On Borrowed Crime

by Kate Young

  “I’m not referring to his juvie record.”

  I froze and met his ice-blue gaze.

  “You don’t have the full story. Have you spoken to Kevin’s lawyer yet? I know you went to see Kevin.”

  I shook my head, unable to speak with a full mouth.

  “Well, I’ll save you the trouble.” He wiped his own mouth. “Allow me to enlighten you further. Carol filed a complaint against him two weeks before she passed away.”

  I started to choke and took a sip from the glass. “What type of complaint?”

  “He showed up at her home drunk. He threatened her and demanded she sign the agreement regarding the inheritance he’d had drawn up. Judge Timms overheard the commotion. He called us.”

  I mulled the information over. I felt frustrated Kevin hadn’t told me everything. He had admitted to arguing with her, and I’d seen the pictures where he grabbed her, which was inexcusable. “Carol didn’t file charges—Judge Timms did?”

  “No. Carol did. She said he’d become enraged when he found out she’d been left the bulk of the estate. And when she tried to talk to get him to calm down, he went berserk.”

  Had Kevin lied to my face? I warned him to withhold nothing. Now I sat here with figurative egg all over my face. I was so angry I could scream.

  “She agreed to split the inheritance, though. Why would he—”

  “He wanted it all. What about the photos, Lyla? The ones the judge had his private eye take. I know he gave you a copy. And you said yourself, Kevin watched you from his window when those texts came through. Have you so quickly forgotten about the blood in your car? It could’ve been him.”

  I shook my head. “The smell of death isn’t one you easily forget.”

  He flinched. “You’re right.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. But you have to admit your eyewitness account proves Carol was in distress while in his company. You’ll be contacted by the DA to testify to that fact.” He placed his fork down. “I don’t want you to get yourself in any trouble because of some notion you’re obliged to help him.”

  “I honestly can’t say it was him for sure. And I won’t lie under oath, Quinn.” My tone betrayed how insulted I felt. I wouldn’t argue the fact Kevin claimed he hadn’t been with her that morning. Surely someone had checked his alibi. “And we’ll never know if it was Kevin who terrorized me at the precinct, because your security camera just happened to be malfunctioning. Convenient, don’t you think?”

  The muscle in his jaw clenched.

  “Are you sharing information with Brad—I mean Special Agent Jones?”

  He fought a sneer and, surprising me, sounded jealous. “We are sharing what is necessary. The GBI is only interested in solving their Jane Doe crime. They aren’t interested in the welfare of our community, which is my top priority.”

  With a slightly shaky hand, I sipped my wine. Quinn seemed to notice. There wasn’t any helping that. “You’re doing your job, and he’s doing his.”

  He made a face that told me how he felt about that topic. Same ole Quinn. “None of which is your job.”

  “I beg your pardon. Judge Timms hired me.”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms. “It’s staggering how determined you are to continue to intertwine yourself in the inner workings of law enforcement even after being physically threatened. Are you a glutton for punishment? Why don’t you find something else to do with your life? It’s clearly having a negative effect on you.” He nodded to my hand as I placed my glass back on the table.

  “Why do you care? It’s my life,” I whisper-railed.

  He looked at me, seemingly stunned. “Because I care about you. I always have.”

  “We haven’t spoken in years. You were engaged.”

  “And it didn’t work out, now did it?” He shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “Since spending time with you again, even under these circumstances, I can’t get you out of my head.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck.

  I took a sip of wine, glancing away. This was so not the time to be having this discussion.

  He reached across the table and took my hand just as I released my glass. “Babe, this is a scary business. You are so fixated on this Jane Doe thing it’s crazy. It’s over. We have the right man in custody, and yet you’re still harping on this.” He held my gaze. His look pleaded. “Work with me here. Step away from this.”

  For the life of me, I didn’t understand how he could be so obtuse. “What if you’re wrong. Can you even fathom the possibility?”

