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He–argh! People were trampling her carefully manicured carpets of grass again. Messing up her flowers. Disturbing the birds. Dang it! Where was Conrad? Why hadn’t he arrived as promised, or at least called?
“Worrying isn’t going to help the situation, hon,” Fiona told her. The petite, curvy widow had a short cap of black and gray curls, and lovely dark skin. The fine lines around her rich brown eyes came courtesy of love and laughter. “You should use your time wisely and fix your drapes. What on earth happened to them?”
“Hurricane Rolex. And I’m not worrying,” Jane replied. “I’m steaming! Forget Conrad. Someone is possibly trying to frame me for murder.”
“Steaming won’t help the situation either.” Beau was a big man. Tall and muscular, with a mop of blond waves and vivid green eyes. The scent of pine and soap always wafted from him, his softest feature. A true comfort to Jane. He peered down at his phone, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Are you searching for a home?” she asked, pacing faster. He’d been living at a nearby motel, often turning down her offer of the guest room. Something she hated with the heat of a thousand suns. He was a sensitive soul, and he needed—deserved—a home. If he didn’t find a decent dwelling by week’s end, Jane planned to start sneaking house listings into his truck.
“I found a place on Prospect Street for Peach State Security, with an apartment overhead for me. I move in a few days, maybe a week or so. Depends on when the contractors finish with some updates.”
Prospect Street. Wow. The fancy part of town. “That’s wonderful. Why don’t I throw you a housewarming party?”
“No, thank you. Now sit down and let the agents do their jobs. You’re innocent. You’ve done nothing…wrong,” he finished, radiating bafflement.
“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Plus, he’d recently installed infrared cameras around the outside of the house, the different areas of the cemetery and each of the gardens.
Which an agent had asked for. Twice. Jane had panicked and blurted out, “I need to speak with my lawyer.” She had done something wrong–and she had been filmed doing it.
“I have some military friends coming to town at some point,” he said, frowning at his screen. “They served in my unit. They’re considering moving here and working with me. I’ll brief them on the situation when they arrive, if you’re agreeable, and we’ll put them to work patrolling the grounds for a while. Make sure no other corpses show up.”
“Certainly,” she managed to eke out. “I need to speak with you about something. You see, the agents want our camera feed. But—”
“You rifled through Ana’s pockets?” he demanded, his gaze flipping up. “And her purse?”
How did he already—her eyes widened. He was going over the video now. As the chief security officer here, he had total access. So. She should have known. “I, um. Well. I kind of forgot the cameras were recording.” A mistake anyone could have made. Including the killer! “Did you not go over the feed yesterday?”
“I did not. I was busy tracing a hacker. Someone tapped into the footage. I’ve been working to find out who, and if they tampered with anything.”
Jane gasped. “The killer did it.” Because there was no such thing as a coincidence. The violation left her quaking with rage.
Fiona tsk-tsked. “Let’s back up a second. Jane, you searched the murder victim?”
“Um...well...”
“I’m so disappointed in you.” Her friend gave her a mournful shake of her head. “You had plenty of time to tell me everything you found and you didn’t.”
“Do you want to see the pictures?” She reached for her phone.
“Don’t.” Beau glared at Jane, then Fiona, then back to Jane. “Not while the agents are here.”
She winced and wrung her hands. “Speaking of the agents, I basically asked for a lawyer during our last conversation.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” he said. “Always err on the side of caution.”
“Should she give the security feed to Conrad?” Fiona asked. “She might have searched Ana’s things, but she certainly didn’t kill the girl.”
He shook his head. “No. Give me a little more time with it.”
Jane met Beau’s gaze. “Did you happen to see who brought Ana to the porch?”
“She walked by herself.”
What? “You’re joking.” Hurrying over, Jane plopped down at his side and snatched the phone. “Let me see.”
With a press of a few buttons and Ana appeared on the screen, stumbling to the porch, seeming to talk to someone who wasn’t there. She tripped and crashed next to the window, then fell into the rocker, all without making a peep.
“She was most likely drunk?” Or high. “There was no foul play?”
“Let’s hope.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “When Conrad asks, and he will, you checked her for signs of life. Say nothing else. Do you understand?”
