Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
The other agent moved to her side. “Ma’am.”
Disappointment flashed in her expressive blue eyes.
Why disappointment? No. Nope. Not a mystery Conrad needed to solve right now. The dead man deserved his full attention. If this cupcake was a killer, he would eat his shoes.
After sliding his sunglasses back in place, he pivoted and strode off, joining the sheriff, forcing all distractions from his mind. A little more difficult to do than usual, but in the end, he succeeded.
As he performed a preliminary examination of the area, other GBH employees began arriving in groups. Soon the cemetery buzzed with activity. Agents cordoned off the scene with yellow taps. Others placed evidence markers here and there, and a photographer snapped photos of the grave, body and surroundings.
A brief discussion with the coroner confirmed his suspicions. Yes, this was a homicide. Time of death occurred between the hours of midnight and four.
Baking in the afternoon heat, Conrad removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and placed his watch in his pocket. He jotted down information as it came. Victim was a local physician named Marcus Leon Hotchkins. Married to Tiffany Angelina Hotchkins. Thirty-eight years old. Six feet one. Blond hair, brown eyes. A jagged scar decorated his right hand.
No sign of his vehicle near the cemetery. Either he’d walked here, or someone had driven him.
After instructing the sheriff to find the victim’s wife, Conrad returned to the cottage for a final chat with the groundskeeper, using a map he’d taken from another agent. Anticipation hit him as soon as the home came into view. He spotted a new vehicle in the mix of cars–a shiny red convertible. Who had paid her a visit?
His gaze zoomed to Miss Ladling, who waited on the porch, perched on a rocking chair next to a petite black woman who looked to be anywhere from forty to sixty. The other woman wore a vivid pink blouse and a huge necklace made of undetermined stones. The cat still hovered in the window, staring into Conrad’s soul.
Miss Ladling shifted in her seat, her attention dropping to his tattooed forearms. Her eyes widened. Surprised by the ink? Nervous again? Both? Whatever the reason, she continued to exude peace.
He couldn’t make sense of the contradiction but flashed another I’m-one-of-the-good-guys smile. “Miss Ladling, I’d like a word.”
Wringing her hands together, she asked, “Do I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know,” he said on his way up the porch steps, hating the worry etched in her expression. “Do you?”
She reacted as he’d hoped, rallying her confidence. “I didn’t do the crime, so I shouldn’t do the time. Right? Unless there isn’t a crime?” Hope radiated from her expressive features. “Did Dr. Hotchkins trip and fall or something?”
Whoa. Perhaps Conrad needed to grab a fork and knife and get started on a loafer. “How did you identify the victim if you couldn’t see his face?” he demanded more sharply than he’d intended.
A flash of chagrin. “We—I put two and two together. Think about it. Curly blond hair on the corpse. Missing doctor with curly blond hair. There’s only one fair-haired doctor people can’t currently find.”
Right. “Small towns have the biggest mouths,” he grumbled. The citizens tended to stick together too, keeping each other’s secrets. “We’ll be taking both bodies as well as the casket.”
“Have you already dusted for fingerprints? Never mind. You can’t say. I get it.” Her tone veered between helpful and curious. “Before you ask, I’ve never spoken to Dr. Hots. Hotchkins,” she corrected in a rush, blushing. “I mean, I spotted him a few times when I visited Dr. Garcia. And I know his wife. But other than that, I have zero connection to him.”
“Good to know.” That blush… He withdrew his notebook and wrote: Ask gravekeeper out when appropriate. “We’re packing up to leave, but I’d like to discuss something with you before I go.”
Movement drew his gaze to her companion. Oh, yes. The other woman, listening intently and one hundred percent unabashed. She lacked only a bowl of popcorn.
He offered his hand and his name. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I’d appreciate it.”
Miss Ladling apologized for a lack of manners, then introduced him to the newcomer. “Special Agent Ryan, this is Fiona Lawrence, my best friend.”
Best friends, despite the age difference? Interesting.
The older woman examined him with schemes glinting in her dark eyes. “Are you single, young man? I see no wedding ring. Perhaps you have a significant other?”
An attempt at matchmaking right off the bat? He wasn’t surprised. Similar questions had been asked during past cases. For once, he harbored interest but could do nothing about it. Yet. At least he now knew Miss Jane Ladling was single.
“Were you at the house this morning, ma’am?” he asked, redirecting the focus of the conversation.
“I wasn’t. But why don’t we get out of this heat, and I’ll tell you what I was doing. I’ll even whip up a batch of my famous blueberry pancakes. At some point, I might explain the impoliteness of ignoring an old woman’s question. Although I’ve already deduced the answer. You are very single.”