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Argh! She’d wanted to ask if the GBH knew where Ana had come from before she’d arrived at the cemetery.
None of the agents tried to stop her as Tony led her toward the door. Jane avoided Conrad’s gaze as she passed him, not ready for another glimpse of his impassive expression. As Tony escorted her through the station, she remained quiet, pensive.
Why had Ana even come to the Garden? Why had she written Jane’s name on a piece of paper, as if she needed help recalling it? Why had the thorn apple grown in the first place? Especially in a section of the cemetery without cameras. And only appearing ten days before Ana’s arrival, as Hightower had pointed out. Ana, who’d been high on the same strain. The timing and coincidence of everything struck Jane as highly questionable.
She thought back to the day she’d found the thorn apple. Had she missed or forgotten anything important? She remembered speaking with the tree. Remembered...something else. It teased the periphery of her thoughts…oh! The cloud. She recalled seeing a man-shaped cloud. On the ground.
She frowned. A figment of her imagination or an actual human? The one who’d planted the weed, perhaps? She concentrated on the image, hoping to gain an idea of size, but dang it, she recalled nothing but a blur.
Tony’s question offered insight, at least. Does my client look like someone who is able to plot and scheme that far in advance?
Jane might not have plotted anything in advance, but someone else clearly had. And that someone had gone to great lengths to spotlight her supposed guilt.
“Miss Ladling,” Conrad called from behind her.
She spun, her heart racing. “Yes?”
For the first time since this whole ordeal started, he held her gaze. His amber eyes crackled with heat. “You forgot your purse.” He handed the bag over, his fingers purposely brushing hers.
Shivers of warmth and relief loosened the tightness between her shoulder blades. He didn’t blame her for the crime. And he would come for her as soon as they caught the killer. That, she suddenly knew, beyond any doubt.
She smiled and softly told him, “Good day to you, Officer Detective Special Agent Ryan.”
“Good day to you, Miss Ladling. I’ll be seeing you real soon. That’s a promise.”
Day one after her interrogation passed without word from Conrad.
Day two flew by with zero phone calls or texts.
Same with days three, four and five. Jane knew what that meant. The real killer had yet to be unearthed. Not that she had idled by her phone, doing nothing. Jane visited Beau’s swanky new place and cooked him a nice dinner to celebrate his first night there. Mostly she studied Ana’s notes as if it were a million dollar an hour job. She also revisited the Valley of the Dolls, home of the unforgettable thorn apple. Or rather, the devil’s snare. Yes, that name was a far better fit.
The weed absolutely lived up to its name, ensnaring her in a whole heap of trouble. More and more, she was certain it had been purposely planted to point to her guilt. The timing, the location, the consequences–calculated and intentional. Also, the way the roots had lifted so easily from the earth bothered her. As if the taps and shoots weren’t yet fully threaded, despite the abundance of growth.
The killer was smart. And evil. But who in the world was evil enough to do a despicable thing like this?
Well. Honestly? Lots of people. In fact, the list lengthened when she settled on the living room couch to pore through Ana’s notes once again. Wow. Just wow. While some of the town’s people had accused Jane of having an overactive imagination filled with wild allegations and theories, Ana had distrusted everyone at gold medal Olympic levels.
How could the mayor give lucrative city contracts to his cousin?
Was Sheriff Moore’s deputy truly gambling online while clocked in for duty?
And just where did all the copy paper for Aurelian Hills Elementary end up?
Jane settled more comfortably against the cushions and forced herself to focus on the list of sixteen nicknames and numbers, with Ana’s final note like a neon sign in the back of her mind: Speed dating. My big break? A cup of chamomile tea liberally doused with honey steamed on the coffee table. Grandma Lily’s orange blanket draped her legs, and a laptop perched on her lap.
Hours passed as Jane scoured pages on the Headliner, hoping to link citizens of the town with a nickname or date. No real luck. When her vision blurred, she moved on to the photos she’d taken, hoping to find a link there. But the things she’d found in the victim’s pockets revealed nothing. The half a dozen angles of the body...nope.
She sighed. The next set of photos displayed the contents of her purse. Jane zoomed in on the coffee pods. Okay. All right. Now she was getting somewhere. A specialty blend for “extra pops of energy.”
