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And still the merry widow led on, giving a full-on tour. Jane relied on Conrad to guide her forward as she rubbernecked, studying the eclectic array of canvases. She’d never been an appreciator of what others considered “fine art.” She liked what she liked. These paintings of Jake’s…
They were elaborate and fancy, some lovely, some not so amazing to her tastes. One stood out to her more than any other. In it, he’d combined the water lilies of a Monet with the stars in Van Gogh’s Starry Night. A bold statement summed up her knowledge of art. Had he drawn inspiration from the “greats,” or was he some kind of forger? The secret Ana discovered, perhaps? Was that why he had the star by his name? Grr. The journalist might not have suspected Jake of being the speed dating bandit at all.
The tour concluded in the formal dining room. Ah. There were the world’s most uncomfortable Queen Anne chairs. The long table, suitable for seating at least twenty people, had four elaborate place settings ready to go. A butler stood nearby with a tray of fizzing champagne flutes.
“Have you ever tasted a peach julep?” Tiffany asked, passing out glasses. “They are to die for.”
To die for. Is she mocking me now? And alcohol? Tonight? She should keep her wits and refuse. But even still, she accepted a glass, for the sake of appearances.
“To fresh starts,” Tiffany toasted.
“To fresh starts,” Jane echoed, raising her glass. She took a sip, just a sip. Oh, wow. What a delicious treat. Surely a little alcohol wouldn’t be amiss. She drained half the glass. But only half...of the second glass, because she’d already finished the first.
Their group continued to stand, chatting about nothing important, sipping more of that delectable peach julep. Conrad remained at ease, holding but not drinking the julep. He was articulate and well mannered, charming as easily as breathing, making her repeatedly forget her purpose. Every time she remembered, however, she wanted to shake him. He kept the conversation light, never creating an opening for a single leading question.
Eventually, Tiffany and Jake got lost in a private exchange.
“If you’d like any help tonight,” Conrad whispered, his lips hovering over the shell of Jane’s ear, “you’ve got to stop distracting me.”
Goose bumps double parked on her skin. “I’m only standing here. How is that distracting?” Then she spotted the twinkle in Conrad’s whiskey eyes, and she forgot her train of thought.
“Oh! You two are almost as cute as we are,” Tiffany said laughingly as Jake planted kisses along the side of her face.
Either they were really in love or excellent actors.
“So,” Tiffany said, finishing off her own julep. “How’s the case coming?” Innocent question—or sly? “Have you found the killer yet?”
Okay, so, they could be both in love and excellent actors. Had their interrogation just begun?
Jane squared her shoulders and gave a hopeful, almost imperceptible nod to Conrad. Go on. There’s your opening.
He knew how to communicate with his eyes, too. This is your show, sweetheart.
Very well. “Not yet,” she piped up, “but there are several persons of interest.”
“We’ll get our man,” Conrad said with a practiced smile. “Or woman.”
“We always do.” Without barely a breath, she asked her own leading question. “You knew Ana, didn’t you, Jake?”
Tiffany stiffened ever so slightly. Oh, oh, oh. From jealousy?
“Briefly.” His perma-grin turned sad. “We attended a few events together, but we were never a perfect match. She had her eyes on another attendee. Robby…something.”
Old news.
“Ana was found on your property, wasn’t she, Jane?” Tiffany swiped another glass of deliciousness for herself, taking a huge swallow.
“She was, yes.” What was the widow getting at? “I’m told she was working on several stories about scandalous things happening in town.”
The liquid in Tiffany’s glass rippled. She’s shaking. Afraid of a specific story? “I’ve heard the same, and I fear the turmoil those rumors are going to cause the town.” The brunette pressed a hand against her heart, as though moved by the topic. “I’m sure you heard about Robby and Ana’s fight the morning she died.”
Jane perked up. “I did, yes.”
“I hated telling Agent Hightower what I observed. Robby is a sweetheart. He might have a temper, but he’d never murder a girl.”
Wait. Tiffany was the witness? Did that mean she’d seen what she claimed to see…or that she’d lied to cover her own crime? “So much wild speculation is flying about the big, bad fight.” Truth. Courtesy of Jane herself. “I’d love to hear a firsthand account.”
As if the widow had hoped for just such an invitation, she leaned toward Jane to say, “Robby moved in with Abigail a few weeks ago. She and I decided to enjoy a day of pampering. Shopping, mani-pedis, facials. The works. At the salon, I stepped out to answer a phone call from Jake. Robby was there. I mean, I didn’t see his face, but I caught his backside as he was walking away from Ana, flipping her the bird. She was leaning out of the window of her car to insult his mother.”
