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“Not until I crested the hill and spied the mound of fresh dirt.”
“A mound of dirt isn’t standard fare for you?”
“With the town growing around us, we’re landlocked,” she reminded him. No new plots meant no new residents. “Our last occupant moved in about six years ago.”
The Garden of Memories consisted of seventy-five acres of history and beauty, and she loved every inch. Opened soon after Georgia’s gold rush, the land boasted ornate crypts, elaborate mausoleums, and angelic sculptures. There was even an arched bridge that bisected a babbling brook, adding a sense of mysticism. Trees, bushes and flowers abounded. Everything from wisteria to maple.
When they reached their destination, Sheriff Moore peered down the six-foot hole and whistled. “Well, I’ll be darned. You know who this is?”
“Yes, sir. That’s Rhonda Burgundy, and she—”
“Not the corpse. Well, not the old one.”
Oh. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, there’s a niggle in the back of my brain, but I’m not sure what it means. Do you know who this is?”
“Not yet, but I have a niggle, too.” He scrubbed a hand over his weary features. “Whoever it is, townsfolk are about to revolt. There hasn’t been a murder since I took over for Sheriff Bollersox.”
He’d taken over, what? Fifteen years ago? “What makes you suspect foul play? What if the poor guy tripped and fell?” He’d trespassed in the middle of the night. His vision had been limited. The creepy setting and sounds might have spooked him. But why raid the coffin in the first place? To steal the bones?
“Did you catch someone trespassing?” he asked, ignoring her questions. “Spot someone lurking around?”
“I didn’t hear any digging, no.” The gravesite was too far from her cottage. “I didn’t see anyone lurking around, either. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I usually finish my evening rounds at eight p.m.” Her cheeks burned a little bit. How had she not known what was happening on her own land? Especially someone who’d hung out long enough to dig a six-foot hole. “Do you suspect foul play?” she asked again.
The sheriff opened his mouth, as if he planned to respond, only to close it with a snap. “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss details about an open case with you, Miss Ladling.”
Understandable. Had foul play occurred? “The ladder is in the work shed. I’ll fetch it so you can get a closer look.”
“Thank you. I phoned GBH on the way over, just in case. As soon as they get my update, they’ll head this way.”
Georgia Bureau of Homicide. For a potential murder. This was getting serious. “I’ll be right back.” Except, she took forever. The ladder was heavy, and the trek was long. An hour passed before she made the trek back to the cottage to await the agents.
Her plan? Escort them to the site to prevent any destruction of her lawn.
Jane hurried, the hem of her purple dress dancing around her thighs. She always wore a dress when walking the grounds. As a little girl, she’d adored the fancy clothes worn by funeral attendees, and she’d followed suit. The habit had stuck. Though she preferred bright colors to black. To her, a cemetery wasn’t a place of mourning but celebration.
Uh-oh. A dark SUV waited in her winding driveway. An older guy in the process of removing a GBH jacket stood beside the vehicle while someone in a dark gray suit knocked on her door—two hard rasps from knuckles seemingly made of steel. Rolex growled and batted at the mesh screen that separated them.
“Hi. Hello,” she called, waving as she picked up the pace. “You’re looking for me.”
Both men turned, facing her. Oh wow. Gaze zeroed in on the tall, muscular prime cut beef on her porch, she stopped. Her eyes went wide. Thick dark hair framed a solid, rugged face. Sunglasses obscured the color of his irises, but not the prominent brows above them. He had a strong nose, bronze skin and a thicker-than-normal five o’clock shadow, a combination lethal to good sense. A gun rested at his hip, and a badge gleamed from his belt. A watch circled a strong wrist. And just when had she started noticing wrists? Anyway. He was without a tie, his collar unbuttoned. Business casual on hormone supplements.
Thoughts began to derail, speeding down wrong roads. When the singles in Aurelian Hills spotted him, he would get mobbed. Guaranteed. Of course, the singles mobbed anyone, since the pickings in town were so slim. Jane herself hadn’t been on a date in…yikes! A year? A tourist had asked her out, and she’d said yes because she’d envisioned a fun night with friendly conversation and multiple laughs. As soon as he’d learned about the cemetery, he’d launched into nonstop questions about dead bodies and things to do with them. There hadn’t been a second outing.
