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)
“I’m a victim of the Ladling curse, and that’s all I’m willing to say.”
She’d mentioned the curse before, when she’d been high on cold medicine. He’d been intrigued then, and he was intrigued now. He closed the distance once again. Light bounced off her dark hair, distracting him from his objective, and he paused to pinch a soft lock.
Concentrate. “One day soon, we’ll dissect this curse together. I want every detail, and you’ll give them to me. But I won’t be introducing you to my friends, Jane.” Not that he had any. “When you go on that double date with Beau, I will be at your side. Me.” He’d admitted too much. He didn’t care. Better to make clear his intentions and stake his claim while he had the chance.
She shivered against him.
Liked what he’d had to say? Good. He bent down, putting his mouth to her ear. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Get this case solved and get the girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Your tattoos tell a story. If your particular tale is a heart-wrencher, expect a hug
–A Gravekeeper’s Guide to Dating
Conrad eyed the man across the table. Anthony “Tony” Miller, an attorney at Hagger, Hagger and Miller. A firm known to cater to the wealthiest members of Aurelian Hills. Mr. Miller was also a suspicious spouse who’d shown up at GBH HQ half an hour late for an agreed upon interview.
An agitated man with salt and pepper hair whose age appeared to be anywhere between fifty and seventy-five. The consequence of his hard, fast living, stress, or the guilt of committing murder? A jumble of emotion filled bloodshot eyes framed by deep lines. A dark stain marred his wrinkled shirt. He reeked of gas station cologne and cigarette smoke. Shaky hands suggested either too much alcohol or too little.
“Well?” the guy demanded, already belligerent.
Capable of plotting a homicide? Certainly. Might as well dig in. “Did you kill Marcus Hotchkins?”
Smug all of a sudden, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “No. Next question.”
“Did you ever hunt gold with him?”
“No. Next.”
Accomplished liar or eager truth teller? “The night of the murder, you left your house angry and issuing threats. You didn’t return home until the next morning.”
“Yes, and nothing you mentioned is illegal. I drove to Atlanta, got a room at the Ritz and visited the bar. Spent the night with a sexy blond. We didn’t exchange names, if you know what I mean, but I’m sure the bartender can verify my presence. Next.”
Looked like Conrad would be sending agents to the Ritz. “Did you pay for your room or the drinks with a credit card?”
The smugness returned. “No. I paid in cash, using the money Em saved, and thought she’d hidden from me. Next.”
Okay. Time to switch gears. “You believed Dr. Hotchkins was sleeping with your wife, yes?”
“Yes, but only because he was. I didn’t kill him, though. I wanted him to live so I could gather irrefutable evidence and present it to his wife. Blowing up his marriage was my right.”
“Did you send anonymous texts to Tiffany Miller, alerting her to the doctor’s affair with a patient?” Had Mr. Miller known of his wife and her boss before the night of the murder?
“Can you prove I sent her any texts?”
So, yes.
“I wanted him alive for years to come, giving me the opportunity to destroy his world piece by piece.” Scowling, Miller spread his arms. “What do I have to live for now?”
All right, what was with the people of Aurelian Hills and revenge? Was there something in the water? At least the attorney wasn’t faking ignorance. “Stealing his gold while he lived and spending it after he died isn’t revenge enough?”
“Are you saying Marcus Hotchkins actually found gold?” the other man demanded. The unearned arrogance faded. “At the cemetery?”
Genuinely surprised? Conrad ignored the questions and asked another. “What makes you so certain your wife and the doctor were having an affair?”
“Someone mailed me a note,” the attorney groused, seeming to forget the gold as he recalled his anger. “Said they saw her kissing him at the clinic in Atlanta where they both volunteered. Summerhill Community Pediatric.”
A lead worth following. “You believed this report without solid proof?”
“Not at first.” Miller’s fingers flexed, as if he were holding an unseen cup. “I followed her, watched her interact with him outside a sleazy motel. If you could have seen the sparks between them.”
“Sparks aren’t exactly proof that will hold up in court.” Something a defensive attorney would mention.
Invisible thorns of hostility flared over his skin. “They are when I'm the judge and jury.”
“And the executioner?”
Miller slitted his eyelids and stood, the chair legs scraping across the floor. “And now we’re done here.”
Yes, they were. Until Conrad checked the veracity of the man’s alibi, he had no other questions.
Miller exited the room and Hightower entered. She met Conrad’s gaze. “I’ve been monitoring a growing thread on the Headliner that concretely links the rumors about gold to the Garden of Memories. More and more people are suspecting your groundskeeper of hoarding nuggets.”