Romancing the Gravestone (A Jane Ladling Mystery 1)

Beau and Conrad had done this, hadn’t they? Working together, doing maintenance, just as Fiona’s texts had claimed.

Maybe they were already fast friends?

Jane discovered the tall Nordic-god-of-old lookalike working on a window shutter for the cottage. Hey! More labor on his part? At a discount, no doubt. Well, no more. No taking advantage of him. So, no home repairs. Except, what if he wasn’t doing it for her? Not fully, anyway. What if he attempted to distract himself from his internal struggles? A way to cope?

Her chest clenched. Well, that settled it. There’d be no complaining from her. Let him do what he needed to do. But there’d be no more waiting either. She would find him the perfect woman ASAP.

As she showered, she considered options. By the time she dried off and dressed in—gasp!—a T-shirt and jeans, she had a pretty good idea where to start. The Headliner.

Feeling better by the hour, Jane searched the local message board, then social media pages. She followed links and connections until she had worked up a list of two eligible bachelorettes for Beau. Eunice Park and Tatiana “Ana” Irons. Jane had attended high school with both girls.

Eunice was the former class vice president, who’d left for Georgia Tech on a soccer scholarship and returned as Aurelian Hill’s premier accountant. She even volunteered at the local animal shelter. Who wouldn’t love a woman everyone in town trusted with their money? Someone who took care of pre-adopted pets in her spare time?

Ana actually ran the Headliner. The perfect job for her curious nature. In school, she’d taken responsibility for the paper and yearbook, pretending to be a hard-hitting journalist, willing to ask the tough questions. Namely, which students were cheating?

If Jane could convince Beau to go to the community center with her and a double date afterward…if either Eunice or Tatiana happened to be free…talk about the perfect day! But who would be Jane’s plus one?

Someone appropriate, of course. An acceptable candidate who wasn’t investigating her for murder. Ugh. Would she have to ask Fiona for help? Her friend would never let her live it down.

A sharp double knock sounded at the door, and she yelped, startled. A knock she recognized. No. No way. Conrad had not driven out here. Because they lived an hour apart. He had not begun the drive before learning she was better. Except, he had.

Her heart tripped as she checked the feed. A familiar SUV was parked in her driveway. Sure enough, Conrad stood at her door. He held a tote bag, and he looked better than ever in a plain white T-shirt and jeans.

Jane leaped from the bed, racing to the vanity. Not that she cared what she looked like, but she freaking cared what she looked like. Okay. All right. Better than expected. Hair mostly air dried. The dark circles under her eyes had faded—slightly. Her formerly bright red nose was now only a vivid pink.

Maybe a hat would complete—no. No hat with jeans. If Conrad truly wasn’t a romantic option, his opinion truly didn’t matter. She marched to the door, her head high, and opened up.

Perhaps she was a little defensive when she barked, “What?”

He canted his head in that detective-y way of his. If that smile he was fighting won, she might just smack it off.

Oops. She could still be battling her sickbed rage. “I mean, what can I help you with, detective?”

“Oh, wonderful. You didn’t threaten to feed me my own organs today.” A subtle hint of cedar and spice infused the air between them. “You must feel better. The red nose is a cute touch, though.”

How dare he? “It’s pink!”

“And the clothes.” He slid his gaze over her, and she bowed up, ready to rumble.

“It’s my day off.”

His gaze moved back up, another fever ravaging her veins. “And that thousand-dollars-an-hour voice.”

Her brow furrowed. “That what?”

He was absolutely fighting a grin as he swept past her front door, the bag dangling from his fingers.

Wait. Was he bantering with her? Flirting and teasing? “I never said I would feed you your own organs. Did I?”

“You most certainly did,” he called from deep inside the house. “Twice.”

At least he didn’t sound upset about it. If anything, he radiated more amusement.

Living people were so weird. Jane shut the door and tracked him down, Rolex on her heels, furious a man entered his home. They found their guest in the kitchen.

Conrad looked fully at ease as he removed containers from the tote. Jane hadn’t seen a man putter around the kitchen since her Pops had died. Jane stopped abruptly, arrested by the sight and scents. The realization. “You went to Daisy’s,” she gasped out. “Her chicken noodle soup is a magic cure-all for everything wrong in everyone’s world.”

He plucked a spoon from the bag and placed it on top of a container. “As you told me. A million times.”