Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  “And who is this?” Fiona purred for her ears alone, sitting up straighter as well.

  “No one. Someone. The other agent.” Her cheeks burned hotter than before.

  “Ms. Ladling, I’d like a word,” he said with a smooth smile. Practiced? The delivery of the invitation might drip with charm, but there was no mistaking his command.

  Shivers cascaded over her spine. No, not shivers, but fresh shudders. This wasn’t a good thing, but bad. Very, very bad. “Do I need a lawyer?” she asked, wringing her hands.

  He pounded up the porch steps and paused, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Okay, wrong approach. She stood and smoothed the lines of her fit and flare. “I didn’t do the crime, so I shouldn’t do the time. Right? Unless there isn’t a crime?” Other than trespassing and grave tampering. “Did Dr. Hotchkins trip and fall or something?”

  Special Agent Ryan blinked with surprise. “How did you identify the victim if you couldn’t see his face?”

  First, this was confirmation that they’d guessed correctly. How sweet was that? Second, big dang. Had she just confirmed his earlier suspicions? “We—I put two and two together. Curly blond hair on the corpse. Missing doctor with curly blond hair.” No reason to involve Fiona unless absolutely necessary. “There’s only one fair-haired doctor people can’t currently find.”

  “Small towns have the biggest mouths,” he muttered. “We’ll be taking both bodies as well as the casket.”

  “Have you already dusted it for fingerprints? Never mind. You can’t say. I get it. Before you ask, I’ve never spoken to Dr. Hots. Hotchkins,” she corrected. “I mean, I’ve spotted him a few times when I visited Dr. Garcia. And I know his wife. But other than that, I have zero connection to him.” Okay, you can shut up now.

  “Good to know.” He pulled out his little notebook to make a notation. “We’re packing up to leave, but I’d like to discuss something with you before I go.” He slid his gaze to Fiona and offered his hand. “I’m Special Agent Ryan. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I’d appreciate it.”

  Oh, introductions might be nice. “Sorry. Special Agent Ryan, this is Fiona Lawrence, my best friend.”

  Fiona glanced between them, smiling with pure, undiluted calculation. “Are you single, young man? I see no wedding ring. Perhaps you have a significant other?”

  His expression remained unchanged. “Were you at the house this morning, ma’am?”

  “I wasn’t. Let’s get out of this heat, and I’ll tell you what I was doing. I’ll even whip up a batch of my famous blueberry pancakes. At some point, I might explain the impoliteness of ignoring an old woman’s question. Although I’ve already deduced the answer. You are very single.”

  He canted his head. A slow process, as if he were considering a thousand responses at once. “What makes you think so?”

  “The eyes,” Fiona said. “The eyes always give you away.”

  “Thank you for the tip.” His gaze slid to Jane, and her cheeks burned.

  Forget Fiona’s obvious attempt at matchmaking, which was a common occurrence. Those blueberry pancakes were ambrosia, with a unique ingredient no one could figure out. Her guess? Crack. No food in history had ever tasted as amazing as those pancakes. And that wasn't hyperbole. Jane would absolutely commit a murder to steal a triple stack. Problem was, Fiona prepared the sweet treat for only three reasons. And those reasons always changed, according to her agenda.

  “Yes,” she blurted out. “He wants those pancakes. Please say yes.” Please. If he had the slightest sliver of a heart, he would agree.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time,” he said. “There are too many other places I need to be today.”

  His hotness chilled fast. “You fool,” she muttered, only realizing she’d said the words aloud. Her cheeks might have actually caught flame. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to hear her words or witness her mortification.

  On the other hand, Fiona frowned at him, as if disappointed in his character, his life choices and even his next breath.

  “Uh, you mentioned you wanted to discuss something with me?” Jane asked.

  “Yes. I’d like a list of names. Everyone buried in Autumn Grove and any of their visitors for the past month.”

  “Have you been to a cemetery lately? We open the gates, and people come in. I give directions if someone has trouble finding their loved one, but that’s about it for public interaction.”

