“I mean physically, sweetheart. How are you physically? Are you bleeding?”
“Yes!” He’d called her sweetheart again, and it was wonderful and terrible, both perfectly and illy timed. “I’m bleeding internally. My heart is torn into a thousand pieces, and it’s more than I can bear.”
“We’ll figure this out, I swear.” His tone had gentled exponentially, allowing her to pick up background noises. Rustling. Keys jingling. Other people grunting. “I promise I’ll stop at nothing to find your baby. But I do need you to stop what you’re doing right now and listen to me. I’m on my way to you, but I’m an hour—half an hour out. Return to your house, bar the door, and dial Beau’s number on the landline. He’s nearby and can reach you faster. Do you understand? Keep me on the call and tell me every time you complete one of your tasks.”
“Oh my gosh! Yes! You’re right. Beau is close, so he can help the search. Thank you, Conrad. Bye.” Click. Scanning here, there… Sunlight glared in every direction, few shadows offering relief.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she rang her friend. As soon as Beau answered, she relayed what had happened.
Like Conrad, he jumped into action, heading her way. Also like Conrad, he told her to return home.
Jane hung up on him too and motored forward, shouting her cat’s name. When she reached the top of the hill, the old office came into view and her breath caught. “Rolex!” At top speed, she dashed to the porch, where the mighty house panther rested on a shadow box, watching her approach with bored eyes. He even yawned.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She relinquished her weapon and dropped to her knees, gathering him close. A cheek nuzzle led to face-smothering kisses. Tears sprung anew, streaming down her cheeks. Her child was alive and well, and not in the clutches of some vicious cat killer.
Rolex squirmed for freedom, and she let him go. A quick phone call to Fiona ended the search. She phoned Conrad and explained the situation.
He muttered, “I want a look at that camera feed. While I’m there, I’ll change the locks on your doors. If I leave without spanking you, it’ll be a miracle.” He hung up on her, and she smiled.
She’d just had the meltdown of the century, and he wasn’t running for the hills. The guy had it bad for her. What if there was a slight chance he didn’t fall prey to the curse? He was stronger than, well, anyone. His determination had no bounds. As he was proving, he didn’t give up on anything without a fight. What if they could have something lasting?
Her tremors resumed as she called Fiona at the house to tell her all was well. Then she dialed Beau.
To her surprise, he offered complete understanding. “The momma bear found her cub. I’m glad. I’m also in your driveway.”
Oh! “Fiona will let you in.”
“No, she won’t. I’m coming to get you. I’ll escort you back to the house.”
Did he think the masked intruder might be hiding nearby? What had the woman sought, anyway? Jane’s possessions were priceless, but only in sentimental value.
Tension knotted her insides, and she rasped, “All right. Yes. I’ll wait. Thank you.” He was such a sweetheart.
The endearment echoed in her head, purred in Conrad’s voice, and she melted down for another reason entirely. Oh yeah. He had it bad for her.
Fiona took off soon after she arrived, but Beau stayed. As promised, Conrad came over and replaced rusty, warped locks with new, shiny industrial-strength bolts at every entry point in the house. All the inside work now completed, just like the outside work. While she served snacks, the guys chatted like old friends, discussing their individual hobbies. To relax, Conrad restored classic cars. Beau built birdhouses and squirrel feeders. Both liked to work out, watch football and camp. Jane didn’t mind roughing it upon occasion, if she got to stargaze.
As a little girl, she used to lie in Paradise Ladling, look up at the pinpricks of light set in an endless stretch of black, and chat with her relatives. No sight had ever rivaled the one painted by night. Until now.
She enjoyed watching the boys work together as a team. She’d first thought only Beau needed a friend, a buddy to hang and do guy stuff with. But seeing the pair side by side, hearing them call each other jerks and trashing the other’s favorite sports teams, she realized Conrad needed the friendship every bit as much.
What she didn’t appreciate? When the duo ganged up on her to declare her investigation days were over.
They could commiserate together when she proved them both wrong.
Chapter Nine
Arnold Hagen
Hole in One.
