Romancing the Gravestone (A Jane Ladling Mystery 1)

“Let’s get out of here,” Beau said, closing the lid. “I want to shower with scalding water and steel wool. I think the smell of rot has infused into my skin.”

“Tsk, tsk. Such a silly rabbit.” She remained in place. “My ancestor was barely a body.”

“Exactly!” He wagged a finger at her. “Did you have this mean streak as a little girl?”

“Yes. Now be a good boy and look away again. I’m not done collecting my evidence.” She opened the lid, the hinges groaning louder than before.

Beau muffled a cough, and she laughed.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” she assured him. “I just need to take a few pictures to post on the Headliner. Don’t worry. I won’t show anything I shouldn’t.”

“All of it is something you shouldn’t show. Despite your assurances to the contrary, we broke several laws, and you’re about to confess to the world. You understand this, yes?”

She angled her camera this way and that, snapping photo after photo. “How did I not know you were such a worrywart?”

He reared back. “I am not a worrywart.”

“You so are.”

Now he pursed his lips. “If you’re going to make me wait, you might as well remind me about the Aurelian Hills gold rush. I only lived in the area a little while, and I recall little about the history here. How did the gold get into the caskets? The first time.”

Did he need a distraction? As she took photos, she told him, “From what I’ve read, the town had a thief in its midst back then. Someone willing to steal the gold found by others. My ancestor buried his nuggets with the new arrivals for safekeeping, thinking to wait until the heat died down. But then he died.”

“Of course he did.” He moved to the ladder and waved her over. “All right. That’s all I can stand. I’ll help you refill the hole in the morning, but we’re done for the night. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

And he had a drive ahead. “Where are you living, exactly?”

“In a motel just outside of town.”

What! A motel when she had a perfectly amazing guest room? For shame! “Why don’t you stay here tonight? The guest bedroom has a private bathroom. I’ll even provide clean clothes. Grandma Lily kept some of my grandpa’s things after he died. They’re dated and probably, uh, a teensy bit small for you, but I’ll make up for it with a breakfast feast.” He’d come all this way and done so much to aid her. She wanted to do something nice for him, too.

“I liked the motel,” he said. “But I’ll stay tonight because I don’t like the thought of you out here alone with those rumors about gold floating around. No need to break out your grandfather’s clothes. I always keep a go bag in my truck. It has everything I need.”

A go bag? For one-night stands? Or getting out of town fast? The thought of losing him choked her up.

Silent, she followed him up the ladder and snapped a few photos of the hole and gravestone from several angles.

Beau let her work up here without complaint, but he did shift his weight from foot to foot, eager to escape. Her big, strong friend and his corpse phobia. Yep. Adorable.

Inside the house, she, Beau and Rolex double checked the locks, windows and perimeter. She took a shower to wash off the grime, dressed in full coverage pajamas and headed for the kitchen, while chatting softly with Rolex too amped to sleep.

The guest room door was closed, the lights out. Had Beau already drifted off? An idea struck.

She hurried to compile an itemized list of everything he’d done for her and the money she owed him, then slipped the paper under his door. If he wouldn’t give her a bill, she’d give him an IOU.

After making a cup of tea, she settled in Grandma Lily’s favorite overstuffed recliner and withdrew her phone from her pocket. With the sweetest purrs, Rolex rested on the arm of the chair and drifted to sleep.

She turned the cell to silent, then edited the photos she’d taken, blurring the body before uploading the best images to the Headliner. To her surprise, the entire process took less than half an hour.

See? No gold at Garden of Memories. RIP Silas Ladling.

She set her phone aside and leaned back, teacup in hand. Warm, chamomile-scented steam misted her face. How long before Conrad found out what she’d done? He’d mentioned he kept the Headliner group under surveillance. Surely the people keeping vigil took nighttime breaks? A quick glance at the clock. 4:03 a.m. Or morning breaks.

She bet Conrad contacted her first thing in the morning. Eight, maybe. Or even seven. A ripple of excitement shot down her spine. No doubt he would—

Her phone vibrated, and she gasped. Less than five minutes? Are you kidding me?