Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
What nonsense. Some people claimed Garden of Memories was haunted, too, but they couldn’t be more wrong. There was only one (supposedly) haunted spot in Aurelian Hills, and it was the old Clayton Boarding House. The lonely, isolated shack perched atop a hill no one dared to venture unless dared.
Honestly, living in a cemetery rocked. Talk about the wealthiest place on Earth. It’s been said graveyards are the richest spots in the world, filled with hopes and dreams never fulfilled, books never written, songs never sung, inventions never shared, and cures never discovered. Jane agreed. But the residents never abandoned you, happy memories collected, and peace reigned. Until dead bodies showed up where they weren’t supposed to be, of course.
“Would you or your kids kill to protect Patty?” Beau asked with the finesse of a bull. To gauge Mr. Garfield’s reaction?
The old man nodded. “You better believe we would.”
Hold up. He’d confessed to the murder?
“But we didn’t,” Mr. Garfield added to her disappointment. “Why bother? He was so intolerable, I knew it was only a matter of time before someone did the job for us.” He smirked. “And lookie here. They did.”
What an unpleasant man. “Were you here around nine thirty this morning?”
“I sure was, and I’ll tell you what I told the cops. I didn’t notice anything odd. Now do me a favor and get off my property.” He lumbered to the door.
“Vote Conrad Ryan for sheriff,” Jane called.
The entire way to his foyer, he grumbled about the scourge of pushy women. As soon as the entrance shut behind his oxygen tank, a lock clicked.
“Well. He’s definitely capable of murder, but I don’t think he did it,” Jane said to Beau. No way Mr. Garfield’s illness was faked. And it wasn’t like he could travel unnoticed with that oxygen tank. In fact, would he even risk firing a gun near that tank? “We should probably invite him to dinner. He’s lonely.”
Beau did another double-blink. “I doubt I will ever understand you.”
“We should also speak with his kids,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. What was there to understand? She was an open book. “But, to be honest, I’m leaning more heavily into the mobster theory.”
She consulted her gut for confirmation, but…hmm. Her gut had gone silent, offering zero feedback. Why? Too busy frothing over the coming move-in with Conrad? Jane gulped, instantly drowning in nervousness. Fight the fear!
“I’ll do that digging for info you requested,” Beau said. “I’ll probably start with Thomas Bennett. You and I can reconvene tomorrow morning and decide our next move.”
“Perfect.” She’d do some digging, too. “While we’re out, I should order new campaign posters.”
“There’s no need. Conrad is without competition. He’s guaranteed the position.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Lack of competition doesn’t mean we slack off, Beauregard. Have I taught you nothing?”
He snorted. They walked to the hearse, and Beau opened the driver’s door for her before hustling into the passenger seat. As she keyed the engine, he buckled up. A golden oldie spilled from the speakers. Her beloved grandfather’s favorite type of song. She cranked the heater to full blast.
Once they she’d finished at the print shop, she and Beau headed to the cottage. Hey! Fiona’s car was gone. Only Beau’s truck remained, but his luggage no longer filling the back cab. Had one of his buds come and picked everything up?
Beau helped her out, walked her to the door, and kissed her cheek. “I’m not leaving until Conrad arrives,” he said. “While you deal with what’s waiting for you inside, I’ll be on the grounds, checking security cameras.”
“Thank you. For everything.” Wait. “What’s waiting for me inside?”
He merely smiled and strode off.
“Beau! What’s waiting inside?”
Without looking back, he waved. A half frustrated, half amused noise left her. Dang, she adored this guy. He was sweet, funny and unwaveringly loyal. And as soon as this case ended, she was gonna crank up her efforts to find him the perfect girlfriend.
She entered the cottage only to freeze. The luggage occupied half of her living room. Worse, Tiffany remained. Rolex wound himself between the widow’s parted feet, rubbing against her calves.
Before Jane could work up a good mad, Tiff blurted out, “I have nowhere else to go. No friends. As soon as my accounts dried up, Abigail stopped answering my texts.”
Abigail Waynes-Kirkland, the worst of the worst.
“Please. Fiona thinks it’s a wonderful idea. She left a note.” Tiffany thrust a piece of paper Jane’s way.
She swiped it and read, “Bring your new roomie to my house tomorrow for dinner. I’m making my famous blueberry pancakes, and she’s your golden ticket past the door.”
Gah! As if Jane could really throw out the brunette now. She lived for those pancakes. And really, if ever there was a time for the irritating woman to stay, it was now, while Jane lived elsewhere.