No Gravestone Left Unturned (A Jane Ladling Mystery 2)

She cringed. Okay, not the greatest start, but not the worst either. Based on what she’d been told of her messages to Fiona and Beau, it could have been a whirlwind of awful.

Then another message played. “Hi, Ana. Or Tatiana. Jane here. I just figured it out. You’re ignoring me because you’re afraid of death. I’m right, aren’t you? But there’s no reason to fear. I’ll work hard to make it a beautiful experience for you, promise. You’ll swear you’re almost alive. Okay. Bye.”

Her lawyer hissed air between his teeth. Nice game face. But yeah, she kind of understood why her innocent messages had drawn unnecessary attention.

Rolling into the next, Jane’s laughter rang out. “Yo! Ana banana. Who still believes in Santa! Who lives with her nana. Oh, I forgot. You hated that in the third grade. Oops. Sorry. Guess what? You should always listen to the tree people. They are never wrong. Oh, wow. How’d this cool sword get into my hand? Tick tock.”

And the next. “—be honest, okay? Is Conrad as hot as I think he is? Or is he hotter? Dang! He’s hotter, isn’t he? He’s gonna break my heart, and the curse is gonna win again. No, don’t try to make me feel better. Let me drown in my ocean of misery. Okay, bye!”

She would not look at the two-way mirror.

And the next. “Greetings. I still haven’t met me from the future, which means this is a great idea. Unless I died. Do you think I died? Okay, bye!”

A click sounded, ending the call, before her voice echoed, the recording seamlessly flowing into another.

“All treefolk should be chopped down immediately. Off with their heads!”

“Ana! It’s Jane. Get this. I just had a brilliant idea.” Sudden silence. “What? No! Shhh. Be quiet. I’m talking to someone special.” Another beat without her drunker and drunker sounding voice. “So? What do you say? Ana? Hello? Are you still not there?”

Oh, no, no, no. Jane’s hands grew clammy. Sweat dampened the back of her neck. Thank goodness for the shadows the hat cast over her burning cheeks.

“This last one is my favorite,” Hightower said with a gotcha twinge.

The final recording began. “’Member when we were kids, and you came over that one time and we played hide and seek in the gardens ’cause I wanted to host your funeral so bad. I still do. What do you say? Can I?”

Jane barely stifled the urge to groan. “I did not kill Ana. But if I had, I could have easily hidden her body. No one would have ever known.”

“I believe you,” Hightower encouraged. “Please explain how you would have done the hiding, so we can prove your innocence.”

Tony gripped her arm to silence her.

“Why would I call the cops if I did the deed?” Jane demanded against the non-verbalized advice of her legal counsel.

“Bragging rights. Fun and games. Fame. A way to point to your supposed innocence. A boost in finances. Your business runs on a slim trust, and the previous murder brought in a multitude of paying customers, did it not?” Barrow asked, speaking up for the first time. “Maybe you hoped to cash in on another homicide.”

Yeah. All right. Those were seriously good reasons.

“Maybe you hoped to host Miss Irons’ funeral,” Hightower said, going for a gentler approach now. “Maybe it was an accident. Maybe you got angry when she failed to respond to you, and you decided to force the matter. Whatever happened, it’s clear you regret it now. You aren’t a bad person, Jane. That much is clear. You’re scared. And I get it. Just tell us what occurred, and we’ll do what we can to help you.”

Jane’s lips parted. “I have told you what occurred. Many times. You refuse to believe me.”

“You know what? We’re done here.” Tony stood, sending his chair sliding across the cheap linoleum floor. More drama. “My client has already admitted to leaving those messages when she was under the accidental influence of jimsonweed, thorn apple, locoweed—whatever you want to call it. Something no one in their right mind would have done. She’s been nothing but cooperative with you, offering up her home and business, answering the same questions multiple times. This is bordering on harassment.”

Yes! Harassment. But had he really needed to use the description “no one in their right mind?”

Hightower motioned to the discarded seat with a clipped wave. “Sit down, Mr. Miller. We aren’t done here.”

“Like I said, we are done here.” Tony leaned over the table, flattening his palms over the surface and drumming his fingers. Tap, tap, tap. “Either charge my client or we walk.”

Wait. What? Charge her? The moisture in Jane’s mouth dried. Should he be taunting the agents like this?

A double rap sounded at the door. Conrad entered with a clipped gait, his suit wrinkled for the first time since they’d met. A five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw, and lines of fatigue fanned his eyes. Had he gotten any sleep since the murder?