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Jane executed a sharp turn, if only for a reprieve. She marched off, expecting the men to follow. Which they did. Special Agent Barrow remained a few feet behind, but Special Agent Ryan’s long stride kept him a little too close for comfort. He was so tall he towered over her. She’d never felt so tiny. Or flustered. Maybe she should have worn heels instead of flats?
As they walked along the grounds, he questioned her about the cemetery and her role here. Unlike most people who learned her occupation, he didn’t shrink back as if she had just crawled from one of the graves.
“When we’re done at the site,” Special Agent Ryan said, “I’d like a copy of your security feed.”
Oh, um… “Yes. About that. I absolutely, one hundred percent, will give you all the security feed I have. Which are my handwritten notes. A to-do list, really. I wrote it as I made my rounds.”
He shot her an incredulous look, as if she’d just admitted to robbing three banks and eating the cash. “You live alone in a cemetery and you have no cameras?”
“In my defense, it’s a small town. I really only deal with trespassers in October, so there’s not a reason to pay for…” She trailed off, stutter-stepping as he pivoted in front of her and removed his sunglasses.
Whiskey. His eyes were the color of her Pops’s favorite whiskey and a thousand times more intoxicating. Jane gulped.
He stared down at her, hard, before offering her a slow, lazy smile that didn’t reach any of his other features. She expected a stern talking to about her lack of safety. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you for the escort. I need to examine the site without you, however. Please return to the house with Special Agent Barrow.” Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he walked away.
The other agent moved to her side, nodding as he did so. “Ma’am,” he said with a chilly undertone.
Chilly? But why? The agents didn’t think she was guilty, did they? She owned the cemetery for goodness sakes; to hide a body, she had only to fill the hole. No one would have known. Not that she’d ever planned a murder or anything. Although, if she were honest, she would admit she’d had a passing thought here and there. But only out of curiosity.
Anyway. What if the agents believed she was twisted enough to kill someone? No, surely not. What reason did she have? Other than playing cat and mouse games with the authorities. Or stroking her own ego by inserting herself into the investigation. Or boredom. Or ridding herself of an enemy. Good gracious! The reasons were unending.
She gulped with more force and watched Special Agent Ryan. As he spoke with Sheriff Moore, he kept Jane in profile, as if he expected her to strike again.
Oh yes. He and his partner suspected she was twisted enough to do the deed and phone it in, no doubt about it.
Chapter Two
Lucy Edgefield
Here Lies the Best Gold Digger
Plot 9, Garden of Memories
Hours passed, each one more excruciating than the last. Special Agent Ryan remained at the crime scene while Special Agent Barrow kept Jane within sight. They sat on the porch together. She occupied the swing, sipping sweet tea, pretending to be at ease while he guzzled coffee in Fiona’s rocker and grilled her with questions. He wanted to know everything. Her routine. Her relationships. Her morning—and night—activities. And he wrote her every word inside a notepad, ready to use it all against her at a later date.
Not that it would do him any good. There was nothing incriminating about The Cemetery Girl. Her nightlife comprised of snuggles with Rolex and rereading her favorite romance novels about military men with secrets and warriors with centuries-old grudges. Sometimes she tried on the hats she’d bought at a resale shop or crafters on Etsy. At other times, she worked on her latest knitting project with Fiona.
Eventually, a sedan with new agents arrived. A ginormous truck pulled up only minutes later, the words Georgia Bureau of Homicide decorating its sides. Three other agents exited. A white coroner’s van entered the property soon after that.
Her beautiful grass! Jane swallowed whimper after whimper, dining on a full seven courses of air. People with bulky equipment trekked everywhere. Booted feet trampled everything.
Why hadn’t she set up shop in the main office, at the front of the property?
Someone died, Jane. Whatever damage her little paradise on Earth sustained could be fixed. But oh, she longed to be out there, directing traffic. No one knew the layout of the land better.
None of the new arrivals ventured to the house to ask questions, at least. Special Agent Barrow gathered the stack of maps Jane had given him, excused himself and strode off to confer with the newcomers. She’d have to remember to order more maps from the printer, a stretch to her already-stretched budget.
