Thankfully Jane had worn soft-soled shoes; she rushed to a corner, wedged between two display cases and flattened herself against the wall to observe in secret. If only Conrad could see her now. Nailing it!
Abigail stalked from case to case, quickly looking over the contents before moving on. Then, at the first case where Jane had snapped a photo, the other woman paused and focused on a paper within, frowning. After glancing from side to side, Abigail popped out her phone and took a picture.
Hey, that was Jane’s move. Also, you weren’t supposed to use the flash. Abigail was gonna get them both thrown out. As soon as someone noticed the other woman’s camera, someone else would no doubt tattle about Jane.
Why not initiate a conversation and distract her? If Jane unearthed some answers in the process, even better.
She snapped a quick photo of the other woman before easing from her hiding place and approaching her target. “Hello. Hi. Abigail, right? Do you remember me? I’m Jane.”
They locked eyes for a moment, and Abigail blinked rapidly, offering a nervous laugh. “Jane. Yes.” After another quick scan around the room. Growing serious, she latched onto Jane’s wrist and tugged her into a shadow, whispering, “So you heard about the gold, too, I take it.”
Jane’s detective senses tingled. Did Abigail reference the fact that Dr. Hotchkins had enjoyed hunting the stuff? The fleur-de-lys? Or something more? Had he actually discovered some?
Better to play along and sort through the information later. “Oh yes. The gold,” she whispered back, as if she too hoped to keep the secret. “I know everything. But how did you hear about it?”
“How else? Tiffany found Mark’s notes.”
Mark rather than Marcus. Very interesting. And yes, suspicious, suggesting a level of familiarity. Possibly intimacy. Not even Tiffany had referred to the man as Mark.
“Now it’s your turn,” Abigail said with a harsher undertone, tightening her grip on Jane’s wrist. “I know Mark thought he’d turned up a reference to large nuggets hidden at your cemetery, but there was no mention of any gold reported on the news.”
“Because there isn’t any gold in my cemetery.” Jane clicked her tongue. “Dr. Hotchkins was wrong. The coffins were looted years ago. A recorded fact.”
“And coffins can’t be refilled before they’re reburied? What better spot to hide more gold than the place known to be picked bare? Grow up, Jane. You just want to keep everything for yourself.”
Dr. Hots had truly believed new gold was hidden inside Jane’s coffins? And Jane herself didn’t know about it? “There’s no gold,” she reaffirmed, her tone flat. No one else had snuck over to try again, at least.
Hmm. Why had no one snuck over to try again? Not enough courage?
Better questions: How many people suspected gold lay buried on her property, and how many would grow desperate enough in the future to sneak over?
Jane flinched at the thought of treasure hunters crawling all over her land, messing up the grass and disturbing the peace.
“There’s no gold,” she repeated more forcefully.
Abigail searched her face, and after a moment, narrowed her eyes and released Jane’s wrist. Backing away, palms up, she offered a brittle laugh. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Jane. Have a nice day.” With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off, her high heels clicking and clacking, leaving Jane with a twisting stomach.
Her thoughts remained stuck. No way someone had buried new gold. Just no way. Right?
She took multiple photos from multiple angles of the document Abigail had studied—the first one Jane would examine when she returned home. The urge to call Conrad surfaced, and she decided to go for it. He might complain about her involvement and command her to leave the museum, but he needed to hear these gold rumors.
Except the back of her neck prickled, and she straightened. Something felt weird. Jane darted her gaze. A group of museum guests entered the exhibit room, most engaged in a low conversation or focused on the displays. No one paid her any attention. No, not true. Everyone seemed to pay her too much attention, pretending not to notice her. Or she had an overactive imagination, and she needed to shift out of warp speed and into neutral.
Jane completed her mission and strolled from the building as casually as possible. She paused under the awning outside the entry doors. During the hour she’d spent inside, a storm front had rolled in, the sky now overcast. The coming rain electrified the air, her every inhalation scented moss and magnolia.
Something still felt weird, though. As if everyone around her suspected she carted around priceless gold pieces in need of stealing. Heart like a jackhammer, she glanced left. Right. Across Prospect Street to the fuller than usual parking lot. Nothing and no one out of place. But. Maybe she wouldn’t head to her car just yet. Just in case.