  He made a notation in his notepad. “Anyone can wander around unsupervised, at any given time?” he asked with the slightest hint of censure.

  “Well, yes. Kind of. People visit their loved ones to reflect on the past when the urge strikes, when time allows and for any number of reasons. This is a cemetery, after all, not a bank ripe for a heist.”

  Another notation. Another charming but humorless smile. “I’ll take any records you have.”

  What was his deal? “Yes, of course. I’ve already pulled the file. We’re happy to hand over it over, along with anything else you need. Or want.” No. She had not just added that.

  “I’ll copy the file,” Fiona offered as she lumbered to her feet. She’d learned the business at Grandma Lily’s side, and she’d even helped train Jane. “You stay here chatting with the nice agent, hon. It’s perfectly proper, since you’re both very single. Isn’t that right, Special Agent Ryan? Did I guess correctly or do I need to stay and chaperone?”

  He pursed his lips, but said, “No chaperone needed, ma’am.”

  “Well. See how easy it is to be polite?” With a wink, she sauntered into the house.

  Oh, dear Lord save me. The embarrassment never ended.

  Special Agent Ryan scrubbed a hand over his mouth, as if wiping away a grin.

  Unlike Jane, Fiona didn’t believe in the curse. For years she’d tried to set up the widowed Lily on dates. When Lily died, she’d turned her sights on Jane. But Jane wasn’t interested. Why start something with a doomed, predetermined ending?

  The agent exchanged his notepad for a map of the cemetery. “Are there any unmarked entry points into Autumn Grove?”

  “There are,” Jane said with a nod, “but I kind of need to show-you show you. Which I’m happy to do. Let me grab a hat.” A harsh afternoon glare had replaced the soft morning sunlight, and Jane burned easily. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me!” She shot from his overwhelming presence, blazing past the screen door, where Rolex waited once more. The perfect feline didn’t miss his opportunity to hiss at Special Agent Ryan.

  Jane beelined for the bathroom and splashed cool water on her cheeks. That flush came from the Georgia heat, not the handsome officer of the law. She secured her fall of dark hair into a loose bun to cool off her neck, then took a little too long selecting the best hat to match her dress and guard against harmful UV rays. Decision, decisions.

  At last, she settled on an adorable sun hat with purple stripes. After smoothing her bangs out of the way, she anchored the hat in place. Her lips twisted as she caught her reflection. Hmm. The headwear had looked adorable online but didn’t quite compliment her features as she’d hoped. Oh well. Protection was protection, and adorable was adorable.

  With a shrug, she retraced her steps, pausing at the door to talk to Rolex. “You behave, young man.” He ignored her and growled at the agent. Yes, cats growled. The first time he’d done it, she’d feared a giant dog had followed him inside the house, determined to feast.

  “Lose the hat,” Fiona called from the doorway of the office.

  Her friend had a bias against headwear, and Jane had no idea why. She pretended not to hear and slipped outside.

  Special Agent Ryan canted his head to the side again, an interesting stance. “Nice, um, hat.”

  “Thank you,” she said. See? Adorable. She bounded down the steps to take the lead. “This way.” With a wave toward the house, in case Rolex or Fiona were watching her, she aimed for the cobblestone path, the Special Agent at her side. “So, the Garden of Memo
ries is divided into six different sections, plus the mausoleum.” Her usual spiel. “Autumn Grove is one of the oldest and the center of everything. Every other section offers easy access to it.” She thought for a moment. “A smarter murderer would have chosen a gravesite on the outer edge of the cemetery for a quicker and easier escape, just in case things got dicey.”

  “Not if they were searching for something specific.” He made a note on the map.

  Ohhhh. Had the culprit chosen plot #39 for a reason? Rhonda Burgundy herself perhaps? “The section names are Eden Valley, Pleasant Green, Angel Wing, Serenity Rose, and Paradise Ladling. Oh, and the mausoleum. A hedgerow delineates each area which is connected by varying cobblestone paths. All but Paradise Ladling. That’s my family plot. For the most part, it’s isolated from the others.” She pointed as she spoke, her heart clenching when she thought of Grandma Lily at rest. Jane visited her on the third Sunday of every month. Their special day.

