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He slid a cell phone into his pocket and strode closer with an almost goofy smile. With his almost-loose but somehow too-tight T-shirt and beige slacks, he looked like he’d stepped out of an ad in Beautiful People Magazine.
Tiffany obviously had a type.
“My apologies,” Jake said with an amused, indulgent tone. “My mother wouldn’t let me hang up.”
Tiffany beamed at him, and honestly, she’d never appeared happier. The guy seemed pretty ecstatic himself, beaming as he wrapped an arm around her waist, just as Conrad had done to Jane.
“Hello.” The newcomer offered everyone an easy smile, as if he had nothing to hide. “Nice to meet you both.”
Uh, why give off a nothing to hide vibe unless you were hiding something? Why come to Aurelian Hills for a fresh start? Why not a bigger town with more amenities for a painter?
“Guess what?” Tiffany gripped his arm. “Jane and Conrad are dining with us on Saturday.”
“Wonderful.” Jake scanned the vehicle, his cheerful mood devolving into confusion. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re driving a hearse?”
The killer would have known the answer to that question—the very reason to ask it. “I own a local cemetery. The one where everyone likes to drop off their dead bodies.” She watched his expression for any reaction to her words.
“That is kind of the point, isn’t it?” He glanced at Tiffany for help. “Dead bodies belong in a cemetery.”
The widow grinned and patted his chest. “I’ll explain it later, baby.”
Baby. A nickname for the guy already? Wow. Jane hadn’t even given one to Conrad. Well, other than Agent Spice, but that didn’t count because...just because.
A sudden laugh escaped Tiffany, as if Jake had tickled her; she jumped up and down. “Okay, I can’t stand it anymore. Is it okay if I tell Jane our news? I have to tell someone or I’ll burst.” Without taking a breath or waiting for a response, she blurted out, “Jake is no longer my boyfriend.” Radiating pure joy, she held up a hand and wiggled her fingers, revealing a huge diamond ring. “I’m the Future Mrs. Tiffany Stephenson!”
Tiffany. Engaged. First married, now engaged a second time, and Jane couldn’t even keep a guy for more than a couple months, through no fault of her own. All blame belonged to the Ladling curse, and that was that. And it was so not fair!
She huffed out a breath. Okay, so maybe Fiona had been correct when she’d said Jane’s expectation of a doomed end caused her to curse herself. But what if she took a risk, crashed, and burned, and became a shell of herself, never to enjoy happiness again? And she wasn’t being dramatic right now. It could totally happen.
“That went well, huh?” she asked Conrad, steering the hearse through town, heading for the Garden.
“I’m interested in your definition of well,” he replied. At least his dry tone contained no notes of anger. “I’d say things could have gone better.”
Did he reference the dinner invitation or Jane’s mortifying explanation about their relationship? Or both? “Has GBH looked into Tiffany’s new fiancé?”
“There hasn’t been a need to do so.”
“Does that mean you guys had no idea she’d started dating again?”
He snorted. “No. That means there was no reason to do it. She was with him the morning of the murder.”
“And he couldn’t have snuck out?” Not only had Jake moved to town right before Ana died, he’d met the journalist at Digging for Gold and he had a connection to Dr. Hots via the widow.
Conrad groaned. “I recognize that tone. Poor Jake just topped your list, didn’t he?”
“Nope. He’s been there for days. If it makes you feel any better, he shares the spot with several others.”
She eased to a stop at the entrance to the cemetery, the hearse’s brakes squeaking. The iron gate wasn’t automatic—Grandma Lily had believed automatic anything removed an element of grace and elegance, so Jane had never installed one. Not that she could have afforded it. But. When she’d left this afternoon, she’d shut the gate behind her and locked up. Now it was open. Either someone had broken in, or Fiona and Beau had beaten her home, though they should still be at the inn, learning as much as possible about the other speed daters. Most likely the latter.
She eased up the drive, navigating the twists and turns with practiced precision. Colored solar lights lined the sides of the black tar road, aiding moonlight and headlights. Nothing seemed out of place. A gentle wind rustled tree limbs together, encouraging the branches to welcome her home with a round of applause.
The caretaker’s cottage came into view, with its wraparound porch and blue shutters bracketing the windowpanes. Nostalgia filled her. Once, Grandma Lily would have been sitting on a rocker, waiting for her. Her chest tightened as she parked under a gigantic oak, between Beau’s truck and Fiona’s convertible. The two were already inside the house. Both had a key.
