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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.”
