“Break a leg, Fee,” he called, pulling at the shirt’s rounded neckline.
Executing a full circle turn, she called back, “Darling, I’m going to break a whole lot more than Beau’s leg, and that’s a fact.”
True, considering her character used a bag of gold to beat the thief to death. All in good fun, of course.
Jane withdrew a folded paper from her purse and thrust it into the sheriff’s hands. “Step up to the microphone and read this.” When he remained in place, one brow arched, she remembered her manners and added, “Please and thank you.”
“That’s better.” He nodded and did as instructed. “Good evening, everyone, and welcome.”
As conversations died down, Jane made her way off stage and veered toward the back exit. Tonight, she had the distinct honor of manning the information desk. People would have questions. People always had questions. Those fifty-dollar tickets bought answers.
“The time is the roaring twenties, when the gold mines of Aurelian Hills have all but petered out, forcing residents to move west.” The sheriff’s (normal) voice followed her into the cool, open air outside the tent. “But wait. In a stroke of good fortune, the notorious Clyde Talmadge finds one last rich vein in the Savings and…” The words faded.
Only seconds later, participants shot from the tent and scattered in every direction. Even before Jane reached her table, people congregated around her.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“I’ve lost my map. Do you have an extra?’
“Can we have more than four people on a team?”
“Can we havelessthan four people on a team?”
Minutes passed like hours as she stopped to answer every query. Ugh! Her feet already throbbed. She hadn’t planned on standing so long in these vintage 1920s heels.
“Where’s the–” The speaker went quiet abruptly, his eyes widening.
A firm hand settled on Jane’s hip, startling a gasp out of her. Then a husky voice full of authority and dreams proclaimed, “Ms. Ladling has nothing more to say until she reaches the designated information booth.”
The fragrance of dry cedar and refined spice hit her senses, and she smiled, melting into her accoster. See! Spices made everything better.
Conrad kissed her temple as he escorted her away. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You are more than welcome.” Oh, how she loved–liked, only liked,when he called her sweetheart. “But, um.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Which of my wondrous deeds are you thanking me for?”
“Your honesty with Fiona… regarding my sizzling hot buttered buns.”
Jane nearly swallowed her tongue, her cheeks flushing hotter than ever. “What—how—oh!” Realization slapped her upside the head. Eek! She’d forgotten that her phone acted as a constant listening device for the evening, feeding straight to earpieces worn by Conrad and Beau. By her request! But oh, the app broadcasting her conversations to the boys was supposed to keep her from being accused of murder a third time, not put all her tush-admiring on blast.
Like a true gentleman, Conrad held up the rope that cordoned off the area designated for volunteers and wait staff. She ducked inside, and he followed her through. Aww. He strode over to pull the chair at her table. Even sweeter!
“Thank you.” Jane eased down. Hmm. She should have added a cushion, considering she’d be spending the next two hours sitting here. Or longer! Depended on the winner and how long it took them to unravel the (brilliant) mystery.
At least she had a gorgeous view of the reflection area—the perfect distraction from Conrad’s tantalizing nearness. A magnificent wisteria tree stretched long branches over a circle of benches. Beyond them, a handful of shop owners had set up booths. Other stalls lined the cobblestone walkway leading toward every subdivision of the cemetery. All but the former business center, near where the “murder” took place. According to Grandma Lily, that one-story Victorian cottage once acted as the hub for Garden of Memories. Now ivy grew in abandon over the yellowing paint and caving roof.
One day, Jane hoped to raise enough money to restore the building to its original glory.
“Ignoring me won’t do you any good. Me and my buns are still here.” Conrad moved to the front of the table, flattened his palms on the surface and leaned down. When the heat cranked up in her cheeks, he grinned, revealing straight, white teeth. “Do I need to give you another reason not to fall for me?”
To help her avoid the curse, he enjoyed teasing her with “terrible” facts about himself. She should say no—those facts only made her adore—likehim more. But the game was too fun to stop.
“Yes. Absolutely.” She nodded with enthusiasm. “Make it the worst one yet, please.”
“All right. Here goes.” His amber eyes sparkled. “I don’t care how toilet paper hangs.”
She gasped. Actually, genuinely gasped. “Conrad! That’s insanity. There is a correct way and a wrong way, and that is irrefutable.”
His grin returned, only it was the lopsided one she found irresistible. “I better go. Do me a favor and try not to objectify me as I walk away.”