Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  “That is magnanimous of you,” Conrad said.

  “Isn’t it?” Beau lifted his chin.

  Polite words, and yet tension crackled in the air. Rolex sensed it and hissed at a shadow.

  Jane glanced at Fiona, hoping for a heads-up about what was transpiring between the two guys, but her friend was too busy trying not to laugh. She probably believed the two men were fighting over Jane. Which kind of made sense. But also mostly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Beau didn’t even smile at her anymore, and Conrad sometimes suspected her of murder. Although the special agent did smolder at her upon occasion.

  Her pulse leaped. Focus up! Time to step in and take over the conversation.

  A little nervous but determined, Jane shot to her feet and stepped in the middle of the pair. “Like I was saying, Beau was with me when I spotted the crowbar. I asked him to stick around in case you needed a statement.”

  Conrad wrote the other guy’s address in his notebook and offered a humorless smile. “A statement won’t be necessary at this time, Mr. Harden. You are free to leave if you’d like.”

  Oh no. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Beau. Please add every second to my bill.”

  “No problem.” Beau gathered his things and left the house. Her determination to find him a girlfriend returned and redoubled. Operation Make Him Smile. He was helping her, so she should help him.

  Conrad met and held her gaze, his emotions still erased. “Why don’t you take me to the weapon?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll just be a moment.”

  He quirked a brow. “A hat?”

  “What can I say? I protect my skin in style.” Jane raced up the stairs.

  “Not the purple one. Or the black,” Fiona called. “To be safe, pick none of them.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. Fiona had a serious bias against headwear. Now, then. Which one, which one? The yellow. Definitely. To match her dress. The edges were a bit frayed. So what?

  She returned to find an empty living room. Even Rolex had abandoned ship. Her guests, at least, had migrated to the porch. Fiona and Conrad chatted in hushed tones. What in the world could they be discussing?

  Though Conrad’s expression was harsh, whatever he said charmed the older woman. Fiona smiled and pressed a hand to her heart.

  “I’m ready,” Jane announced, stepping outside. Warm air enveloped her, the scent of magnolias as inviting as ever.

  He glanced in her direction, his eyes glittering with what looked to be mirth. Seriously, what had he and Fiona discussed?

  He motioned toward the cobblestone path. “Please. Lead the way.”

  “Don’t forget what I told you, agent,” Fiona called as they headed into the thick of the cemetery.

  “What did she tell you?” Jane asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “Several things. The most memorable is the threat to castrate me if ever I’m mean to you.”

  “Awww.” She pressed her hand over her heart, just as Fiona had done. “How sweet is she?”

  “The sweetest,” he deadpanned, and Jane chuckled. “She also offered me a bit of advice.”

  “And?” she prompted when he went quiet.

  He rolled his eyes. “Vague idea, vague results.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “What does that mean? Vague idea about what?”

  “What I want.” Did he give her a pointed glance?

  Shivers rained over her. Could Conrad be interested in Jane romantically? Despite her name being on the suspect list? Had he been, maybe, jealous of Beau earlier?

  The moisture in her mouth dried. Nerves suddenly on overdrive, she changed the direction of the conversation. “Will any of the other investigators be joining us?” Should she make a fresh batch of sweet tea?

  “Wanted to check things out before bringing a unit out here.”

  Did he think she’d made a mistake? This might be her first murder investigation, and she might not have any formal or informal training, but…she couldn’t remember why this irritated her. Whatever. “What do you know about the fleur-de-lys signs appearing in town?” she asked.

  He ignored her question. “Tell me more about the tours you conduct.”

  Oh. Did he suspect a guest? Or just hope to refocus her attention? “Do you want to know the different kinds I give? What areas of the cemetery I highlight? A list of those who have recently attended?”

  “Everything.”

