Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
For her, love equaled heartbreak. No, thank you. She had endured her fair share already. But…Here and now, she kinda sorta possibly, well…missed Conrad. So dang bad. They’d only dated for a few short weeks. Had only known each other a handful of months. But they’d been the best months and weeks of her life. During the thirteen endless days since their breakup, her internal pity party had never ceased.
“No comments or questions?” Jane asked her companion.
Rolex, her beloved fur-child, stretched across her grandmother’s favorite afghan, staring at her from the back of the couch. No doubt the house panther’s bored expression hid a well of concern for his agitated mother.
“I had to end things with him. I mean, what other choice did I have?” Jane demanded. “Conrad is too amazing. He deserves to live.”
Silence. Not even a sympathetic meow.
Sighing, she reached inside the box, drew out a sign that read Hello Fall. Well, it was supposed to read Hello Fall. The O had fallen off. She sat back on her haunches. Earlier, she’d decided to distract herself from the disaster of her life by decorating her home, the caretaker’s cottage, for the first time since her Grandma Lily’s death. A failed plan, obviously.
“Think about it. Conrad’s hot enough to burn a woman’s corneas. He’s smart. Loyal. Strong. A bit stoic at times. Okay, a lot stoic most times.” But Jane could make him laugh without trying. A talent she alone possessed, with an outcome she treasured. “And he’s got the coolest job. Well, he used to have the coolest job.” At the conclusion of his last case, the special agent had put in his notice at the Georgia Bureau of Homicide. Yesterday marked his final day. “He’s a nearly extinct brand of people. Honest. Loyal.”
Jane set the sign aside and withdrew another item, wrapped in old newspaper. A gentle unrolling revealed a ceramic pumpkin with the paint rubbed off one eye. How cute. A pumpkin pirate.
“But,” she added. “The break-up was for the best. If ever I made the mistake of falling in love with him, he would propose marriage, we’d adopt a dozen fur-babies, and Conrad would die.”
A little sadness now saved her from total destruction later. Growing to depend on Conrad, only to lose him, well, could anything be more terrible? Allowing Rolex to depend on him? A far worse crime. She owed both males her best due diligence. Hence the breakup. Besides, Conrad hadn’t called or texted or begged her to reconsider. Not once. So he loved her? Ha! He’d abandoned her forever just because she’d told him never to contact her again. What a jerk!
“Now, that’s quite enough about the world’s tastiest man-candy,” she said with a firm nod. “After I get these decorations unpacked, I’ll treat myself to some homemade banana nut bread and open the early Christmas gift from Fiona.” Fiona Lawrence, a sixty-two-year-old grandmother, and one of the best people ever born. Jane’s best friend.
Okay. She forced her attention to the box before her. The next item to gain its freedom was a leather-bound book of rustic brown, with a large L stamped into the lower right corner. Not a volume she’d encountered before. Intrigued, she untied the straps and skimmed the opening pages.
How wonderful. An old journal, handwritten by Benjamin Ladling. Opal’s first husband and Pops’s bio-dad. The one who’d disappeared without a trace a year after their wedding.
Why had her grandmother boxed up her father-in-law’s journal with a bunch of fall decorations, rather than adding the tome to the Ladling library? So far, the passages offered only notes about daily operations at the cemetery—nope. Jane spoke too soon. The notes morphed into wild ramblings about a fleur-de-lys symbol and a hunt for hidden gold.
Goodness gracious! Gold again? Periodically rumors surfaced in town about an (alleged) cult known as the Order of Seven. The claims centered around a former gravekeeper–and founding member–who found a treasure trove of nuggets during Georgia’s gold rush. Some townsfolk thought he’d stashed the wealth inside coffins just before their burials. Benjamin had clearly been a believer.
Jane read a few passages, her jaw growing slack. “He dug up plots and busted headstones during his search,” she told Rolex. The irreverence!
A folded sheet of yellowed paper, once tucked between two of the pages, fluttered into her lap. Handling with care, she eased the ends apart. Hmm. A list of utter nonsense.
1. Mule easel
2. Barreling dads gin
3. Inhaled mist
4. Island is gall
5. Wailing milk
6. Bury handgun rod
7. Sunken ice naps
What the–what? This might be a mystery for Team Truth. A group consisting of Jane and her closest friends. Fiona and her boyfriend Sheriff Raymond Moore, who planned to retire in the next few months. Beauregard “Beau” Harden. Holden Bishop. Lucas “Trick” Robichaud. And Isaac Redding. Rolex acted as the official mascot, of course.