Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  Jane was still smiling as she prepared for bed. What a wonderful night.

  As she laid her head upon her pillow, the image she’d found so familiar resurfaced in her mind, and she gasped, jolting upright. Finally! She knew what had niggled at her about the fleur-de-lys. Add a circle to the bottom and a circle with a dot in the center and boom, you had the symbol for the (alleged) Order of Seven. A long-ago gold-worshipping secret society. The same symbol her ancestors had carved in the gold-bearing coffins. The very symbol marked in one of the journals on display at the museum.

  There it was. The connection. But was it a decoy or the real deal? Would she find gold in some of her coffins? In any of the other marked caskets?

  After the graves were looted, her ancestors logged details describing every detail about every plot and coffin. Jane knew some of their old notes mentioned the Order of Seven symbol.

  She scrambled out of bed, one thought rolling into another. She’d seen the pattern on the unearthed casket as well as a photo at the museum. The same photo Abigail had studied—the grave of Silas Ladling.

  I’m on to something. I know it! Jane needed a partner, and there was only one person she trusted to do the job and not arrest her.

  She snatched up her cell phone and teed up his number.

  He answered on the first ring, tension icing his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You wanna dig up a grave?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Adam Daniels

  In The Hole On This Deal.

  Plot 681, Garden of Memories

  “Why are we doing this again?” Beau shoveled a mound of dirt from inside a pit.

  Jane had hung paper lanterns throughout the area, golden light keeping her companion illuminated.

  Midnight had come and gone, insects serenading them with a gentle song as a magnolia scented breeze brushed warm air over her exposed skin. “Because we can.” Jane perched atop a headstone, the perfect spot to see inside the pit. She wore a tank top, jeans and her sturdiest work boots. “Why did you agree?”

  “I knew you’d come out here on your own if I didn’t.”

  “Smart.”

  Dirt smeared his sweat-glistened skin. Everywhere from his brow to the beginnings of a golden happy trail, visible above the waist of his jeans. He’d removed his shirt an hour ago, and she couldn’t help but notice he was a seriously beautiful man. He was also kind beyond imagining. Caring. A little—or a lot—haunted. Still not great at smiling. But at least he was relaxing more.

  Mental note: Call Eunice and/or Ana about that double date!

  “Let me rephrase. Why am I doing this?” he grumbled, hoisting another scoop of dirt out of the hole, his well-defined biceps straining. “This is your idea. You should be the one huffing and puffing.”

  She offered him the same expression often displayed to Jane herself. Amused indulgence. The equivalent of a pat on the head. “But Beau,” she said with an exaggerated pout, “all of my digging equipment stopped working ages ago. Since there are to be no more burials, I decided not to waste money fixing everything. Now I rely on my trusty shovel. I only found one shovel.”

  He snorted. “Yes, but I happen to know you have three others. You hid them, didn’t you?” He plunged the blade in the earth again, all kinds of muscles rippling. Thunk.

  Beau stilled. Their gazes met.

  Breathless with excitement, she asked, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Oh yeah.” He shoveled faster to reveal the upper part of a seriously old casket. “We hit pay dirt.”

  She hopped down and crouched, the lantern casting brighter rays into the depths of the hole. Carved in the center of the lid? The Order of Seven symbol, as noted by her ancestor.

  A rush of adrenaline flooded her veins. “I’m joining you in the pit. This is happening, so don’t try to stop me.” Jane secured the ladder she’d placed at the ready and climbed down, bringing the lantern with her. She wiped the remaining layer of dirt from the casket’s surface.

  Beau continued digging around the edges to provide a fingerhold. “Again, I gotta ask. You’re sure this is legal?”

  On her knees, she propped her hands on her hips. “Look at you, all concerned about the law. I mean, it’s about as legal as it’s gonna get without a court order. This grave belongs to Silas Ladling, the first resident of Garden of Memories. As his heir, I grant permission for this exhumation. As the groundskeeper, I offer no protests to said permission. See? Extra legal.”

