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“Have you spoken with Mr. Thorton or Abigail Waynes-Kirkland regarding your story?” Conrad asked.
“No, actually.” Ashley shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to either of them. Yet.”
Wow. Another surprise. Had Mason and Abigail not known of Ashley’s story? Or had they heard the rumors and decided to strike while they had plausible deniability?
Say neither of them was the whistleblower. Who was? Someone attempting to set them up? Or someone they’d paid?
Paying a source allowed the pair to distance themselves from the reporter. Or was the informant genuine? Ohhh. That line of thought had fuel in the tank. The mayor or his son, Jacob, were ideal candidates. Didn’t Jacob sit on the Headliner’s board of directors? He could’ve learned of Ashley’s work-in-progress story and called with a tip to help her out. And he’d already proven he might be callous enough to deprive book club members from hearing Jane’s speech by blocking her hiring, so. He was obviously a monster. Not to mention a co-stalker with his dad.
Jane really, really wanted to observe Ashley with the book club members. Would anyone be observing the reporter in kind? “You should come to the book club memorial for Hannah tomorrow evening. I’ll text you the address. I can’t say the killer will be there, but I can’t say the killer won’t be there, either.”
Intrigue lit the reporter’s eyes. “Oh, yes. I’ll be there.”
Conrad handed over his card and stood, then helped Jane to her feet.
“I have three of these already,” Ashley pointed out.
Conrad appeared unbothered. “Then it should be easy to find my number when needed.”
They made their way to the exit, not saying anything until they were buckled in his SUV. From behind the wheel, he said, “Waynes-Kirkland is the one who mentioned seeing Ms. Katz enter the Treasure Room.”
Interesting. “Do you think Abigail and Mason are hoping Ashley takes the fall? Maybe they sent her that text to invite her to Hannah’s. Though they would also need to invent a good motive for Ashley to kill Hannah. Though creating her own story to promote her book is a good one.”
“I don’t have answers yet, but I’ll learn how the mayor is involved. If he’s involved.” Conrad pressed the ignition button, firing up the vehicle’s engine. “I’m even more eager to schedule an interview with him and his lawyers to see what shakes out.”
She remembered the mayor’s interview during the last case. He’d refused to speak, and his team of representatives had revealed nothing.
“We’re missing something,” Conrad said. “I sense it.”
“My gut agrees.” But what hadn’t they considered? Jane ran through her list of suspects and possible team ups. Abigail. Mason. Abigail and Mason. Maggie. Maggie and Abigail. Jacob. The mayor. The mayor and Jacob. What of Jacob and Maggie? Or Jacob and Abigail. Or Jacob and Mason. Or Jacob, Abigail and Maggie. Perhaps all six had worked together. Or some unknown individual was involved. Jane rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe the sudden headache.
“Where to now?” she asked as Conrad eased onto the street.
“The station. I’ve gotta make some calls.”
A thought occurred to her. “Do you know if Hannah’s having a public funeral?”
He shook his head. “The family chose to have a private service at her home.”
So no way to horn in. Drats! Although…
“You don’t need to attend,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You have a novel to write and off-the-wall theories to concoct to set me on the right course.”
True. She also had a wedding to plan. Mostly, Jane had a game of cat and mouse to win.
* * *
Jane spent the rest of the day deep in thought, sleuthing, wedding planning and book plotting, still unable to create the perfect ending for her story. Conrad had set her up in the small area that was once reserved for the sheriff’s assistant, a position cut long before Sheriff Moore had walked these ancient halls.
With the slew of murders that now plagued the town, the city council had approved a new hire. Since Conrad hadn’t yet filled the position, Jane claimed the desk for herself. She even eked out chapter two of her book, but oooooh goodness gracious. She had to extract every word with a pair of invisible pliers. Why was writing so hard? And why did Donnie Eggerson have no online presence?
The phone rang on and off. She answered calls from her fellow Aurelian Hills citizens, fielding everything from the supervisor of Dashwood Farms, complaining of teenagers tipping the cows again to an illegal lemonade stand. How she loved helping. Bonus, the ringing phone saved her from having to write more. But mostly helping was the right thing to do.
She offered amazing advice, jotted down notes, and kept deputies from invading Conrad’s space with non-case related issues. A lull in the calls came. Hmm. What else could she do to legitimately avoid writing—er, to help the love of her life? Jane snapped her finger. Why not pretty up the third floor?
Her phone beeped. Oh! A text had come in.
Beaudyguard: Your book is amazing.
