Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
She pursed her lips. The team might have to include Tiffany in their upcoming meeting, since she discovered the body with Jane. But this was a one time invitation only, and that was that.
“Once we’re successful,” she said, practically bouncing in her winter boots, “we can start our own private investigator firm. Ryan and Ladling.” Honestly, it should be Ladling and Ryan, as she’d been the one to solve all those other cases, but Grandma Lily taught her proper etiquette. Others first.
A hint of amusement played at the edge of his expression. “Or Ryan and Ladling-Ryan?”
Her breath lodged in her throat. Oh dang. Was he suggesting… A flush scorched her face. Yeah, he was. “You noticed my mistake on the flyer.”
“I did. I’m surprised you didn’t.” He bobbed his head from side to side. “Until it was too late, of course.”
Hmm. What was he trying to say? What did he think of the error? His tone revealed nothing.
A knock sounded on the door, saving her from having to whip up an intelligent response.
Silver-bearded Sheriff Moore didn’t wait for permission to enter but made his way inside, carrying a mug of—hmm, not regular coffee, black, as usual. Tea, maybe? Did Jane detect notes of chamomile and lavender? After suffering a massive heart attack three months ago, he must be making dietary changes to aid his recovery, on top of his impending retirement. Almost all of it thanks to Fiona, no doubt.
Displaying his usual gruffness, he met Jane’s gaze and nodded. An assurance everything was gonna be alright? Or a sucks to be you condolence?
A special agent with salt-and-pepper hair trailed him, a thick file in hand. Oh! Tim Barrow, Conrad’s former partner. The father of three wore his GBH uniform–blue collared shirt and khakis—and appeared just as grim as the sheriff.
“Oi,” she muttered. This couldn’t be good.
Barrow shook Conrad’s hand, then offered Jane as he sat at the other side of the conference table. Sheriff Moore perched beside him, sipping that tea.
“Hello, Jane,” Barrow said.
“Hello, guvner.” Oh no she did not just use a British accent.
The agent shook away his confusion. “Sorry it took a murder to bring me back to Aurelian Hills.”
“Me too,” Conrad replied, holding out a chair for Jane. As she eased down, he claimed the spot next to her. They joined hands under the table. His palm was dry and his fingers steady; he wasn’t the least bit nervous, and the knowledge fortified her calm. Yes, Conrad was better than any lawyer. “So, it is a murder.”
“Looks that way,” Barrow announced with a tired sigh. “The security system was disabled from the inside a little before eight this morning. The coroner believes the deputy died approximately an hour before Jane and Ms. Hotchkins discovered him.”
That meant he was murdered at roughly 9:30, prior to her arrival in his neighborhood. Yes! Fully alibied for once.
A lingering knot between her shoulders loosened a fraction. But still. Poor Josh Gunn.
“We’ve confirmed your whereabouts at that time,” the sheriff added. “Barring any new evidence to the contrary, you’re both in the clear. So, I reminded Special Agent Barrow about your familiarity with the town and citizens, Conrad. Not to mention you’ll be running in a few months. He agreed to share what we found. We’d appreciate your input on the case. Yours too, Jane.”
Well. That explained why they’d kept her in this room for so long. They required her assistance. Triumph and vindication flooded her. Deputy Gunn, I vow to find your killer and bring them to justice as swiftly as possible.
“How did he die?” Jane asked, getting down to business.
Barrow’s face turned grim. “Drug overdose. We don’t think he did it to himself. The substance was most likely mixed into his coffee. We’re waiting on more tests results to confirm.”
Oh. “I just assumed…” her words trailed.
“What did you assume, Jane?” Conrad asked, confirmation that he trusted her process.
“I saw bullet holes in his wall and smelled gunpowder. There was a gash on his head. He wasn’t shot or beaten?”
Barrow shuffled through a stack of photos and slid one across the table. The victim. “He fell and hit his head on the coffee table.” The agent eased over another photo. The wall with the bullet holes. “Two shots were fired inside Gunn’s home, though none struck him. We’ve questioned his neighbors, but none heard the blasts.”
Sheriff Moore swallowed heavily. “Either the shooter used a suppressor, or the shots happened days, weeks or months ago. Or both. He’d grown paranoid lately. Thought someone was following him all the time. We looked into it, but found no evidence of a stalker. I admit, I figured he was exaggerating.”
To her, Deputy Gunn was a familiar face in town. For Conrad, competition. But to the sheriff, Josh Gunn had been a member of his team. Someone he hired, trained and cared for.