Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  When she came to an active railroad crossing, getting stuck in a line of waiting cars, she phoned Fiona to tell all. “Do you know anything about these people?”

  “Emma Miller. Let’s see, let’s see,” Fiona said. “Oh, yes. I remember reading about Emma and her husband on the Headliner. They’ve been on the rocks for months. In fact, I think they’re the ones who had a tiff at the Golden Spoon. She accused him of being an absentee husband, and he called her a cheating witch. But with a B.” She spoke the last with a scandalized tone. “As for Caroline, I ran into her at the Yellow Brick Abode Library. By accident, I happened to notice she was checking out a stack of books about the art of flirting. If you know what I mean.”

  Interesting. Emma had (allegedly) engaged in an extramarital affair, and her husband had known about it.

  Time for Jane to do a deep dive on the town app.

  “Do you happen to remember the title of those books?” she asked. “For the case, I mean.” Not for Conrad or anything like that.

  A horn blasted, and Jane jolted. The train had moved on and so had the cars in front of her.

  “Gotta go,” she blurted out. “I’ll call you in a bit. In the meantime, be thinking about that book title. For the case. Love you, bye.” She hung up and motored on, entering her neighborhood only ten minutes later.

  Ugh. An unfamiliar truck was parked outside her cottage. More lookie-loos in need of shooing? Wait. Bold letters decorated the old, beat-up truck. Peach State Security. She grinned, her bad day suddenly looking up. Beau had returned.

  She rushed out of the hearse and to his truck. Huh. He wasn’t in the cab. But he wasn’t nearby either. Not that she could see. Where had he gone?

  Hammering noises drew her to the side of the cottage. A ladder was propped against the wall, a shirtless and sweaty Beau in the middle of it.

  She marveled at how much he both did and didn’t resemble the little boy he’d once been. One thing was certain: the Beau of her memories hadn’t packed so many muscles. Denim hung low on his waist, revealing the upper band of his underwear. Black briefs, if she had to venture a guess.

  He climbed down and approached, towering over her. “You’re back.”

  “And you’re here,” she said, confused. “Working.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck before motioning to a spot on the ground, where tools and all kinds of things she couldn’t identify were piled. “I brought the equipment you needed and thought I’d get started.”

  Without going over a list with her? Do not faint. “I mean this in the best possible way, but, um, everything looks so expensive.”

  “The manufacturers of the cameras, glass-break detectors, door and window sensors, and motion sensors gave them to me as a promotional tool, so you don’t owe me a thing.”

  Oh, thank goodness! “I’ll still compensate you for the labor, though,” she pointed out.

  He averted his gaze. “Tell you what, you put a Protected by Peach State Security sign at the gate, and we’ll call it good.”

  The frugal side of her wanted to shout yes! “While I’m happy to display your sign, I’m not happy to take advantage of your time and efforts. I insist on paying your usual fee, but I can only spare two hundred dollars. What will that get me?” If she ate cheap noodles and peanut butter sandwiches for the rest of her life, she could pay him with her food budget. Maybe Beau would convince Fiona to feed Jane blueberry pancakes soon.

  “Look,” he said and sighed. “There’s no advantage taking if I’m offering. So, how about this? I’ll work for a few hours today and install as much as I can. If I need to come back, I’ll send you a bill.” He wiped his brow with a blue-and-white bandana. “Since you’re home, I’ll mount the cameras throughout the cemetery. That way, you and your demon spawn won’t have to listen to my hammer. I know I can’t enter the crime scene, but I’d like to position one camera near it.”

  “Perfect. I’ll grab a hat and show you the way. Oh, and Rolex is a saint.”

  “No need to escort me,” he said with no hint of emotion. “I remember the correct path.”

  Man, she missed the sweet, shy boy from before. And, okay, yeah, there’d been hints of this aloofness even then. But not with her. Never her. He’d always had smiles for little Jane. What charm did adult Jane lack? “Glad you remember the way, but I’m still escorting you. You’re officially my favorite person right now, so I’m giving you the VIP treatment. Just give me five minutes.” See? Charming.

