Romancing the Gravestone (A Jane Ladling Mystery 1)

When, finally, she stopped, her sinuses were swollen shut. Her eyes burned and watered. What in the world?

“Oh no, no, no,” Fiona said, backing away from her. “Is the world’s most vicious patient getting sick?”

World’s most vicious patient? “I’m not that bad,” she insisted. But she did want to scream at the top of her lungs.

“I know. You're worse! You morph into a half rage monster, half diaper baby when you’re sick.”

Rage monster? Diaper baby? As if. First of all, she was as sweet as sugar. Always. Second, she was nothing like those wimps at the clinic. “Good thing I’m not sick then. I’m obviously allergic to something in the air. And I dare anyone to say otherwise.”

“Sure, sure. I agree with whatever you’re saying, hon.” Backing away. No, not just backing away but moving toward the door. “I’m gonna gather my belongings now. No sudden movements.” Her friend rushed into the house before shooting out, blazing past Jane, calling, “I’m off. I’ll see you soon, but probably not too soon. Goodbye for at least a week, hon.”

“I’m not sick,” she lamented, then sneezed yet again. Surely her trip to the doctor’s office—her investigation—hadn’t led to illness. But had the temperature just risen a thousand degrees? “I think I’ll rest for a couple minutes,” she told no one. “But only a couple minutes.”

Chapter Six

Daniel Smith

Beloved City Works Employee

One Way. Do Not Enter.

Plot 765, Garden of Memories

Colds sucked. Life sucked. Everything sucked, and Jane hated everyone everywhere except Rolex, and only wanted to scream and scream and scream. And also sob. Maybe sleep a while. Or forever.

For an endless eternity—or three days—she existed in a coughing, sneezing void, rising from bed only to feed her precious fur baby. Sometimes strange tones jerked her to attention. Or she rethought her decision to follow Grandma Lily as caretaker and instead focused on a new career in standup comedy, certain she would set the world on fire with her brilliance. She’d already developed a top-ten list on the differences between people who preferred salt and those who favored pepper. A real gut-buster. She just had to remember one or two—or all of them. In her spare time, she imagined talking to Conrad or Beau.

During one of their conversations, Conrad had stayed on the line with her for hours, listening to her complain, because she hadn’t wanted to be alone for once. He was so sweet. She missed him so much. They should chat again. In her mind, she picked up her cell phone and keyed up his number.

His husky voice purred inside her head. “I hoped you’d call.”

Of course he had. Fantasy Conrad couldn’t get enough of her. He liked to purr questions into her ear.

Today was no different. “What was your first thought when we met?”

“I think you’re so hot,” she blurted out. “Hotter than the best chicken noodle soup in the world. Daisy makes it. You should bring me some. It cures everything.” She hacked up a lung. “That soup might even solve our case. Tell me everything you know immediately, or we’re finished forever!”

“So much to unpack here.” How smug he sounded, even in her dream. And why did she ramble in her head? Shouldn’t she shine like a bright star somewhere?

“If you break my heart, I’m going to break your face.” The fervent vow escaped between heaving coughs. Oops. Perhaps Fiona was right; Jane might be evil when sick.

“That is good to know. Listen, sweetheart,” Conrad said, his tone softening. “I doubt you’ll remember this, but I’m telling you anyway.”

Sweetheart? The heat in her veins cooled, shivers cascaded over her limbs. Fantasy Conrad certainly had her number. 1-800-CharmMe.

“We replaced the crowbar on Muffin’s marker with a lookalike,” he continued. “We also hid some cameras in the area, just in case.”

She waited for another endearment. Silence. Disappointment set in. He should call her sweetheart all the time. With every sentence he uttered and question he asked. It was practically a declaration of love.

Love.

Jane connected the dots and gasped. “Guess what? You’re falling in love with me but should stop ’cause I’m cursed.”

“Cursed, huh? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

She tried to tell him more; she really did. But different words escaped her mouth. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if turtles had wings? They would finally have a higher perspective. Wait. Beau traveled the world with the military I bet. What if he saw one?” She hung up on a chuckling Conrad and dialed fantasy Beau.

He answered on the third ring, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Hello, Jane.”

“You’d be my favorite smoke show if you’d smile more. Or ever.” The words exploded from her, the whatever she’d been thinking about suddenly forgotten. “Don’t pick a mean girl as your favorite girl. Am I saying girl too much? Whatever. You gotta pick someone who puts the ‘fun’ in your funeral. Not that you’re dead or anything. But you kind of are.”