Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
“Not to change the subject, but let’s talk wedding.” Susan waved the length of lace in the air as she rushed over. “Look what you won in a contest!” She pinned the material to Jane’s crown. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Ah. A veil. “It is indeed.” Setting her plate down, she examined the delicate lace. In its current configuration, it might not pair well with her Grandma Lily’s wedding dress, but that was okay. Jane had scissors and thread, a gift for style and a determination to save money wherever possible. She could fix anything. “Thank you so much.” She gave Conrad’s foster mother another hug.
“My pleasure. Oh! Wyatt texted me.” The other woman grew thoughtful. “A couple times. More than a couple, really.”
“Me, too,” Fiona and Tiffany piped up in unison. Uh, when had Tiff met Wyatt?
“He asked about the theme for the bachelor and bachelorette parties,” Susan continued, unpinning the veil from Jane’s head.
“Same,” Tiff and Fiona agreed with nods.
This was the perfect opportunity to ask Fiona and Tiffany to be her other bridesmaids, but a niggle stopped her. “Um. Did you say manna, Trick?”
His mouth was too full of casserole to respond. She eyed a cheesy chicken and rice dish. Oh, what was this? Beside the foil pan was a big red envelope with her name scrawled in a fancy font.
From Fiona? “I have the best friends,” she said, turning the envelope around.
“I found that on the floor of your hearse when I drove it home from the Treasure Room,” Trick said after swallowing another bite.
“So it’s not from Fee?”
“I figured you dropped it.” He went still. “Did you not?”
“Nope. This is the first time I've seen it.” Jane slipped her finger into the gap of the envelope.
The guys jumped to their feet in unison, practically leaping over the counter as they shouted, “Don’t!” and “No!” Too late. She’d already opened it. A bouquet of black paper roses popped out, glitter raining to the floor. Her stomach dropped when she noticed cut out magazine letters spelled the sentence: Get ready. This fun is killer!
Foreboding prickled the back of her neck. Was this from the murderer? Meant as a threat? A taunt? But why change things up and go with a red envelope instead of purple? To throw her off?
Yeah. To throw her off. The game was in full swing.
At her side, Beau scrubbed a hand over his face. “I failed at my job today. What if the paper had been laced with some kind of poison powder, Jane?”
“You aren’t the only one who failed,” Trick replied, his tone flat.
So. Jane was the killer’s focus, not Conrad. She held the proof in her hands. And she was relieved. Better her than the lawman. Suck it, family curse!
This development solidified her certainty that each of her theories had merit. But. The colored envelopes and cut out letters suggested someone obsessed with words and imagery. Who in this town would fixate on such details? Well, a writer, of course. This murder was definitely probably committed by someone in the club. And Jane was about to be their next member.
CHAPTER SIX
Liberate your narrative soul with an abundance of flashbacks. Consider your story an enthralling puzzle assembled piece by piece with clips from the past.
Y’all Write Now–Advice for New Writers
by Tabby Paynes-Murksand
“That’s different,” Conrad said, staring at the rollaround board Jane wheeled into her living room.
Rolex meowed loudly, as if to agree.
“Thank you.” Jane had spent the night building her characters and drafting an outline for her novel, doing far more than she’d expected. “I brainstormed everything that will happen in my book except the ending, outlined the cast and even crafted the most sublime setting. And it’s all brilliant, if I do say so myself.”
Conrad’s eyes got big as he looked over her notes. “Your plotting reminds me of your casework. A mental connect the dots inside a maze scattered throughout three different dimensions.”
“Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ve realized solving a murder and plotting a book are pretty much exactly the same. Suspect everyone of everything. Except…”
“Go on.” He handed her a cup of coffee.
Breathing in its fresh scent, she stared hard at the board. The list of questions. The lines and arrows. “I mentioned my lack of ending. It must be perfect. But who’s the real killer? How do I write the big reveal?”
He kissed her temple. “If there’s something I’m certain of, you’ll figure it out.”
Warmth spread through her. She’d also penned chapter one. After having an in-depth conversation with a tree, a hotshot detective who’d never let a dead client down stumbled upon five bodies. The words had flowed from her as easily as breathing.
Conrad motioned to a list of questions she’d written, reading aloud, “What’s the killer’s endgame? Why is Grave Actually heroine the ultimate kill? Revenge? Fun and games? Prison rules in action? The ole defeat the town’s greatest expert sleuth to prove you’re the hottest new murderer in town? What should I serve guests at the wedding reception? Is a blueberry pancake feeding station possible?” He turned to her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’ve mixed your personal life with the case.”