  She rushed inside, offered Rolex his required attention, and selected the best sunhat for her current dress. Another fit and flare, pink with white polka dots. Then, back out she went. On the porch, she grabbed a dog treat from the metal container next to Fiona’s rocking chair.

  “I’m ready,” Jane called, bounding down the steps and joining him.

  Beau noticed the treat and arched his brow. “You have a dog?”

  “Kind of. Come on, and I’ll introduce you to him. I think you’ll become fast friends.”

  They walked the required trail side by side, comfortably silent. A tool belt now circled his waist, but he’d donned a plain white T-shirt, no skin—or underwear—visible. He carried a black duffel over his shoulder, filled with some of the equipment no doubt.

  Surely some girl had locked this man down, and this wasn’t a setup arranged by Fiona. As handsome as he was, Jane’s thoughts continued to return to Conrad.

  When would he call?

  “You’re probably wondering if I’ve ever seen a ghost out here,” Jane said, not so comfortable anymore. “I haven’t. My grandmother used to call me anti-paranormal. One of the reasons I’m such a good fit here, I guess. I haven’t even heard the cries of the departed the way she did. Anyway, about the dog. We’re crossing into the Garden’s oldest section. There’s a tradition, you see. When a new cemetery opens, the first occupant becomes a recently passed dog to keep guard over the bodies and allow the souls to pass in peace. As a little girl, I came up with my own ritual. Only my favorite people get to meet the Garden’s first resident, Muffin.”

  “That’s…”

  Trying to find a nice way to say “creepy”?

  “Pretty wonderful,” he finished, and she beamed at him.

  They reached Muffin’s headstone. The most elaborate marker in the entire cemetery, with a life-size metal sculpture of a golden retriever surrounded by equally life-size metal toys, welded to a thick base. A ball, a bone, and a shoe. Her steps faltered as she realized there was a new toy in the mix. One that blended perfectly. Was that a…crowbar?

  Frowning, she leaned closer. Definitely a crowbar. Dirt smeared the sides, some specks darker than others…with a red tint?

  Jane gasped as realization punched her. “Oh, my goodness!”

  “What? What’s wrong?” Beau darted his gaze, as if searching for a bad guy to demolish. His entire body vibrated with tension as he balled his hands into fists. “Did you see someone?”

  “I think we just discovered the murder weapon.”

  Chapter Five

  Dr. Gabriel Dansing

  Forever Out of the Office.

  Plot 1205, Garden of Memories

  “That man is like a fine wine, only getting better with age.” Fiona sat in her rocking chair before the unlit hearth, knitting.

  Jane grinned as she worked a string of yarn through the first cast-on stitch. For the past half hour, she’d worked beside Fiona, knitting as well. They’d chatted about old times and laughed. Then Sheriff Moore had shown up unannounced to guard the (possible) murder weapon until Conrad’s arrival. Fiona had spoken of little else since.

  A common enough occurrence. This time was different because Jane had caught herself doing the same thing—with Conrad.

  Something warm settled in her chest at the thought of seeing the special agent again.

  Was he half as eager to see her? A third as eager? Even the merest scooch?

  As she threaded a second stitch, she slid her gaze to the couch. How would Rolex react? H
er precious kitty was currently posted on the top cushion behind Beau, swiping at him anytime he leaned back. Which he did. Often. He reclined with her laptop balanced on a pillow as he inspected camera connections. His features remained blank, yet tension seeped from him.

  If he didn’t have a girlfriend, he needed one. Someone who would help him relax. While Jane couldn’t enjoy a happily ever after of her own, she wholeheartedly believed other people should experience theirs.

  “Speaking of fine wine,” she announced. “Do you have a girlfriend, Beau?” Why not get this conversation going? If Fiona hoped to set them up, the truth needed to come out. Jane and Beau could laugh and move on from there. Then Jane could take over match making duties for him. The thought excited her. Another adventure! Finally, she understood the appeal for Fiona.

  What did he wish for in a girl? What did Conrad want? Confidence? Drive? A femme fatale? Quirkiness? A tendency to ramble? A collection of hats?

