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“That’s…good to know?” A pause. Then, “Can you think of anyone who matches your description of my perfect girl?”
“Not yet, but I will.” She rolled to her side and curled into a ball. “What’s your number one requirement for your future girlfriend, anyway?”
A long while passed while Jane relaxed, listening to her breathing.
“Trust. Safety,” he groused, jolting her from a daze.
“Yes! You need this. You need this now. Go on a date with the woman of my choice. Please, Beau. Please. I’ve never asked you for anything. In fact, I’m always telling you not to do things.”
“Fine, I’ll go on a date. But you and the guy of your choice have to double.”
Even better. “Deal. Hey, do you ever wonder why June bugs come in May and stay until July?”
Static crackled over the line. “I can honestly say I do not.”
Her heavy eyes gained a hundred pounds and drifted shut, different muscles going lax. “Sleepy night-night time now. Zip those adorable lips.” Darkness fell over her mind, and she knew nothing more.
On the fourth morning, Jane slowly cracked open her eyes. Oh, wow. Morning sunshine beamed through her bedroom window, but her eyes weren’t watering. Acid still leaked into her throat if she dared to swallow, but she wasn’t praying for death, so, improvement. Even better, her thoughts were almost clear.
She eased into a sitting position, propped against a mound of pillows. Wadded up tissues and empty juice boxes formed mountains around her. She desperately needed to take a shower.
Memories rose to the surface, and her jaw went slack. No. No, no, no. She hadn’t…she wouldn’t…she wasn’t foolish enough to call the boys and say those kinds of things. She wasn’t!
Her stomach churned as she checked her cell phone’s call history. Oh, crap. She had. She’d called the boys and asked ridiculous questions. She had admitted humiliating things.
Cheeks stinging, she searched the rest of the call log. Fiona had texted every day, worried. And filled with information about Beau and Conrad. Oh, wow. So many words. Jane’s eyes glazed over. Something about the boys working together. Maintenance. So kind.
Jane shot her friend a quick text. It lives! I’ve risen from the dead and feel almost normal. We can resume business as usual.
Fiona insta-responded, as if she’d been waiting for this moment with bated breath. Oh, praise the Lord! I will alert the troops at once! They’ve been desperate for the latest word about our patient.
Her chest suddenly felt a little funny. She might have embarrassed herself, but those guys cared about her. They were her friends. Good ones.
And she owed her good friend Beau a date. Excitement bloomed. The guy needed an upbeat ray of sunshine. Which meant Jane was already proving herself as a world-class matchmaker. Because yes, she’d pegged him accurately the moment she had discovered him on her porch. Now she only had to whip up a suitable candidate for him and arrange the perfect meet cute, then find herself a date.
What was Conrad doing right now? Why not call him and—No! No more phone calls.
Why not make herself useful and learn more about Dr. Hotchkins’s volunteer work? Or do some digging about the fleur-de-lys? Either one helped her case. And she needed to help her case. The cold had stolen so much of her time—time the killer had roamed free, unpunished for disrupting life at the cemetery. And for also ending a life.
She took her next dose of cold meds, downed as much water as possible, then propped herself on pillows and settled the laptop on her thighs. She would start with—
Bang, bang, bang. Beau must be hammering something nearby. No doubt Fiona had texted him as promised, informing him of Jane’s recovery. Wait. Fiona could have only texted him moments ago. To jump into action so quickly, he must have been at Jane’s house already. Waiting on her to heal? But why? He’d already installed the cameras and finished the security work she had yet to pay him for. What else was he doing out there?
Perhaps she would forget her research right now and check the security feed for—
No. No checking on Beau, either. Not now. Investigative work first, extracurricular activities later.
With a little (better-than-expert) sleuthing online, she quickly discovered the name of Dr. Hotchkins’s volunteer program. Summerhill Community Pediatric would host a memorial for him this Saturday.
Two days from now. Surely she’d be 100 percent racer ready by then. She could nose around. Maybe she’d find someone at the center who’d also toured the cemetery. Worth a shot, anyway. She hadn’t ruled out all the doctor’s coworkers.
Bang, bang, bang. Louder than before. Meaning Beau had most likely changed locations. Forget waiting to check on him. What was even going on right now?
She logged into the camera feed on her laptop. As she searched for him, she realized someone had tended to the cemetery while she’d been sick. Nothing was out of place. Not a single weed had been allowed to grow.
