Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  “We quarreled,” he burst out, as if he couldn’t bottle up the confession anymore. “The day Marcus died, we argued badly.” His shoulders rolled in, and his head lolled forward. The posture of a defeated man. “I called him terrible names. Cursed his very existence.” Irritation joined the party, crackling in his voice. “But is that surprising? I’d just found out he was using our practice as his personal brothel. I’m not stupid. I know the legal risks. I begged to buy him out, but he refused.”

  So much to unpack. Motive galore. “I still don’t understand why you think I can help.”

  Both the dejection and irritation faded, replaced by pure, undiluted fear. “I have an appointment to speak with Special Agent Ryan this afternoon. He called me two days ago and said I could drive to his office to answer his questions, or he could come and get me, whichever I preferred. Why be so harsh with me unless he thinks I’m the murderer?”

  “He’s harsh with everyone.” That, she could claim without reservation. Except to me. Sometimes.

  “Yes, but most people probably have alibis for the night of the murder. I was home, and I was alone.” A bead of sweat dripped from his temple. “Maybe if you put in a good word for me and tell Special Agent Ryan you believe me? That you know I would never harm another living soul?”

  A desperate man stood before her, and she sympathized. He only wanted to clear his name. She’d experienced the same rush of emotions when she became a suspect. Did she think he could kill Dr. Hotchkins? No. But also yes. She firmly believed everyone was capable of everything every day at every time.

  “You don’t have to worry, Dr. Garcia. The killer will be found, and the remaining will be exonerated. You only have to tell the truth.”

  “The truth?” he cried. “Don’t be a fool, Jane. Innocent people go to prison all the time.”

  Was he innocent? Conrad hadn’t mentioned the doctor during their meeting yesterday. An inadvertent omission or a purposeful one? Or did he not suspect Dr. Garcia of the crime, despite the shouting match?

  “You aren’t the only one with a reason to get rid of him, Dr. Garcia. Think of the many husbands he betrayed. The women he lied to. Be sure to tell Special Agent Ryan about them. Every detail.” As he brightened, she asked, “How did you discover Dr. Hotchkins’s, um, brothel?”

  “I overheard the nurses discussing it. Emma was sobbing.” He clutched his brow, as if the memory hurt his head. Or the pain from his nose was radiating. Maybe both. “She’d walked in on Marcus and a patient. He’d forgotten to lock the door, and they were…busy.”

  Emma again. And she’d just found out Dr. Hots had slept with another woman. A reason to rage. Guiltier by the minute.

  A crack of thunder boomed. Both Dr. Garcia and Jane jumped.

  He tossed a glance over his shoulder, as if he expected Conrad to leap into the alcove with a gun. “I better go.” Amid another crack of thunder, he darted off, disappearing from view.

  Jane hurried to her car, the dark sky opening up at the halfway point. By the time she leaped inside her sedan, her clothes were soaked and her teeth chattering. Her adrenaline crashed, the ignorable ache in her hand graduating into a noticeable throb. Motions clumsy, she started the car and cranked up the heat.

  For several minutes, she debated the wisdom and foolishness of texting Conrad about what had just happened. In the end, she decided to take the advice she’d given Dr. Garcia and be honest.

  She opened her first text thread with Conrad’s number. Or rather, Agent Spice, as he was currently listed in her contact book. Ignoring the pain in her fingers, she typed, Ran into Dr. Garcia (not my fault!) We chatted. He says he’s innocent. I also bumped into Abigail Waynes-Kirkland at Gold Fever! She thinks there’s gold buried in my cemetery. She heard it from Tiffany, who read Dr. Hotchkins’s notes about it. Thoughts???????????

  A moment of pause, her finger hovering over the Send button. Should she? Shouldn’t she? Too late. She pressed send.

  Only seconds passed before the world’s most exciting little bubbles appeared. Conrad was typing a response. And it must be a good one, because the bubbles stretched on and on and on.

  Agent Spice: Thanks.

  Thanks? Thanks! Ugh. How disappointingly official. And did he have to ignore her question altogether? Wait. New typing bubbles appeared, and she sat up straighter, bumping her sore knuckles into the steering wheel. She winced but didn’t loosen her grip. What would he say this time?

