No Gravestone Left Unturned (A Jane Ladling Mystery 2)

Sighing, she drafted a response to the would-be hostess.

Hi. I apologize for the delay. I was ambushed by a significant life lesson yesterday.

Very excited to see you and Jake on Sat.

Perfect. Send.

Wait. There was an email from Tony in her box. Subject: My invaluable services. Jane gasped when she read the accompanying note. You rehired me without a discount. She opened the accompanying attachment and ground her teeth—an invoice for a thirty-second phone call to Beau. $400.

Jane jabbed her fingers at the screen, typing her response. I will pay you the only wages we ever contractually agreed upon and not a cent more! If you have any further questions, you can contact my other attorney as soon as I hire someone.

Send.

This was already shaping up to be a terrible day. Rather than reply to her friends while in the midst of a bad mood, she tossed the cell to her pillow, climbed out of bed, and padded to the bathroom, where she found a note from Fiona taped to her mirror. Ah! The reason to check the bathroom.

Blake Crawford is hosting an open house today. Since I’ve got a sudden burning desire to acquire real estate, we should go, right co-captain?

Oh, what a glorious day! “I love you, Fiona.” Forget any weed whacking. Jane rushed back to her phone and texted an acceptance to her dearest, oldest friend in all the world.

A prompt response followed, solidifying their plans to leave in an hour. Jane then sent a group text to her boys. Stop whatever you’re doing! This is a Janergency. Beau, as chief security officer, you are needed immediately. How soon can you get to the Garden? I’ll be running an errand with Fiona soon and the Kirklands are still on the loose. Conrad, since you’re on vacation, you may remain at my house today, on Rolex duty. FYI he eats at 10 and not a minute later or you will be forced to pay the price.

Beaudyguard: Did you really just say JANERGENCY?

Agent Spice: You made rock solid plans with me yesterday, then blew me off with a threat that you needed to keep sleeping or people would start to die. Now you expect favors?

She heard both their teasing tones in her head and rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. But oh, how she liked each man’s sense of humor.

Jane: Yes! I DESERVE favors. I took one for Team Truth yesterday, letting myself fall into a coma.

Beau and Conrad responded within a millisecond of each other.

Beaudyguard: How is THAT taking one for the team?

Agent Spice: Don’t ask her how, Beau. Do not.

Jane: I’ll tell you how. I made that sacrifice to ensure Captain Jane, your esteemed leader, works at peak capacity for this very moment. What can I say? I’m a giver.

Again, Beau and Conrad responded within milliseconds.

Beaudyguard: You make a good point. Give me an hour.

Agent Spice: I can be there in half an hour. BTW, I turned your phone to silent. You’ll want to fix that before you go. In case I call to ask for Rolex-survival advice.

Okay, no help for it. The smile broke free as Jane fixed the ringer on her cell and set the device aside.

Rolex met her gaze and seemed to grin–before coughing up a hairball on the bed. Then he blinked at her, as if to say, Why isn’t this cleaned up already? He hopped from the bed and meowed from the hardwood floor, a demand for a snack.

“Why are you so cute?” Jane demanded.

So much to do before she left. Wash the sheets. Look over the account books for the graveyard trust and issue Tony a check for twenty dollars, far more than their agreed upon rate for any consultation. Finally look over the photos from the Gold Fever! exhibit and compare them to the original photos of her donation. Had Abigail and Robby switched documents as Ana had believed?

First, though, Jane planned to luxuriate in a shower hot enough to peel the flesh from her bones and scrub off the slammer. New day, clean slate.

Jane and Fiona walked arm-in-arm around a cute bungalow in Atlanta’s Candler Park, pretending to enjoy this, whatever it was, and that thing, or some other.

Blake Crawford, here in the flesh.

He was conducting a tour of the home, allowing Jane to study him at her leisure. He was almost six feet. Thirty-nine years-old, with dark hair and pale skin, plus a bushel of fine lines around his eyes and a slight bump in the bridge of his nose. A modern-day bruiser. Stress emanated from him.

Ana had claimed this man had drained Robby Wayne’s bank accounts. Had he?

Though he was in the middle of a messy divorce, according to Beau’s top-secret research, Blake still wore his wedding ring.

“He’s a rubber band soon to pop,” Fiona whispered to her. “Any second now. Just you wait and see.”