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“I found that on the floor of your hearse when I drove it home from the Treasure Room,” Trick said after swallowing another bite.
“So it’s not from Fee?”
“I figured you dropped it.” He went still. “Did you not?”
“Nope. This is the first time I've seen it.” Jane slipped her finger into the gap of the envelope.
The guys jumped to their feet in unison, practically leaping over the counter as they shouted, “Don’t!” and “No!” Too late. She’d already opened it. A bouquet of black paper roses popped out, glitter raining to the floor. Her stomach dropped when she noticed cut out magazine letters spelled the sentence: Get ready. This fun is killer!
Foreboding prickled the back of her neck. Was this from the murderer? Meant as a threat? A taunt? But why change things up and go with a red envelope instead of purple? To throw her off?
Yeah. To throw her off. The game was in full swing.
At her side, Beau scrubbed a hand over his face. “I failed at my job today. What if the paper had been laced with some kind of poison powder, Jane?”
“You aren’t the only one who failed,” Trick replied, his tone flat.
So. Jane was the killer’s focus, not Conrad. She held the proof in her hands. And she was relieved. Better her than the lawman. Suck it, family curse!
This development solidified her certainty that each of her theories had merit. But. The colored envelopes and cut out letters suggested someone obsessed with words and imagery. Who in this town would fixate on such details? Well, a writer, of course. This murder was definitely probably committed by someone in the club. And Jane was about to be their next member.
CHAPTER SIX
Liberate your narrative soul with an abundance of flashbacks. Consider your story an enthralling puzzle assembled piece by piece with clips from the past.
Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers
by Tabby Paynes-Murksand
“That’s different,” Conrad said, staring at the rollaround board Jane wheeled into her living room.
Rolex meowed loudly, as if to agree.
“Thank you.” Jane had spent the night building her characters and drafting an outline for her novel, doing far more than she’d expected. “I brainstormed everything that will happen in my book except the ending, outlined the cast and even crafted the most sublime setting. And it’s all brilliant, if I do say so myself.”
Conrad’s eyes got big as he looked over her notes. “Your plotting reminds me of your casework. A mental connect the dots inside a maze scattered throughout three different dimensions.”
“Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ve realized solving a murder and plotting a book are pretty much exactly the same. Suspect everyone of everything. Except…”
“Go on.” He handed her a cup of coffee.
Breathing in its fresh scent, she stared hard at the board. The list of questions. The lines and arrows. “I mentioned my lack of ending. It must be perfect. But who’s the real killer? How do I write the big reveal?”
He kissed her temple. “If there’s something I’m certain of, you’ll figure it out.”
Warmth spread through her. She’d also penned chapter one. After having an in-depth conversation with a tree, a hotshot detective who’d never let a dead client down stumbled upon five bodies. The words had flowed from her as easily as breathing.
Conrad motioned to a list of questions she’d written, reading aloud, “What’s the killer’s endgame? Why is Grave Actually heroine the ultimate kill? Revenge? Fun and games? Prison rules in action? The ole defeat the town’s greatest expert sleuth to prove you’re the hottest new murderer in town? What should I serve guests at the wedding reception? Is a blueberry pancake feeding station possible?” He turned to her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’ve mixed your personal life with the case.”
She blinked tired, burning eyes and hid a yawn. “Yeah, I think that happened around three in the morning. Things began to mesh.”
“Your dream of a blueberry pancake feeding station is absolutely possible. It’s our wedding day. You should have whatever you want.”
No words in the English language had ever sounded so wonderful tied together. “Fiona will already have so many duties as matron of honor.” But was Jane certain Fiona was her first pick for matron of honor? Gah! She didn’t know. Something held her back, but what?
“Drink your coffee.” Conrad’s happy command pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m meeting Maggie Johnson this morning, and you’re coming with me. We’re partners today.”
“You just don’t want to let me out of your sight,” she said, stretching. He’d been uber protective since she’d discovered the card in her vehicle. After showing up with a deputy to collect it, he’d asked a ton of questions, then assigned an officer to drive by her residence for the rest of the day. But this worked out in her favor. Actually meeting with Maggie via police business was better than making an appointment to service the hearse.
