Bash shrugged. “That was the plan, but rainstorms rolled in. So, I was able to get back earlier than expected.”
Just then, her cousin received a text and frowned.
“Everything okay?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine, but I’ve got to head back.” Her eyes darted from her phone to the Huttons. “Can I get that to go?” Her expression said everything was definitely not fine.
“Sure thing, Sister D.” Mr. Hutton placed a grill press onto her cheese sandwich. The husband and wife team worked lightning fast, getting everything together.
Ms. Eun brought her the food in a bag, along with a ginger ale that had a paper straw already in place. Her cousin handed over payment, but Ms. Eun brushed it away. “Your money’s no good here, honey.”
Daria’s expression softened. “Thanks, Mrs. Hutton.”
Ms. Eun gave Daria a hug. “Try and stay out of trouble now.”
Her cousin’s brows went up. “Me? I never get into trouble.”
That comment earned Quinn’s “you don’t fool me” gaze. “You mean you learned how not to get caught anymore.”
Bash chimed in. “She’s right, you know.”
Daria grumbled while grabbing her bagged lunch. “Oh, hush already.”
“Bye, Sister! Be careful!” Ms. Eun called out, waving.
Quinn watched her cousin walk out the door and hurry down the street. She’d have to call her later and find out what was up.
Meanwhile, her brother combed his fingers through his sandy-brown hair as he twisted side to side on his stool.
“Hey, Bash. Taking a break from saving the world?”
He gave Ms. Eun a playful wink. “Something like that. How’s my girl doing?”
And sure enough, that’s all it took to make a grown woman blush. “Don’t give an old woman hope. Now what can I get ya?”
It didn’t matter that Eun Hutton was twice his age and happily married. Bash was a natural flirt, a particular gift he shared—often. Everyone knew he was just playing.
He grabbed the menu off the counter, giving it a compulsory glance, although Quinn didn’t know why: Bash had been ordering the same thing since he was a kid. In fact, he loved their burger so much, Ms. Eun had it named after him.
“I’ll have my usual. Make sure that boyfriend of yours makes the fries extra crispy.”
“I heard that,” Greg called out over his shoulder. “It’s technically still breakfast, but since you save lives, I’m going to let that go.”
“Appreciated.”
Greg wasn’t done. “And stop flirting with my wife. Go get one your own age.”
Bash’s teasing eyes glimmered. “But you got the last good one.”
Greg let out a womp womp. “Yep. Sucks for you.”
Bash chuckled, then sat up straighter when a curvy woman in a short skirt walked by. Of course, he noticed.
Quinn eyed the exchange. “I’m guessing this means you’re no longer seeing the emergency operator in Colorado?”
Bash might be a flirt, but when he was seeing someone, he was loyal. So, for him to be even glancing at someone else told his sister all she needed to know: he wasn’t dating Ms. 9-1-1 anymore.
“We’re going there already? I haven’t even gotten my food yet.”
“Consider this the beginning of your meal.” Ms. Eun plopped down a glass of Coke in front of him. “Now, spill.”
He stalled, taking a big gulp. “Thanks, but I’m going to be a stickler and wait ’til I get my burger before I start the sharing circle.” His phone started ringing, cutting him off. He checked the screen, and his eyes widened. “Oh crap, didn’t expect this call so soon. Sorry, Quinn, I have to take this.”
“Oh, it’s okay. You weren’t even supposed to be back for another two weeks. This whole moment is like an extra gift on Christmas, except it’s April.”
His expression warmed.
She patted her messenger bag. “Besides, I brought a book with me.”
“Of course you did. Be right back.”
He ruffled her hair like he’d been doing since they were little. He sauntered to the back of the restaurant, heading for the bathroom.
Quinn opened her cross-body messenger bag and took out her latest book. She was going through a cozy mystery phase. This new series had a feisty amateur sleuth marooned, right on the beach, in a Pinterest-worthy retro-chic Airstream. Too bad it looked like the murderer might have just moved in next door.
The tiny bells over the door jingled yet again.
A woman’s shrill voice filled the space. “Are you sure you want to eat brunch here? I can call over to Bazin’s and have my regular table ready.”
“Don’t make a big deal, okay? You can live without your prosecco for one meal.”
The woman talking didn’t seem to care that everyone at the eatery could hear her. Quinn knew who both of them were without turning around, and started praying she wouldn’t be noticed.
It was her ex-boyfriend, Scott, otherwise known as Tricia’s current fiancé. He had just walked in with his mother, a woman who considered herself the epicenter of high society, if Vienna had such a thing. Although the town certainly had its share of well-heeled residents, few regarded having money as a status to hold over others’ heads. It was no wonder when people described Millicent “Milly” Hauser, they usually said, “Her house may be in Vienna, but she still lives in McLean,” a not-so-subtle dig at her and the haughty neighboring town inside the Beltway.
