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She washed and dried her hands, then headed to the office at the back of the house. The room was an addition Pops had added just before he’d died fifteen years ago. Because of his arthritic hips, he hadn’t enjoyed walking to the main office on the other side of the property, near the cemetery’s entrance.
Jane preferred this workspace, anyway. The spacious room contained an elaborate antique desk, metal filing cabinets filled with records she’d begun logging digitally last year—only three hundred more to go—and framed photos of her favorite people. Grandma Lily and Pops. Rolex, of course. Fiona Lawrence, her grandmother’s best friend. Truth be told, the sixty-two-year-old was Jane’s best friend, too.
There was a single image of Jane’s mother and father, from their high school graduation. Oh yes, and there was also a gilt-framed cross-stitched Henry Cavill that Jane purchased at a garage sale. What? The twenty dollars she’d spent was well worth it, considering they’d been dating in her mind for a year. Her longest relationship to date!
After locating the file for plot 39, she phoned the non-emergency number to the sheriff’s department to explain the situation. Unsurprisingly, the head law enforcement officer answered the call himself. As a former mining town, Aurelian Hills boasted roughly ten thousand citizens and employed only a sheriff and his deputy. There was no need for anyone else. Other than the occasional teen swiping makeup at the drugstore or a tourist skipping out on their bill at the Golden Spoon—the best diner in all the world—people tended to behave themselves. The crime rate remained low.
Sheriff Raymond Moore muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Who is this again?”
“Jane. Jane Ladling. Um…the Cemetery Girl?” A nickname she’d received in elementary school. “I mean, the Cemetery Girl. A statement, not a question. I know who I am.”
“Are you sure you saw a body and not a blow-up doll or something, Jane? Kids like to play pranks nowadays.”
“Well, there’s blood, so… But no, I didn’t touch the body to verify my initial observation. Just give me an hour to haul a ladder to the site and—”
“No. Forget it. No ladder, and no touching. I’ll be right out to check things out for myself.” He heaved a sigh. “This had to happen now, didn’t it?” he grumbled. To himself? “I’m due to retire in a matter of weeks and—” Click. The line went dead.
The (seemingly) gruff grandfather of eight had been planning his retirement for the past six years. He’d become an Aurelian Hills staple, and Jane couldn’t imagine the town without him. He often passed out Safety Citizen badges to elementary school kids, gave stern lectures about the dangers of drinking or texting while driving to middle and high schoolers, and rushed to the rescue for any and every disaster, ready to utilize his solid strength or offer a comforting presence.
Jane exited the house, emerging onto the wraparound porch complete with a sitting area and a swing. She kept the screen door open, ensuring Rolex had optimal viewing of the coming proceedings.
Standing at the wood rail, she waited, serenaded by chirping crickets and buzzing locusts. About half an hour later, the sheriff rolled up in his black-and-white, parked in her gravel driveway, and climbed from the car. Sunlight glinted from his bald head. A full silver beard covered his jaw. Broad shoulders led to a barrel chest and lean hips.
His familiar, grim face loosened surprising stress knots between her shoulder blades. But then, something about his grizzled expression and hard jaw had always eased her. If only Fiona were here. Jane’s dearest friend had a love of gossip—er, information and harbored a secret crush on the widower. One she’d nursed for years.
“Take me to the body,” he said, withdrawing a small notepad and a pen from the pocket of his button-down.
“Yes, of course.” Getting straight to business. Excellent. “Plot 39 is in Autumn Grove. This way.”
After blowing Rolex a kiss, she led the sheriff along a cobblestone path.
“Don’t you have a golf cart we can use?” the sheriff asked, already huffing and puffing a little.
“Disturb the peace of the grounds and its residents? For shame!” Caretakers of the Garden of Memories had relied on their own two legs for five generations, not motorized vehicles, and Jane wasn’t about to change things up. Her grandmother would flip in her grave.
“The employees of Aurelian Hills Cemetery use golf carts,” he groused.
Aurelian Hills Cemetery. Her fiercest competition and the only other cemetery in town.
Hot-button alert! Jane didn’t care. She lifted her nose and jutted her chin. “The employees of Aurelian Hills Cemetery treat their dead the same way they treat the living—horribly. I wouldn’t bury a goldfish in their plots.”
“My apologies.” The sheriff swiped a handkerchief over his sweat-glistened brow. “Didn’t mean to offend.” He hurried to return to business. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary this morning?”
