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Oh yeah. She winced. Then she remembered something else and gulped. He’d called her sweetheart. “Just to be clear, you bought chicken noodle soup for me? Jane.” Your sweetheart. Something only Fiona and Grandma Lily had ever done.
“That is what you requested, right?” Conrad tapped the takeout bowl, drawing her attention to the chipped countertop with yellow laminate straight out of 1967.
Stray thoughts bombarded her. What did he think of her home? Where did he live? What decorating styles did he prefer? Had she really asked him to feed her? And he’d complied? Was she his “sweetheart” only while sick or also when well? Were they bantering?
Her stomach fluttered. “Thank you, Conrad. I’m speechless.”
“Don’t say that.” He winked at her. Actually winked. “I should be rewarded for my good deed, not punished.”
Um. What the what?
We are definitely bantering. He liked her liked her. Didn’t he?
She shook her head like a Magic Eight Ball, an answer rising to the surface. Seems likely.
Heart racing, she tripped to the counter and sat in one of the barrel back wooden chairs opposite him, watching him work. The muscles in his forearms rippled, but she barely noticed. Honest! “What else did I ask you to do?” What if she’d blocked the truly awful things?
Rolex claimed the chair at her right, eyeing Conrad and brimming with malice. Even if the man had brought food.
“Ask? No. You demanded I update you on the case. To save my very life, I’m here with information.” He pulled a loaf of Daisy’s famous sweet bread from the bag and placed it on the cutting board. A family heirloom Jane kept on the countertop, tucked behind the blender. “Here’s the thing. I’m human, and I’m due a lunch break. Why not eat it here with you and discuss the investigation? Two birds, one stone. All above board. Mostly. I promise I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
Soup and information? “Yes, please and thank you.” She made grabby hands, and he slid her portion closer. A pop of the lid filled the room with a savory blend of herbs and vegetables. Her mouth watered.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Starved. I didn’t know it until this moment.” She offered him a smile, determined to keep the emotion out of her eyes. It’s just soup.
Please. This represented more than just soup—for both of them. But it shouldn’t. Hate the curse!
Outside, a hammer crashed into a metal toolbox. The clang startled her, and she yelped. A moment later, she spotted Beau through the window. He stalked across the yard, his massive shoulders outlined through thin linen curtains the color of buttercups. Grandma Lily had loved decorating with flower themes to match her name. Jane kept up the tradition, adding violet knickknacks and rose-scented candles.
He slammed the gate of his truck, clearly upset. Why? Was he leaving? But they hadn’t discussed the double date yet.
“Butter?” Conrad asked.
She jerked, returning her focus to him. Case—and bread— first. Beau’s meltdown later.
“Yes, please,” she said. “Like Daisy’s soup, butter makes everything better.”
“I’m beginning to believe there are people who make everything better too.” His gaze lowered to her lips. “What do you think?”
Had he referenced her? “Um. Maybe?”
Conrad seemed to give himself a shake before pushing his soup to the other stool. He stalked around the counter and sat beside her. “The case. We’re pursuing a couple different leads and motives and questioning several people of interest.”
“Oh?” She propped her elbows on the countertop and dropped her chin on the back of her hands. “Tell me more,” she said, mimicking him.
He took his sweet time, using a plastic knife to slather the bread with the creamy butter provided in a small cup. “The doctor had an active sex life outside of his marriage. Many of those women had a boyfriend or husband. On the other hand, we found evidence to indicate the doctor had recently developed a passion for hunting treasure.”
“So the motive is love or money.” Just as her research predicted. She was nailing this investigation.
“The motive is always love or money. One or the other.”
“I don’t understand what either has to do with the cemetery, though. I mean, a graveyard rarely evokes feelings of romance or greed.”
“You’d be surprised,” he muttered.
Had he investigated other cemetery murders? Or was he referring to the here and now?
The edge in his voice kind of sounded more personal, and she grew flustered.
“And treasure?” she continued, sinking her spoon into the hearty soup. Steam coated the air, creating a dreamy haze. “Everyone knows the cemetery was once raided and stripped of any hidden gold. Unless new rumors surfaced?” What if someone had remembered the gold but forgotten the raid?
He remained silent for a moment. Gave a little huff. “Has anyone mentioned anything about a connection between the fleur-de-lys that’s been showing up around town and the legends about the gold?”
