Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  “And the gun on your hip? Seriously, Conrad.” This was supposed to be somewhat covert. Didn’t help that a glowing lantern rested at her feet, light glinting off the metal.

  He flashed her a big bad wolf smile. “All the better to protect you with.”

  Why, why, why did he have to be so shiver inducing? “You’ve got to dial down your level of menace, at least.”

  “I want everyone to know I’m here, and I’m watching,” he replied, and if anything, he ramped up his threatening stance. She felt his challenge: Try me.

  With a sigh, she shifted her focus to the guests. More people poured into the Garden, one after the other, collecting in the gated entrance that separated the yard from the cemetery. The perfect spot for herding a large group in the direction of her choice. Spacious, spooky with a scattering of gnarled trees, and bathed in golden moonlight.

  The night offered the most amazing bouquet of scents. Her favorites. Magnolia and gardenia. Also freshly mowed grass and something she would swear was stardust. Insects buzzed and frogs croaked, creating a lovely symphony she’d enjoyed most of her life. The perfect night. Except it wasn’t. Not with a gun-toting special agent and a glaring military hero stationed near her like rabid castle guards.

  Although, she supposed Beau’s “outfit” did in fact count as a costume. Conrad had snorted when he’d spotted the other guy for the first time this morning. She’d tried, okay, cobbling together a groundskeeper uniform from stuff her Pops had worn. Sure, males once wore their shorts a little shorter in the 1970s. And the ribbed T-shirt with cuffed short sleeves might not be at the height of fashion, but it was the only piece of clothing she’d found with Garden of Memories screen-printed above the pocket.

  Truth be told, the thin cotton outlined every muscle of his well-defined chest. Hmm, maybe Beau the fashionista could start a trend. Men displaying more leg, because hello. Too bad neither Eunice nor Ana could make tonight’s festivities to see him in all his glory. Apparently Eunice was dealing with some kind of an accounting emergency, and Ana was out of town.

  “I hate this,” Beau muttered from her left.

  “So you’ve said.” She cast him a pointed glance over her shoulder. “Six times.”

  “Have I mentioned how much I like your new look?” Conrad asked the other man, and yes, there was a snicker in his tone.

  Beau crossed his arms, his biceps straining the material. “Shut it. I make bad look good.”

  “I have the same garments in different colors,” she told her agent. “If you’d prefer to be co-groundskeeper for the night, I’ll grab them.”

  “Hard pass,” Conrad said.

  A stir flowed over the gathering crowd when Tiffany Hotchkins arrived. Raw grief glazed her eyes. She’d anchored her dark bob away from her face. A dirty, wrinkled T-shirt and ripped jeans bagged on her thin frame.

  Several townspeople swarmed her, offering condolences. Others merely snuck a peek at the new widow.

  Her pain struck Jane as genuine and sparked a massive uprising of guilt. At that moment, she (lightly) scratched Tiffany off her suspect list, then elbowed Conrad and whispered, “See? It’s working. I just got my first big break. I’m now relatively certain there’s someone in town who didn’t do the crime.”

  Conrad leaned down to whisper in her ear. “This is still a terrible idea.”

  Such a rich, gravelly, shiver-inducing voice. “You’ll change your tune when I solve the entire case later tonight.” Boastful words, but dang it, she wanted those bragging rights more than she’d ever wanted anything. And justice or whatever.

  “Oh, you’re resolving everything tonight, are you?” He didn’t try to hide his amusement.

  “Yes, sir. I am.” Maybe? She watched as Abigail pushed through the crowd to hug her friend. The brunette and the redhead hooked arms to present a united front. Well. Maybe Abigail wasn’t the type to betray her friend. Maybe. Jane wasn’t ready to scratch another name off the list just yet.

  More guests poured in.

  She greeted each one with a wave. “Hello and welcome to a night sure to haunt your memories for eternity.” Oh! Emma had arrived. At her side, her soon-to-be ex Anthony. If they still planned to become exes?

  Emma wore all black. She even added black gloves. Ohhhhh. Was the number one suspect planning to go after the crowbar while lost in the shadows tonight, perhaps?

