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With a chuckle, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. As he traced the pads of his thumbs against her cheeks, he said, “Unfortunately, I can’t give you my heart in return tonight, since you already own it. I love you, too, Jane Eleanor Ladling. Have since the moment I met you.”
“I know,” she croaked, pushing the admission past a lump in her throat. “You were helpless against my charms.”
“As helpless as you were against my muscles.”
She snorted, but he wasn’t wrong. But now there was no going back. She’d voiced her feelings, poking and prodding at the curse, her biggest enemy. Whatever punches it threw next, she must remain strong.
“For the record, you were right. Your gift blew mine out of the water.” Conrad kissed her lips once, twice, then straightened and released her. “Are you ready to prove or disprove the charge that Thomas Bennett killed Deputy Gunn and shot at me?”
“You mean the Case of the Officer and the Non-Gentleman? The Gentleman Who Preferred Cons? Cemetery Girl Buries A Gentleman?” Wow, her best titles yet. She was getting good at this. Though she longed to return to his embrace, she rubbed her hands together. First things first. “I’m more than ready.” His life was at stake, and she wouldn’t stop until she found the answers she sought.
“Good. Then get changed.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re used to solving crime at a party while dressed up, yes? From ballgowns to eighties pop stars.” He strode to the couch, where a stack of clothing waited. His clothing. A white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. The fluffy socks were new, however. As were the black slippers with cat faces. “This costume is called Pawvite Investigator Comfortable at Home,” he told her with a wink.
“You rock so hard.” Jane practically soared through the clouds as she made her way to the bathroom, where she donned the “uniform.” As comfy, cozy as Tiffany now, she rejoined Conrad in the living room.
He pointed to an array of her favorite snacks and drinks on the sideboard in the dining room. “Cheddar is spending the night with Wyatt again, so you can put anything anywhere and it won’t get shredded.” He handed her Truth Be Told and a pen. “There’s some good stuff waiting for your attention, including the police report from the car accident that took Oliver Bennett’s life.”
“Allegedly.”
“What information wasn’t available to the public, I recreated from memory.” He gave her a mug with Hers scrawled across the center, then picked up a mug bearing the word His. “Hot chocolate for you, coffee for me.”
“You thought of everything.”
She sipped her drink as she studied photos and files, immersing herself in case details big and small. How much time passed, she didn’t know. Didn’t care. Well, she did care when she accidentally took a swig of Conrad’s bitter black coffee rather than her decadently sweet hot chocolate. How he enjoyed motor oil, she would never know.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing to a paper with chicken scratch in the margins.
“A copy of a copy of a printout Deputy Gunn possessed. He copied it at work, took it home, and wrote notes we did our best to decipher.” Her boyfriend tapped each handwritten section, explaining, “Because he suspected Oliver Bennett of being the Gentleman, Gunn noted ways the young man could have faked his death.”
Hmm. The reasoning made sense, but only as long as Tom resurrected his brother to assume his identity. Still. Something niggled at the back of Jane’s brain.
She set the page nearby and examined others. Reading. Thinking. Comparing.
Those two bullet holes in the deputy’s wall. Tom had the gun, but had he made the shots?
What was with the hair? Who was that danged mystery brunette?
What did that top hat photo mean? On Deputy Gunn’s makeshift murder board, Oliver Bennett was the only person with a symbol.
When Conrad wheeled out a surprise skein of yarn, a box of markers and a white board topped with a pink bow, she practically jumped up and down. This man checked all her boxes and lit all her wicks. After giving him a hug, she promptly went back to work.
As Jane meticulously arranged photos on the board, securing them with magnets, leaving notations along the way, she asked, “What do you think of Tom as a person?”
Conrad’s expression turned thoughtful. “He’s an extreme opportunist who uses people to get whatever he desires. His job put him in the path of wealthy socialites who unwittingly spilled family secrets while imbibing too much. But there’s a big leap from skeeze to murderer. He had a good thing going. Why risk it?”
As usual, her boyfriend made total sense. “It feels as if we’ve got a suspect with motive and evidence, scant though it may be, but the bow on this present is crooked and the side of the box has dents.” She stared at Tom’s photo. “Everything is off.”