  “I don’t think I am. But either way it doesn’t concern you.”

  “You forget I’ve been hired to investigate this case.”

  He gave me a pitying look.

  I stared at him for a few long moments. He expected me to lash out, and I wouldn’t. I folded my arms defiantly.

  “Look,” he said, tossing his napkin on his plate, “I don’t want to argue with you about this. There’s no point. I had a conversation with your uncle this afternoon and stressed my concerns.”

  I met his guileless blue gaze.

  “He agreed with me that there’s no reason you should be involved in this since we’ve arrested someone. He said Judge Timms would be satisfied with the job my office is doing.”

  Calvin wasn’t aware that Judge Timms wanted a murder charge.

  I clenched my fists in my lap. My face heated, and my ears grew hot from my uncle’s betrayal. I wouldn’t show my worse side to this man. This dinner had been a major eye-opener.

  I kept my tone low and matter-of-fact. “I’ll deal with my uncle. And while you’re sitting over there with an air of masculine superiority, you should know Brad doesn’t believe I’m too fragile. He took me to the crime scene. He believes I can be of use in his case.”

  Quinn sat up straight as a board, and I could almost feel ambivalence wafting off him. “What? Your interest in men is based on whether they share their crime scenes with you or not?”

  I studied him, considering how long to let him stew. “You’ll never understand. This was a mistake.”

  “Lyla”—his tone rose, and he cast a glance around—“let’s discuss this someplace else.”

  “You know what? I don’t think I want to discuss this, period.” I rose. “Excuse me.” I turned to leave.

  His hand reached out and snatched my wrist. “Lyla.”

  “Excuse me.” I jerked my arm away. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  While I handled the necessities, I heard the main bathroom door open and close. I sat on the closed toilet with the intent to check my messages. I couldn’t believe this night. The stall door rattled, and I paused. “Just a minute.” Feeling ridiculous for hiding out, I shoved my phone back into my bag. The door closed again.

  I emerged from the stall, finding the low-lit restroom empty. I was so angry with Quinn, Uncle Calvin, and the whole damn situation. I flipped on the water and began scrubbing my hands, grumbling, “High-handed men.”

  Was it too much to ask for equality? I snatched a couple of paper towels and went to check my reflection in the mirror. I froze. The paper towels slipped from my fingers as I read the message written in red lipstick on the mirror.

  One little Jane Doe left all alone; She hanged herself and then there were none.

  My heart was beating like a jackhammer. Adrenaline shot through me. I spun around the bathroom and checked under the only other stall. Alone. I was alone.

  The door opened and I screamed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sitting in a booth next to the ladies’ room, I sipped on a glass of ice water. I’d disturbed most of the diners. Quinn rushed inside, weapon in hand. He stood a few feet from us, now conversing with Officer Taylor.

  My thoughts were in a tumult. Quinn’s theory about not receiving anything after Kevin’s arrest was way off base. It was inexplicable, but a rhyme had been written on the bathroom mirror in the same fashion as And Then There Were None. And if whoever was behind this followed the p
attern of the book, it would be the last rhyme. My last warning. My hands shook in my lap. I scanned the room, wondering if the responsible party would stick around to see the result of their handiwork.

  Who would know I was having dinner with Quinn? Ellen! Could my own cousin be involved? Ellen knew Quinn and I were having dinner. She could’ve followed us here. Then there was Judge Timms. He’d also been here with his sister and told me not to bark up the wrong tree. Although, in his condition, I doubted he’d be able to write anything legible. But maybe his appearance at our table, “intoxicated,” had been a ruse to clear him, and he’d sent his sister in to do it.

  “Hey, honey,” Mrs. Ross slid next to me in the booth and wrapped her arm around my shaking shoulders.

  “Mrs. R-Ross?” I stammered.

  “I was having dinner with my niece, right over there.” She motioned behind us. “I saw you go into the restroom. I about had a heart attack when you screamed.”

  Condensation slid down the side of my water glass.

