Only moments later, hinges squeaked, the front door opening once again. She stood frozen.
Conrad stuck his head inside the foyer, his expression grave as he met her gaze. “Please think through what you’re planning. If you go through with it, whatever it is, you’ll get yourself into trouble. Or me. Or both of us. Probably both of us. Just…remember the last case. You ended up drugged. You could have been hurt.”
He said no more, just disappeared, shutting the door behind him. Jane stood in place, her heart thundering, a million thoughts racing through her mind. The curse. Their doom. Her plan. Her certainty that she could prove him wrong. Besides, he admired Hightower’s obsessive determination. Now, he could admire Jane’s.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Mix and match!”
Cupid, Iowa - Making Your Acquaintance Social
12 Matches Made
Jane’s excitement wasn’t nearly as palpable the next morning. Too tired. She’d tossed and turned all night.
A knock sounded at the door just as she smashed a pillow over her head, hoping to steal an extra ten hours of sleep. Groaning, she crawled out of bed and padded to the front door wearing the nightgown and robe Fiona had sewn her for Christmas, Rolex on her heels.
Beau stood on the porch, wearing his usual white T-shirt and jeans, haloed by sunlight and holding a thermos. “Ready to guard the grounds against shovel-carrying intruders, boss. By the way, my friends are due to arrive any day now. Okay if I bring them by the cemetery for a look around?”
Rolex hissed at him.
“Of course,” she said, rubbing tired eyes before she waved him inside. “I’ll prepare you guys a meal. Just get me a list of everyone’s favorite foods, desserts, and dietary restrictions. A brief overview of their personality types and romantic history wouldn’t be amiss, either.”
He swept past her, bringing the scent of roasted coffee beans with him. “Just quote unquote whip a little something up for us, like usual. They’ll love it.”
What a sweet thing to say. “So where is Conrad?” The question spilled out before she could stop it.
“You should have a text from him. He drove back to the city, but he plans to return to Aurelian Hills on Saturday for your dinner with Tiffany.”
Saturday. Judgment Day. The rendering of Jane’s verdict. Was the widow Hotchkins helping Abigail with her crimes against the cemetery or not? Had they worked together to harm Ana?
“Did he return to the office?” After last night’s concern… did he hope to distance himself from Jane for a little while?
“He didn’t say.”
Hmm. She needed to check her phone. “Make yourself at home while I prepare for the day.” She hurried to her bedroom and shut herself inside. After cleaning up, she felt alive at least. Jane donned a pretty, blue dress, and checked her phone.
Only one text waited for her, and it wasn’t from Conrad, but Tony. How disappointing. What did this lack of communication mean?
Tremors plagued her as she deciphered the attorney’s many misspellings. I gipe you of ro jail had to mean I hope you go to jail.
Sent during a night of drinking too much? His true feelings on the matter?
Well, well. Tony Miller had just bought himself a tick right back up to the top of her list.
Feeling somewhat alive again, Jane selected a sunhat and returned to Beau, who sat on the living room couch, his head bent over his phone. With his broad shoulders and rock-solid frame, he had seemed too big for her small cottage at first. Yet, he’d carved out a place for himself with zero fuss.
Beau stood when she entered the room. “Ready for your morning rounds?”
She patted the pocket of her dress, making sure she’d remembered to grab a notepad and pen. “Ready.”
He led her into the surprisingly cool morning and remained at her side as they scoured the grounds, with Rolex sticking to their heels. While she kept a running list of necessary chores, he remained on the lookout for intruders and any signs of a disturbance.
When they passed Tree, the glorious magnolia with sage advice, she wished it would come alive and tell her how to keep Conrad.
She must have stared a little too long because Beau laughed and said, “Is this the infamous wise one Fiona told me about? Want to introduce me?”
“Yes, it is, and no, I do not,” she responded with a prim tone, earning a snicker.
As they made their way back to the cottage, he kicked a pebble, drawing her attention to his feet. When she noticed the expensive cut of his boots, a question bubbled up in her mind.
“Beau, we’re friends, which means we have no personal boundaries,” she began. “So I’m just gonna ask you the nosiest question of all time. You can refuse to answer, and I won’t be upset. For very long. But. Are you rich? Okay, two questions. If you are rich, how’d you make your money?” When he’d lived in town as a kid, his family had seemed, well, as poor as hers. If not poorer. “I take up most of your time and pay you pennies, if you even deign to cash your checks, yet you bought a place on Prospect Street. Do you have some kind of secret life?”