“What are you doing?” she called, horrified. “Stop that!”
He continued, bringing down the wrought iron rod anchored to the wall. The metal and material fell, about to crush or smother him.
“Noooo!” She dropped her rag and dove for her fur-baby. To her immense relief, he darted out of the way in time, safe and sound. In the aftermath, however, the relief morphed into sorrow. Grandma Lily had spent weeks sewing those curtains after spending years of searching for “the world’s most perfect fabric.” Now…
Shredded like paper. Tears burned Jane’s eyes. Why, why, why would Rolex do this? They’d been together for two years, and he’d never displayed a destructive streak before.
He jumped on the window’s ledge and pawed at the glass, releasing a long, drawn-out yowl. A noise he’d never made. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Was something wrong? Was he sick? Injured? Dying?
Forget the curtains. Jane rushed to her precious, ready to scoop him up and rush him to Dr. Lopez, the local vet. But just as she leaned down, reaching for the little darling, he jumped to the next windowpane. Her gaze moved past him, the glass, and to her front porch, where a strawberry blonde bun rested against the back of Fiona’s rocker. Oh! Someone had come for a visit.
To Jane’s knowledge, there was only one strawberry blonde in town. Well, only one currently. There used to be two. Caroline Wittington, a physician’s assistant, turned cold-blooded killer now rotted in prison for murdering a local doctor. And Ana Irons. Or Tatiana. Or Ana. Miss Irons. Whatever. She was the last SB standing. Had she come to discuss the double date with Beau?
About time. Jane rushed to her bedroom, selected the perfect sunhat, and made her way outside, abandoning cool air conditioning for summer heat. She jumped when the door slammed shut behind her. But Ana didn’t. Her former classmate remained slumped in the rocker, unmoving.
Wow. Talk about nerves of steel. “Ana. Tatiana. No, let’s just go with Ana, okay? Hi. Hello,” Jane said, stopping in front of the chair. “I’m so glad you decided to visit, and I apologize for making you wait. Though generally people ring the doorbell when they’d like to chat.”
No response. She frowned and studied her guest. Huge white sunglasses shielded Ana’s eyes and matched a loose white tank. Her jaw remained set and slack, her cheeks ashen. Drool glistened at the corners of her mouth, and her head drooped at an odd angle. Her arms hung limply at her sides. Had she fallen asleep?
Jane extended a hand, intending to give the town’s “premiere journalist” a little shake, only to freeze before contact. Despite the blazing temperature, a chill skittered over her skin. Ana wore light gray slacks soaked with sweat. Or...
Scalp prickling, Jane reared back. She pressed against the front door, the brim of her hat hitting the glass and tilting. At the same time, the golden knocker dug between her shoulders.
“Ana?” she rasped. Wind kicked up once more, making the hem of her yellow fit and flare dress dance below her knees.
Again, there was no response.
From this vantage point, Jane had an unobstructed view of Ana’s right side. Not a single part of her twitched. Not once did her chest rise or fall.
“Is this payback for the one and only time you came over to play and I shut you inside a coffin? Because I had the best intentions, I swear!”
Nothing.
“Ana? Or, um, Tatiana, if you prefer?”
Silence.
Swallowing a barbed lump, Jane adjusted her hat, gathered her courage, and closed the distance once again. One baby step after the other. Finally, she stood before her visitor. Ever intensifying tremors plagued her as she reached out to gently remove Ana’s sunglasses.
Any second now, Ana would shout “Gotcha!” and they would laugh. Yes, any second.
A ragged puff of air parted Jane’s lips when she glimpsed Ana’s eyes. All right. So. Ana probably wasn’t asleep or pretending. Her lids were open and fixed, her pupils fully dilated. What’s more, her skin had begun to sag, making her bones more prominent.
Jane’s stomach lurched. She knew death in all its many stages. Not only had she lived in a cemetery her entire life, but as a teenager she’d shadowed a coroner and apprenticed with the town mortician, Adam Rocha Sr. Ana… Tatiana was most certainly dead. Had probably died within the last hour.
The sight of a corpse had never bothered Jane. How could it? She’d learned to walk among the gravestones of Aurelian Hill’s oldest cemetery. Picnicked under the shade of the magnolias that surrounded the mausoleum. Helped escort the bodies of the dearly departed to their final resting place. No, her negative reaction stemmed from the implications of finding a corpse on her porch...
Taking a deep breath, she felt for a pulse. Just in case. Fingers crossed Ana wore contacts. But honestly? Jane knew the truth deep down.