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Jane considered the question the rest of the night, getting little sleep as Conrad fielded calls between drifting in and out on the couch. She remained curled into his side, checking on his breathing often, just in case. Before the sun rose, she wiggled free and prepared him a feast worthy of a king. Freshly squeezed orange juice, a fluffy omelet, buttery biscuits, bacon and sausage gravy and fresh fruit.
His soft, enchanting—and enchanted—smile pierced her heart with arrows of happiness. “It was my turn to treat you,” she told him, sliding a plate his way. “How are you feeling?”
“Almost as good as new.”
After they ate their fill and fed the pets, they dressed for a day of hard-core interviews. Conrad wore a button-up shirt with Aurelian Hills embroidered over his heart, black trousers and a duty belt complete with firearm, handcuffs and flashlight.
Jane prepared to cringe as she opened the overnight bag Tiffany had packed for her. The widow had made questionable fashion choices in the past. But a relieved smile spread as Jane spotted a practical knee-length cargo skirt armed with multiple pockets, perfect for storing Truth Be Told, a pen and whatever evidence she might spot along the way. Tiff had paired it with a polka-dot top with vintage-inspired wide sleeves. The clash of utility and whimsy proved delightful.
Determination grew in Jane on the drive to the station.
Deputy Poteet, who had indeed made a full recovery like Conrad, greeted them in the lobby. “Mason Thorton is waiting in Interview Room 1 with his lawyer.” The woman handed Jane a lanyard, which she assumed granted her VIP status and total run of the place.
“Thank you, Deputy,” Conrad said. “We’ll be in shortly.”
The woman opened her mouth, most likely to apologize for what happened, but she dashed off instead.
He led Jane to the bank of elevators. On the ride up, she asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
A smile graced his lips. “Probably not. Your mind is a wonderland of imagination and creativity.”
“Then I’ll explain. You’re playing mean cop, and I’m playing meaner cop.”
“I’m good with that. But sweetheart? Be warned. I’ve got a few surprises lined up for you. One of which could be the case wrapped up in a nice, pretty bow.”
What! He might have solved Hannah’s murder?
With a wink, Conrad ushered Jane into his office. She attempted to gather her wits. He’d just topped himself as the sexiest man on the planet. Her sputtering continued while he gathered a small stack of files. As he guided her through the maze that was the Aurelian Hills police station, she didn’t need to see him to know his expression remained blank for the benefit of those they passed.
She blanked her own expression as they entered the small, sterile room. A camera perched in the corner, ready to capture everything. Did someone stand behind the two-way mirror stretched across the entire back wall?
Jane and Conrad sat on the other side of a square metal table.
Mason fidgeted in his chair, his immaculate jet-black hair mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through the strands over and over in agitation. “She left me,” he burst out, earning a grunt of displeasure from the prim, bespectacled lawyer beside him. She placed a hand on his wrist to silence him. It didn’t work. “Abigail spent all my money, packed up and moved out. I bet she killed Hannah and Jacob, too. I don’t have proof—yet—but she’s evil enough.”
Agreed. But oh, wow, Abigail had already ditched her fiancé? “Did she give back the ring?” Jane might have maybe asked out of pure nosiness. But only maybe.
“She did not,” he grated and perked up. “The ring is mine. It was my mother’s. I loaned it to Abigail and now she’s refusing to return it. That makes it stolen property. I wish to file charges.”
“Obviously, this isn’t an admission of guilt to murder,” the attorney stated.
So. Abigail was a confirmed thief and Mason wasn’t afraid to seek revenge.
“When did you discover your fiancée was sleeping with Jacob Thorton?” Conrad asked.
Whoa! Was that true? Or was he herding the other man into a verbal trap? Argh, it was tough playing meaner cop with this bombshell exploding around them.
The attorney shook her head. “My client won’t be answering that.”
“That’s all right.” Conrad smiled a cold smile. “I have a feeling Miss Waynes-Kirkland will provide the answer with receipts.”
Wow, Conrad was hardcore, and Jane dug it.
Mason paled, a tremor working through him. “Look,” the widower growled. “I wasn’t a fan of Hannah, but I did love her, and if Abigail killed her and Jacob for my money, I demand justice. If I appear guilty in the process, so be it. So here’s the truth.” He held up a hand, palm facing his protesting attorney, demanding silence. “I found out about Abigail’s cheating the night of Hannah’s book club memorial. But I didn’t kill Mr. Thacker. He was welcome to Abigail. I’d already realized she was a heartless snake.”
“Do you happen to have a copy of her manuscript?” Jane asked. Maybe the socialite had left one tucked somewhere.
“It’s possible. I have her laptop. Well, it’s my laptop, just like the ring. I let her borrow it.” Mason puffed up, defensive. “I’m not giving her access to the contents until I get my ring.”
