Planning to sleep for two years—minimum—Jane changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. Rolex snuggled into her side, not budging when she tossed and turned, unable to sleep for some reason. Finally she gave up and grabbed her phone. Why not bug Conrad?
A yawn cracked her jaw as she texted the special agent. Since I know you’re curious, my top two suspects are Emma Miller and Lucy Chang. For reasons. But also Devin Hagger.
In fact, Jane planned to have a chat with both women tomorrow. Any interaction with Hagger would have to be scheduled, she was sure.
The darling man’s reply came within seconds. Agent Spice: Sweetheart, I’m ten steps ahead of you. Check your purse.
Wait. What? Beyond curious, Jane scrambled out of bed and rooted around her cluttered bedroom to find the purse she’d slung… there! She dumped out the contents, riffled through everything and discovered a small piece of paper she didn’t recognize.
In bold black ink were the words You suspect Emma Miller, Lucy Chang & Devin Hagger.
How had–when had–gah! When she flipped the page over, she discovered another message. PS Stop falling for me. I snore.
A smile bloomed as she clutched the paper to her chest. Oh, how she lo–liked that man. Liked. Definitely only liked.
Shaking now, Jane gulped and climbed back into bed. Once again, she tossed and turned. This time, however, she did it for an entirely different reason.
CHAPTER THREE
“Winning isn’t everything—is something losers say.”
Emma Miller, nurse
A frantic knock roused Jane from a deep sleep. What the heck? Had Beau returned and begun some kind of repair on the house? Yeah, probably. The generous muscle man was always doing things like that.
Rolex sprang from the bed, juddering the mattress as Jane sat up. She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her vision. To think. Details hit her, one after the other. Cottage. Bedroom. Clutter. Hats everywhere.
She snatched up her phone to check the time. 11:06 a.m. Oh, dang. Usually she was up by five sharp and on the grounds an hour later to open the gate and begin her morning walk about, making lists of any plots in need of tending, then doing the actual tending. The Garden was her home. Her sanctuary. A place of beauty and serenity.
A notification on the cell’s screen caught her eye, and her pulse jumped. Seven texts awaited her. Meaning, seven more than usual. Two from the Berdize sisters, letting her know the party had been a raging success, and they’d love to put another event on the books. Two came from a reporter at The Headliner—a town message board app as well as a new weekly paper. The woman hoped to interview Jane for a story about Tony’s murder.
A stranger left an irate text demanding a refund. How had they discovered her private number, anyway?
Beau sent one, informing her that he’d watched the security footage, found nothing helpful or hurtful yet, but the warrant had come through, and he’d handed over the feed.
The last message came from Conrad.
Agent Spice: GBH will be all over the cemetery again today. We’ve cordoned off certain areas you’ll need to avoid. I’ll stop by the cottage this evening for—I’m sure—a Jane Ladling interrogation. What we do afterward is up to you.
Such an informative yet charming text. Dang him! Speaking of his terrible, wonderful charm. Was he trying to make her catch feelings?
Maybe agreeing to go on a first date had been a mistake. Big. Huge. She almost texted Fiona for advice. No doubt her friend was sleeping off a bad night, too. Better to wait. Besides, Jane should have a concrete lead on the case before she reached out.
Hey! Beau hadn’t sent her those photos of the body. She’d just shoot him a quick text to–
The knocking started up again, and she groaned. Not caused by a hammer, after all, but a fist. Someone persistent pounded at the front door, desperate to get her attention.
She set her phone aside, threw her legs over the mattress, and stood, giving herself a full body scan. She wore a T-shirt that read “My Cat is Better Than Your Cat” and a pair of ruffled pink pants. Not bad, but not great, either. Oh, well. Uninvited guests got what they got.
The door whacking came faster and harder.
“I’m coming,” she called, grabbing and donning a fluffy white robe covered with black cats. She padded to the front door and checked the peephole.
Rolex was already there, waiting, eager to hiss and claw at the intruder.
Her jaw went slack. What the—what? Emma Miller, here in the flesh. But, but…Jane had expected to corner the nurse at the clinic. In town. Why would a top suspect hunt her down?
Trembling, she flipped the lock and twisted the knob to reveal the nurse, who wore scrubs and projected all kinds of upset. She held a leash, with a red and white corgi at the end of it. The infamous Cheddar. The little cutie grinned and wagged his docked tail, as happy as could be.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Emma said, seeming relieved and nervous at once. Had she stopped by on her lunch break or something?
“Um…Hi?” Jane didn’t know the woman well. To be honest, they’d only interacted a few times. And each of those times had involved a murder case.
“Hi.” The other woman opened and closed her mouth, as if searching for her next words. She was a pretty, with thickly lashed eyes and honey-colored hair too dark to be blond, but too light to be brown. Red rimmed her eyes, as if she’d been crying.
Rolex prowled onto the porch with panther-like stealth, closing in on Cheddar. The dog leaned down to sniff the feline’s head. Her kitty reared back with a hiss. Fast as a bullet, he darted into the house while Cheddar whined. How adorable. She’d have to pull a clip from the security feed and create a loop of the interaction. Then she could watch it again and again on repeat.
Cheeks paler by the second, the nurse finally settled on, “May I come in?”
A thousand thoughts raced through Jane’s mind. Was she soon to be accused of murder? Verbally attacked? Questioned? What, what?
Curiosity was getting the better of her. Too many mysteries in the past two days. Why not solve this one? But. If she welcomed a murder suspect inside the cottage, Conrad would protest. But. He himself hadn’t declared a suspect yet. So. Technically, Emma wasn’t really a suspect to anyone but Jane. When she factored in the amount of information that could be gleaned from a single conversation, well, turning the woman away seemed like the far more foolish option.
“Please,” she said, using her sweetest tone. She pivoted and waved an arm. “Do come in.”
Emma and Cheddar entered the cottage, the dog’s nails clacking on the hardwood floor. Both mother and pet examined the small living room. Jane did the same, trying to see everything as they must. Hmm. Maybe it was time to buy a slipcover for the orange velvet couch. Even with the beautiful, handmade throw tossed over the back, Grandma Lily’s sofa had seen better days. No way Jane could let it go.
Years ago, her Pops used to stretch across the cushions and work his favorite puzzles. Word scrambles, crosswords, you name it. And Grandma Lily had perched right there on the center cushion and asked if young Jane would like to stay at the Garden rather than live with her mom. That couch had even supported her as she’d read her first Regency romance novel, featuring Victorian maidens and dashing dukes.