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Special Agent Ryan blinked with surprise. “How did you identify the victim if you couldn’t see his face?”
First, this was confirmation that they’d guessed correctly. How sweet was that? Second, big dang. Had she just confirmed his earlier suspicions? “We—I put two and two together. Curly blond hair on the corpse. Missing doctor with curly blond hair.” No reason to involve Fiona unless absolutely necessary. “There’s only one fair-haired doctor people can’t currently find.”
“Small towns have the biggest mouths,” he muttered. “We’ll be taking both bodies as well as the casket.”
“Have you already dusted it for fingerprints? Never mind. You can’t say. I get it. Before you ask, I’ve never spoken to Dr. Hots. Hotchkins,” she corrected. “I mean, I’ve spotted him a few times when I visited Dr. Garcia. And I know his wife. But other than that, I have zero connection to him.” Okay, you can shut up now.
“Good to know.” He pulled out his little notebook to make a notation. “We’re packing up to leave, but I’d like to discuss something with you before I go.” He slid his gaze to Fiona and offered his hand. “I’m Special Agent Ryan. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I’d appreciate it.”
Oh, introductions might be nice. “Sorry. Special Agent Ryan, this is Fiona Lawrence, my best friend.”
Fiona glanced between them, smiling with pure, undiluted calculation. “Are you single, young man? I see no wedding ring. Perhaps you have a significant other?”
His expression remained unchanged. “Were you at the house this morning, ma’am?”
“I wasn’t. Let’s get out of this heat, and I’ll tell you what I was doing. I’ll even whip up a batch of my famous blueberry pancakes. At some point, I might explain the impoliteness of ignoring an old woman’s question. Although I’ve already deduced the answer. You are very single.”
He canted his head. A slow process, as if he were considering a thousand responses at once. “What makes you think so?”
“The eyes,” Fiona said. “The eyes always give you away.”
“Thank you for the tip.” His gaze slid to Jane, and her cheeks burned.
Forget Fiona’s obvious attempt at matchmaking, which was a common occurrence. Those blueberry pancakes were ambrosia, with a unique ingredient no one could figure out. Her guess? Crack. No food in history had ever tasted as amazing as those pancakes. And that wasn't hyperbole. Jane would absolutely commit a murder to steal a triple stack. Problem was, Fiona prepared the sweet treat for only three reasons. And those reasons always changed, according to her agenda.
“Yes,” she blurted out. “He wants those pancakes. Please say yes.” Please. If he had the slightest sliver of a heart, he would agree.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time,” he said. “There are too many other places I need to be today.”
His hotness chilled fast. “You fool,” she muttered, only realizing she’d said the words aloud. Her cheeks might have actually caught flame. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to hear her words or witness her mortification.
On the other hand, Fiona frowned at him, as if disappointed in his character, his life choices and even his next breath.
“Uh, you mentioned you wanted to discuss something with me?” Jane asked.
“Yes. I’d like a list of names. Everyone buried in Autumn Grove and any of their visitors for the past month.”
“Have you been to a cemetery lately? We open the gates, and people come in. I give directions if someone has trouble finding their loved one, but that’s about it for public interaction.”
He made a notation in his notepad. “Anyone can wander around unsupervised, at any given time?” he asked with the slightest hint of censure.
“Well, yes. Kind of. People visit their loved ones to reflect on the past when the urge strikes, when time allows and for any number of reasons. This is a cemetery, after all, not a bank ripe for a heist.”
Another notation. Another charming but humorless smile. “I’ll take any records you have.”
What was his deal? “Yes, of course. I’ve already pulled the file. We’re happy to hand over it over, along with anything else you need. Or want.” No. She had not just added that.
“I’ll copy the file,” Fiona offered as she lumbered to her feet. She’d learned the business at Grandma Lily’s side, and she’d even helped train Jane. “You stay here chatting with the nice agent, hon. It’s perfectly proper, since you’re both very single. Isn’t that right, Special Agent Ryan? Did I guess correctly or do I need to stay and chaperone?”
He pursed his lips, but said, “No chaperone needed, ma’am.”
“Well. See how easy it is to be polite?” With a wink, she sauntered into the house.
Oh, dear Lord save me. The embarrassment never ended.
Special Agent Ryan scrubbed a hand over his mouth, as if wiping away a grin.
Unlike Jane, Fiona didn’t believe in the curse. For years she’d tried to set up the widowed Lily on dates. When Lily died, she’d turned her sights on Jane. But Jane wasn’t interested. Why start something with a doomed, predetermined ending?