  He flashed her a dubious look but reached for the crowbar anyway. Friends were awesome. The aged wood creaked as he pried open the seal. Beau’s complexion suddenly took on a greenish hue, and it had nothing to do with the lighting.

  “That smell,” he choked.

  “Don’t be silly. The body is too old to have a smell. No, what you’re smelling is the scent of a new curse being unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. I kid, I kid.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Have you always been this way?” His nose wrinkled as the last nail gave and they broke into popped open the lid. “I swear I’m inhaling death itself.” He shuddered and gagged.

  A smile spread. Sometimes she forgot how squeamish other people got around gravestones and caskets and dead bodies. She gave her big tough guy’s muscly arm a gentle squeeze. “Be honest. You believe you’ve unleashed a vengeful ghost who will forever haunt you.”

  “I didn’t. But I do now,” he griped.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from most likely nonexistent entities. In the meantime, just breathe through your mouth. In and out. Good, that’s good.”

  Her own breath hitched in anticipation as she returned her attention to the casket. This might be the most exciting development since she’d joined the investigation team. Real answers about Dr. Hot’s death, legends, secret symbols and buried gold could be hers in mere seconds.

  Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid.

  For over a hundred years, this casket had remained buried, bothered only by time, the elements and once, those looters. Was Abigail right? Had someone hidden more gold before the second burial? The wood protested with a splintering groan as the top separated from the bottom.

  Beau kept his gaze on the star-studded sky above them, no doubt plotting his escape route.

  With a final mournful sound, the burial box grudgingly revealed its secrets. “This is it,” she said, goose bumps spreading over her arms as she adjusted the lamp. She’d never felt so amped for a moment.

  Light chased the shadows from the coffin’s aged interior.

  “Well.” Her shoulders rolled in. “Empty.”

  “Someone stole the body?” Beau dropped his gaze, only to zoom it back to the sky. He covered his mouth, gagging once again, and a giggle escaped her. Glaring her way, he barked, “You said the thing was empty but it’s filled with bones.”

  “I meant there’s no gold.” Which meant, what? That she was right and the new rumors about gold proved to be nothing more than speculation? That she should focus on the romance angle? Namely Emma Miller?

  “Let’s get out of here,” Beau said, closing the lid. “I want to shower with scalding water and steel wool. I think the smell of rot has infused into my skin.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Such a silly rabbit.” She remained in place. “My ancestor was barely a body.”

  “Exactly!” He wagged a finger at her. “Did you have this mean streak as a little girl?”

  “Yes. Now be a good boy and look away again. I’m not done collecting my evidence.” She opened the lid, the hinges groaning louder than before.

  Beau muffled a cough, and she laughed.

  “I’ll be quick, I promise,” she assured him. “I just need to take a few pictures to post on the Headliner. Don’t worry. I won’t show anything I shouldn’t.”

  “All of it is something you shouldn’t show. Despite your assurances to the contrary, we broke several laws, and you’re about to confess to the world. You understand this, yes?”

>   She angled her camera this way and that, snapping photo after photo. “How did I not know you were such a worrywart?”

  He reared back. “I am not a worrywart.”

  “You so are.”

  Now he pursed his lips. “If you’re going to make me wait, you might as well remind me about the Aurelian Hills gold rush. I only lived in the area a little while, and I recall little about the history here. How did the gold get into the caskets? The first time.”

  Did he need a distraction? As she took photos, she told him, “From what I’ve read, the town had a thief in its midst back then. Someone willing to steal the gold found by others. My ancestor buried his nuggets with the new arrivals for safekeeping, thinking to wait until the heat died down. But then he died.”

  “Of course he did.” He moved to the ladder and waved her over. “All right. That’s all I can stand. I’ll help you refill the hole in the morning, but we’re done for the night. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

  And he had a drive ahead. “Where are you living, exactly?”

  “In a motel just outside of town.”