  “At first I thought that Quinn Daniels had slipped into the ladies’ room”—she lowered her tone—“to, um, … you know.”

  “Wait! What?” My head whipped up. He’d not left the table when we were together.

  Her eyes were wide, and she appeared flustered. “Well, I’ve seen programs where men want to engage in sex stuff in the ladies’ room.”

  “No, not that. When did you see Quinn near the restrooms?”

  “I don’t know. Not long before you started screaming.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, where Quinn had his back to me.

  “Mrs. Ross, I have to ask you again. What did the note Chelsea gave you say when you first looked at it?”

  The older woman glanced down at her hands. “Something like, ‘before there wasn’t anyone.’” Someone called Mrs. Ross. I’d hardly registered it before she gave me a swift kiss on the cheek and slid out of the booth to leave.

  I struggled with my warring instincts. I wanted to run. I wanted to fight, to confront Quinn and make him explain everything. And all along I knew the one common denominator in this entire situation was me. My head spun. Carol’s murder and two Jane Doe cases, and Quinn didn’t want me anywhere near any of it. Yet the evil had found me. Kept coming for me.

  I took a surreptitious look around and pulled my cell from my purse. With trembling fingers, I typed out what I hoped was a coherent text to our GBI officer. If anyone should be here, he should.

  My phone rang, and I put in an earbud inconspicuously into my ear and let my hair drop around it. “Hey.”

  “Where are you?” Brad asked tersely. He’d obviously read my text explaining my predicament.

  “Trail Head Grill in the Sweet Mountain Square,” I told him in a soft, low tone.

  “I’m in the car now. Take a breath and summarize it for me.”

  I explained what had transpired from the time Quinn had showed up till now. I included everything I could think of in my current rattled state. Answered his questions about people I knew who were here at the time. And what Quinn and I had discussed.

  “These cases are related, and someone’s worried I’m getting close to the truth. How far away are you?” I hated the desperation in my tone, but this wasn’t about me. It was about Carol and Jane Doe. Brad had a doggedness this case needed.

  “I’m close. I was already on my way back to see you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Lyla, the scarf is an identical match to the majorette scarf you mentioned.”

  The room spun a little, and I steadied myself with a hand on the wooden tabletop. “How’d you discover that?”

  “I had the forensic team go back through all the evidence. A piece with the crest managed to slip behind the lining of the suitcase. I’m not sure how it was mis—”

  Quinn touched my shoulder, and I jumped. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  Keeping my back to him, I pulled the bud from my ear and allowed it to drop back into my open purse and turned to face him.

  “We’re going to be conducting interviews for a while. I want to make sure we aren’t missing something.” He kneeled in front of me and placed a hand on my knee, and I fought the urge to slap it off. I managed it. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I honestly believed we had our man, and still do. But if it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll hunt the bastard down.” He meant every word. Or at least I believed he did. Now, I was beginning to second-guess my assumptions.

  “You need to help me out here. Keep a lower profile until we close this case.” He earnestly searched my eyes.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you’ve been running around town asking questions and”—he took a breath—“painting a giant bull’s-eye on your back.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Kevin could be getting desperate and having someone plant new evidence.”

  I opened my mouth, and he cut me off. “I’m not saying I have tunnel vision where he’s concerned. I’m just worried about you. All this,” he said, gently squeezing my knee, a personal gesture I wasn’t comfortable with, “and still, you won’t let this go. You’ve created a reputation, and not a positive one. Kevin could use that to his advantage.”

  Jerking my leg away in one fast motion, I wrestled with my emotions. “Are you actually saying I brought this on myself? Is that what I’m hearing, Quinn Daniels?”

  “No, hell no. Is that what you think of me?”

  I dug the picture from my purse and thrust it into his hand. “Did Amelia bring that on herself? Because that was taped to the bottom of her cake plate when she went to retrieve it from Judge Timms’s house after the reception.”

