip. A possessive hold Conrad often used with Jane. Proof her ex wasn’t hung up on her. Clearly, he adored Maggie.
A handful of people Jane didn’t know interacted here and there. Ashley Katz hadn’t arrived yet. Still planning to come? Maggie’s home was comfortable, a mishmash of different furniture styles, exactly how a woman in her twenties who’d inherited various pieces from relatives and slowly replaced them with ones she bought herself as she could afford them would look. A small table had been set up with a tea service in honor of Hannah.
Jane’s throat tightened as she thought of the slain woman, known for giving crafters and artisans a place to showcase their wares.