  “How large is the property?”

  “We’re up to seventy-five acres now. Over time, different Ladlings added to the grounds.”

  “That’s a lot of land for one person to tend.” He sounded impressed. “Any other staff?”

  “There’s no need. As Aurelian Hills grew into a bustling tourist attraction and hub for treasure hunters, our grounds became surrounded on all sides. Privately owned land to the north. An interactive mining camp to the south. A lake at the east, and undeveloped commercial property to the west. We are officially closed to new guests. Now burials are done at—” she worked her jaw— “Aurelian Hills Cemetery on the other side of town.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “Not a fan of Aurelian Hills Cemetery, are we?”

  Did she detect a thread of laughter?

  They rounded a sitting area—the Reflection Center—with benches shaded by the most magnificent wisteria trees with a wealth of gardenias in bloom around it.

  “Do you receive many visitors out here?” he asked, returning to the business at hand.

  “Someone comes out about once a week. Maybe twice. I also give a midnight tour of the grounds once a month, though attendance is sparse.”

  “Midnight tours. But no cameras.” His tone had hardened again. “What security measures do you have in place?”

  Ouch. His disapproval cut like a knife. “I have the gate up front and a brick wall around the acreage. Before you ask, I open the gate at sunup and close it at sundown. The hours depend on the season.”

  They turned a corner. “You close it?” he asked, that disapproval deepening. “Manually? Why?”

  Cost, mostly. “Tradition.” Also, not a lie. “My grandma would never forgive me if I installed an electric gate.”

  “Is she retired?”

  Jane rested a hand over her aching heart. “No, she passed away three years ago. That’s when I officially took over.” Actually, she’d taken over the year before, when Grandma Lily’s health began to decline.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I miss her so much, but at least I get to visit with her often. We just had tea last week, in fact.” Moving on. “Anyway. I was raised here. I know the land and its residents better than I know the town’s people.”

  “I get it,” he said, projecting a new emotion. Understanding. “Trees and monuments never let you down, and the dead never leave.” Then he cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable. “What’s that building?” He pointed as they paused. They’d reached the end of the cobblestone path and the start of a gravel driveway. “It’s not on the map.”

  Up ahead was a hill topped by the backside of a one-story version of the Victorian cottage. The white exterior had yellowed over time, the wood in need of serious repairs. Ivy grew over one side and encroached upon the roof.

  “That’s the official business office, such as it is, and what I wanted to show you. I removed it from the map because I’m never in it. But the original cobblestone path begins at the porch and leads to Autumn Grove. At night, this is the easiest track to follow, with the fewest twists, turns and skunks.”

  He made a notation. “Why don’t you use the building?”

  “Oh. That’s where the ghosts live.”

  He missed a step, and she laughed.

  “Teasing. Only teasing,” she told him, and he huffed a breath. “I simply prefer the convenience of the cottage.” The memories of working with her grandparents. “Plus, it isn’t about to crumble into dust.”

  “Understandable.” He stashed his notebook in his pocket. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to have a look around.”

  “Of course. Come on.” She stepped forward, only to stop when he pivoted in front of her again, stopping her. “Yes? May I help you?” she asked, her heart thumping now. How did he resemble every romance-novel hero she’d ever read about? Even the paranormal ones. “Is there something else on your mind, Agent?”

  “Please, call me Conrad,” he suggested, and for some reason, she blushed.

  Knowing she was blushing made her blush even harder. Argh! Thank goodness for the hat. The shade reduced her ridiculous reaction to a common courtesy.

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. Had he just said his name was Conrad? She gulped. A drool-worthy man with a name that began with C. Her kryptonite.

  They were going to date and break up, weren’t they?

  “I’m Jane. I mean, you already know my first name. But feel free to use it. Everyone else does. A few times, I’ve been called Jay Bird.” Rambling again.

  He pulled his gaze from her and scanned the area, saying, “Sheriff Moore mentioned you live out here alone.”

