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)
Those eyes. That look. How was he supposed to win anything ever? Stay strong. “I don’t need an explanation. I can guess. You suspect Emma Miller’s husband, and you’re planning to question him. But you won’t do it because I’m telling you not to. You will not visit his office, and you most definitely will not show up on his doorstep. I mean it, Jane.”
Her stubborn side rallied, beaming pure obstinance at him. “Not a bad deduction, Officer Detective Special Agent Conrad Ryan.”
No retreat, no surrender. “Jane,” he said, pushing her name past gritted teeth. Conrad’s last stand. If this didn’t work…
“Oh, all right,” she burst out. “Fine. You win, okay? I won’t drop by Mr. Miller’s office or show up on his doorstep.”
Wait. What? Conrad had actually won this round?
“Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Nose in the air, she eased backward, bumping into Beau. She would have fallen if the vet hadn’t caught her. For some reason, she refused to meet Conrad’s gaze again.
Oh, no, no, no. He’d somehow lost, hadn’t he? “Jane.” Talk about a premature celebration. The woman clearly expected to speak with Miller in a way Conrad hadn’t considered.
“Nope, no need to continue saying what you’re saying,” she said with a humph. “Trust me. I’ve already deduced the highlights. You meant every word. I’ll be in huge trouble if I disobey. And finally, I better go home and stay there or else.” She spread her arms, all haughty disdain. “See? I can detective like a boss, too.”
So he needed a different mode of attack. Noted. “And if the killer decides to go after you?” If anyone dared to hurt her… His hands curled into fists. I might be the one going to jail.
“There’s no stronger motivation to catch the fiend as quickly as possible,” she said, even haughtier.
Obviously, there would be no stopping her. Desperate, he looked to Beau. “You’ll keep her safe.”
“I will.” Beau nodded. “I’ll take a bullet for her if necessary.”
That, Conrad believed. And suddenly, he more than liked the guy. He was grateful for his presence in her life.
“No one is taking a bullet for anyone,” Jane rushed out, morphing into a prim schoolteacher chiding misbehaving children.
Conrad pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, torn between telling her to go home and enfolding her against him to prevent her from going anywhere else.
Beau tugged her toward the door, drawing her away. Conrad couldn’t pull his gaze from her. Didn’t want to. Because she didn’t pull her gaze from him. She offered him a little wave before she vanished beyond the door.
Falling for her?
He just might be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Unwavering confidence will get you far in life. Especially if you want to date gravekeepers who believe they’re cursed in love.
–A Gravekeeper’s Guide to Dating
Conrad tossed and turned for hours. A thousand times, he almost picked up his phone and rang Jane. How quickly he’d grown used to their under-the-influence-of-cold-medicine conversations. Maybe, if he heard her voice, he could drift to sleep and awake refreshed again. But he shouldn’t do it. A midnight call? Far from professional. What if he woke her?
Yes, but what if he didn’t wake her? What if she wasn’t sleeping, either, because she hoped to hear from him?
Finally he allowed temptation to get the better of him and swiped up his phone. Just before he keyed up her number, however, he noticed an email from Hightower regarding Anthony Miller.
Conrad jolted upright, his lips pursing as he read the message. Miller’s alibi checks out. A bartender verified his presence at the hotel bar and even identified the woman he took to his room. A working girl. She’s there every night. Her shift starts at 9. I stopped by and spoke with her, and she told me Miller paid for the entire evening.
So. The lawyer was a scumbag, but he wasn’t the killer. A true shocker. Conrad would have put money on Mr. Miller’s guilt.
Who did that leave? Miller’s wife, who’d lied to authorities. She’d absolutely had an affair with her boss. Perhaps she’d thought she was the only one Hotchkins had loved, learned otherwise, and snapped?
And what of Dr. Garcia, who might have helped in an attempt to save the clinic?
Or Whittington, who might or might not be nicknamed Muffin?
Of course, there was also the embittered widow, jealous significant others, and the mysterious gold hunter, who could be any of the aforementioned people.
There’d been no clues to unearth his or her identity. But. The day of his murder, as well as a string of other days, Hotchkins had drawn three chili peppers near a swirling circle in his planner. In the beginning, everyone had assumed the two images were separate—the spicy grading system and a symbol for a lover. But what if they belonged together? A type of fleur-de-lys?
Look at the large number of vehicles tagged with the fleur-de-lys graffiti. In some way or another, many of the owners were involved in the case. Some were even mentioned in Hotchkins’s planner. Those the GBH had decoded, anyway. Over half graced the list of lovers that Whittington and Garcia put together.