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“Very well. You can crash here for a few weeks. Just until you find your own place. But you must oversee the maintenance of the burial plots while I’m at Conrad’s. It’s temporary, so don’t go getting any ideas about moving in forever. And you can’t dig up anything.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “What! You’re leaving me here alone? With dead people?” She drew in a deep breath before offering a brittle smile. “Never mind. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Thank you for providing me with shelter. I’ll be forever grateful, and I won’t do any digging, I promise.”
“You are welcome,” she replied. Because manners. And also, Tiffany’s appreciation caught her off guard. It was absolutely, beyond any doubt suspicious. Did the widow want something else? “If you’ll excuse me. I have some work and packing to do.” Up first, printing the story Ashley Katz wrote about Deputy Gunn. “Rolex, honey, come with momma.” She strode toward the office in the back of the cottage, afraid to breathe as she waited for the most perfect black cat to give chase.
Only when he bounded her way did she relax. Despite the gruesome murder and flyer incident, this had actually turned out to be a great day. Jane had a couple solid leads, and the Garden had a guardian during her very short-term absence. No question, she would be back. Often. This land was her baby. Her family.
So why did a flame of foreboding suddenly spark deep in her heart?
CHAPTER FOUR
Thou shall always wear the perfect outfit on campaign days, even if it means borrowing from a semi-feral roommate.
–Jane Ladling’s Campaign Companion Code
Jane walked a leashed Rolex over the threshold of Conrad’s bungalow. The future Aurelian Hills sheriff wasn’t far behind, with her small overnight bag hanging from his grip. She paused in the foyer, taking everything in. Conrad’s attention to detail shone through every nook and cranny.
Once marred by scratches and water stains, the hardwood floor now radiated with a rich, lustrous glow. He’d revived the faded hues, the warm tones revealing the natural grain. Bending at the knee, she crouched to run her fingers over the smooth surface. At this angle, she spotted grooves he hadn’t erased. Flaws that only added to the beauty.
He’d painted the walls a muted blue, which surprised her. She’d expected a respectable taupe or beige and had been prepared to flash her veto card. The powdered cornflower fit the home’s past, present and future.
The only furniture came from his apartment. A TV, plus the sofa, love seat and coffee table, each with a smattering of Cheddar’s fur, giving the pieces a homey feel. Carpentry tools and various equipment occupied a far corner.
“You bought a cat tree?” she asked, blinking back tears she never wanted the lawman to see. A three-tiered beauty pressed against a large bay window overlooking the front yard.
Rolex prowled over and clawed to the top. By the time she removed his leash, she’d gained control of her emotions.
“There’s a litter box and feeding station in the guest bedroom,” Conrad explained.
Great! The tears welled again. He was so sweet and kind.
“As you can see, the home is practically a blank canvas requiring your decorating talents.”
Her heart swelled. He’d left the canvas untouched for her, hadn’t he?
Only a plaque and picture hung on the wall. She moved closer for a better look. The engraving read Sheriff Conrad Ryan. Bad Guys Don’t Stand a Chance. A present she’d given him at Christmas. Her chest clenched.
Her gaze slid to the picture, and she gasped. The terrible, wonderful man had actually framed the flyer.
“The map you gifted to me is hanging in my bedroom.” He sidled up and slung an arm over her shoulders. “When you think up my punishment for the flyer,” he said, his tone smooth, “remember I’m a typical guy. I hate snuggling on the couch while watching a movie, long conversations that end with a closer bond, and surprise feasts with our closest friends.” He performed an exaggerated shudder. “Yuck.”
A laugh bubbled from her. She pressed her fingers against her mouth to smother the sound. Encouraging him was not the route she planned to go. “Where’s Cheddar?”
“Spending the night with Wyatt. Rolex can learn the place without a dog trailing his every step.”
Wyatt Murray. His foster brother. And goodness gracious, was there anyone more thoughtful than Conrad?
He kissed her temple. “I want this house to feel like a home to you. Promise me you won’t hesitate to change anything.”
“I promise,” she whispered, a lump growing in her throat.
Rolex meowed loudly, grabbing their attention. The forlorn kitty stared her straight in the eye. Another mournful meow followed. As if…no. No way he missed Tiffany. He must be hungry. Yes, yes. That was it. Jane claimed her bag. “I have his food in here.”
“C’mon, I washed a special bowl for him in the kitchen.”