  What! A motel when she had a perfectly amazing guest room? For shame! “Why don’t you stay here tonight? The guest bedroom has a private bathroom. I’ll even provide clean clothes. Grandma Lily kept some of my grandpa’s things after he died. They’re dated and probably, uh, a teensy bit small for you, but I’ll make up for it with a breakfast feast.” He’d come all this way and done so much to aid her. She wanted to do something nice for him, too.

  “I liked the motel,” he said. “But I’ll stay tonight because I don’t like the thought of you out here alone with those rumors about gold floating around. No need to break out your grandfather’s clothes. I always keep a go bag in my truck. It has everything I need.”

  A go bag? For one-night stands? Or getting out of town fast? The thought of losing him choked her up.

  Silent, she followed him up the ladder and snapped a few photos of the hole and gravestone from several angles.

  Beau let her work up here without complaint, but he did shift his weight from foot to foot, eager to escape. Her big, strong friend and his corpse phobia. Yep. Adorable.

  Inside the house, she, Beau and Rolex double checked the locks, windows and perimeter. She took a shower to wash off the grime, dressed in full coverage pajamas and headed for the kitchen, while chatting softly with Rolex too amped to sleep.

  The guest room door was closed, the lights out. Had Beau already drifted off? An idea struck.

  She hurried to compile an itemized list of everything he’d done for her and the money she owed him, then slipped the paper under his door. If he wouldn’t give her a bill, she’d give him an IOU.

  After making a cup of tea, she settled in Grandma Lily’s favorite overstuffed recliner and withdrew her phone from her pocket. With the sweetest purrs, Rolex rested on the arm of the chair and drifted to sleep.

  She turned the cell to silent, then edited the photos she’d taken, blurring the body before uploading the best images to the Headliner. To her surprise, the entire process took less than half an hour.

  See? No gold at Garden of Memories. RIP Silas Ladling.

  She set her phone aside and leaned back, teacup in hand. Warm, chamomile-scented steam misted her face. How long before Conrad found out what she’d done? He’d mentioned he kept the Headliner group under surveillance. Surely the people keeping vigil took nighttime breaks? A quick glance at the clock. 4:03 a.m. Or morning breaks.

  She bet Conrad contacted her first thing in the morning. Eight, maybe. Or even seven. A ripple of excitement shot down her spine. No doubt he would—

  Her phone vibrated, and she gasped. Less than five minutes? Are you kidding me?

  “You dug up a body?” he demanded without preamble. “With help from a certain someone, I’m sure.”

  “Why isn’t your first guess looters, since everyone in town has heard rumors about the gold?” she asked him quietly, being respectful of Beau’s nearness, And involvement. “I might have taken photos of their crime. In fact, I might be calling a certain special agent right now to report said crime. But however it happened, I think we can both agree it was my billion-year-old relative, my decision.”

  A soft growl filled the line. “We wanted to douse the flames of interest in the cemetery, not to fan them.”

  His gravelly voice tickled her ears. “The coffin had no gold. Consider the flames doused. You’re welcome, by the way. You can repay me by opening up my cemetery and removing the police tape.” It hadn’t bothered her before, but for some reason, it bothered her now.

  “First, I planned to call you in the morning and tell you the cemetery is cleared for visitors. Second, check out your text messages. I’ve sent you several screenshots. Comments from your post.”

  Uh-oh. He’d grated those words with more force than before.

  Jane held her phone in front of her face and opened the new messages from Conrad. Though most of the townspeople were asleep, two night owls had already replied.

  Believe Cemetery Girl’s staged picture? Try again. Stated by John Langston, a guy she’d gone to high school with. A bona fide conspiracy theorist, so big deal.

  You obviously removed the gold before taking those photos. Posted by the mayor.

  Okay, that one came with a sting. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she returned the device to her ear. “So that didn’t go exactly as planned. How do I prove there’s no gold here?”