  “No girlfriend,” Beau replied, giving her a look that said, I know what you’re doing.

  “But you’ve had one? Long term? Or maybe more than one?”

  “Yes. One long term. And I don’t want another one. Relationships aren’t a good fit for me.”

  Jane pursed her lips—caught red-handed! She gazed at Fiona for help.

  The pancake-baking genius hurried to stop a laugh and glanced down at her knitting. Translation: You run this interrogation on your own.

  Very well. She would! “Let’s say relationships are a wonderful fit for you. Describe your perfect girl,” she said to Beau. “What are you looking for in a forever mate?”

  “I’m not looking.”

  “Why not?” She was being nosy, but she didn’t care. How else would she learn what she needed to know?

  Fiona gaped at her, all who are you and when did you get this bold?

  “I’m not discussing this with you,” he grumbled.

  Too bad, so sad. “Well, guess what? I am discussing it with you. What if we internet dated together? We can pick each other’s dates.” A small sacrifice on her part to reach a desired end—Beau’s happiness. “We should at least download the same app and compare notes.” It wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever had.

  A little dating might do her some good, too. Since her heart was locked in a coffin and buried too deep to find, she wouldn’t have to worry about any breaks. She could get to know new people. Laugh, maybe. Finally, she would stop thinking of Special Agent Conrad Ryan and his wild effect on her.

  “If I want a date, I’ll get myself a date.” His tone said: Bring this up again, and I’m gone.

  “Oh, very well.” Jane knew when to surrender. “I’ll internet date all on my own.” She paused her knitting long enough to do a search on her phone. And yes, to tease him a little. “This app looks promising. Smash at First Sight.”

  His tension intensified as he flipped up his gaze, focusing on her. “I’ll download a dating app with you, but not that one. I get to choose.”

  “Deal,” she shouted before he changed his mind. As she stashed her phone and unrolled more yarn—argh! She accidentally tangled everything together. “Argh! Why does this always happen to me?”

  Fiona tsk-tsked. “Remember what I taught you. Yarn only needs enough slack to work comfortably. Otherwise, it becomes—”

  “A knotted mess,” Jane finished with a sigh.

  “Exactly.” Her friend threaded her needles with sure, fluid motions. “Don’t let yourself get frustrated. What’s our knitter’s motto?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s okay. Knit happens.” Jane pulled her needle free of the knot and laughed, because what else could she do?

  A whispered curse whipped her attention to Beau. He’d dropped the laptop and scrambled to retrieve it from the floor. His breathing had quickened, and his cheeks appeared flushed.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, concerned. She’d requested he stay to speak with Conrad, but what if the poor guy was coming down with a fever? That man cold was going around town.

  “I’m, uh, fine.” He glanced her way, then quickly averted his gaze, returning his attention to the laptop’s screen. “The computer is fine, too. Nothing cracked. I’ll be more careful.”

  Yes, but what had caused the drop in the first place?

  Fiona patted her hand and whispered, “That boy needs some laughter in his world.”

  Agreed. But for a start, Jane must get him to crack a smile. She missed the shy but sweet boy he’d been. The friend she’d always craved. What kind of life had he led in their years apart?

  The crunch of gravel snagged her attention. A quick glance out the window revealed a dark sedan she would recognize anywhere. Special Agent Conrad Ryan had arrived.

  Her pulse raced as he stepped out of the car, tucking his sunglasses into his pocket. No suit today. Instead, he wore a plain T-shirt and jeans. The casual attire looked good on him. Really good. His dark hair appeared windblown, his features stern.

  Jane licked her dry lips and rushed to the front door, where she paused to smooth the wrinkles from her dress. Why, why, why did he make her so nervous? Nothing would ever happen between them, probably.

  Beau stood and muttered, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to use your bathroom.” He didn’t wait for a response, but marched past her, heading down the hall. Hey, why so jumpy?

  Deep breath in. Jane twisted the knob. Hinges creaked, the entrance opening, revealing Conrad as he climbed the steps. Porch light illuminated serious features.