Plot 1024, Garden of Memories
Jane locked her car and jogged across the street toward the Aurelian Hills Gold Rush Museum, more determined than ever. Someone had endangered her precious cat, and that someone must be unearthed. Things were personal now.
The break-in must have a connection to Dr. Hotchkins’s murder. Catch one, catch the other.
Would the intruder come back?
A shudder racked her. She didn’t have to worry about Rolex while they were parted, at least. Those added bolts could hold a dragon.
The sun blazed, and she lamented her lack of a hat. Rolex had nibbled the tiniest little hole in her favorite straw, and she hadn’t yet figured out how to repair it. Besides, any headgear might make her stand out. Though new to investigating, she knew not to draw undue attention to herself, especially in a small town. She would draw enough attention already. So she’d opted for a plain T-shirt and jeans, hoping to blend in with other visitors.
She soared inside the building. A former county courthouse. Every schoolchild in Aurelian Hills visited the place at least once, and she couldn’t help but relive the sense of giddy excitement she experienced that day. Clutching a sack lunch, Beau at her side. Oohing and awing over old tools.
A guide led a group of five past her, saying with a hushed tone, “Notice the red brick. Beautiful, right? Every piece is locally sourced, and if you squint really hard, you might even spot a trace of gold.”
The same spiel Jane had heard at age six. And again at nine. Not once had she ever spied a hint of the stuff. Still, she’d always loved the federal-style building, with its white-painted shutters and tree-shaded sidewalk. An imposing yet charming picture.
Jane slowed when she reached the new and improved gold rush exhibit. She’d gotten mere glimpses at these crucial pages in Conrad’s office. Now, she would have her own copies to study. And luck was on her side. After a month-long closing for repairs, the museum had reopened today for a limited time. Could there be a clearer sign that Jane was supposed to do this?
An attendant sitting at a rounded desk emblazoned with a golden peach greeted her with a smile. “Hello and welcome to the Gold Rush Museum, where you don’t have to dig to find a treasure. If you’re here for the morning tours, I’m sorry to say you’ve just missed the cutoff. You’re free to do our self-guided one, however.”
“Oh yes. Thank you,” Jane replied with an eager nod.
“We only ask that you refrain from flash photography.” The older woman handed her a pamphlet.
Well. She would just turn off her flash and take all the photos her heart desired. Problem solved.
After paying the entrance fee, she strode down a hallway lined with framed portraits of the courthouse and judges who’d once presided in the building. Beneath an arched doorway read a sign: Welcome to the Nineteenth Century.
Soft banjo music greeted her as she entered a large room. Detailed black-and-white murals depicting maps, settlers and mining equipment covered the walls. Backlit displays housed the tools of everyday life for the miners. Jugs, wooden spoons and the shallow pans used to sift gold flecks from the river rock.
On a mission, she headed for the journal displays. Hopefully, the staff hadn’t retired anything after the renovation. She scanned the room until finding a special, five-sided glass enclosed table case.
Jane glanced from side to side. Alone. Good. She pulled out
her notebook and catalogued some thoughts. Another look left. Right. She discreetly withdrew her phone. Flash off. Excellent.
She aimed her camera and tapped the screen without drawing notice to herself, then eyed the entrance. The coast remained clear. Tap. Tap. Tap. Emboldened, she moved on to the next display case. And the next. Jane visited presentation to presentation, capturing journal pages, legends of a once-secret society, maps and lists and scribbles and doodles and too many other things.
“Thanks,” a woman called as she entered the smaller exhibit.
Wait. That woman. Red dress. Matching lipstick. Curvy figure. Jane remembered seeing her at Tiffany Hotchkins’s house. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland. Did the socialite come here often?
Thankfully Jane had worn soft-soled shoes; she rushed to a corner, wedged between two display cases and flattened herself against the wall to observe in secret. If only Conrad could see her now. Nailing it!
Abigail stalked from case to case, quickly looking over the contents before moving on. Then, at the first case where Jane had snapped a photo, the other woman paused and focused on a paper within, frowning. After glancing from side to side, Abigail popped out her phone and took a picture.