  His heavy sigh crackled over the line before he grumbled, “I know that tone. It means you’re already plotting something else. Stop it. Stop it right this second.”

  Too late. Ideas rolled through her mind. “I think I need to launch a sting operation.”

  “No,” he stated simply. “No sting operation, Jane.”

  “I’ll host a tour, like I’ve done countless times in the past. Business as usual. Except I’ll charge double. Triple! Prices so exorbitant they weed out the merely curious. Only people invested in the case or the gold will pay. And you can’t forbid this, because the cemetery is still cleared for business, yes? Mourners gotta mourn, Conrad.”

  “Yes. You are still cleared to open your business.” He’d graduated from demanding to hissing. “What do you hope to learn from this?”

  Easy. “Who’s interested in the gold or the murder, as previously stated. Who’s interested in the gold, period. If someone attempts to snag the murder weapon. Finally ending the mystery about gold for everyone in town, making myself and my cat safer. Gaining a chance to look my home intruder in the eye. Revenge. Finding out if there’s someone paranoid enough to double check no evidence was left behind. Shall I go on?”

  “How do you make sense?” He heaved another sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Come to my office first thing in the morning. Eight sharp. If I can’t stop your tour, I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  He would? Really? “Thank you, Conrad. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Goodnight, Jane.” But he didn’t hang up. Not yet.

  “Something else you wanna say, Conrad?” she said, and chewed on her bottom lip. Had she sounded as needy to him as she’d sounded to herself? In that moment, the Ladling curse meant nothing to her. She only wanted more of this man.

  Another sigh. “I’m really glad I met you, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart again. Her chest clenched, a stronger squeeze than ever before. Tomorrow, the curse could matter again. For tonight? “I’m glad I met you too.”

  They hung up, then, and she and Rolex crawled into bed. She tried to fall asleep, but her mind remained too active, running through the information, pairing different clues together. By six, she gave up and meandered into the kitchen, ready to start breakfast for Beau.

  A note rested on the table alongside the shredded remains of her IOU.

  We’re friends. You owe me nothing. I’ll stop by later, and you can tell me about your meeting with Conrad. B

  So the two had already chatte
d? Men sucked. They were so freaking annoying. And so, so pretty. But mostly annoying. She couldn’t exactly prepare herself a feast, now, could she? Instead, she had to settle for whole grain.

  Forget it. She had time to kill before making the hour-long drive to the city. Why not have pancakes. Except, they weren’t Fiona’s pancakes.

  Back to whole grain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brian McGowan

  I Told You That Tasted Funny.

  Plot 77, Garden of Memories

  Jane stood behind a big potted plant in the lobby of Georgia Bureau of Homicide headquarters, phone pressed to her ear, writing in her notebook and hiding from the receptionist as she finished her call with Fiona. A big sign had been taped to the desk: NO CELL PHONES PAST THIS POINT.

  Half rebellious, half afraid of being ticketed for a cell phone violation, she whispered, “Repeat what you just told me, word for word. Leave nothing out. I think I’m missing some details.”

  Her friend sighed. “Why don’t I stick to the highlights? An hour ago, a distraught Emma Miller knocked on my door. She said she got a call from someone on her way to work, and they told her I’d been asking questions about her. She demanded to know why. I demanded to know why she cared, and she stomped away.”

  A quick double check. Okay, yes. Jane had logged the pertinent details. “That woman is so guilty.”

  “Agreed. The answer doesn’t always need to be complicated. That’s what I always say, anyway.” A pause. “Are you about to see Conrad?” Fiona asked, her dead-serious tone replaced by amusement.

  “In a matter of minutes.” She swiped her tongue over her lips. “In fact, I should go. Don’t want to be late.”

  They hung up, and she stashed her phone but kept her trusty notebook and a pen in hand.

  Jane slipped from her spot behind the plant and moved to the reception desk. Nervousness and excitement battled for domination in the arena of her mind. Soon, she would kick off Operation Killer Bait.