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)
As she moved, she sped from one pane to another. Anthony Miller followed her, as expected, but did nothing else. Intending to catch her in the midst of an illicit act? She used her cell phone as a flashlight, hastily scanning the cobblestone paths, flowerbeds, and dirt. A few times, she paused to pick up and discard a small rock.
“Whatever she’s searching for is no bigger than a penny, is my guess” Barrow observed.
Conrad experienced an explosion of clarity. She was the killer. He knew it. Felt it. All the little things added up. An arrival to town shortly after the museum debuted its exhibit. Being called hon. The gold hunting partner known as honeybun. The fleur-de-lys symbol, and her dismissal of the gold rumors. Offering a multitude of other suspects, even at the risk of spotlighting herself. Adding Jane’s name to the list of possible lovers to complicate matters. Whittington hadn’t checked out a treasure hunting book from the library as Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Waynes-Kirkland had done, but why would she need to? A seasoned treasure hunter kept a collection at home.
Maybe she’d done it to fund her cancer research. If she researched. Maybe she craved the hunt.
On the screen, Whittington jumped and spun in Mr. Miller’s direction. Detected him at last? The moment she heard the ruckus caused by fighting guests, she jerked into action, racing back to Autumn Grove, accidentally leaving her jacket behind.
“That’s it,” Barrow said. “Want to see it again?”
“No need.” A scenario played through Conrad’s head. Whittington and Hotchkins bonded over their mutual love of treasure hunting. They joined forces and romantic feelings developed. Because Hotchkins. Then she discovered his exam room brothel. When he dug up Rhonda Burgundy’s grave and found a nugget, she snapped. In a fit of rage, she hit him with a crowbar. After watching him die, realization set in. She could go to prison for the rest of her life.
Before the installation of cameras, the couple must have cased the cemetery on multiple occasions, learning the direction of various paths, noting when Jane closed the gate and went to bed. Conrad ground his molars at the thought of her unwitting vulnerability. Time of death was just after one, and Jane hadn’t started morning rounds until sunup. That had given Whittington several hours to clean up any evidence and wipe away footprints. In the process, she lost the gold nugget. Like any treasure hunter worth her salt, she’d wanted it back, no matter the risk.
“It’s Whittington. I’m confident,” he told Barrow. “Jane is with her.” He didn’t stick around to debate the finer points of his conclusion, just ran for his car and jumped behind the wheel.
Lights flashing, he sped along the roads. Luckily most of the town’s residents still congregated at the Garden, freeing up the streets. He radioed Hightower, who led the team keeping watch over Jane, Whittington, and Miller. “Stay ready.” Jane is with Beau. She’ll be okay. “At the first hint of trouble, sweep in. I have reason to believe Caroline Whittington killed Hotchkins.”
“We’re in the parking lot,” Hightower said. “The group is inside, and the medical center is locked.”
A safety precaution, or sinister preplanning? “Break the lock,” he instructed. “Do whatever you need to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Conrad arrived minutes later, just as an agent kicked in the door. Wood and debris flew as the entrance gave way. He palmed a weapon and went in directly behind Hightower.
No sign of anyone in the lobby. Or the hall. Twelve closed exam rooms. The other agents swept the corridor, entering one space after another in perfect precision, just as they’d learned at the academy. Slow and steady. Too slow.
Screw that. Conrad shouted, “Jane!”
Metal clanged ahead. There. He rushed forward and burst into a room, aiming his weapon and scanning the area. Beau lay on the floor, out cold. Jane perched at an odd angle on the exam table, her body seemingly boneless. Drugged? Whittington held a pair of scissors to her throat, using her patient as a threat.
His every muscle tensed. Fear flooded him. The other agents rushed in, flanking his sides.
Conrad needed to help her. To do that, he must first calm. Deep breath in. Out. Focus. He went cold and steady. “Let her go,” he commanded the other woman. “Hurting her will only make things worse for you.”
Whittington released a series of desperate, shallow breaths. “I’m leaving with her. I’ll drop her off somewhere once I’m safe.”
Only if he were dead. “No, ma’am, you are not leaving here with her. There is no scenario where I allow you to harm her and escape, either. Letting her go is your best chance of having a future.”
Jane’s fingers twitched, and she gasped. “Conrad.”
There was no stopping his gaze as it zoomed to hers.
She beamed a radiant smile at him, so confident in her ability to overcome. “I’ve got this. Trust me.”