Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Jane: A moment of insanity?
Juniverse: Have you heard anything about a love curse? Mom keeps mentioning it.
Nope, not touching that one.
Fionality: …
Come on, Fee!
Tiffinator: Can you DIY distressed ink?
Jane knew what those words meant, but all together in a sentence, they made no sense.
Trickster: You owe me a feast of casseroles for dealing with Tiffany. I’ve been to the Cave of Wonders Hobby Shop three times. Three. How much cardstock does one woman need?
Though Jane hated defending Tiffany, a woman needed several packs of cardstock. Different shades, different weights, different patterns.
Trickster: And she’s convinced she’s seeing aspirations in Autumn Grove.
Trickster: *apparitions
Autumn Grove? Hardly. That section of the cemetery was steeped in tranquility.
Jane: For the hundredth time, the Garden isn’t haunted.
Fionality: Molly Gallaway called my pancakes subpar!
Jane: How dare she! No falser claim has ever been made in history!
Conrad returned, his frown still in place and seemingly set in stone.
Her heart skipped a beat, everything else forgotten. “What’s wrong?”
“Jacob Thacker was killed in his home last night.”
CHAPTER TEN
An abundance of foreshadowing is a cheat sheet for your reader. They will love you for your transparency.
Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers
by Tabby Paynes-Murksand
Jane entered Jacob Thacker’s home directly behind Conrad. Built in the Tudor revival style that had inexplicably taken hold in the late 1940s, the steeply pitched roof cast long shadows over the lawn. He’d inherited the place from his grandmother and had done little updating to the compact foyer. An old hatstand waited by the door, and pictures of relatives from bygone centuries graced the walls.
Deputies sporting crime scene protective gear worked to process the scene, placing plastic numbers here and there, dusting for fingerprints and taking photos to document everything. Billy McCullough, the coroner, crouched beside the body, his lips in a grim line.
Conrad offered Jane a pair of latex gloves and a pair of booties, but she turned down the first and donned her own. His were a little too big; the reason she kept a baggy with multiple pairs of a smaller size inside her purse. And they were pink! Because crime solving didn’t have to be drab. She pulled the paper booties over her shoes.
One of Conrad’s newest hires, Deputy Poteet, stopped in her tracks upon spotting Jane, surprised. Then she shrugged and hurried on to do her job. Jane’s murder solve rate in this town was unsurpassed.
She scanned the home’s finer details as she moved through it. Framed candid shots of Maggie and Abigail decorated a long side table. Other book club members graced a few of the images, but not many. To Jane’s surprise, there were more pictures of Abigail than Maggie. She wondered…
Had Jacob cast Abigail those longing glances, rather than Maggie? The two women had been side by side.
Maybe his death had nothing to do with Jane and the game of cat and mouse. What if Jacob and Abigail had dated in secret? The socialite could’ve cheated on Mason, who could have found out and struck. Or maybe Jacob insisted they come clean about their “love,” and Abigail feared being discovered, losing her meal ticket, so she struck.
Jane and Conrad joined Deputy Poteet in the space between the living room and kitchen, where the body slumped over the table.
“Tell me,” Conrad commanded.
“There’s a small envelope in his hand,” the woman replied in a bleak tone. Danielle Poteet was new to Aurelian Hills, not just the force. She’d replaced the recently passed Joshua Gunn. From Atlanta, she’d left the big city looking for a change in pace and an opportunity to work with a former GBH agent. “We haven’t removed it yet. Chapter two of Grave Actually is resting under his elbow.”
Conrad scowled. “The judge is giving me fits about a warrant to read the club members’ manuscripts, but maybe this will change his mind.”
Jane listened to the conversation while examining the scene. No obvious sign of struggle. Jacob either had no fear of his killer or he’d never suspected his home had been invaded until it was too late. A bloody wrench rested on the table near a stack of manuscript papers.
First a candlestick, now a wrench? What, was the killer playing a game of Clue too? And was that creative or cheating? Should she use it for her book’s ending?
Poor Jacob Thacker. Either a partner—or partners—had turned on him, or he’d been innocent all along.
Would the mayor sacrifice his eldest son to save himself?
Conrad blanked his expression as he and Deputy Poteet drew closer to the body. With an abundance of caution, he explained to the deputy what he was looking at and doing, teaching her on the job. He pried the manuscript chapter from beneath Jacob’s elbow and scanned the pages. “Definitely written by the same author.” He passed the papers to another investigator.
So. The killer was truly writing a book. Or had already written it, but now opted to share a chapter per murder. Was he attempting to make a name for himself? Or hoping to increase sales? Her stomach pitched. Just how many chapters were in this book anyway?