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“I overheard Donnie ask Chris if he wanted to play a video game, which made me think of the game in the killer’s manuscript, but other than that, zilch.”
As the lawman read the chapter, Jane decided it was time to go back to the beginning.
“Is what you shared about my attacker being tall and lean true, or something you were told to say?” she asked Lucy.
“True. He demanded I lay low, but I decided to take a chance, hoping you’d get further in the investigation than me.”
Beau joined them at the table. “No cameras. One hidden doorway, which is the entrance and exit to the outside she mentioned. Soundproof walls.”
Conrad nodded, then started reading again. As soon as they received Abigail’s laptop from Mason, they could do a comparison of stories and writing styles.
“Do you have any idea who’s behind the murders?” Lucy asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Yes and no.” Did Jane believe everything the woman had said? She, well, kind of… did. Which either meant she was growing as a person, or she’d lost her edge and wasn’t suspicious enough. Hopefully this trust wouldn’t come back to bite her a second time. “There must be a way to draw the killer out into the open, protect Conrad and save Cartier. If the original murderer is still alive and playing games.” The recently deceased Jacob Thacker remained uncrossed off her list.
An idea peeked from the mire of her thoughts, swirling inside her head, and her jaw slackened. Oh, wow. It was an amazing, wild, dangerous, magnificent plan. A mouse trap with a smorgasbord of cheese. But she would need the cooperation of all her friends. If anything went wrong…
Jane nibbled on her bottom lip. There’d be trouble. But. If everything went right…
“What?” Conrad asked, as if he’d caught the barest hint of her idea.
“Yeah. What are you thinking?” Beau demanded. “Because you’re wearing your evil villain face again.”
Lucy nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. “I’m kind of terrified of you right now.”
Jane looked between her friends, her determination solidifying. Yes, they were gonna do this. “If we want to catch the killer, Lucy has to die.”
* * *
Lucy Chang, beloved daughter, sister and cat mother.
Please join us for a celebration of life on April 6th at 2:30 in the afternoon at Garden of Memories, Aurelian Hills, Georgia.
Jane donned her favorite funeral attire, a calf-length black mourning dress with a high, boxy neckline and graceful skirt. A black sash of silk cinched her waist. She plopped a wide-brimmed hat on top of her hair, adjusting the netting to just below her brows while peering at a full-length mirror in her bedroom at Garden of Memories.
The day had come to lay Lucy Chang to rest. Her precious friend, gone far too soon. Murdered in the Treasure Room by either the original killer or a copycat. No one really knew, the entire case in shambles. Blah, blah. Jane sniffled and dabbed at her eyes.
“I almost believe you’re in mourning, sweetheart,” Conrad said from his post on the bed, with Cheddar the Cheese Man curled up beside him. Rolex enjoyed his cat hammock by the window, surveying all the activity taking place around him.
Wearing a perfectly pressed suit, her fiancé stretched across her lilac patchwork quilt, completely at ease amongst her discarded hats. “Also, you are the most beautiful woman ever born.”
“Thank you.” The corners of her lips lifted, and she stomped her foot. “But you’re ruining my somber demeanor, and I’m minutes away from presiding over Lucy’s memorial.”
Since her friend’s “death” three days ago, Jane’s plan had gone off without a hitch. Honestly, the hardest part was convincing Conrad to announce another murder in a town decidedly skittish from the rash of previous murders.
Somehow, Trick had swiftly arranged for a fake coroner to wheel Lucy out of the Treasure Room under the guise of transporting her body to a morgue. Christopher must have seen all the hubbub before he got home from the store or heard about it online, because he never sent the promised map. Only a note of condolence.
Conrad had officially questioned him and the other two firefighters who’d been at the grocery store the day of Hannah’s murder, but they’d claimed to have stuck together the entire time, no one wandering off for an extended period, which knocked them out of the running for good.
Holden had been guarding Lucy inside a safe house ever since. All the while, Jane did her best to epitomize the grieving friend.
Propped against the pillows, Conrad reviewed the manuscript Mason had finally turned over to AHPD, written by Abigail. Jane had tried to read Abigail’s work, she really had, but four chapters in she’d had to admit defeat and render a DNF grade, two thumbs down, zero stars, pure drivel. But different drivel than Grave Actually. Deputies had yet to find anything actually written by Jacob alone.
“The voice for this story doesn’t match the chapters left by the killer, or the co-written manuscript Christopher turned in,” Conrad observed.
“Well, Grave Actually is so poorly written, it could be part of the game rather than a serious work. We’ll find out.”
Soon they would get copies of Maggie’s individual work. The warrant had come in. Her electronics were seized, but so far nothing had been found. Which made no sense. Didn’t authors keep backups of their backups? Jane certainly did.
