Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
He gave the only honest answer. “More.”
A sigh parted her lips. “Very well. Do it. Let’s find out what she knows.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Conrad grinned the entire drive home. As he slipped past his front door, his phone rang. His grin only widened when he spotted the caller’s name.
He answered as quickly as humanly possible. “Hello, Jane.” Knowing she could hang up at any second without warning, he seized the opportunity to ask a question burning in his mind. “What are your top three dating deal breakers?”
She sneezed. “Um, probably Rolex’s disapproval, a name that does or does not start with C and being dead. I’m pretty sure William King in plot 211 strips me with his empty sockets every time I walk by.”
So much to unpack here. Rolex’s approval, huh?
Then she added, “Be honest. Do you think cereal is a soup?”
“I do not.”
“You’re probably right. But chicken noodle soup is soup.”
He snorted. “Are you hungry for Daisy’s, sweetheart?”
“Maybe. It cures everything. Okay bye!”
Hours later, the phone rang again. More than ready, he answered, “I hoped you’d call.” Next burning question. “What was your first thought when we met?”
“Probably me-ow.”
A meow fit the leering he’d never forgotten.
Suddenly she burst out, “Tell me everything you know about the case immediately or we’re finished forever!”
She spoke as if they were already in the middle of a relationship. And he wasn’t mad about it. “I’ll tell you when you’re better.”
“If you break my heart,” she blurted out next, “I’m going to break your face.”
“Thank you for the warning. Listen, sweetheart. I doubt you’ll remember this, but I’m telling you anyway. We replaced the crowbar on Muffin’s marker with a duplicate. We also hid some cameras in the area, just in case.”
A lengthy pause. Not uncommon during these cold medicine-induced phone calls. Then she gasped. “Guess what? You’re falling in love with me, but you should stop ‘cause I’m cursed.”
Him, falling in love? Please. It hadn’t happened in thirty-five years. Wasn’t happening now. There were too many frayed wires in his heart. But he seized on the information about her. “Cursed, huh? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
A moment of silence, then a startled thrill. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if turtles had wings? They would finally have a higher perspective. Wait. Beau traveled the world with the military, I bet. What if he saw one?” Click.
Conrad laughed, but his amusement didn’t last long. He might not have the ability to love…but Jane did. And she was the one who’d introduced the emotion to the conversation, indicating the L word had crossed her mind lately. Deep down, did she believe she could fall in love with him?
He rubbed a fist into a chest suddenly far too tight for his comfort. What would he do if she did?
Two days later, Conrad held a bag filled with food from Daisy’s in one hand and knocked on Jane’s door with the other. There’d been no calls last night or this morning. She must be feeling better.
Stay away another day? Impossible.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he detected the patter of light footsteps. His heartbeat picked up speed.
He held his breath as the door swung open… Punch. There she was. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, her long hair damp and hanging free. Dark circles created half-moons under her eyes. Shades of pink and red stained her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
Had he ever seen a lovelier creature?
“What?” she demanded, fidgeting. The scent of honeysuckle, roses and magnolia wafted from her. She ran her bottom lip between her teeth. “I mean, what can I help you with, detective?”
Detective? Seriously? A smile attempted to fight its way free. Did she remember any of their conversations? “Oh wonderful,” he said. “You didn’t threaten to feed me my own organs today. You must feel better. The red nose is a cute touch, though.”
Horror flashed in her eyes. “It’s pink!”
“And the clothes.” He looked her over. Slowly. “And that thousand-dollars-an-hour voice.”
Confusion replaced the horror. “That what?”
The grin almost won the battle. Maybe she didn’t recall their chats. He entered her cottage, the knitted throw that was on the back of the couch now a tangled mess halfway between a cushion and the floor.
Behind him, she squeaked, “I never said I would feed you your own organs. Did I?”
Nope. She didn’t remember. And how fortuitous was that? “You most certainly did.” Not waiting for her lead, he moved deeper into the home, on the lookout for—here. The kitchen. “Twice,” he added, placing items from the bag on a chipped yellow counter.
A peninsula separated the kitchen from a dining area that was dominated by a large table well able to seat a legion at any holiday. A smaller table filled a corner of the kitchen, creating a more intimate space. He could easily imagine having a morning coffee there.