Game of gravestones a ja.., p.1
Game of Gravestones: A Jane Ladling Mystery, page 1
GAME OF GRAVESTONES
A JANE LADLING MYSTERY
BOOK THREE
GENA SHOWALTER
JILL MONROE
AUTHOR TALK MEDIA
Copyright 2022 Author Talk Media LLC
All rights reserved. In accordance of the U.S. Copyright Act of 1975, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by federal law enforcement agencies and is punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Cover Created by Leni Kauffman
Editing by AZ Editing
Proofreading by Naomi Lane
The following images through CreativeFabrica.com:
Chapter Header: Masum Bhuiyan
Ornamental Breaks: bad studio
This book is dedicated to the wonderful ladies on our ARC and Promo team–you are amazing!
·
Special thanks to Ginny at AZ Editing.
·
Thanks also goes to Leni Kauffman who continues to capture Jane perfectly.
·
Much love to Naomi Lane for, well, EVERYTHING
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About Gena Showalter
Also by Gena Showalter
About Jill Monroe
Also by Jill Monroe
CHAPTER ONE
“Never say you’ll cross any line to win. Not out loud.”
Jane Ladling, Cemetery Girl
Jane Ladling lived by three rules. Well, two rules and a strong suggestion. Or semi-strong, bordering on incredibly soft. 1. Never fall in love. 2. Always be good to pets, family, and friends. And 3. Absolutely, under no circumstances, break rule number one.
Currently, she stood on a makeshift stage, shoulder to shoulder with her best friend and confidant, Fiona Lawrence, smiling and waving at party guests. Jane kept those rules front and center as her gaze continued to stray to a certain Georgia Bureau of Homicide Special Agent. No more than twenty feet away, he engaged in deep conversation with a rapt circle of townspeople eager to learn more about a recent case. The Woeful Widow and Mr. Art Amour. Solved by Jane herself, thank you very much.
The romantic setting didn’t help her endeavor. Soft music played in the background of a large, transparent tent with plastic walls. A structure that dominated the entrance to her landlocked cemetery, Garden of Memories. Moonlight and stars glowed overhead while a hint of magnolia and jasmine scented the air, soon to fade until the return of spring. Along the outside perimeter, trees swayed with a gentle fall breeze. Within, lanterns flickered with hazy light, illuminating gold and black balloon arches and twirling streamers. White pumpkins and glittery pinecones added a taste of autumn.
The roaring twenties themed soiree was in full swing.
“Mmm mmm mmm.” Fiona gave Jane a gentle nudge. “I see you’re as riveted to that boy’s hot buttered buns as I am.”
“Oh my gosh.” Caught staring! “We shouldn’t discuss his, um, derriere.” Jane’s cheeks flushed as she slid her gaze over Conrad Ryan for the thousandth time that evening. He wore a white button-down with dark slacks and a matching jacket, perfectly fitted to his lean, muscular frame. “But you aren’t wrong. Those buns are sizzling, aren’t they?”
Fiona fanned her cheeks. “I can feel the burn from here.”
Once, the sixty-two-year-old had been like a sister to Jane’s Grandma Lily. When the darling woman passed, Fiona became Jane’s rock. Despite their thirty-six-year age difference, they were like sisters, too.
“He should wear a sign,” Jane said. “Handle with care.”
As if he sensed the scrutiny, Conrad cast a glance over one broad shoulder. Thank goodness she looked up in time to catch his eye. He winked before refacing his audience.
But that was all it took. Jane’s breath caught and her heart thudded. Dang, he was beautiful. Tall and strong, with thick black hair, and whiskey-colored irises. A straight nose and firm jaw added to his incomparable appeal. The Rolex on his wrist hid the tattoos that peaked from the sleeves of his jacket.
The day they’d met, the Atlanta native had come to her hometown, and all but accused her of murdering a doctor. Since then, he’d wreaked complete havoc on Aurelian Hills—and her life! Perhaps not as much havoc as she’d wreaked upon his, but that was neither here nor there. Now they were kinda, sorta, well, dating. If you could date someone without going on actual dates with them. Which sounded weird. But hey, welcome to Jane’s world.
When you owned and operated an ancestral cemetery, weird became the norm. Besides, she and Conrad had enjoyed something a million times better than romantic dinners or trips to the theater. They solved murders together! Two so far.
Although, granted, Jane had done the bulk of the solving. Not that she was bragging or anything. Truth was truth. Conrad’s problem? He relied on clues and logic. Meanwhile, Jane utilized a far superior method. Conjecture. Everybody kept secrets. Suspect the worst from the beginning and work from there. Sure, she had no friends outside her inner circle, but who needed more of those when you had such an amazing assortment of confidants?
She ignored the sudden spike of longing that constricted her chest.
