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“Okay, okay. But for the record, I just solved my second murder. And my plan worked. Throw a party and boom! Case closed. Put that in your Jane Ladling handbook.”
He made a choking sound before giving her a scorching look she felt all the way down to her toes. Then he inserted himself in the action as Jane and Fiona obeyed, settling on the plot of grass. It wasn’t long before Beau joined them.
“Don’t leave us in suspense,” Fiona said to him. “Who bought you?”
“Abigail Waynes-Kirkland,” he grated.
What! Abigail got to go on a date with Beau? “No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
Still grating, he told them, “She agreed to pay a thousand dollars.”
“Well.” Jane pursed her lips. “I suppose you can survive a few hours with her. But you are not to enjoy a single second.”
“Arrest those two women,” Jake shouted at Hightower, ending the auction conversation at the perfect spot. “I noticed my keys were missing. I came out to make sure I hadn’t locked them inside and I found that woman—” he pointed to Jane— “stealing my car. The next thing I knew, they were beating me with a tire iron!”
Tiffany rushed up, her heels clacking on the asphalt. “What’s going on? What’s happening?” She threw herself against Jake, clinging to him before brushing the dirt from his shirt and smoothing his hair. “Oh, babe. Is Jane trying to blame us for Ana’s death?”
So. Tiffany had attempted to investigate Jane at dinner. Only the widow had done it to save her man.
Jane geared up to shout a rebuke, but Hightower beat her to it, saying, “Calm down, Mr. Stephenson. We’ll get this sorted out.”
“Actually, I’ve already sorted it,” Conrad said, a tower of strength. “As of this morning, the Manor has acquired the services of Peach State Security. As an independent contractor working with the agency, I helped Beau Harden install security cameras throughout the parking lot. They provide live feed of video and audio, both of which are being monitored through my cell phone. I have a recording of Mr. Stephenson’s confession. I can assure you, Jake Stephenson killed Tatiana Irons. He robbed Robby Waynes and Blake Crawford as well.”
Ohhhh. Sneaky, sneaky Conrad. Wracked by shivers, Jane wrapped her arms around her middle. That was almost as delicious as a peach julep.
“No. No, that can’t be true.” Tiffany reared back, her features twisting with horror. “Jake?”
“I have a recording too, and I can verify this.” She whipped out her cell phone, started the video and played what she’d recorded.
Her own voice seeped from the speaker. “Give me a moment to put my thoughts together. You attended the speed dating events to pick your victims. You impersonated other men and took their money. You cleaned out Blake and Robby’s accounts, then pitted them against each other. You preyed upon poor Tiffany, hoping to drain her dry too. Ana learned about your heinous crimes, and you killed her, getting her out of the way, framing me. And if not me, Robby. You called Tiffany while she was at the salon to, what? Build an alibi? Perform your dirty deeds dressed up as Robby, while calling her as Jake and claiming she hung up on you.”
Jake’s emotionless voice announced, “Exactly right. Ana complained about your many harassing phone calls. It led her to work on a story about you and the cemetery’s gold. She planned to speak with you the morning she died. And I hoped to buy the cemetery once you were out of the way. With Tiffany’s money, of course.”
Tiffany gasped, the color draining from her cheeks. “You wanted the gold. Jane’s and mine. So many little things make sense now. You heard my husband found gold at the cemetery and you hoped to steal from me. You used me.” With a sob, the widow grabbed the forgotten tire iron and swung it in Jake’s direction. He bolted, and Hightower gave chase, quickly tackling him to the ground.
Conrad urged the still-sobbing widow to sit before she passed out. Which she did–sit down, not pass out.
And like that, it was over, everything under control. Hightower loaded a cuffed Jake into the back of her car, careful of his head. Conrad spoke with Tiffany until Abigail arrived to hug her, glare at Jane, then escort her friend into a vehicle.
Sheriff Moore arrived, flashing red and blue lights over the scene. Jane popped to her feet, and Beau helped Fiona to hers. The sheriff exited his vehicle, strolled over, and doffed his hat at them.
“Fine work this evening,” he said.
Jane beamed at him. “Thank you.”
He briefly glanced in her direction, his focus returning to Fiona. “If you hadn’t kept your wits about you, Fee, and surprised him with that tire iron, tonight might have had a very different ending.”
“You heard about that, did you?” Fiona fluffed her hair.
