A buzz sounded from her phone, letting her know she’d gotten a new text. She sighed. No need to read the screen. She knew the message came from a Berdize sister. The pair had been reaching out every two minutes or so.
Jane checked–yep. Sure enough.
A-Berdize:Why haven’t you released the hounds into the wild already????
The guests were the hounds, she assumed. Her gaze strayed to the clock in the upper left hand of the screen. 8:16 p.m. She heaved another sigh. It wasn’t her fault the MC was late, preventing the players from receiving their first clue.
Rather than explain, she replied with a shrug emoji. Invited fewer questions.
As she returned the device to her pocket, a man in the corner snagged her attention. Anthony Miller, draining the contents of a flask, glaring at someone in the crowd. Jane stiffened. Had her former lawyer come to demand more money she didn’t owe him?
Fiona patted her hand. “Don’t you worry, dear. Sheriff Moore will be here in a hop, skip and a jump. Why, I bet he went to check on his deputies. They’re patrolling the city without him tonight and I think we can both agree he’s the brains in that operation. Once he starts emcee-ing, everyone will forget the wait. They’ll be too enraptured by his delicious voice to remember.”
Sheriff Moore. A gruff protector had stolen Fiona’s affections. Obviously.
Though Jane considered the man’s voice, well, normal, she said, “I hope you’re right, Fee.” Conrad’s voice on the other hand…
“Besides,” Fiona continued, unfazed. “No one seems to mind the wait. Everyone is having a wonderful time.”
Excitementdidcrackle all around. At small, round tables, children painted mini-treasure boxes. Costumed adults gobbled up hors d’oeuvres, drank champagne, and snapped photos in front of a giant Wanted poster featuring Beau Harden, another childhood friend of Jane’s. More than half the town had shown up, paying fifty bucks a pop to try to solve the elaborate murder she’d crafted herself. And, okay, yes, everyone also hoped to win a weekend stay at the newly opened Aurelian Hills Vineyard Inn. Which had been donated in an attempt to gain business via the Berdize sisters.
Conrad was the only person without so much as a boater hat. Jane didn’t want to say he was a fuddy duddy in the dress-up department, but he was absolutely a fuddy duddy. Somehow, she dated him anyway. Adored him, really. Hmm. No, she wasn’t comfortable using the A word to describe the man who’d kissed the breath from her lungs only weeks ago. At her invitation. A mistake she couldn’t allow herself to make again. Not more than a few more times. Twenty, max. Maybe thirty. Possibly fifty. She...kinda liked him. Yes, a much better description.
Her phone buzzed again. Groaning, she checked the message.
C-Berdize:Are the perp and vic not ready? Is that the problem???
Perp? Vic? Apparently, Charlotte had listened to a few crime podcasts to get in the spirit of things.
Jane replied with a thumbs up emoji. Fiona was playing the cut-throat killer. Absolutely no one would suspect her. But where was Beau, the victim?
Great! Now Jane had two missing actors.
Beau was a vet who ran Peach State Security and oversaw the cemetery’s daily protection. She admired and trusted him with every fiber of her being. The blond giant added spice to her life.As anyone with taste buds knew, spices made everything better.
Half an hour ago, he’d claimed he’d left something important at her onsite cottage. She’d asked him to check on her beloved cat, Rolex, the world’s most perfect housepanther, while he was there. Then and now, Jane suspected Beau planned to hide out for a bit. He’d made it clear he despised the quote unquotetoo tightcostume she’d chosen for his character, Clyde Talmadge. A bootlegger who’d obtained his gold the old-fashioned way—by stealing it from a bank.
Faithful Beau should have returned long ago. Unless Rolex had killed him. Or Beau had decided to perform a last-minute perimeter check with his crew, three other vets slash security experts. Two of them—Isaac and Holden—were supposed to walk the grounds, ensuring everyone played nice. The third, Trick, was checking tickets and IDs at the door, making sure no one entered the paid event without proof of purchase; he also kept track of everyone who so much as neared the gate. After finding two fresh corpses on the property earlier this year, Jane was taking no chances. Better to have a list of those in the vicinity. Just in case. No way trouble could find her tonight.
“Oh!” Fiona squealed, clasping Jane’s wrist. “He’s here, he’s here!”
She knew that tone. Sheriff Moore must have arrived.
Scanning…Yep. Sure enough. She spotted the bald-headed, silver-bearded, barrel-chested grandfather striding their way. And oh, wow. He appeared exhausted, with deep lines of strain bracketing his eyes.
He stopped in front of Fiona and looked her over. “I’m sorry I’m late but— Lord, save me.” He added nothing else, but then, he didn’t need to. His awed tone said plenty.
All confidence and playfulness, Fiona fiddled with her string of pearls. “No need to worry, Sheriff. You were worth the wait.”
He did look charming in his 1920s bathing costume. A big striped T-shirt with matching shorts and knee-high stockings. But goodness gracious. Someone cut this sexual tension with a chainsaw already.
“Flirt on your own time, guys.” Jane gave Fiona a gentle nudge toward the Valley of the Dolls, the section set up for the pretend murder of the century. “Do you have your walkie-talkie?”
Fiona patted the device clipped to the back of her belt. “Sure do.”
“Excellent. I have mine, as well.” Jane lifted her beaded purse. “Now go. Find Beau and take your places. We gotta start.”
“Miss me.” Her friend blew Sheriff Moore a kiss, then sauntered away.