Ms. Eun interrupted. “Actually, we do have prosecco. They come in these cute lil’ bottles. Oh, and feel free to grab any available table.”
“Why don’t we park over at the counter?” Scott asked.
Please don’t sit by me. Please don’t sit by me.
There was silence for several seconds.
Scott’s mother spoke up. “We’ll take a table over there … such as it is.”
Quinn kept her head in her book, hoping that if she ignored them, they’d go away-her version of Field of Dreams, but, well, the opposite. Her book was on the counter, so she propped both elbows on either side of it and gazed down, letting her hair fall forward in an autumnal wave, her lame attempt at hiding in plain sight.
Even with her head down, she could feel Scott standing behind her.
“I know you believe books are magic, but please tell me you don’t actually think you’re wearing some sort of invisibility cloak to hide yourself.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Closing the book, Quinn met Scott’s gaze. “You get points for throwing in a Harry Potter reference. What’s up?”
He smoothed his hand down the front of his mint-green, Vineyard Vines button-down shirt, every blond hair on his head laquered in place. He gave a toothy grin. “Nothing. Just came by to say hi.”
“Okay, well … hi.”
He gave a quick nod. “I heard Tricia came by Guinefort House this morning, saying you really needed her help.”
Oh did she now?
Quinn feigned a smile. “Yes, she really was such an asset, I couldn’t have managed without her. Will you let her know I said it was okay to come back and volunteer again with the heavy lifting next month?”
See? Clandestine methodology. She had learned that maneuver from reading Mother Teresa’s biography. True story.
Scott beamed. “I’ll do that. Wow, I had no idea she was even interested in helping out on a regular basis. Isn’t she great?”
Tricia was a queen-bee train wreck who talked through her nose, but no way was Quinn going there. “I don’t know her very well,” she lied. “But congratulations. I heard this morning you two got engaged.”
“Did you see the ring I put on her finger?” He actually puffed his chest out like a ready-to-mate peacock. “Over three carats.”
“I’m happy for you both.” She waited to see if he was going to tell her what he wanted.
He just stared, looking a bit put out.
“I’m sorry—is there some
thing you needed?”
He huffed. “Geez, Quinn. I thought me getting engaged to another woman would get some sort of reaction out of you. You and I have history.”
Oh wow. Cue the awkward. “Scott, we dated for, like, a minute and a half, three years ago before I left town. By all means, have a happy life. Live long and prosper. May the force be with you, and all that good stuff.”
Her words seemed to help him relax. His shoulders dropped as he let out a long breath. “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Something was still working behind his eyes. “I’d still like to talk to you about another matter. Another time, that is.”
She felt the lines furrow between her brows. “About what exactly?”
“Scott Alexander!”
His mother must’ve been in a state, because she was using both his first and middle names, which everyone knew moms said in lieu of doing what they really wanted, which was to slap the spit out of their children’s heads. Didn’t matter that her son was twenty-seven years old.
“What?” He did not bother to hide his annoyance.
Kitten heels together, arms straight at her sides, she resembled a coiffed mannequin in a Bergdorf’s window. “You are being rude, that’s what,” his mother bit back.
Quinn tried to diffuse the tension. “Hello, Mrs. Hauser. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you and Scott.”
Vienna’s version of Cersei Lannister revealed the barest hint of a curled mouth. “Hello, dear. You’re looking well.”
“Thank you. Congratulations on the happy news, by the way.”
The cords along Mrs. Hauser’s sinewy neck tensed before her features smoothed over. “Yes, well, Patricia comes from a lovely family, although I’ll never understand why she and her sister chose a career in sales of all things. No advanced degree of any kind.” She huffed, shaking her head. “But I suppose we can’t make our children’s choices for them now, can we?”
Quinn had no idea how to respond to such a hostile remark. She didn’t even like Tricia, and she still felt the need to defend her.
“You know, Mrs. Hauser, Tricia is a highly successful realtor, one of the best in the area.”
“Yes, I’ve spotted those billboards as well. So ghastly! They must’ve cost a fortune.” Mrs. Hauser’s gaze scanned Quinn up and down, like the Terminator’s, but without the warmth. “I suppose every mother thinks no one is good enough for her son.”
And with that petrified turd of a comment, his mother walked to the booth on the other side of the restaurant.
Just then, Bash waltzed out of the bathroom, pegging Scott in Quinn’s personal space and barreling straight for them. “Everything okay here?”
Ms. Eun placed their food down with a thud. “Chow’s up!”
Scott startled. Of course, Bash was six feet three and her ex was only five eight, so she understood why he was getting jumpy.
“Nope. No problem.” He gave her a quick, pained smile. “See you later, Quinn.”
Her brother did that staring down “I’m not gonna blink until you’re gone” thing, waiting until Scott was across the room and seated with his mom before he slid back onto the stool.
