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Fiona, a frequent guest at the cottage, went straight to the kitchen to get started on those cakes. Tiffany got busy picking up the fallen papers. Beau sank onto the couch to answer business emails. When Rolex made his grand entrance, trotting around a corner, he aimed directly for Tiffany. The widow scooped him up and gave him all the kisses he desired. And he desired many, apparently. He purred and soaked up the attention.
Jane felt as if a million needles knifed her entire body, and she wasn’t exaggerating or being dramatic. To see her first fur-child grow into a gorgeous young man mature enough to gift his affections to another woman, well, it was as awful as it was wonderful. Her heart overflowed with love, joy and hurt. What about me?
“I have a meeting in town after breakfast, followed by lunch with Conrad,” she announced, walking over to shower Rolex with her kisses. If cats could blush with embarrassment and give their mothers a look, he did. “Since no one needs me–” she paused, waiting, but no protests erupted. Very well. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”
“Don’t worry. Rolex and I will be great,” the widow said without a care. “Right, sugar pie?”
Sugar pie? As if such a distinguished gentlecat would ever agree to such a squishy nickname.
“What meeting?” Beau asked, frowning at Jane. “And why did your tone go all super villainy when you mentioned it?”
“Don’t be silly. My tone was as sweet as usual. And I’ll tell you all about the meeting tomorrow.” So far, she’d only told Conrad. Her friends would insist on coming, and she was nervous enough already.
Amid Beau’s groans and protests, Jane made her way upstairs. She shut herself in her room, showered, and donned a three-quarter sleeve fit and flare dress that provided lasting coverage in case the temperature dropped. March in Georgia was fickle. To complete the look, she grabbed a hat. The trim around the brim matched the lilac print of her dress. Perfect, yes, but was it perfect enough?
The most astounding thing had happened. Jane recently received a fancy gold embossed invitation to speak at a hush-hush murder mystery book club for writers. The gig came with a promise of twenty dollars! Considering she might be the foremost unofficial detective around here, well, she was obviously going to dazzle.
They probably hoped she would share trade secrets. The whole town must wonder how Jane had solved the murder of the doctor. And the journalist. Then the attorney. And the deputy. She’d even found her however-many-greats grandfather’s body and proved her however-many-greats grandmother did the deed. Death was Jane’s business, after all, and lately business had been good. Metaphorically speaking, anyway.
In reality, Garden of Memories had welcomed no new residents for years. No new steady income streams, either. She operated on a small family trust. With an unforgettable wedding to finance, Jane needed all the extra cash she could get. She planned to save where she could, of course. Wear Grandma Lily’s dress. Say the vows here at the Garden. Use the flowers cultivated on the grounds. But Rolex, the ring bearer, and Cheddar, the flower boy slash Conrad’s corgi, deserved designer tuxes. And what food should she serve at the reception? Someone had to pay for the ingredients.
Eek! One question led to others. Who should walk Jane down the aisle? Not her father, who hadn’t cared enough to call her in forever. Not that it bothered her. Nope. Not even a little.
What about Beau? No, he couldn’t walk her down the aisle and be a bridesmaid. Decisions, decisions. Which must be made soon.
She and Conrad agreed to move quickly. To rip off a bandage, so to speak. But in a good way. Mainly so she wouldn’t get scared and bolt. Not that she would. When she made up her mind, she never, ever, ever changed it more than a few times. It was just, even though she had overcome a lot in their time together, the past sometimes reared its ugly head, reminding her of the childhood rejection by her parents. How she’d been plagued by a love curse most of her life. Spent years friendless when Beau moved out of state. Though she’d always had her precious Fiona, who’d helped her when she’d lost her beloved Pops and Grandma Lily.
Jane blinked back tears and swiped up her cell phone. This wasn’t a day for sadness but celebration. Oh! Texts from Conrad, Wyatt his foster brother, and Susan, the boys’ favorite foster mother.
Agent Spice: If you bring the leftover peach BBQ chicken casserole, I’ll unbutton the top of my shirt and roll up my sleeves so you can leer at me.
Her pulse raced. A peek at his chest… a prolonged glance at those strong, tattooed forearms with a light dusting of dark hair… She fanned her cheeks, then typed, Deal! Now stop distracting me.
Before she got lost staring at her ring again, she forced her attention to Wyatt’s message.
Why Guy: Did Conrad tell you the great news? I’m his best man! That means the bachelor party is my baby. But I gotta know my hard limits for the “camping” trip I’m planning.
Camping? And why put the word in quotes? Whatever the answer, Jane barely suppressed a full body shudder. Already her mind filled with images of deadly spiders, hungry bear and vengeful snakes. Her response should probably wait until after she’d pondered how best to say IF MY BELOVED RETURNS COVERED IN TICKS, I WILL MURDER YOU AND NOT EVEN CONRAD WILL BE ABLE TO SOLVE THE CASE without sounding violent or mean. Moving on.
MommaSue: I’m guessing you and Conrad weren’t the mysterious lottery winner of Aurelian Hills, so I entered your name into one or two, just a handful really, wedding raffles and such. No biggie. Hope you don’t mind.
Jane fired off a meaningful note of appreciation to the dear woman. And when had Susan started hanging out on the Headliner? Whatever. Jane shot a quick, final text to Conrad, who didn’t need to date around to know his heart, thank you.
By the way, you love me SO MUCH. In case you didn’t realize.
His reply came only a few seconds later.
Agent Spice: Sweetheart, the love I have for you cannot be measured. It is infinite, and I’ll prove it.
Jane: With a poem?
The world’s most romantic form of communication.
Agent Spice: Roses are red, violets are blue. Bring me the casserole and make my life whole. How’s that? Also, stop reading the Headliner.
See? Dreamy. Grinning, Jane grabbed her purse, stuffed her phone, the club invitation, and her wedding journal inside, then gave her wide-brimmed hat a tweak. A plan formed as she made her way downstairs. Enjoy pancakes with her dearest friends, attend her cool new writer’s club, wowing everyone with her expertise, then brainstorm the most brilliant non-yoga ideas for making money at a cemetery before astounding Conrad with details about each.
This was going to be an amazing day. She was sure of it.
