“I did. Conrad has kept me apprised of the situation.”
From there, things happened quickly. New agents arrived and took everyone’s statement and then released them. The Berdize sisters cleaned up the party, thrilled that people would talk about it for weeks to come. Months even. Jane marveled through it all. Team Truth had done it. They’d worked together, kind of, and solved a case, fully exonerating her good name. And they’d had fun, each of them. Because of their efforts, justice would be served.
As the moon set the Garden aglow with silvery light, Jane keyed into the cottage. Conrad, Beau, his three friends, and Fiona were quick on her heels. Too bad Hightower and the sheriff couldn’t join them. Hightower had to get Jake situated and finish some paperwork; Sheriff Moore planned to “sleep like the dead” now that a killer was off the streets. If Eunice Park had bothered to show up to the event, she could have come to the cottage too.
Naturally, everyone gravitated to the kitchen. “Who’s hungry?” Jane asked.
Multiple shouts of “Me!” rang out.
“Why don’t I make my blueberry pancakes?” Fiona offered, not looking the least bit tired. “We did good tonight. We all deserve a reward.”
“Yes!” Jane blurted. “We accept. All of us. We insist you start cooking immediately!”
“Immediately,” Conrad and Beau called as one, as if they had rehearsed it.
“I knew you loved the pancakes.” As the men took their seats around the table, she stood with Fiona at the head of the room, smiling at Conrad. “Because who in their right mind wouldn’t?”
He smiled back, making her heart leap. “Sweetheart.” Uh-oh. The tone. The one that meant he was gearing up to throw down a lecture. “It’s not the pancakes.”
Beau coughed, and that cough sounded an awful lot like the word “Don’t.”
Don’t what, exactly? “What do you mean, it’s not the pancakes? Let’s be clear. Life isn’t worth living without the pancakes, Conrad.”
Whiskey eyes twinkling, he wiped his mouth, as if to wipe the growing smile away. But he failed. “It’s the pancakes. One hundred percent.”
Okay. All right. For some reason, a wild thought struck her just then. What if she became a private investigator? A paid one. The cemetery could use an influx of cash. The trust and her meager stipend didn’t allow for many updates.
It was worth considering, anyway. Granted, she had no true experience or schooling and her talents questionable, if not non-existent, but you couldn’t argue with success. Fingers crossed someone else died soon, and she got to prove herself a third time. Once could have been an accident, twice an anomaly. But a third time, well, that would put the nail in the coffin. In a good way.
Not that she wanted anyone new to die. Whatever. It had been a long night.
“Did someone mention pancakes?” Isaac prompted.
Right. “Why don’t I help you with the baking, Fiona.” Maybe they had leftover supplies for a glass or eight of peach julep.
As she and Fiona busied themselves in the kitchen, Jane’s heart grew light. Later, as they sat at the table with the guys, scarfing down blueberry pancakes and peach julep as if the world were ending in the morning, laughing, and teasing and glad to be alive, her spirit felt lighter.
When the last crumb had been consumed, she glanced in Conrad’s direction. His heavy stare sent a glorious cascade of shivers down her spine.
“Just think, Conrad,” Fiona said, patting Jane’s hand. “If you had listened to Jane’s theory about the rhyming names, you could have solved this case right at the start.”
“Is madness contagious?” He looked between them. “I’m asking for myself.”
Beau and company snorted and snickered.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Fiona faked a yawn and stretched her arms over her head. “Time for this gal to go home and grab her beauty Zs.”
The group broke up after that. Jane hugged everyone goodbye. Beau received an added earlobe tweak and Fiona got a kiss on the cheek.