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Her nape continued to prickle as she motored down the sidewalk of the revitalized Downtown Market, passing shops and Aurelian Hills staples. The Goldfield Hotel and the Gilded Scissor Beauty Parlor. Old man Mr. Buckley sat on a rocker in front of his hobby shop, carving something from a slab of wood. Tammy and Tommy, the Williams twins, set up a chessboard under the Charter Oak, where Aurelian Hills was officially established. Some people waved as she passed; others either didn’t see her or looked past her. A few whispered, “That Cemetery Girl.”
The feeling of being watched intensified. Jane threw another glance over her shoulder. Again, nothing out of the ordinary, but she quickened her steps. Never had she felt this way. She was tempted to phone Conrad, then Beau. But no. No, she was a grown woman, mature-ish even, sometimes, and she could handle anything on her own.
Nerves plagued her as she turned a corner and shot into Très Chic Consignment.
“Hi Jane,” greeted Tawny, the owner of the shop. “No new hats since the last time you popped by.”
Jane waved her hand. “That’s okay. Maybe I’ll discover a new, old favorite.” She pretended to browse. When enough time had passed, her body calming, she eased back outside and retraced her steps, aiming for the museum. Okay. Better. Yes—nope. The prickles roared back.
An arm shot out from a shadowed corner, gripped her bicep, and yanked her into a hidden alcove between two buildings. A rotund man stood in front of her. Short, thinning almost fully gray hair. A nice nose. Square, shaved jaw. All familiar, but her recognition came too late. Fight or flight had kicked in, and Jane was already throwing a fist. Contact!
Stumbling back, Dr. Garcia roared and clutched his not-so-nice anymore nose.
“Sorry, sorry,” she cried, pressing her aching hand over her racing heart. “Are you okay?”
Blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers. Dark eyes glazed with pain landed on her. “Ohh bwoke my nowse!”
“Well, yeah. You grabbed me. And followed me, I’m assuming. Why?” she demanded. She hadn’t even called to make her second appointment yet.
Using his shirt sleeve, he cleaned his face as best he could. His bicep flexed. He would definitely have an advantage in a fight.
Oh, crap. Would there be a fight?
“I needed to speak with you in private, and I suspect they’ve hidden cameras on your property,” he said, his nasally voice layered with paranoia. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I promise I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t think of any other way to get you alone. I can’t call you—I don’t even have a cell phone. The GBH confiscated our equipment. Not just our phones, but our computers. The iPads. They subpoenaed everything the staff used to communicate with each other in the office or to post on message boards. Why do that? Who are they considering? I’ve never posted on a message board in my life. Has the agent said anything?”
No, the agent had not. Clearly, Conrad suspected a workplace romance gone bad, on the hunt for secret messages between lovers. Or meetings about gold. Did the message board tidbit add a whole new angle to the case?
Everyone in that medical clinic earned a new star at the top of her shady character list. Dr. Garcia, Caroline the PA and both nurses, with Emma maintaining a strong lead. “Special Agent Ryan hasn’t mentioned your equipment, and he certainly hasn’t named a suspect,” she replied honestly. “Why would he? I grace his list, too.”
“Yes, but everyone knows you’re working with him, anyway. Emma mentioned you’re dating him.”
Everyone knew she was working with the GBH? And dating Conrad? And Emma had said this? Emma Miller, Jane’s number one contender for murderer of the year? But how would Emma even know of Jane and Conrad’s flirtation? They’d never ventured into town together. He’d come to the cemetery, or she’d gone to his office. They’d shared no other contact.
“Why does Emma think this?” she asked, genuinely baffled.
“She saw your notebook. You drew hearts around Special Agent Ryan’s name and listed things to do on a date with him.”
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Hastily drawn hearts and double date ideas did not equate to a relationship.
The doctor eased closer but stilled when she eased back. Holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence, he told her, “I didn’t kill him. You must believe me. When I became a doctor, I took an oath. I would never harm anyone. Never. You have to believe me,” he repeated.
“I don’t understand why you think Conrad thinks—”
“We quarreled,” he burst out, as if he couldn’t bottle up the confession anymore. “The day Marcus died, we argued badly.” His shoulders rolled in, and his head lolled forward. The posture of a defeated man. “I called him terrible names. Cursed his very existence.” Irritation joined the party, crackling in his voice. “But is that surprising? I’d just found out he was using our practice as his personal brothel. I’m not stupid. I know the legal risks. I begged to buy him out, but he refused.”
