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Avoiding Jane’s gaze, he set a laptop at the edge of the table, with the screen facing toward the other investigators. “Beauregard Harden emailed the security footage.”
Her shoulders tensed and her stomach churned because she knew what the video feed would showcase. She might end up charged with a crime, after all.
“Let it be noted my client handed over the footage voluntarily,” Tony announced.
Except, Beau had mentioned a warrant. Why, why, why hadn’t he waited for it?
One charge for obstruction, coming up.
Special Agent Barrow smashed the play button with a meaty finger. A multiview image of the cemetery filled the screen. The porch. The grounds. The work shed.
The flash of pale blue caught her attention. Jane squirmed as she watched Ana Irons practically fall out of her Volkswagen Beetle and stagger through the Garden of Memories entrance. The redhead wobbled along the cobblestone paths, lurching, and nearly toppling, the security system’s eagle eye capturing her every move. Finally, she stumbled to the porch, dropping her purse at her feet, and collapsing into the rocking chair, leaving a hunk of her hair in the nail on the windowpane.
Jane studied her face during the fall. Ana never even flinched. Dead woman walking.
The next few minutes of feed offered nothing but the breeze, dancing strands of hair and a visit from a hummingbird stopping by the porch feeder for a quick snack. Then the curtain in the window began to ruffle. Rolex appeared. Moments later, Jane rushed onto the porch, flying into action. She removed Ana’s sunglasses. Then she called Conrad.
Jane ground her back molars. She knew what everyone would see next. Me, rifling through Ana’s pockets and purse. Snapping photos of a dead body like a murder obsessed weirdo. Except…
...the screen blurred as the motion-detecting camera shifted focus away from the porch to something else. No, not something. A cat. Her cat. Rolex perched in the living room window, situated between drapes, tilting his head this way and that as he peered out the glass. For the next few moments, she saw nothing but her miniature house panther with a face meant to top the list of the world’s most adorable animals in history or imagination. But, but…
What? She distinctly remembered those drapes being on the floor at the time of Ana’s death. Had Beau altered the footage? Oh, dang. He had, hadn’t he? He’d committed a crime for her.
Stay calm. Give nothing away. For your sake and for Beau’s.
What must Conrad be thinking? She chanced a glance at him under her lashes. His focus remained on the investigators. Gauging their reactions?
“It appears Miss Irons died before Miss Ladling ever showed up,” Tony said with a smirk, pulling Jane to her feet. “We’re leaving.” He arched a brow at Hightower. “Unless you have anything else to add?”
Conrad looked between the lawyer and Jane, though his gaze did not linger on her. “Lab results are in. Cause of death is jimsonweed poisoning via Miss Iron’s morning coffee.”
Jane sucked in a breath. She remembered seeing the small coffee pods in Ana’s purse. But how had the journalist not tasted or smelled the thorn apple?
“An accidental death then, I’m sure.” Tony bent to pick up his briefcase. “My client is an example of how easily the substance can be misused.”
“All I’m hearing is conjecture,” Hightower countered. “Here are the facts. Miss Ladling grew the plant on her property. The same strain that killed Miss Irons. Yes, we found the trash bag of stalks Miss Ladling tossed out ten days before the victim died.”
The same strain? Seriously?
“Something else my client explained. She got rid of something able to poison her pet.” Faux humor tugged at the lawyer’s lips. “Besides, does my client look like someone able to plot and scheme that far in advance?”
That was meant to be an insult, right? Jane bit the inside of her lip and held her tongue. He was either playing a role or getting his digs in while he could.
Tony responded to his own question with a throaty chuckle that seemed to burrow under Hightower’s skin. Two rosy spots popped on her cheeks. “Jimsonweed is common enough. It isn’t even illegal here. Last year it was found in the city’s park. Should you arrest the mayor? The city council has a few dubious characters in it. Maybe start there,” he suggested, the words thick with sarcasm.
He appeared to know an awful lot about the weed. Too much?
Hightower stood, not a strand of her bob ruffled, but oh, the heat in her eyes could melt a pair of handcuffs. Jewelry Jane might be sporting soon if her lawyer didn’t stop taunting the woman who seemed determined to put her behind bars.
“Let’s consider the timeline,” Jane said. “When I was tripping on thorn apple, I experienced the side-effects twenty minutes–”
“No, not another word from you. Let’s go.” With a hand on her elbow, Tony helped her to her feet.