  Agent Spice: Are you being safe? Legit gold or not, the mere suspicion puts you in danger.

  Aw. Her almost boyfriend—er, date—was concerned about her.

  Jane: Super safe!

  Proof: She might have broken Dr. Garcia’s nose. With her fist. Self-defense? Yeah, she was practically a master. Oh, wait. She might need to mention the hurt nose. Conrad wasn’t a half-bad detective, and he might notice the doctor’s face at their meeting.

  Jane typed and deleted. And typed. And retyped. Before she could hit send, her phone rang. She yelped, dropping the cell into her lap and scrambling to answer as Conrad’s name flashed over the screen. “I assure you—” she began.

  “You’re typing too slow. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Now she had to verbalize everything? So cruel. “Um, so, quick detail, no big deal, because there’s no way it’s a crime since I did the right thing, given the circumstances and information at hand, so don’t even think about arresting me, but I kind of punched Dr. Garcia in the face before we chatted.”

  Silence. She squirmed in her seat.

  “Start from the beginning. I want to know every detail concerning both encounters. Waynes-Kirkland and Garcia.” Tension crackled over the line as she explained. When she ended, he heaved a bone-weary sigh. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  Imagining him at his desk, leaning back in his chair and scowling, she said, “Are you about to ask me on a real date? Because I might say yes, even though I really, really should say no. And not just because of the case.” How was that for honesty?

  “I’ll take that as a no, you have no plans, so I’ll be over at seven. I’ll bring dinner, and you’ll explain this mysterious reason to reject me. Dress comfortably. This isn’t a date, but a training seminar. You’ll be learning how to defend yourself on purpose.”

  “I accept your command/request, but don’t bring food,” she said, the words leaving her before she could think things through. “I’ll cook.”

  Chapter Ten

  SueAnn Pickens

  No You Can’t Have My Pecan Pie Recipe.

  Plot 422, Garden of Memories

  Rain accompanied Jane the entire fifteen-minute drive to the grocery store, where she purchased ingredients to create a delightful meal for Conrad. Just something simple, like she used to cook with Grandma Lily. Chicken-fried steak and scratch gravy. Black-eyed peas. All the greens. Mashed potatoes. Homemade rolls. Cornbread, as well as stuffing. Corn. Sweet potatoes.

  Since she didn’t know what kind of pie he preferred, she should probably bake an array. Chess. Pecan. Peach. A cherry cobbler, if she had time. Yeah, she’d definitely have time.

  The rain continued to fall until five seconds after she raced inside the house, soaked anew. Rolex greeted her with a soft meow. He perched on top of the couch so she could adore him. After the appropriate amount of fawning, he sauntered away and she wandered into the kitchen. She made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and decided not to phone the clinic and schedule an appointment with Caroline and Emma.

  Why give Emma a heads-up? Instead, Jane could pose as a walk-in. A surprise. While there, she would try not to throw up in her mouth each time she wondered how many patients Dr. Hots had banged on the table.

  After unloading her groceries and donning an apron, she uploaded today’s photos onto her laptop, then grabbed her investigation notepad and a pen to log her thoughts.

  Knowing how to prepare every dish by route, she studied the images, noting the scribbles she both could and couldn’t decipher, names a
nd dates, symbols, maps and coordinates. Writing as she worked, alternating between whisking and dipping and peeling. Hidden in the photos she’d taken at the exhibit lay the explanation for Dr. Hotchkins’s belief that gold filled some of her caskets.

  Hmm. Something niggled in the back of her mind. She slid her gaze over everything she’d found worthy enough to be logged in her notebook, hoping an idea would catch—there. The fleur-de-lys symbol continued to draw her attention. What looked like the serious side of a sword and two curved lines forming the hilt.

  Was she missing something? According to Conrad, the image was linked to the gold. But how? How?

  Jane slid the last pie in the oven, set the timer, then checked the different camera streams. Nothing out of the ordinary. Excellent. An hour till the pie baked and two hours until Conrad’s arrival. Enough time for paperwork, light cleaning and a shower.

