No Gravestone Left Unturned (A Jane Ladling Mystery 2)

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Jane discovered Jake’s sleek little sports car in a prime spot marked “Reserved,” perfectly illuminated by an historic streetlamp. Great. Wonderful. But was the vehicle made at NASA? Not a single knob or handle in sight. Only touchscreens and digital displays, with a useless key. None of the buttons worked.

She had to stop her video recording long enough to watch a tutorial on her cell, but she finally managed to press the correct sequence on the keypad and force a door to open.

A quick look over her shoulder. No sign of anyone, not even Fiona, who had hopefully found Tony’s truck.

Using her phone as a flashlight, Jane examined the driver’s side interior, the passenger’s side, and the back seat. Black leather interior. All the latest bells and whistles. Not a speck of dirt or a single piece of trash. No stolen IDs in the glove box or center console. Clean. Almost too clean.

Disappointed but determined, she watched another video to learn how to pop the trunk...yes! Success. After starting another video recording, she rushed to the back of the vehicle only to draw up short with a gasp. Jake! He stood statue still with his hands resting in his pockets, staring at her. For the first time, he wasn’t smiling. Or with Tiffany. Jake and Jane were alone.

She stuffed her phone in the only pocket of her dress, lest he attempt to snatch the device from her hand. Though the camera no longer showed Jake, it continued recording, ready to capture the ensuing conversation. Considering she stood next to the evidence of her crime—the open trunk—that might not be such a great thing for her.

“Um. Hi,” she began.

“Hello, Jane.” His tone was pleasant, but his face remained an emotionless mask. However, the stiffness of his shoulders conveyed only the slightest hint of tension.

Ignoring the rapid beat of her heart, she pretended to be casual, too. “Okay, so, you caught me. Surprise! We plan to decorate your car. Obviously.” Not a lie. She was planning to do it…now. As long as he was innocent, of course. “I’m sure you know the drill. Shoe polish on the windows, cans and old shoes dragging from the bumper. The wedding works! I mean, we gotta do everything tonight since you and Tiff are heading out on your trip tomorrow.” Jane raised the volume of her voice, hoping to reach Fiona. “My helper should arrive any minute.”

His gaze lowered to her hands—her empty hands. Not a bottle of shoe polish in sight.

“Is your helper the old lady?” He propped his hip against the car, cool and laid-back, then cupped a hand around one side of his mouth and called, “Shout if you hear us, Fiona. Someone? Anyone?”

Her knees wobbled, her fingers curling to create fists. A cruel glint had entered his eyes, obliterating his air of innocence; the man in front of her was absolutely guilty of something. “Did you hurt my friend?” she demanded.

“There was no need. I’m not a cruel guy, Jane. Contrary to what you might think, murder is never my preference. Did I push her into Miller’s trunk and lock her inside? Yes. But she’s fine. And don’t expect your boyfriends to rush to your rescue. I blocked the inn’s exits and I’ll be long gone before anyone is able to get free. But first, I’m curious. What gave me away?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she grated. Was he telling the truth about Fiona?

“You’d like a confession? Very well. I killed Ana Irons. I planted jimsonweed at your cemetery, hacked into your security feed to erase my presence if necessary, and waited for the day Ana scheduled a visit with you. When the day ultimately dawned, I dressed as Robby Waynes and poisoned her coffee. Now. What gave me away?”

Her jaw dropped. Uh…. Had he just confessed to premeditated murder? And computer hacking! And Jane had recorded it? She replayed his words inside her head. I killed Ana Irons.

He had.

Knew he was guilty of something! She might be the world’s greatest amateur-bordering-on-professional sleuth. He was the one. The thief and the killer. Art Amour and the Robber. Which was kind of disappointing, honestly. She’d really hoped to be the one to put Robby in prison. But just how many other nicknames pointed to Jake? With his multiple identities, the possibilities could be endless.

“Jane,” he prompted. “Stalling will not help you.”

“Give me a moment to put my thoughts together. You attended the speed dating events to pick your victims. You impersonated other men and took their money. You cleaned out Blake and Robby’s accounts, then pitted them against each other. You preyed upon poor Tiffany, hoping to drain her dry too. Ana learned about your heinous crimes, and you killed her, getting her out of the way, framing me. And if not me, Robby. You called Tiffany while she was at the salon to, what? Build an alibi? Perform your dirty deeds dressed up as Robby, while calling her as Jake and claiming she hung up on you.”