Hey, that was Jane’s move. Also, you weren’t supposed to use the flash. Abigail was gonna get them both thrown out. As soon as someone noticed the other woman’s camera, someone else would no doubt tattle about Jane.
Why not initiate a conversation and distract her? If Jane unearthed some answers in the process, even better.
She snapped a quick photo of the other woman before easing from her hiding place and approaching her target. “Hello. Hi. Abigail, right? Do you remember me? I’m Jane.”
They locked eyes for a moment, and Abigail blinked rapidly, offering a nervous laugh. “Jane. Yes.” After another quick scan around the room. Growing serious, she latched onto Jane’s wrist and tugged her into a shadow, whispering, “So you heard about the gold, too, I take it.”
Jane’s detective senses tingled. Did Abigail reference the fact that Dr. Hotchkins had enjoyed hunting the stuff? The fleur-de-lys? Or something more? Had he actually discovered some?
Better to play along and sort through the information later. “Oh yes. The gold,” she whispered back, as if she too hoped to keep the secret. “I know everything. But how did you hear about it?”
“How else? Tiffany found Mark’s notes.”
Mark rather than Marcus. Very interesting. And yes, suspicious, suggesting a level of familiarity. Possibly intimacy. Not even Tiffany had referred to the man as Mark.
“Now it’s your turn,” Abigail said with a harsher undertone, tightening her grip on Jane’s wrist. “I know Mark thought he’d turned up a reference to large nuggets hidden at your cemetery, but there was no mention of any gold reported on the news.”
“Because there isn’t any gold in my cemetery.” Jane clicked her tongue. “Dr. Hotchkins was wrong. The coffins were looted years ago. A recorded fact.”
“And coffins can’t be refilled before they’re reburied? What better spot to hide more gold than the place known to be picked bare? Grow up, Jane. You just want to keep everything for yourself.”
Dr. Hots had truly believed new gold was hidden inside Jane’s coffins? And Jane herself didn’t know about it? “There’s no gold,” she reaffirmed, her tone flat. No one else had snuck over to try again, at least.
Hmm. Why had no one snuck over to try again? Not enough courage?
Better questions: How many people suspected gold lay buried on her property, and how many would grow desperate enough in the future to sneak over?
Jane flinched at the thought of treasure hunters crawling all over her land, messing up the grass and disturbing the peace.
“There’s no gold,” she repeated more forcefully.
Abigail searched her face, and after a moment, narrowed her eyes and released Jane’s wrist. Backing away, palms up, she offered a brittle laugh. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Jane. Have a nice day.” With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off, her high heels clicking and clacking, leaving Jane with a twisting stomach.
Her thoughts remained stuck. No way someone had buried new gold. Just no way. Right?
She took multiple photos from multiple angles of the document Abigail had studied—the first one Jane would examine when she returned home. The urge to call Conrad surfaced, and she decided to go for it. He might complain about her involvement and command her to leave the museum, but he needed to hear these gold rumors.
Except the back of her neck prickled, and she straightened. Something felt weird. Jane darted her gaze. A group of museum guests entered the exhibit room, most engaged in a low conversation or focused on the displays. No one paid her any attention. No, not true. Everyone seemed to pay her too much attention, pretending not to notice her. Or she had an overactive imagination, and she needed to shift out of warp speed and into neutral.
Jane completed her mission and strolled from the building as casually as possible. She paused under the awning outside the entry doors. During the hour she’d spent inside, a storm front had rolled in, the sky now overcast. The coming rain electrified the air, her every inhalation scented moss and magnolia.
Something still felt weird, though. As if everyone around her suspected she carted around priceless gold pieces in need of stealing. Heart like a jackhammer, she glanced left. Right. Across Prospect Street to the fuller than usual parking lot. Nothing and no one out of place. But. Maybe she wouldn’t head to her car just yet. Just in case.
