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Who did Jane believe? The deputy who’d also accused her of being a possible murderer or the guy suspected of conning older women out of their money?
“Where were you Saturday morning?” Conrad asked.
“With someone. I stayed the night at her place.”
“What’s her name?” Conrad persisted, but Bennetts remained silent. “She’s your alibi, so you can’t keep the information secret if you hope to escape charges.”
The bartender popped his jaw. “Jessica Thacker. But I don’t think she’ll willingly share details pertaining to our time together. I snuck in while the husband snored in bed.”
Oh, ick. Wait. The mayor’s wife had slept with Bennett? The married woman who spent her days reading to children at the library and planting trees for the Aurelian Hills Beautification Project had fallen for Tom Cat’s charm?
Jane planned on asking the woman directly. “I hope you don’t know the Gentleman. He killed once, and threatened to do it again, starting with anyone connected to this case.” At least, that was what the letter sent to Ashley Katz inferred, in Jane’s humble opinion.
Any lingering color in Bennett’s face drained, leaving him ghostly. “I don’t know the Gentleman,” he insisted. He shook his head for emphasis. “If you’ll excuse me, break time is over.”
He stomped off.
“Vote Conrad Ryan for sheriff!” Jane called, but he was already gone.
“Somewhere in that mess is the truth,” Conrad muttered. “But he’s definitely afraid of something. Or someone.”
“Yes. And that someone seems to be the Gentleman he knows nothing about.” She thought for a moment. “I bet Gunn’s estranged daughter, Madeline, could help us shed some light on the situation.”
“Possibly.”
As they re-entered the lounge, Jane’s gaze shot to the Thacker’s table. Well, well, well. The couple was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Always be camera ready, even if your guy isn’t in the picture.
–Jane Ladling’s Campaign Companion Code
Later that night–far later–Jane shifted her gaze to Conrad. A smile bloomed. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, his hair tousled, his expression boyish. Long lashes cast spiky shadows over his cheeks. The dark stubble on his jaw had thickened, and she yearned to graze her fingertips over the prickle.
When they stopped at the cottage earlier today, before returning to his bungalow, she’d picked up a few essentials. The quilt her grandmother sewed. A stack of her favorite hats. Her knitting supplies. Framed pictures of the people dearest to her. One with Fiona, Grandma Lily, and Jane’s Pops, Gary, the other with Jane, Conrad and Rolex.
The quilt now draped Conrad, keeping him toasty warm while Jane sat cross-legged on the floor, a laptop balanced on the coffee table. Cheddar was curled up next to her, snoozing like his father.
Rolex, the little darling, had chosen to remain at the cottage with Tiffany. Jane swallowed a whisper. She’d called and called and called for him on her way out the door, but he’d merely stared at her from the widow’s lap. A travesty she refused to consider until later. Much later. At the moment, she was scouring social media sites for Thomas “Tom Cat” Bennett, Madeline Gunn, the Gentleman, Ashley Katz, Robert and Jessica Thacker, and Denise Allen.
Tom enjoyed posting shirtless photos of himself with “inspirational” messages that had nothing to do with his pose, location or the state of his undress. Gems like: “Remember to breathe.” “Leap because ambition gives you wings.” “Fly even when physics disagrees.” What he didn’t post? Anything connected to drugs or the Gentleman. He didn’t even include pictures of women. Nothing with the alleged sugar mommas or Madeline. But something Jane did find interesting were his posts featuring a countdown. Why did he do this?
As for Madeline herself, Jane learned she was a mortician who worked at Aurelian Hills Cemetery. The worst place on Earth! They drove golf carts over their plots and didn’t take the opinions of their residents seriously.
Every day, Madeline shared intimate details of her life. Places she went, foods she ate, people she saw, doctors she visited. Guys she dated. But for some reason, there were no mentions of Tom. Why not advertise their relationship as she’d done with everyone else? No mention of her father’s death, either. In fact, her updates since his passing seemed more upbeat than usual.
In many of the most recent over shares, she referred to a dude she’d once dated as “the Forbidden Fruit.” A subtle reference to Tom, perhaps? Because he worked for a mobster? Because her father hated him? Or both?
According to Madeline, the Forbidden Fruit cheated often, only cared for money and lied constantly. A description that very much jived with Tiffany’s opinion of Tom Cat. A man like that wouldn’t hesitate to kill the deputy for endangering his livelihood.
Oh, oh! In one thread, Madeline mentioned getting a cut and color from none other than Denise Allen. How interesting. The deputy’s estranged daughter spent an hour with the deputy’s (ex)girlfriend. What if the two discussed ways to off him? But what would be their motive?