Anyway. Despite the special agent’s lack of imagination, he’d somehow wormed his way into her heart. Just the outer layer, though! Not the gooey center, where love bubbled and brewed. She would never, never, ever let herself love him. Or anyone! Break rule number one? No!
Her personal code had developed from a family curse. Like, a legit curse. But it only affected the women. Fall in love, lose the guy. An outcome as certain as death. Her mom had lost her dad. Grandma Lily had lost Pops. Her great grandmother Opal lost a husband twice! And on and on and on.
Not happening to me. Nope. Jane had lost too much already.
“How do I look?” Fiona asked, adjusting her costume. “To die for?”
Jane gave the gorgeous “Nana” a once-over. With Fiona’s salt-and-pepper hair pinned back, she put her dark, unlined skin on display. A drop-waisted gown highlighted a buxom figure. The cloche hat and long string of pearls completed the outfit.
“You steal my breath,” Jane said with a smile. “See what I did there?”
They shared a snicker.
To pad Jane’s meager family trust—among other reasons—she’d teamed up with the town’s premiere party planners, Charlotte and Audrey Berdize, to kick off Aurelian Hill’s first murder mystery party. The Case of the Hotsy-Totsy Bandit. Beyond this point, inside the cemetery itself, local businesses had set up booths to advertise, display and sell their goods and services while handing out clues. Including the Berdize sisters.
“Honestly, Fee, you look like you stepped from a picture of the 1920s,” Jane added.
“Classic. Timeless. Lovely.”
Her friend preened. “I gotta say, you took the words right out of my mouth about you, hon. You are classic, timeless, and lovely as well.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Jane responded with a teasing smile, fluffing her coiffed hair. After days of deliberation, she’d chosen a gold flapper dress, with dotted tulle and feathers. On her head perched a glorious fascinator hat. Both the fascinator and the cloche belonged to her extensive—and impressive—collection.
A buzz sounded from her phone, letting her know she’d gotten a new text. She sighed. No need to read the screen. She knew the message came from a Berdize sister. The pair had been reaching out every two minutes or so.
Jane checked–yep. Sure enough.
A-Berdize: Why haven’t you released the hounds into the wild already????
The guests were the hounds, she assumed. Her gaze strayed to the clock in the upper left hand of the screen. 8:16 p.m. She heaved another sigh. It wasn’t her fault the MC was late, preventing the players from receiving their first clue.
Rather than explain, she replied with a shrug emoji. Invited fewer questions.
As she returned the device to her pocket, a man in the corner snagged her attention. Anthony Miller, draining the contents of a flask, glaring at someone in the crowd. Jane stiffened. Had her former lawyer come to demand more money she didn’t owe him?
Fiona patted her hand. “Don’t you worry
Sheriff Moore. A gruff protector had stolen Fiona’s affections. Obviously.
Though Jane considered the man’s voice, well, normal, she said, “I hope you’re right, Fee.” Conrad’s voice on the other hand…
“Besides,” Fiona continued, unfazed. “No one seems to mind the wait. Everyone is having a wonderful time.”
Excitement did crackle all around. At small, round tables, children painted mini-treasure boxes. Costumed adults gobbled up hors d’oeuvres, drank champagne, and snapped photos in front of a giant Wanted poster featuring Beau Harden, another childhood friend of Jane’s. More than half the town had shown up, paying fifty bucks a pop to try to solve the elaborate murder she’d crafted herself. And, okay, yes, everyone also hoped to win a weekend stay at the newly opened Aurelian Hills Vineyard Inn. Which had been donated in an attempt to gain business via the Berdize sisters.
Conrad was the only person without so much as a boater hat. Jane didn’t want to say he was a fuddy duddy in the dress-up department, but he was absolutely a fuddy duddy. Somehow, she dated him anyway. Adored him, really. Hmm. No, she wasn’t comfortable using the A word to describe the man who’d kissed the breath from her lungs only weeks ago. At her invitation. A mistake she couldn’t allow herself to make again. Not more than a few more times. Twenty, max. Maybe thirty. Possibly fifty. She...kinda liked him. Yes, a much better description.
Her phone buzzed again. Groaning, she checked the message.
C-Berdize: Are the perp and vic not ready? Is that the problem???
Perp? Vic? Apparently, Charlotte had listened to a few crime podcasts to get in the spirit of things.
Jane replied with a thumbs up emoji. Fiona was playing the cut-throat killer. Absolutely no one would suspect her. But where was Beau, the victim?
Great! Now Jane had two missing actors.
Beau was a vet who ran Peach State Security and oversaw the cemetery’s daily protection. She admired and trusted him with every fiber of her being. The blond giant added spice to her life. As anyone with taste buds knew, spices made everything better.