  Jane spotted two others from the medical clinic. Dr. Garcia, whose bruising had begun to fade, appeared just as nervous as before. Caroline dressed in a jacket the same unmissable shade of yellow as the letters on Conrad’s jacket.

  Oh, look. The clinic’s receptionist and another nurse. Heck, the clinic could have a staff meeting right now.

  Like a game of clue. Who killed the doctor, in the graveyard, with the crowbar?

  Caroline glanced her way, offered a small smile, then faced an approaching Dr. Garcia. The two huddled together, not inviting the other employees to join in.

  Whispered conversations merged, but Jane’s name surfaced again and again. Wait. Conrad’s name surfaced, too. Was his presence fueling the rumors about their so-called romance?

  Her cheeks burned. Had Conrad heard about her doodles?

  The din of the crowd grew louder. Someone bumped into someone else, and a plethora of retorts rang out. Conrad and Beau tensed. Jane’s heart pounded. Was a fight about to happen?

  Sweat dotted her brow and dampened the material at the small of her back, doubt attacking her from every front. Had she made a terrible mistake? There were too many people here to corral them all. Too many motives and variables she couldn’t control.

  Her breath shallowed, the corset suddenly cinching her in all the wrong places.

  “Jane,” Conrad prompted as he moved closer. So close, the front of his body molded to the back of hers. He settled a hand on her hip and bent his head to her ear. “Focus on me. Breathe in. Out. Good. Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress? The hat is. …not terrible.”

  A little laugh barked from her. Her eyes widened. Dang, she liked this man.

  “Calm now?” he asked, squeezing her.

  Each of her nerve endings pinged. She nodded, then notched her chin. The only mistake she’d made tonight was thinking she’d made a mistake. She had this.

  From the town square, a clock tower gonged. Midnight had arrived. The tour could begin.

  As she scanned the crowd, she memorized the faces of her attendees. Tons of people would receive a bill tomorrow. Jane planned to use every cent she earned tonight to pay Beau for his work.

  “All right, boys. It’s showtime.” She bent to collect the lantern. The light must have glinted off Conrad’s gun again, because several guests paled and hurried to insert themselves into the masses.

  Stepping to the edge of the dais, Jane sought everyone’s attention. “Welcome, foolish mortals,” she called, then exaggerated a wince. “I mean, brave souls. I suggest you gird your loins, for you are soon to meet the spirits that haunt this cemetery, and there’s no turning back.” With her thumb, she triggered a remote tucked in her pocket. The stringed lights hanging throughout the area blinked to life. A ghostly wind moaned over a hidden speaker.

  Someone shrieked, and a few uncomfortable laughs followed. Good. Best to keep everyone guessing. They might reveal more than they’d intended.

  “Are you ready to enter into the land of the dead?” Considering she wore miles of fabric, a thousand ruffles and a lung flattening corset, she handed the lantern to Conrad and lifted both of her hands in expectation, whispering to her companions, “Help me!”

  After only the briefest pause, each man aided her descent of the steps.

  “I’ll follow the group from the rear,” Beau said before jogging off.

  Conrad returned the lantern to Jane. “I’ll remain by your side at all times. Don’t even think about ditching me.”

  “Do you hear me complaining?” Like a good hostess—guidetress?—Jane swept forward, leading the charge. “Follow me…
if you dare.”

  As the group of what seemed to be millions motored past the gravesites, she shared facts about Aurelian Hills, secret societies and the duels and murders that brought the first occupants to the Garden. She made dramatic hand gestures for effect. And puns. Lots and lots of puns.

  Something she quickly learned: she couldn’t keep track of the right people while remembering her lines. But she tried, her determination unmatched. Jane stuck to the lighted trail, knowing Beau’s cameras recorded everything. Thankfully, the route provided a stunning view. Paper lanterns hung from poles, illuminating headstones. The angel statue cast an arresting shadow. Hanging vines created curtains here and there. Vines swirled beside the cobblestone path.