  He, for sure, suspected a visitor then. Now, she did too. Every. Single. One.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat to warm up her vocals, getting into guide mode. “In 1829, gold was discovered in the North Georgia mountains. That’s when my ancestors moved here from Pennsylvania. Silas Ladling was certain he would find his fortune panning in the babbling brook that runs between Autumn Grove and Eden Valley. Instead, he wound up finding—”

  “Jane,” Conrad said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I don’t require the cemetery’s entire history.”

  Oh. How disappointing. Giving tours was her sweet spot. The moment she truly shined. “I’m merely recounting to you what I tell everyone else. If the killer has participated, shouldn’t you hear what he or she—or they—heard? I mean, I don’t mean to tell you how to run your investigation or anything, but this seems like Solving Crime 101.”

  Looking as if he stifled a laugh, he nodded. “You’re right. Please do continue.”

  She jumped back in without missing a beat. “Trouble. Silas found a whole lot of trouble. He was ready to pack up his family and move on but suddenly, his fortune turned.”

  “He struck gold, after all?”

  She gave a sad shake of her head. “Unfortunately, no. His luck got even worse. He was shot in a duel. As you can probably guess, duels were outlawed back then. Ladling lore suggests Silas was the first to be buried after Muffin the dog, courtesy of Silas’s eldest son. In fact, it’s believed the first twenty-three burial plots contain men who died because of gold. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Aurelian Hills is mad for the stuff. When Silas’s grandson ran the Garden, rumors spread suggesting his father had hidden gold in some of the coffins.”

  “I can’t imagine that was good.”

  “No,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Within a matter of weeks, looters raided every grave. If there was gold, it got snatched. Now the Gold Rush Museum is featuring journal passages from different miners who lived back then. I provided a few passages from one of my own ancestors.”

  If only she could find a bit of gold. The Garden of Memories could use an influx of cash right now.

  Gold. Hmm. The idea poked and prodded at her. Something there? She stole a glance at Conrad, awed as the sunlight turned his skin to molten gold.

  “What do you do out here?” he asked. “Exactly.”

  “For starters, I inherited caretaking duties from my grandma. Lily.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “Both are gone,” she told him as they rounded a corner.

  His rugged features softened. “I’m sorry. I know the pain of losing your family. I was ten when I lost mine.”

  Sympathy welled, choking her. “Oh, Conrad. That must have been horrible for you.” Beyond. He’d said family, not just parents. Who all had he lost? “But, um, I meant neither of them live in Aurelian Hills. Or even Georgia, for that matter. They met and had me while in high school. My dad moved to New Mexico instead of marrying my mom. He’s never really been part of my life. My mother wasn’t ready for me either, I guess, so Grandma Lily raised me.”

  Wait. Was she sharing too much? Getting too personal, going too deep? Stop. Pump the breaks.

  “Pain is pain,” he said in a gentle tone.

  Well, maybe they could delve a little deeper. “Who ended up raising you?”

  “The system.” Tension radiated from him. “Your mom isn’t part of your life now?”

  The urge to hug him bombarded her. “She is, and she isn’t. When I was three, she relocated to Alabama. She took me with
her and tried to be a mother but she struggled. In the end, she shipped me back to Grandma Lily for the summer, and I never left. Now Mom is with a new man and living in Texas with my two half sisters. She calls me sometimes.”

  Jane offered the information smoothly, pretending not to care. The total rejection from both parents provided more proof of the curse’s influence. The two people supposed to love her most had always loved her least. Most days she even convinced herself everything had worked out for the best. But sometimes the pain of it all got the better of her, and she wondered what if?

  What if her dad had wanted a relationship with her? What if her mom had been less concerned with having fun and more concerned with her little girl’s well-being?

  “And your dad?” Conrad asked.

  “He’s not a dad to me but a father.” She rubbed a strange tickle at the end of her nose. “He has another family, an ex-wife and three grown sons.” Half brothers she’d met only once. She forced a smile. “And that’s a wrap on the story of Jane Ladling. We should probably concentrate on the case. That is why you’re here, and the weapon is around the next corner.”

