The agent exchanged his notepad for a map of the cemetery. “Are there any unmarked entry points into Autumn Grove?”
“There are,” Jane said with a nod, “but I kind of need to show-you show you. Which I’m happy to do. Let me grab a hat.” A harsh afternoon glare had replaced the soft morning sunlight, and Jane burned easily. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me!” She shot from his overwhelming presence, blazing past the screen door, where Rolex waited once more. The perfect feline didn’t miss his opportunity to hiss at Special Agent Ryan.
Jane beelined for the bathroom and splashed cool water on her cheeks. That flush came from the Georgia heat, not the handsome officer of the law. She secured her fall of dark hair into a loose bun to cool off her neck, then took a little too long selecting the best hat to match her dress and guard against harmful UV rays. Decision, decisions.
At last, she settled on an adorable sun hat with purple stripes. After smoothing her bangs out of the way, she anchored the hat in place. Her lips twisted as she caught her reflection. Hmm. The headwear had looked adorable online but didn’t quite compliment her features as she’d hoped. Oh well. Protection was protection, and adorable was adorable.
With a shrug, she retraced her steps, pausing at the door to talk to Rolex. “You behave, young man.” He ignored her and growled at the agent. Yes, cats growled. The first time he’d done it, she’d feared a giant dog had followed him inside the house, determined to feast.
“Lose the hat,” Fiona called from the doorway of the office.
Her friend had a bias against headwear, and Jane had no idea why. She pretended not to hear and slipped outside.
Special Agent Ryan canted his head to the side again, an interesting stance. “Nice, um, hat.”
“Thank you,” she said. See? Adorable. She bounded down the steps to take the lead. “This way.” With a wave toward the house, in case Rolex or Fiona were watching her, she aimed for the cobblestone path, the Special Agent at her side. “So, the Garden of Memories is divided into six different sections, plus the mausoleum.” Her usual spiel. “Autumn Grove is one of the oldest and the center of everything. Every other section offers easy access to it.” She thought for a moment. “A smarter murderer would have chosen a gravesite on the outer edge of the cemetery for a quicker and easier escape, just in case things got dicey.”
“Not if they were searching for something specific.” He made a note on the map.
Ohhhh. Had the culprit chosen plot #39 for a reason? Rhonda Burgundy herself perhaps? “The section names are Eden Valley, Pleasant Green, Angel Wing, Serenity Rose, and Paradise Ladling. Oh, and the mausoleum. A hedgerow delineates each area which is connected by varying cobblestone paths. All but Paradise Ladling. That’s my family plot. For the most part, it’s isolated from the others.” She pointed as she spoke, her heart clenching when she thought of Grandma Lily at rest. Jane visited her on the third Sunday of every month. Their special day.
“How large is the property?”
“We’re up to seventy-five acres now. Over time, different Ladlings added to the grounds.”
“That’s a lot of land for one person to tend.” He sounded impressed. “Any other staff?”
“There’s no need. As Aurelian Hills grew into a bustling tourist attraction and hub for treasure hunters, our grounds became surrounded on all sides. Privately owned land to the north. An interactive mining camp to the south. A lake at the east, and undeveloped commercial property to the west. We are officially closed to new guests. Now burials are done at—” she worked her jaw— “Aurelian Hills Cemetery on the other side of town.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Not a fan of Aurelian Hills Cemetery, are we?”
Did she detect a thread of laughter?
They rounded a sitting area—the Reflection Center—with benches shaded by the most magnificent wisteria trees with a wealth of gardenias in bloom around it.
“Do you receive many visitors out here?” he asked, returning to the business at hand.
“Someone comes out about once a week. Maybe twice. I also give a midnight tour of the grounds once a month, though attendance is sparse.”
“Midnight tours. But no cameras.” His tone had hardened again. “What security measures do you have in place?”
Ouch. His disapproval cut like a knife. “I have the gate up front and a brick wall around the acreage. Before you ask, I open the gate at sunup and close it at sundown. The hours depend on the season.”
They turned a corner. “You close it?” he asked, that disapproval deepening. “Manually? Why?”
Cost, mostly. “Tradition.” Also, not a lie. “My grandma would never forgive me if I installed an electric gate.”
“Is she retired?”