  The first stop on the tour was, as always, an introduction to Muffin. Tonight, though, she wanted the killer to see the fake crowbar and attempt to snatch on camera. As everyone gathered around her, she shifted her attention to Emma as much as possible. Which wasn’t possible because she couldn’t spot the woman in the crowd. Dr. Garcia and Caroline seemed particularly touched by the ghost dog that watched over the residents. Many others remained uninterested, glancing around. On the hunt for the dead or gold?

  Next Jane visited a series of five headstones, each depicting the grim reaper in a different stance. Her audience had thinned, and she fought to hide a grin. Seemed some of her guests had lagged behind or wandered off. How interesting.

  “This is the Death family,” she said. “And yes, that is their real name, only pronounced Deeth. They liked to poke fun of their unusual name.”

  “More and more people are branching off,” Conrad muttered to her.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she muttered right back. Muffin’s marker wasn’t the only one being watched by cameras. Later, when her last guest left, Jane would watch every stream of feed and find out who had returned to the murder weapon, who had checked out the murder site, and who had inspected the coffins and gravestones with the Order of Seven symbol.

  To ensure the right people felt secure enough to venture off, Jane continued on the tour as if nothing was wrong. Except things took a horrible turn after the eighth stop.

  Murmurs about the supposed gold grew louder and louder until someone shouted, “Where is it? Show us the gold!”

  Other shouts rang out.

  “Actually, the Gold family isn’t buried here,” she said, playing ignorant, “but if you’ll look to your right, you’ll notice—”

  “I found it!” The claim came from a distance and silenced the remaining shouts. “I found where Dr. Hots was murdered!”

  Gasps and murmurs sounded, everyone turning to look in the voice’s direction. In groups of two and three, her guests broke off, splitting from the crowd. Emma aimed in that direction, too.

  “We might as well join them,” Jane muttered, barreling forward to lead the stragglers. You never knew when a clue would turn up.

  Conrad caught up, maintaining a post at her side.

  “How dare you,” a woman shrieked. Not just any woman. Tiffany Hotchkins.

  Jane and Conrad picked up the pace, reaching plot 39 in record time. Stationary lanterns glowed, illuminating the crowd.

  Abigail stood beside Tiffany and pointed a finger in Emma’s face. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  Emma swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks, her fingers trembling. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Tiff. But I loved him too.”

  People were drawing together, creating a circle around the women. No sign of Anthony. Jane decided to reach an organic conclusion. Conrad must have decided the same, considering he didn’t leap to anyone’s rescue.

  Please, please, please let someone admit something they shouldn’t!

  A vein pulsed in the widow’s forehead, and her hands balled into fists. With a wail, Tiffany Hotchkins launched herself at the nurse. The two hit the ground and rolled. The widow pulled hair and clawed. The nurse merely defended herself.

  Okay, so, change of plan. The organic conclusion might be another murder. “No! Stop this!” Jane called. She’d wanted more barbs of information, not a physical altercation.

  Conrad acted fast, rushing ahead of her to grab the two combatants and wrench them apart.

  Beau arrived a split second later, shooting into the mess to take possession of Tiffany, who fervently fought his hold.

  No sign of Sheriff Moore. Jane wondered if he’d stayed behind at the ticket booth for some mysterious reason.

  Emma brought her hands to her bleeding face and sobbed. Her gloves had come off, revealing old, scabbed cuts. Jane frowned. Those cuts looked an awful lot like feline scratches. Had the nurse tangled with a cat recently?

  A specific cat, perhaps? Two punctures topping two zagged lines.

  Breath caught in Jane’s throat, blocking her airway. In an instant, she remembered the terror of being unable to locate her baby. The agony of wondering what had happened.

  “You did it,” Jane gasped out. The motive? Love. An unholy, unexpected rage exploded from her. Her movements slowed. A predator locked on prey, she eased the lantern to the ground. “You’re the cat endangerer. That, I know.”

  “Jane,” Conrad grated a few feet away as he struggled to contain Tiffany. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Stand down.”

  As if. “The only question now,” she continued to Emma, “is whether or not you’re the killer.” She’d spoken so quietly, no one had heard. In fact, nobody paid any attention to her. Sharper words flew from her tongue. “You were in my house and scared my baby. He could have died.” The thought of burying Rolex… “He could have died as terribly as Dr. Hotchkins. Because of you.”

