“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?