  As she waited, she compiled her outstanding bills and balanced the accounts, lamenting the lack of extra funds. A little gold would not be amiss right now. Oh, the things she could update at the cemetery. The cottage. The wages she could pay Beau!

  The oven’s timer buzzed. She hurried over to pull the pie from the oven, then tidied the kitchen. Finally, with the dishes covered and the table set, she showered. Once dry, she donned a tank top, shorts and tennis shoes, her best workout clothes.

  Hair up or down? What would Conrad prefer? Nope. His opinion didn’t matter. Up.

  Oh! She’d forgotten to prepare a fresh batch of sweet tea. Where the heck were her manners?

  Back to the kitchen she went, tying an apron around her waist. Rolex observed from the counter as Jane boiled water, dipped tea bags and mixed cup after cup of sugar. She had just finished stirring when the doorbell rang. Nervousness and excitement collided.

  The excitement struck her as pure foolishness. This wasn’t a date. He had specifically said so. Yes, Conrad had caught feelings for her. Yes, she debated the merits of risking the wrath of the Ladling curse. Yes, she had already forgotten where she’d been going with this. He was here!

  She smoothed the ruffle on her apron and made her way to the door, Rolex on her heels. A twist of the knob, a creak of hinges, and a surprising sight greeted her, the fluttering worsening. Conrad, standing next to Beau. The dark-haired bruiser and the blond Viking.

  Rolex hissed at one, then the other. Good kitty.

  Conrad looked incredible in a fitted T-shirt and worn jeans, his tattooed forearms on display. She wanted to study every image in great detail but kept her gaze up. No reason to make him feel like a piece of meat yet.

  Beau wore a T-shirt and shorts, as if he’d come straight from the gym. Muscles abounded.

  “Don’t mind me. I’ll be installing an alarm system from wall to wall, floor to ceiling,” Beau said. Then he nodded and strode inside, his delicious pine-and-soap scent a perfect complement to the aroma wafting from the kitchen. A duffel bag hung from his hand.

  “Not unless I get a bill first,” she called. “Which you can give me at dinner. Which you are eating with us, so don’t even consider saying no.” She motioned Conrad inside. “You told him about Dr. Garcia, I take it?”

  “I did not. I informed him of the gold. As he is your security guard, I believed he needed to be in the know. I made a judgment call. The real question is, why didn’t you tell him?”

  Because she owed Beau so much already, their friendship was lopsided. He did everything, and she did nothing. She wasn’t used to having a close ally nearby and feared she might drive him away. Fiona didn’t count because Fiona was family. For the bulk of Jane’s twenty-six years, she’d spent more time with the dead than the living. “I won’t take advantage of our relationship.”

  “When it involves safety, scales cease to matter,” Conrad told her as he entered the house. “Why is there a scale between you and Beau in the first place?” He backed her up, shutting and locking the door without ever looking away. “Until I catch the killer, let Beau help you every way he can. Okay?”

  He eased back, resting against the entrance. Giving her a choice: stay put or move closer. She moved closer. Just a little bit. Just to inhale all that cedar and spice.

  Then his words registered. “I know why Beau decided he liked you,” she grumbled. “What flipped the switch from animal-kingdom rules to bro code for you?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Do you really want to discuss it?” His gaze dropped to her lips before flipping up. “Or would you rather hear my thoughts about you instead?”

  Their gazes held—and sizzled. She lost her breath.

  “I don’t need you to tell me. I can guess,” she rasped. “Too curious. Too superstitious about curses. And fun.” He had smiled at her sometimes. “Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Sorry, but I deem my impressions of you classified until the case closes.” Did she detect a note of affection? Dark eyes playful, he reached around her to untie the apron, and suddenly she felt defenseless, as if she’d lost her shield. “The food smells amazing. Let’s eat.”

  Seriously? “You’re gonna end the conversation like that?”

  He winked and walked on. Dang him. Jane darted in front of him, leading the way to the dining room, where Beau was setting up shop on the yellow-laminate counter that divided the kitchen from the dining room. Why wasn’t Rolex watching him, hissing with displeasure?