Half an hour ago, he’d claimed he’d left something important at her onsite cottage. She’d asked him to check on her beloved cat, Rolex, the world’s most perfect housepanther, while he was there. Then and now, Jane suspected Beau planned to hide out for a bit. He’d made it clear he despised the quote unquote too tight costume she’d chosen for his character, Clyde Talmadge. A bootlegger who’d obtained his gold the old-fashioned way—by stealing it from a bank.
Faithful Beau should have returned long ago. Unless Rolex had killed him. Or Beau had decided to perform a last-minute perimeter check with his crew, three other vets slash security experts. Two of them—Isaac and Holden—were supposed to walk the grounds, ensuring everyone played nice. The third, Trick, was checking tickets and IDs at the door, making sure no one entered the paid event without proof of purchase; he also kept track of everyone who so much as neared the gate. After finding two fresh corpses on the property earlier this year, Jane was taking no chances. Better to have a list of those in the vicinity. Just in case. No way trouble could find her tonight.
“Oh!” Fiona squealed, clasping Jane’s wrist. “He’s here, he’s here!”
She knew that tone. Sheriff Moore must have arrived.
Scanning…Yep. Sure enough. She spotted the bald-headed, silver-bearded, barrel-chested grandfather striding their way. And oh, wow. He appeared exhausted, with deep lines of strain bracketing his eyes.
He stopped in front of Fiona and looked her over. “I’m sorry I’m late but— Lord, save me.” He added nothing else, but then, he didn’t need to. His awed tone said plenty.
All confidence and playfulness, Fiona fiddled with her string of pearls. “No need to worry, Sheriff. You were worth the wait.”
He did look charming in his 1920s bathing costume. A big striped T-shirt with matching shorts and knee-high stockings. But goodness gracious. Someone cut this sexual tension with a chainsaw already.
“Flirt on your own time, guys.” Jane gave Fiona a gentle nudge toward the Valley of the Dolls, the section set up for the pretend murder of the century. “Do you have your walkie-talkie?”
Fiona patted the device clipped to the back of her belt. “Sure do.”
“Excellent. I have mine, as well.” Jane lifted her beaded purse. “Now go. Find Beau and take your places. We gotta start.”
“Miss me.” Her friend blew Sheriff Moore a kiss, then sauntered away.
“Break a leg, Fee,” he called, pulling at the shirt’s rounded neckline.
Executing a full circle turn, she called back, “Darling, I’m going to break a whole lot more than Beau’s leg, and that’s a fact.”
True, considering her character used a bag of gold to beat the thief to death. All in good fun, of course.
Jane withdrew a folded paper from her purse and thrust it into the sheriff’s hands. “Step up to the microphone and read this.” When he remained in place, one brow arched, she remembered her manners and added, “Please and thank you.”
“That’s better.” He nodded and did as instructed. “Good evening, everyone, and welcome.”
As conversations died down, Jane made her way off stage and veered toward the back exit. Tonight, she had the distinct honor of manning the information desk. People would have questions. People always had questions. Those fifty-dollar tickets bought answers.
“The time is the roaring twenties, when the gold mines of Aurelian Hills have all but petered out, forcing residents to move west.” The sheriff’s (normal) voice followed her into the cool, open air outside the tent. “But wait. In a stroke of good fortune, the notorious Clyde Talmadge finds one last rich vein in the Savings and…” The words faded.
Only seconds later, participants shot from the tent and scattered in every direction. Even before Jane reached her table, people congregated around her.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“I’ve lost my map. Do you have an extra?’
“Can we have more than four people on a team?”
“Can we have less than four people on a team?”
Minutes passed like hours as she stopped to answer every query. Ugh! Her feet already throbbed. She hadn’t planned on standing so long in these vintage 1920s heels.
“Where’s the–” The speaker went quiet abruptly, his eyes widening.
A firm hand settled on Jane’s hip, startling a gasp out of her. Then a husky voice full of authority and dreams proclaimed, “Ms. Ladling has nothing more to say until she reaches the designated information booth.”
The fragrance of dry cedar and refined spice hit her senses, and she smiled, melting into her accoster. See! Spices made everything better.
Conrad kissed her temple as he escorted her away. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You are more than welcome.” Oh, how she loved–liked, only liked, when he called her sweetheart. “But, um.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Which of my wondrous deeds are you thanking me for?”
“Your honesty with Fiona… regarding my sizzling hot buttered buns.”
Jane nearly swallowed her tongue, her cheeks flushing hotter than ever. “What—how—oh!” Realization slapped her upside the head. Eek! She’d forgotten that her phone acted as a constant listening device for the evening, feeding straight to earpieces worn by Conrad and Beau. By her request! But oh, the app broadcasting her conversations to the boys was supposed to keep her from being accused of murder a third time, not put all her tush-admiring on blast.
