Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Jane nibbled on her bottom lip. There’d be trouble. But. If everything went right…
“What?” Conrad asked, as if he’d caught the barest hint of her idea.
“Yeah. What are you thinking?” Beau demanded. “Because you’re wearing your evil villain face again.”
Lucy nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. “I’m kind of terrified of you right now.”
Jane looked between her friends, her determination solidifying. Yes, they were gonna do this. “If we want to catch the killer, Lucy has to die.”
Lucy Chang, beloved daughter, sister and cat mother.
Please join us for a celebration of life on April 6th at 2:30 in the afternoon at Garden of Memories, Aurelian Hills, Georgia.
Jane donned her favorite funeral attire, a calf-length black mourning dress with a high, boxy neckline and graceful skirt. A black sash of silk cinched her waist. She plopped a wide-brimmed hat on top of her hair, adjusting the netting to just below her brows while peering at a full-length mirror in her bedroom at Garden of Memories.
The day had come to lay Lucy Chang to rest. Her precious friend, gone far too soon. Murdered in the Treasure Room by either the original killer or a copycat. No one really knew, the entire case in shambles. Blah, blah. Jane sniffled and dabbed at her eyes.
“I almost believe you’re in mourning, sweetheart,” Conrad said from his post on the bed, with Cheddar the Cheese Man curled up beside him. Rolex enjoyed his cat hammock by the window, surveying all the activity taking place around him.
Wearing a perfectly pressed suit, her fiancé stretched across her lilac patchwork quilt, completely at ease amongst her discarded hats. “Also, you are the most beautiful woman ever born.”
“Thank you.” The corners of her lips lifted, and she stomped her foot. “But you’re ruining my somber demeanor, and I’m minutes away from presiding over Lucy’s memorial.”
Since her friend’s “death” three days ago, Jane’s plan had gone off without a hitch. Honestly, the hardest part was convincing Conrad to announce another murder in a town decidedly skittish from the rash of previous murders.
Somehow, Trick had swiftly arranged for a fake coroner to wheel Lucy out of the Treasure Room under the guise of transporting her body to a morgue. Christopher must have seen all the hubbub before he got home from the store or heard about it online, because he never sent the promised map. Only a note of condolence.
Conrad had officially questioned him and the other two firefighters who’d been at the grocery store the day of Hannah’s murder, but they’d claimed to have stuck together the entire time, no one wandering off for an extended period, which knocked them out of the running for good.
Holden had been guarding Lucy inside a safe house ever since. All the while, Jane did her best to epitomize the grieving friend.
Propped against the pillows, Conrad reviewed the manuscript Mason had finally turned over to AHPD, written by Abigail. Jane had tried to read Abigail’s work, she really had, but four chapters in she’d had to admit defeat and render a DNF grade, two thumbs down, zero stars, pure drivel. But different drivel than Grave Actually. Deputies had yet to find anything actually written by Jacob alone.
“The voice for this story doesn’t match the chapters left by the killer, or the co-written manuscript Christopher turned in,” Conrad observed.
“Well, Grave Actually is so poorly written, it could be part of the game rather than a serious work. We’ll find out.”
Soon they would get copies of Maggie’s individual work. The warrant had come in. Her electronics were seized, but so far nothing had been found. Which made no sense. Didn’t authors keep backups of their backups? Jane certainly did.
She hadn’t ruled out Jacob as Hannah’s killer. But. Jacob had been killed by the same method as Hannah–blunt force trauma. Abigail and Maggie hadn’t swung the murder weapon at Hannah, so Jane wasn’t sure they’d had the chops to use the wrench on Jacob, despite Abigail’s presence in the home earlier that morning. And who held Cartier hostage? What if the entire book club had worked together to pull all this off? Or the firemen? Not out of the running, after all.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand next to Conrad. “Who messaged?” Jane asked.
He reached to pick up the device, only to pause a moment to lightly stroke a green leaf on his potted plant. One of three she’d gifted him with. One for the bungalow, the Garden, and his office. She would never forget the way he’d looked at her. As if she’d given him the world’s greatest treasure.
“It’s Lucy,” he said. “She wants to know why it feels like we’re losing.”
“Tell her–oh, never mind. I will.” Jane closed the distance and perched beside her soon-to-be husband. She muttered what she typed, “We want the killer (or killers) to think they’ve won. Just hold on for a few more hours and it will be all over.” Send.