  He nodded as if he understood that she’d shared enough for one day and reached her limit. They came upon the flowery arch leading to Muffin’s headstone, where Sheriff Moore stood, motioning them over.

  Conrad held up a finger, asking for a moment, and stopped with Jane about ten feet away.

  Jane had to crane her head to see him past the brim of her hat. A thousand emotions swam in his incredible eyes. Too many to pinpoint a single one.

  “Thank you for the escort,” he said as those emotions died, one after the other. Soon his expression blanked. “I’ll meet you at the cottage when I’m done.” He walked away, approaching the sheriff, leaving her behind.

  Hello, mixed signals. Sighing, Jane skipped home. Dang. Had the evening grown hotter? When had the moon become such a scorcher?

  Fiona hadn’t left the porch. The older woman stood at the rail and wagged a finger in her direction as she approached. “You’re in trouble, hon.”

  “Me?” She hiked a thumb at her chest just to be sure.

  “You’re poking at a bear’s cage, and he might be a biter, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I do not know what you mean.” What bear? What cage?

  “I’m not complaining, mind you. It’s going to be highly entertaining to watch when he bursts through those bars. And he will. It’s only a matter of time now. But you best be careful. I have a feeling you’re gonna be the one with the wounds. There will be scars.”

  Foreboding rocked her. But foreboding was an excellent liar. Fear wrapped in a fancy package. So, she swallowed and marched ahead, doubling down. “What are you even talking about right now?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, young lady. Why can’t you see that there’s no such thing as a curse—”

  “Nope. Stop. There is.”

  “—except the ones we place upon ourselves.”

  “Nope. Wrong again.” She would never curse herself. Would she? Had she? No! Some people seemed touched by favor, everyone else by favor repellent. And that was a fact.

  “Just remember this. Even the smallest bites can fester. Take your Special Agent Ryan for instance. He can charm like no one’s business when he puts his mind to it. But there’s pain there.”

  Wait. Was Conrad the bear in this analogy? “No one’s biting anyone, Fee.” Maybe? Probably? Why did her heart race at the thought?

  “Are you sure? Because he’s turned down my blueberry pancakes. Twice! That’s two strikes against him. One more strike, and I’ll erase him from my list of eligible suitors and never set him up with anyone ever again!”

  Um… “How many strikes do I have, and what can I do to earn the third?”

  “Oh, you hush. You just mind your heart, you hear me, young lady?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m on guard duty twenty-four seven, trust me. Now start talking and tell me everything you and Conrad discussed in secret.” Jane raced up the porch steps, determined to launch a full interrogation. Everything from his tones to his body language and his expressions. Had he executed any side glances? A—

  Jane sneezed. Then she sneezed again. And again. The sneezing went on forever and a day.

  When, finally, she stopped, her sinuses were swollen shut. Her eyes burned and watered. What in the world?

  “Oh no, no, no,” Fiona said, backing away from her. “Is the world’s most vicious patient getting sick?”

  World’s most vicious patient? “I’m not that bad,” she insisted. But she did want to scream at the top of her lungs.

  “I know. You're worse! You morph into a half rage monster, half diaper baby when you’re sick.”

  Rage monster? Diaper baby? As if. First of all, she was as sweet as sugar. Always. Second, she was nothing like those wimps at the clinic. “Good thing I’m not sick then. I’m obviously allergic to something in the air. And I dare anyone to say otherwise.”

  “Sure, sure. I agree with whatever you’re saying, hon.” Backing away. No, not just backing away but moving toward the door. “I’m gonna gather my belongings now. No sudden movements.” Her friend rushed into the house before shooting out, blazing past Jane, calling, “I’m off. I’ll see you soon, but probably not too soon. Goodbye for at least a week, hon.”

  “I’m not sick,” she lamented, then sneezed yet again. Surely her trip to the doctor’s office—her investigation—hadn’t led to illness. But had the temperature just risen a thousand degrees? “I think I’ll rest for a couple minutes,” she told no one. “But only a couple minutes.”