Her nape continued to prickle as she motored down the sidewalk of the revitalized Downtown Market, passing shops and Aurelian Hills staples. The Goldfield Hotel and the Gilded Scissor Beauty Parlor. Old man Mr. Buckley sat on a rocker in front of his hobby shop, carving something from a slab of wood. Tammy and Tommy, the Williams twins, set up a chessboard under the Charter Oak, where Aurelian Hills was officially established. Some people waved as she passed; others either didn’t see her or looked past her. A few whispered, “That Cemetery Girl.”
The feeling of being watched intensified. Jane threw another glance over her shoulder. Again, nothing out of the ordinary, but she quickened her steps. Never had she felt this way. She was tempted to phone Conrad, then Beau. But no. No, she was a grown woman, mature-ish even, sometimes, and she could handle anything on her own.
Nerves plagued her as she turned a corner and shot into Très Chic Consignment.
“Hi Jane,” greeted Tawny, the owner of the shop. “No new hats since the last time you popped by.”
Jane waved her hand. “That’s okay. Maybe I’ll discover a new, old favorite.” She pretended to browse. When enough time had passed, her body calming, she eased back outside and retraced her steps, aiming for the museum. Okay. Better. Yes—nope. The prickles roared back.
An arm shot out from a shadowed corner, gripped her bicep, and yanked her into a hidden alcove between two buildings. A rotund man stood in front of her. Short, thinning almost fully gray hair. A nice nose. Square, shaved jaw. All familiar, but her recognition came too late. Fight or flight had kicked in, and Jane was already throwing a fist. Contact!
Stumbling back, Dr. Garcia roared and clutched his not-so-nice anymore nose.
“Sorry, sorry,” she cried, pressing her aching hand over her racing heart. “Are you okay?”
Blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers. Dark eyes glazed with pain landed on her. “Ohh bwoke my nowse!”
“Well, yeah. You grabbed me. And followed me, I’m assuming. Why?” she demanded. She hadn’t even called to make her second appointment yet.
Using his shirt sleeve, he cleaned his face as best he could. His bicep flexed. He would definitely have an advantage in a fight.
Oh, crap. Would there be a fight?
“I needed to speak with you in private, and I suspect they’ve hidden cameras on your property,” he said, his nasally voice layered with paranoia. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I promise I didn’t mean to.
I couldn’t think of any other way to get you alone. I can’t call you—I don’t even have a cell phone. The GBH confiscated our equipment. Not just our phones, but our computers. The iPads. They subpoenaed everything the staff used to communicate with each other in the office or to post on message boards. Why do that? Who are they considering? I’ve never posted on a message board in my life. Has the agent said anything?”
No, the agent had not. Clearly, Conrad suspected a workplace romance gone bad, on the hunt for secret messages between lovers. Or meetings about gold. Did the message board tidbit add a whole new angle to the case?
Everyone in that medical clinic earned a new star at the top of her shady character list. Dr. Garcia, Caroline the PA and both nurses, with Emma maintaining a strong lead. “Special Agent Ryan hasn’t mentioned your equipment, and he certainly hasn’t named a suspect,” she replied honestly. “Why would he? I grace his list, too.”
“Yes, but everyone knows you’re working with him, anyway. Emma mentioned you’re dating him.”
Everyone knew she was working with the GBH? And dating Conrad? And Emma had said this? Emma Miller, Jane’s number one contender for murderer of the year? But how would Emma even know of Jane and Conrad’s flirtation? They’d never ventured into town together. He’d come to the cemetery, or she’d gone to his office. They’d shared no other contact.
“Why does Emma think this?” she asked, genuinely baffled.
“She saw your notebook. You drew hearts around Special Agent Ryan’s name and listed things to do on a date with him.”
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Hastily drawn hearts and double date ideas did not equate to a relationship.
The doctor eased closer but stilled when she eased back. Holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence, he told her, “I didn’t kill him. You must believe me. When I became a doctor, I took an oath. I would never harm anyone. Never. You have to believe me,” he repeated.
“I don’t understand why you think Conrad thinks—”
Romancing the Gravestone Page 11
