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.”
Excitement did crackle 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 unquote too tight costume 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.
“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 have less than 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.