  Chapter Six

  Daniel Smith

  Beloved City Works Employee

  One Way. Do Not Enter.

  Plot 765, Garden of Memories

  Colds sucked. Life sucked. Everything sucked, and Jane hated everyone everywhere except Rolex, and only wanted to scream and scream and scream. And also sob. Maybe sleep a while. Or forever.

  For an endless eternity—or three days—she existed in a coughing, sneezing void, rising from bed only to feed her precious fur baby. Sometimes strange tones jerked her to attention. Or she rethought her decision to follow Grandma Lily as caretaker and instead focused on a new career in standup comedy, certain she would set the world on fire with her brilliance. She’d already developed a top-ten list on the differences between people who preferred salt and those who favored pepper. A real gut-buster. She just had to remember one or two—or all of them. In her spare time, she imagined talking to Conrad or Beau.

  During one of their conversations, Conrad had stayed on the line with her for hours, listening to her complain, because she hadn’t wanted to be alone for once. He was so sweet. She missed him so much. They should chat again. In her mind, she picked up her cell phone and keyed up his number.

  His husky voice purred inside her head. “I hoped you’d call.”

  Of course he had. Fantasy Conrad couldn’t get enough of her. He liked to purr questions into her ear.

  Today was no different. “What was your first thought when we met?”

  “I think you’re so hot,” she blurted out. “Hotter than the best chicken noodle soup in the world. Daisy makes it. You should bring me some. It cures everything.” She hacked up a lung. “That soup might even solve our case. Tell me everything you know immediately, or we’re finished forever!”

  “So much to unpack here.” How smug he sounded, even in her dream. And why did she ramble in her head? Shouldn’t she shine like a bright star somewhere?

  “If you break my heart, I’m going to break your face.” The fervent vow escaped between heaving coughs. Oops. Perhaps Fiona was right; Jane might be evil when sick.

  “That is good to know. Listen, sweetheart,” Conrad said, his tone softening. “I doubt you’ll remember this, but I’m telling you anyway.”

  Sweetheart? The heat in her veins cooled, shivers cascaded over her limbs. Fantasy Conrad certainly had her number. 1-800-C
harmMe.

  “We replaced the crowbar on Muffin’s marker with a lookalike,” he continued. “We also hid some cameras in the area, just in case.”

  She waited for another endearment. Silence. Disappointment set in. He should call her sweetheart all the time. With every sentence he uttered and question he asked. It was practically a declaration of love.

  Love.

  Jane connected the dots and gasped. “Guess what? You’re falling in love with me but should stop ’cause I’m cursed.”

  “Cursed, huh? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

  She tried to tell him more; she really did. But different words escaped her mouth. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if turtles had wings? They would finally have a higher perspective. Wait. Beau traveled the world with the military I bet. What if he saw one?” She hung up on a chuckling Conrad and dialed fantasy Beau.

  He answered on the third ring, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Hello, Jane.”

  “You’d be my favorite smoke show if you’d smile more. Or ever.” The words exploded from her, the whatever she’d been thinking about suddenly forgotten. “Don’t pick a mean girl as your favorite girl. Am I saying girl too much? Whatever. You gotta pick someone who puts the ‘fun’ in your funeral. Not that you’re dead or anything. But you kind of are.”

  “That’s…good to know?” A pause. Then, “Can you think of anyone who matches your description of my perfect girl?”

  “Not yet, but I will.” She rolled to her side and curled into a ball. “What’s your number one requirement for your future girlfriend, anyway?”

  A long while passed while Jane relaxed, listening to her breathing.

  “Trust. Safety,” he groused, jolting her from a daze.

  “Yes! You need this. You need this now. Go on a date with the woman of my choice. Please, Beau. Please. I’ve never asked you for anything. In fact, I’m always telling you not to do things.”

  “Fine, I’ll go on a date. But you and the guy of your choice have to double.”

  Even better. “Deal. Hey, do you ever wonder why June bugs come in May and stay until July?”