  Jane erupted, launching at Emma. Those hours of self-defense with Conrad were about to pay off. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop her as she plowed into the other woman. They toppled, the nurse ripping from Conrad’s grip.

  This time, Emma refused to take her medicine. She fought back.

  Conrad moved to pull them apart, only to focus on the lawyer after he shoved his way through the crowd. As the agent took down the irate husband, Jane knocked Emma flat on her back, out cold.

  Grinning, she wiped her hands together in a job well done. “Someone call Fiona. Tell her what I did. Oh, and maybe round up one of our visiting doctors.”

  “Dr. Garcia!” multiple voices called. “Whittington!”

  “Emma did it,” she told Conrad as he forced Anthony to the ground and cuffed his hands behind his back. “She’s my intruder. She might be the murderer too!”

  “Maybe. I’ll question her, I promise you.”

  Beau maneuvered Tiffany into the same supine position, and zip-tied her wrists.

  He just carried the ties in his pocket all casual-like? Okay. Guaranteed Eunice will find that sexy.

  Caroline hurried forward. “I’m here, I’m here. Who’s my patient?”

  “Emma,” Jane told her.

  The assistant crouched beside the unconscious nurse and checked her vitals. Sweat dotted her brow. She’d ditched her bright jacket, at least. Hey, why had she worn a jacket in the first place? Like so many others, she now wore all black.

  Hmm. Had Caroline snuck around the cemetery? To what end?

  Well. The case wasn’t exactly solved, after all. Too bad for Caroline the cameras came with night vision.

  “Take her to the clinic without jostling her too much. I haven’t found any signs of a concussion, but I’d like to do a more thorough examination,” the PA announced.

  Hoping to remain with Emma and the physician assistant, gaining privacy for questioning in the process, Jane flattened a hand over her stomach and faked a sharp pain. “Oh no. Was I injured internally during the fight I just won? I should probably get checked out, too.”

  Conrad glared at her while standing guard over his captives. “I’m sure you’ll recover. I can’t leave until my team arrives. You’ll stay here with me.”

  “Allow her to suffer with what is clearly a legitimate ailment?” Bea
u asked with an almost amused tsk-tsk in his voice. “Don’t be so cruel, Conrad. I’ll drive Jane to the clinic. Since she isn’t under arrest, she’s free to go. Isn’t she?”

  Teeth clenched, Conrad grated, “She is.”

  She tried not to beam her thanks in the midst of her great stomach agony. Did Beau suspect Caroline of wrongdoing, too? Or think she only hoped to stay with Rolex’s greatest foe? Or maybe he just liked getting one over on the special agent. Each motive received Jane heartily approval.

  Beau scooped Emma into his arms and headed out. Caroline followed him, but Jane lagged before racing to Conrad, who stood behind Anthony and Tiffany. The pair had given up the battle and simply panted while laying on the grass. All around, townsfolk murmured about what they’d witnessed. Tomorrow, Fiona might die of disappointment for missing the event of the century.

  Jane rose to her tiptoes and kissed Conrad’s stubble-covered cheek. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” The scent of cedar and spice made her heart trip, a soothing balm like no other.

  “You better be.” Expression a mix of fear and anger, he said, “I know you consider Emma the killer, and you want to remain by her side. For my peace of mind, stay here.”

  “Conrad, you don’t ask a star to stop shining. You make a wish and hope for the best. And Emma isn’t my only reason for going.”

  His eyes narrowed. “When this is over, I’m placing you under immediate house arrest. Just see if I don’t. I’ll be your jailer.” He tightened his grip. “You’ll do everything I tell you for once.”

  “Maybe,” she said, a smile spreading. Her life had certainly gotten infinitely more interesting since meeting this man. She kind of owed the killer a thank you. But only kind of.

  From somewhere in the distance, Beau called her name.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Listen. Don’t be mad, but I think Caroline is guilty of something major. Maybe murder, who knows? But don’t worry. I’m gonna get answers. Okay, see ya. Bye!” She raced off to join Beau inside his truck as Conrad sputtered questions at her retreating back.