  Had he asked the sheriff about her? Well, duh. Of course, he had. Suspect #1, remember? “I’m not technically alone. I have Rolex.”

  “And he’s terrifying, but he’s not a genuine form of protection.” The handsome agent rubbed the back of his neck, obviously feeling awkward. He’d lost both his sternness and his outer aura of charm. “I’d feel better knowing you had more security.”

  She would, too. “I’ll look into hiring someone, I promise.” It was called window shopping, and she did it often for a groundskeeper. Didn’t mean she had to purchase anything.

  When she attempted to move around him, he followed, blocking her.

  “I’m sorry, Jane, but I’d like to view the property alone.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a business card. “If something new occurs or someone frightens you, call me. Also, you’ll need to keep out of the crime scene. We’ve sectioned it off. Do not bypass our tape. I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions.”

  He walked away, not waiting for her response. Clearly, she’d been dismissed.

  Jane pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and shook her head. See? The reason why dead people made better friends than living ones.

  “Oh, one more thing, Miss Ladling.” Special Agent—Conrad—paused his step to glance over his shoulder and slide his sunglasses into place. “Don’t leave town.”

  Chapter Three

  Archie Dillion

  Never Killed a Man That Didn’t Need Killing.

  Plot 54, Garden of Memories

  “Don’t leave town,” Jane muttered as she and her hearse puttered along the road, catching the eye of anyone nearby. With a turn here and there, she passed the most expensive inn, the Manor at Prospect Street. A historic bed-and-breakfast and event room boasting Aurelian Hills’s most luxurious rooms and finest dining experience.

  One more turn, and she reached a gate blocking the wealthiest neighborhood from the rest of the town. Of course, the rest of the town knew the code, so…

  The metal bars lifted, allowing Jane to enter. When she crested a hill, she spotted the first mansion. A sprawling estate made of white stone and tall glass, with a breathtaking manicured yard.

  Any other time, she would have marveled at the luxurious design. Today, her mind whirled. Two days had passed. Two. Days. Forty-eight endless hours. Had she received word from Conrad? Noooo. She’d even called an
d left him a message. And she was marginally certain she’d asked a question at some point during her two-minute ramble.

  Bottom line: A murder had occurred in her backyard and the “special agent” couldn’t bother to update her on the case? He was so not a romance-novel hero. Heroes broke curses. Or at least fought them. Heroes didn’t ignore you at the most critical junctures of your life.

  Fiona had one theory other than a jealous boyfriend or husband. They’d discussed it Friday night when they’d knitted at Jane’s. Something they did every week. Her friend wondered if someone from the clinic did the deed. Rumors suggested some kind of fight had erupted among the staff the day before the murder.

  The darling Fiona had provided more than information. She’d passed along the name of a new security expert in town. Someone willing to work cheap. Except the owner of Peach State Security had failed to return Jane’s call too. Was she that forgettable?

  Whatever! Onward and upward. Jane was taking matters into her own hands. If Conrad—Special Agent Ryan—considered her a suspect, fine. She would work to solve the murder and clear her good name. Bonus, she would end the besmirching of her family’s legacy.

  The absolute, utter jerkholes at Aurelian Hills Cemetery had begun a whisper campaign on the Headliner, claiming “guests” at Garden of Memories were no longer safe. That “underground home invasions” were rampant. Jane clenched her teeth.

  An aluminum-foil-wrapped casserole was nestled on the passenger seat. No one could resist Jane’s fried red-potato salad.

  She parked in the circular driveway of the Hotchkinses, noting the plethora of cars. Different models, colors and price tags, yet each one intimidated her. Oh, wow. Some of the vehicles were tagged with neon-blue spray paint. The same fleur-de-lys symbol covered hoods and doors. On purpose?

  Focus. A quick internet search had revealed the number one suspect of any homicide: the spouse. So Jane’s plan was simple. Lean on the age-old Southern tradition of bringing food to the bereaved in order to stealthily question Tiffany. My first official interrogation. Should be a piece of cake. Jane had spoken to lots of people in her life. Both dead and alive. Making words wasn’t difficult.