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Jane cringed, remembering every instance she’d lain upon a petri dish—er, exam table. “Was Emma Miller one of the known regulars? Because they were definitely having an affair.”
“Yes. But her alibi checked out.” With a harder tone, he added, “And so did her husband’s.”
Her first genuine theory went up in smoke. Time to go back to the drawing board. “Give me a chance to identify the unknowns in Dr. Hotchkins’s code. If his identifiers reflect traits about the women, I’ll recognize—”
“No. I’m sorry, but that’s out of the question.” Even harder tone.
She didn’t have to wonder why. “You think I might be a member of his rotation? I assure you, I’m not. The doctor wasn’t my type. Which is unwaveringly single.”
Conrad appeared chagrined, even irritated. “Until we’ve successfully identified everyone, I’m not allowed to fully rule anyone out.”
“Why are you sharing any case details with me, then, if I’m still a suspect?” Unlike Nurse Emma, Jane couldn’t alibi out unless someone learned to speak Meow and Rolex corroborated her story.
Conrad’s phone rang, but he ignored it. His expression softened. “I know what it’s like to feel as if questions claw at your mind, and I swear to you I will figure this out. You’ll have your answers. Just give me time. And peace. I’ll work faster—better—if I’m not always worried about you.”
She had to hand it to him. It was a nice speech and almost convinced her to back off the investigation. But she wasn’t the one responsible for his worry. That was all Conrad.
“I have a better idea,” she said as she stood. “You learn how to do deep-breathing exercises to control your fear for my well-being, and I’ll continue to aid you.” As he glared at her, she smiled sweetly. “Thanks for the nontour, Special Agent Ryan. Let’s not do it again soon.”
Jane pondered all things Conrad the entire hour-long drive home. She only paused after gassing up and phoning Fiona to let her friend know she was running a few minutes late for their knitting hour.
The agent had admitted to his attraction to her, and he’d made tentative plans to join her on a double date. His boss might suspect her of murder, but Conrad didn’t. He liked her as much as she liked him. But she had to wonder: Did he hope to fall in love one day and get married?
Would she lose another guy to the Ladling curse? Guilt flared. Should she even risk dating him? The guy had lost his family as a kid. She might cause more trouble than she was worth.
By the time she parked in her driveway, she was a legit ball of stress. To give him a shot, to not give him a shot? To run away from him or to him? She would have to decide soon. Or the decision would be made for her.
She frowned when she noticed Fiona rushing from one side of the porch to the other, frantically waving her arms.
Stomach dropping, Jane bolted out of the car and hurried over. “What’s wrong?”
Features glazed with panic, the older woman grabbed her shoulders and shook. “I planned to wait for you on the porch, but your front door was ajar. I called for Rolex, but he didn’t come. I searched but…he…he’s probably just exploring.”
Her door had been open? Jane remembered closing and locking it as always. Right? She had been preoccupied with Conrad. “Y-yes, you go search the grounds. I’ll look in his favorite hiding spots.”
“Don’t worry, hon. Everything will be all right. We’ll find him.” Fiona rushed off as swiftly as her old bones allowed.
Jane sprinted into the house. Barreled through every room. Checked under every raised surface. Scanned inside every nook and cranny. No sign of her house panther anywhere. When had he left and what direction had he gone?
Think. The camera feed! Jane returned to her bedroom and fired up her laptop, loading today’s recording. Slowly fast-forwarding…There! A hand flew up to cover her gaping mouth, her heart slamming into her ribs. A woman approached the front door. She wore a dark jacket with a hood, and she maintained a swift pace. From this angle, Jane couldn’t see her face.
She noted what details she could. Slender. Average height. A skeleton mask often seen at Halloween hid her features. Locks of brown hair struck out through the sides of the hood. Real or from a wig? The hood remained in place throughout her crime spree, so it was impossible to tell. Considering she’d covered all her bases, the offering of a false clue seemed well within her wheelhouse.
In other words, the hair told Jane nothing about her intruder. An intruder who might have stolen her cat. Acid burned her chest, her throat. If this person had harmed Rolex…
The woman opened the locked door with ease—because she had a key. Jane panted as she disappeared inside the house. Time stamp: two hours and thirteen minutes ago.