  Hey, where was her precious, most treasured companion? After the Incident, she was taking no chances. Gearing up to panic, she scanned—oh, thank goodness. Air seeped from her lungs, tense muscles easing. Rolex had returned to perch on the table. He glared at both men as if he’d already plotted their murders in eighteen different ways. How almost gentle of him. He must be acclimating to having guests.

  “Sit, sit,” she said, motioning the boys to the chairs. She rushed to the china cabinet to collect another plate, then brought out the first dish. Then the next. And the next. Just the way Grandma Lily used to serve when they entertained.

  Proper manners are always in style, my darling.

  “I’ve seen nothing like this,” Conrad rasped, his eyes wide as he took in the assortment.

  Uh-oh. Was “this” a good thing or bad thing? Beau bore a similar expression of astonishment.

  “Are you expecting other guests?” her friend asked, his brow wrinkled.

  “Nope. Just us. Why?” She claimed the chair between the two men and thrilled as they both filled their plates. “Oh, make sure to save room for dessert. I baked your favorite pie.”

  Conrad canted his head at her. His official detective power pose. He’d decided there was a mystery to be solved. “I’m curious. What is my favorite pie?”

  “I don’t know,” she quipped. “We’ll find out together.”

  A megawatt smile bloomed, lighting his entire face. Jane felt her cheeks flush and her heart race.

  Beau cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. “I get that you guys are having a moment, but I’m starved. Mind if I dive in?” He rubbed his hands together.

  Jane laughed and motioned to the food. “Please do.” As she filled her plate, Conrad noticed the bruises on her hand and stiffened.

  He reached out and cupped his fingers under hers, lifting her battered knuckles to study them in the light. His features darkened. She nibbled on her bottom lip, expecting a rebuke. Instead, he flipped up his gaze and offered her a proud smile. “You blackened both his eyes. Good job.” After lightly tracing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, he released her.

  She bit back a whimper. “Is that better or worse than breaking his nose in the eyes of the law?”

  “You did both. A broken nose caused the black eyes. And they are equal.”

  Well. You learn something new every day. “My first time throwing a punch, and I hit the bull’s eye.”

  “If someone ever grabs you again, go for their throat and run away screaming,” Beau said with a nod. “You will run away screaming, won’t you, Jane?”

  “As fast as your fe
et can carry you,” Conrad added after sipping his tea. “Scream fire if you must.”

  The food in her stomach turned to lead. “You guys expect more trouble, don’t you?”

  Conrad set down his fork to rub the back of his neck. “I have an agent monitoring the Headliner, and as of this afternoon eleven subjects have mentioned the possibility of finding gold in your cemetery. Those eleven will tell others. Those people will spread the word further. At some point, someone will sneak onto your property to find out the truth.”

  “Whatever day it is, whatever time, I want you to call me at even the hint of a trespasser.” Beau’s green eyes were fierce. “I mean it.”

  Jane nodded, her thoughts whirling. Was there or wasn’t there gold in her cemetery?

  They finished the meal, and both men offered to clean up. Though she refused—Grandma Lily never allowed guests in the kitchen—they helped her, anyway.

  “Beau has a lot to do, and I have a lot to teach you,” Conrad said when the last dish was put away. “We should get started.”

  As Beau installed the alarms throughout the house, the agent trained Jane by porch light in the backyard. A wide space with lush grass and graceful willows. Lighting bugs flashed, the scent of magnolia heavier than usual. Stars glittered like diamonds scattered over black velvet. A sultry evening with a powerful man.

  He was a hands-on trainer, a bit barky, and he showed no mercy, but she loved every minute. He taught her how to fight as dirty and nasty as possible. Best move by far? The Testicle Relocator.

  He kept things all business, and his serious demeanor never wavered. Until she did an impression of him, and he laughed outright. The rusty sound broke and delighted her heart in unison.

  “You’re a natural,” he told her, the praise going straight to her head.

  Beau finished soon after and took off. Conrad lingered a bit longer. He dusted his knuckles along her jawline before heading to his car with a wink and a smile. “Try not to miss me too much.”

  Impossible. “Don’t die on your way home,” she called with a wave, and he laughed outright.