  “Welcome back,” she said with a little too much force. Blowing this. Should she offer to show him the alleged murder weapon or wait for his go-ahead? What kind of hat went with a Tada moment? Here’s your bloodied crowbar.

  He nodded to Jane as he entered the house, the intoxicating scent of cedar and spice making her head fog. But he promptly ignored her. “Good afternoon, Fiona. Nice to see you again.”

  Um, where was Jane’s verbal greeting?

  Rolex jumped down and sat at his feet, looking up with falsely adoring eyes. Conrad fell for it, like everyone else, and bent to pet him. Hiss. Swipe. Dart off.

  Blood welled on the agent’s hand. Two punctures topping two zigging lines. He stared at the injury and smiled. For-real smiled. The amusement glittered in his dark eyes. Her heart sped up.

  “Nice to see you, too, Rolex,” he called, and her chest swelled. But, um, still no greeting for Jane?

  Fiona wagged her needles in Conrad’s direction. “Are you trying to charm me into whipping up my blueberry pancakes, young man? Aw. You poor thing. Your request is denied for reasons.” She humphed and got back to work. “Unless you ask real nice.”

  “Ask real nice,” Jane blurted out. “Please, Conrad.” She pressed her hands together, creating a steeple. “There’s always time for pancakes.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m on the clock.”

  Noooooo! Why did the universe hate her?

  Once again, Fiona looked at Conrad as if he were a disappointment. This time, he noticed.

  To lessen the sting of his refusal, he winked at the older woman, and, oh, did he give good wink. “What are you making?”

  “They’re called funny bunnies.” Fiona humphed before showing him the perfect white rabbit she’d created in record time. “We donate them to different charities for children. Places that help kids who’ve lost everything. This might be the only toy the little darlings have for a while.”

  He jolted, as if the words packed a punch. “You’re making a difference in a kid’s life. That’s…nice.”

  He sounded genuinely touched. Choked up, even, and affected in a way Jane hadn’t expected.

  She opened her mouth to ask something. She wasn’t sure what. A thousand questions bubbled up. Then he turned those dark eyes on her and her mind blanked. Think!

  When a guest arrived, a good host offered…come on, I know this one. Drinks! Right. “Would you like some sweet tea, Conrad? Agent? Special Agent Conrad.”

  “No, thank you, Jane.
And it’s Conrad, remember?”

  His voice had dipped, sending shivers down her spine. When his eyelids dipped, too, she gulped. Why this change in his demeanor? What did that hooded look mean? Why were her limbs going weak? Not knowing what else to do, she returned to her rocker.

  “And what are you making?” he asked her.

  “Mine is also a bunny.” She tapped her toy with the tip of her needle. “Obviously.”

  “Ah, yes. Obviously. The ears are quite…noticeable. And the colors…”

  “I know! I wasn’t sure pink, orange and red would go together, but the end result is quite stunning.” She examined her adorable creation. It wasn’t finished, but it definitely, without question, looked like a bunny. Maybe. Probably. Possibly an elephant with two trunks. “I’ll make one for you. To remember me by. Or because it’s the polite thing to do. Yes, that one. I’m polite.”

  He shook his head, the corners of his mouth curving up ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t want to deprive a kid of their only toy. Maybe you can teach me to knit so I can contribute to the haul.” His biceps flexed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you think you’ve found the murder weapon?”

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up a little. Had he just arranged a future date?

  Breathe! “Beau and I discovered a crowbar as we walked the grounds.”

  His brows drew together. “Is Beau another pet?”

  A pet project, maybe. “Beau is not. He’s the owner of Peach State Security. A long-lost and recently found friend. We went to school together.”

  The soldier returned from the bathroom, the three mentions of his name seeming to summon him. He’d splashed water on his face, droplets clinging to his lashes. “That’s me. I’m Beau Harden.”

  Conrad looked between them. “You’re staying with Jane?”

  “When requested,” Beau replied, nodding. “And when needed.”

  The two males faced off, as if sizing each other up animal-kingdom style.