Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
When the coughing ceased, a series of meows started up. “Mommy heard you already, baby. No reason to repeat yourself a third time. I’ll—” Click.
Not wanting to miss a call—please be another call—he kept his phone near the bathroom stall as he showered. At the office, in between interviews and a conversation with the boss, he double and triple checked to make sure the ringer operated at full volume. Just in case. Toward the end of his workday, he set up a meeting with Anthony Miller for the following week (finally), but Jane hadn’t called.
For the good of the case, Conrad contacted her.
“—turn this alarm off?” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“Jane, it’s Conrad,” he began, everything suddenly right in his world. “I need to visit the Garden today to place—”
“Oh, there’s the button,” she muttered. “Sleepy night-night time now.” Click.
Snort. With a crew in tow, Conrad drove to the Garden to set up hidden cameras around Muffin’s headstone just in case the murderer returned for the crowbar. He parked beside a truck, sent the agents to the site, and knocked on the door, but Jane never responded. Sleeping too deeply?
“She’s dead to the world when the medicine kicks in.” The flatly uttered statement came from his right.
Conrad turned to find a shirtless, sweating Beau striding past the porch, hauling a piece of timber. The man’s level of aggression hadn’t faded, but no matter. Whether Beau liked it or not, Jane saw him as a sibling; he stood no chance with her.
“What are your intentions toward her?” Beau asked as he hefted the wood into the back of his truck.
Conrad arched a brow. “That isn’t any of your business, now, is it?”
“I’ve been hired as her chief security officer. Everything about her safety is my business.”
Speaking of her safety, Conrad told him, “She mentioned people are coming out here to examine the crime scene.”
“Don’t worry. They don’t stay for long,” Beau assured him. His biceps flexed as he wiped a rag over his face. “I protect her. I’ll always protect her. I came back to be with her.”
Okay, they’d do this here and now. “I don’t care what you came back to do. Your intentions won’t stop me from doing what I want.”
The other man studied him in silence. “You feel it when you look at her, don’t you?”
No reason to pretend to misunderstand. “The peace? Yeah. I do.”
“Figured.” The stiffness left Beau as he heaved a sigh. “You won’t take her for granted, at least.” That said, he climbed into the truck and drove off.
A concession? With a lighter step, Conrad joined his coworkers at Muffin’s headstone.
Jane’s next call arrived on the drive back to the office. She said, “You are so sweet, and I miss you so much. Bring me Daisy’s soon,” then hung up.
After that, she rang him throughout the day, and yes, whenever possible he stopped what he was doing to answer. He met both the rage monster and the diaper baby, as well as the quirky gravekeeper with no filter. His top five favorite Jane-isms, in no particular order:
“Why, why, why will no one bring me chicken noodle soup? Do they not understand I’m in the process of dying?”
“Oh! Colds are the worst, and I’m just so jazzed. So jazzed! Avenge me, Conrad. No mercy!”
“You know what’s criminal? You in a shirt.”
“Rolex’s new name is Pickles Dee Licious. I guess that makes me Sweet Pepper Divine.”
“Bet you ten bazillion dollars I’ll solve the case before you do.”
Her sleuthing wasn’t going to stop. Noted. Perhaps there was a way to involve her in the case without putting her in any danger. If the little history buff knew more about the gold than she realized, she could be a huge help and feel useful while scoring him major points.
Before heading home for the evening, Conrad dropped by Ms. Randall’s office. Perfect timing. The receptionist had already left, and the office door was open. He stopped in the frame and knocked.
The older woman glanced up from a file on her desk. “Tell me you’re here with a solve on the Hotchkins case,” she demanded, following the question with an impatient wave of her fingers.
“I’m still filling in the pieces. The gold remains a top motive, despite the doctor’s legion of lovers. That’s the reason I’d like to share certain details with Jane Ladling, the owner of Garden of Memories. Things we’ve held back from the public.”
Ms. Randall lifted a brow before returning her attention to the file. “Explain your logic.”
“First, she’s not a suspect. Second, we've hit a brick wall with the Order of Seven, the town’s rumored secret society. And third, her ancestor was a founding member. As a bonus fourth, her home is considered a burial site for much of the gold.”
“So what is it you think she knows?” Ms. Randall leaned back in her chair and joined her fingers over her middle, the file now forgotten.