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She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’ve got to dial down your level of menace, at least.”
Why? “I want everyone to know I’m here, and I’m watching.” He exaggerated a scowl, earning a sigh from her.
“I hate this,” Beau muttered.
“So you’ve said.” Exasperation layered Jane’s voice. “Six times.”
“Have I mentioned how much I like your new look?” Conrad asked the other man, doing his best to deadpan.
Beau crossed his arms. “Shut it. I make bad look good.”
“I have the same garments in different colors,” Jane told Conrad. “If you’d prefer to be co-groundskeeper for the night, I’ll grab them.”
Not for ten million dollars and a get out of jail free card with Rolex. “Hard pass.”
Mrs. Hotchkins joined the crowd, walking into his line of sight. He studied her. The woman reminded him of a wounded bird. Embarrassed, betrayed, and helpless, yet still grief-stricken over the man who’d caused her heartache.
“See?” Jane squealed, noticing the widow. “It’s working. I just got my first big break. I’m now relatively certain there’s someone in town who didn’t do the crime.”
She’d acquitted Tiffany Hotchkins? Why? Because of the widow’s sadness?
Did anyone have a heart as soft as Jane’s?
Movement in the crowd drew his notice. People parted like the Red Sea, allowing Abigail Waynes-Kirkland to beeline toward the widow. The two women embraced and linked arms in solidarity.
Conrad’s phone vibrated again.
Barrow: Caroline Whittington is parking. Dr. Garcia and his family just pulled into the lot. Emma Miller and her ex aren’t far behind.
Was a killer soon to enter their midst? Or were they already mingling with the guests?
Tensing, Conrad leaned down to put his lips directly over Jane’s ear. “This is still a terrible idea.”
Far from convinced, she smirked without even glancing at him. “You’ll change your tune when I solve the entire case later tonight.”
“Oh, you’re resolving everything tonight, are you?” Do not smile. Do not!
“Yes, sir. I am.” To the crowd, she grinned and waved. “Hello and welcome to a night sure to haunt your memories for eternity.”
Whittington joined the throng, easy to spot in a bright yellow jacket. Hmm. A jacket. In the summer heat. Why? Unlike him, she wasn’t carrying a concealed weapon. Was she?
As soon as the Garcias reached the area, the physician assistant sidled toward them.
Mrs. Miller wasn’t far behind with Mr. Miller at her side. Were they trying to present a picture of solidarity? Too bad; they were failing. Both sported terse faces, their movements awkward.
The nurse wore all black and gloves. Gloves. Planning to touch something she shouldn’t?
He texted Fiona: Even closer to the kick off.
The noise level grew in volume, and Conrad caught snippets of whispered conversations. Jane’s name came up multiple times. His name too. Speculating on the special agent’s relationship with the “cemetery girl?” He was unbothered by their conjecture—until he noticed Jane’s rising upset. Her breathing quickened, the color draining from her cheeks. Tension breached her air of calm, the greatest crime of all. He almost swooped her into his arms and carried her away.
What had caused this kind of fear?
Needing to do something, he stepped into her personal space and gathered her close, acting as an anchor. “Jane. Focus on me. Breathe in. Out. Good. Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress? The hat is…not terrible.”
His attempt at humor did the trick, and she laughed softly.
Much better. “Calm now?” he asked, relieved but still confused.
Determined, she nodded and lifted her chin as a clock tower gonged in the distance. Midnight.
Tour time.
Ignore the dropping sensation in your stomach. For her sake.
Jane raised her chin another notch. “All right boys, it’s showtime.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Protect what you love. If you don’t, you have no one but yourself to blame when you lose it.
–A Gravekeeper’s Guide to Dating
Conrad braced for what came next.
As graceful as a ballerina, Jane lifted the lantern and glided to the edge of the dais. “Welcome, foolish mortals,” she called, then exaggerated a wince. “I mean, brave souls. I suggest you gird your loins, for you are soon to meet the spirits that haunt this cemetery, and there’s no turning back.” With her free hand, she reached into her pocket to clasp the keypad Beau had given her. Evidenced by the sudden flood of light all around. Right on cue, as if she’d collaborated with nature, a burst of wind blustered through the trees, rustling the limbs.
When sounds of distress rose from the masses, she practically preened. She’d hit her groove, and he loved every second of it.
“Are you ready to enter into the land of the dead?” She thrust the lantern at Conrad without glancing his way, expecting him to act.
He fought a grin—a common occurrence in her presence.
And she wasn’t done. She held out her hands, encouraging both him and Beau to aid her descent from the dais. But they didn’t move fast enough for her liking. From the side of her mouth, she whispered fiercely, “Help me!”
