Page 17 of Grave New World
Her target’s eyelids slitted further. Afraid of competition or feeling like a cornered rat?
“How nice for you.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Trying not to go “super villain” again, Jane modulated her tone. “I’d love to read what you’ve written. Or at least hear something of your story. A quick synopsis even.”
Abigail raised her chin. “Yes, I’m sure you would.”
“I’ll be in the car,” Mason announced. His gaze slid to Jane and Beau for a split second. “Don’t be long.” He stalked off as his companion sputtered.
Oookay. Talk about a hasty getaway. Both suspicious and logical. Either his emotions had gotten the better of him, or he’d feared inadvertently revealing too much.
Abigail humphed, lifted her nose even higher and sauntered past Jane, saying nothing else. Not so brave without a partner, huh?
“I don’t know the details of her book, but I do know my story will smoke hers,” she vowed to Beau.
“I’m sure it will,” he said, whipping out his phone to fire off a text.
Her cell beeped, and she checked the screen.
Beaudyguard: If you don’t send me the first chapter of your novel tomorrow morning, I won’t send you a brief on Maggie. Consider me your muse.
Jane sucked air between her teeth. “Oh! You fiend! You may find yourself cursed into a frog within the pages of my story.”
“A price I’m willing to pay. Though a cursed frog isn’t a punishment. Toads get kissed by pretty girls and turn into princes.”
“Not in my tale.” As they rode the elevator up to the third floor, the desire to see Conrad magnified. Words built upon her tongue, ready to spill out. She had so much she wanted to tell him.
More potted plants greeted them as they stepped off the elevator. Seriously, what was with the abundance of foliage?
This floor was a flurry of activity, housing the police dispatch and 911 services, in addition to Conrad’s new office. Two wooden chairs flanked either side of a door, simply bearing the word “office”. The desk for Conrad’s non-existent assistant remained vacant.
“I’ll answer some messages while you speak with your lover boy,” Beau said, slumping into the assistant’s seat.
Did Jane detect a note of envy? She knew Beau once had—perhaps still had—secret feelings for a woman he’d guarded. “One day, a wonderful lady will sweep you off your feet. Maybe you’ve already met her, maybe you haven’t. But either way, your best days are ahead of you, not behind you.” Jane patted the golden stubble on his jaw before skipping to Conrad’s office.
After giving the door a little tap, she entered the small space. At his GBH office in Atlanta, only certificates of recognition had graced the walls. Not a single picture or personal memento. But that wasn’t the case here in Aurelian Hills. Nope. A framed snapshot of Jane sat next to his computer screen. An original campaign flyer she’d disastrously designed–making it appear as though they were already married–hung on the wall with an elaborate frame. On the bookshelf behind him perched one of her favorite hats. A red wool cloche with a black satin ribbon. Jane thought she’d lost it, but she must have left it in Conrad’s SUV. Instead of returning it to her, he’d brought it to his office to…what? Have something of hers close by? Ahhh. Her heart melted.
“—warrant for any manuscripts they’ve written,” he told the person on the other end of his cell phone. Pause. “Correct.”
They’ve written, he’d said. Not he, not she. They. Plural? Meaning every member of the writer’s club? Or specific members like, say, Abigail and Maggie? Did Conrad already know about Christopher’s girlfriend?
The lawman grinned at Jane and ended the call. Striding over to wrap his arms around her, he asked, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Well, thank you.” She snuggled into his chest, drawing in his delicious spicy scent.
“You’ve been safe today?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, pulling away to peer up at him. “And you?”
“I have.”
“Good.” As everything she wanted to say bubbled to the surface, she adjusted his tie and combed her fingers through his hair, determined to remain professional while spewing facts. “I won’t take up too much of your time, you’re busy, I get it, but I’m going undercover as an author because guess what, Christopher my ex has a girlfriend, and she’s a writer who is friends with Abigail Waynes-Kirkland who is also a writer and who probably hated Hannah as much as she hates me, because she’s marrying Mason, Hannah’s ex, so perhaps Maggie could be innocent and all the guilt falls on Abigail, who walked from the store to the salon and could’ve made an extra stop along the way, or maybe the two women worked together and even Mason helped, but also maybe not.” Jane paused to draw in a deep breath. “What have you learned?”
His amber eyes glittered with amusement. “Abigail’s alibi checks out. Mostly. At the time of death, she was at the grocery store, as you said. And she did walk to the nail salon. No, I haven’t found her journey on the camera footage yet. But that doesn’t mean she is or isn’t involved.” He gave Jane’s chin a gentle stroke. “I’ll explore the partnership angle in more depth.”
“So you already know about Maggie Johnson,” Jane said, a little bummed she hadn’t gotten to break the news.
“Yes. Abigail Waynes-Kirkland mentioned Ms. Johnson.”