  He stared down at the image. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

  I gaped. “Because you weren’t hearing me before.”

  “I’m listening now.” His head turned toward the door that had swung open with a loud creak.

  Brad Jones filled the space. He had one of those imposing presences that made everyone turn and take notice. For some reason, all the men in my life were that way.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brad and Quinn were locked in a jurisdictional debate. Both were on the phone, vying for control over the cases. The tension was palpable. The whispers and stares of the other patrons got to me. I waited until both men were out of sight, and I slipped out of the booth, threaded through the crowds, and escaped out the door into the night.

  I wandered aimlessly around the square. The food establishments and bars were bright with light, and folks with cocktails were mingling outside.

  Music from the bar across the street kept slipping through the crack of the front door every time someone entered or exited. I bumped into a couple of people and rushed out a stuttering apology.

  “Lyla.” I heard my name and turned to spy Melanie getting out of her car, and I could have cried with relief. I waited for a couple of cars to pass before crossing the street to catch her.

  “Oh, Mel, thank God.” I hugged my friend.

  “Mel, Lyla!” Val came rushing over. “Lyla, what in the world?”

  “It happened again,” I whispered in a low voice. “I got another message. A warning.” I was getting fed up with feeling frightened.

  Val shot me a sideways glance. “What sort of message. A text?”

  “A rhyme on the mirror in the ladies room at the Trail Head Grill.” Mouths gaped, and I explained what happened.

  “Kevin’s in jail!” Melanie’s eyes were round as saucers.

  “Quinn thinks he may have an accomplice.”

  Val chewed on the side of her index finger. “I hate to say this, but Ellen has been acting odd lately.”

  I let out a nervous laugh, glancing around and feeling jumpy. “Wait. What are y’all doing here?”

  Val pointed to the front of the restaurant across the street. “I was having dinner with Greg. Remember? We planned it. He got the call from Quinn.”

  “Oh, right.” I rubbed the space between my brows, hoping to ease the ache.


  “I was picking up takeout.” Mel pointed to the bag in the front seat of her car. “And—”

  “You thought you’d wait around and tail Quinn driving me home?”

  She nodded, looking sheepish. “I couldn’t sit by and do nothing!”

  Val pointed to the crowd outside the Trail Head Grill, where several officers were scanning the perimeter. “We better get off the street.”

  “We can slip into the crowd at the bar. The first place Quinn will check is our houses, Mel.”

  “Good idea.” Melanie nodded.

  “Y’all go ahead. Greg will be looking for me, and if I’m MIA too, they’ll know we snuck off together.” Val kept scanning the area. “I’ll go back and give y’all a chance to get a head start.”

  “Okay. But stay safe.” I squeezed her hand.

  “I’ll be careful, I swear.” Val disappeared in the throngs of people before we could protest.

  Mel and I meandered through the crowd as a local band made a gallant attempt at playing a popular U2 song.

  “Want a drink?” Mel asked at my ear, and I nodded emphatically. “You okay to scope out a table? I’m worried about leaving you alone.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine.” And somehow being here, away from the threats and Quinn, I felt not fine, but more like me. “Go.” I gave her a little shove.

  As she edged up to the bar, I scouted the place and staked out two tables. A woman at the back table, near the signed autographs of country legends and actors, was searching through her purse. When she pulled out a tube of Chapstick, I focused on the table closer to the restrooms. Bingo. Three women were hopping off the high chairs, and I made a beeline to secure the table.

  I hopped up on the chair facing the front door. Having my back to the wall felt appropriate. I hated to be so paranoid. No wonder poor Carol had been labeled. If she’d been dealing with threats, God only knows how she’d managed to remain sane.

  My cell buzzed in my bag. Uncle Calvin.

  “Where in God’s name have you been?” I barked without preamble. “You take time to call Quinn, but not me?”

  “I’m in Guatemala. It’s a long story. Now, calm down and tell me what happened.” He sounded out of breath.