“Is that numb-nut bothering you?”
She stole one of his fries. “Not really. Until today, that is.”
He grabbed the ketchup. “Why, what’s so special about today?” He opened the top and slammed the heel of his palm on the side of the bottle.
“He got engaged to Tricia Pemberley. She even made a special trip over to Guinefort House to let me know.”
He barked out a laugh. “That’s awesome. They’ll both be miserable for the rest of their lives.”
Quinn kept her voice low. “I don’t understand why he’s here with his mom. They never come here.”
“No kidding.” Ms. Eun butted in. “The only time that boy ever came in was when the two of you were dating. And now he’s back.” She gave Quinn a pointed look.
Quinn groused. “Oh, c’mon now. He’s engaged.”
Ms. Eun remained unfazed—and unconvinced. “He’s never gotten over you. Everyone knows that.”
“Please, he just never got over someone breaking up with him. ‘No one breaks up with Scott Hauser’—I still can’t believe I went out with someone who talks about himself in the third person.”
“He was—and will always be—a self-centered bro-hole.” Bash took a whopper bite of his burger.
“He says he wants to talk.”
Bash swallowed. “Well, that’s not happening.”
She shoved a bite of her omelet into her mouth. “Um, I tink dass my dwecision to make,” Quinn said through a mouthful of herbed chicken goodness.
Greg yelled out, “Hey, beautiful bride of mine, we’ve got other customers!”
Ms. Eun shrugged her shoulders. “That’s my cue.”
As soon as she was out of earshot, Bash leaned in. “Want some good news?”
She swallowed another bite. “Of course, I do—spill.”
“Guess who was just hired as the new assistant fire chief for Fairfax County?”
She dropped her fork on the plate. “No way.”
Another happy smile. “I just got off the phone with the chief. That means no more traveling the country, living out of crappy motels. I’m moving back for good, and I start Monday.”
Quinn waved both hands like they were on fire, something she did when she was over-the-moon excited. “Holy shi—are you serious?” She didn’t wait for his response. “I can’t believe it! This is huge!” She threw her arms around him, rocking him side to side.
“But wait—there’s more.”
She released him. “What? If I order now, I get the Ginsu knives too?
Eun came back to refill his Coke. “What’s going on?”
“You know what? Let me tell you on the way.” He retrieved his wallet and placed a couple of twenties on the counter.
Quinn scrunched her nose. “You know, I can buy for us, Bash.”
He brushed his sandy-brown hair out of his eyes. “I know, I know … you are woman, hear you roar. All for it, except you forget, when you’re out with your big brother, I’ve got you, the least of it meaning me paying for breakfast.”
She really did have the best brother ever created.
“Not necessary, but always appreciated.” She hopped off her stool and adjusted the strap of her messenger bag.
“Thanks, guys.” She waved to the Huttons.
“Stay out of trouble!” Ms. Eun called out. Her husband moved away from the grill, draping an arm over his wife’s shoulder.
Bash leaned close to her ear. “I need you to come with me on an errand, by the way.”
“Sure. Where we going?”
He held the door open for her. “To face the enemy.”
Chapter Two
“She believed sarcasm and rude remarks kept the monsters at bay. They didn’t.”
—Louise Penny, A Rule Against Murder
If Quinn had known her brother’s errand involved meeting up with the Pemberley sisters, she would have opted for a root canal instead. Or a pap smear. Maybe even a series of bee stings, the next more painful than the last.
And she was allergic to bees.
They pulled up in front of the old tomato canning factory, dormant and abandoned for as long as Quinn could remember. Now, the once-rusted behemoth to industrialization gleamed like a shiny new penny in the sun.
“Can you believe it?” Her brother maneuvered into the parking space. “They finally did something with this heap and converted it into loft condos. I heard about the property from a buddy of mine.”
Quinn knew all about the defunct factory because she’d written a paper on it in the eighth grade. “This place has quite a history—did you know that?”
“Not really, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“This is true. I am, but I’ll give you the SparkNotes version.” she said. “During World War Two, this canning factory was Vienna’s answer to a nationwide call for
us to plant ‘victory gardens.’ It was a way to feed ourselves and send canned food overseas to soldiers. Pretty cool, huh?”
Bash put his truck into park with one hand, the other draped over the steering wheel. “It is, which is why we’re going to put up with them.”
She blustered. “Yeah, but I thought you were kidding when you said we were going to face the enemy.”
He took the key out of the ignition. “Listen, the TnT twins aren’t my idea of a fun hang either, but they are top-notch realtors.”
“Yeah, but do they have any ethics? They’d sell their grandmother for parts if they could.” Quinn glanced at her brother’s profile. “Why not go with Ms. Jennifer over at Plum Street Properties? I used to babysit her kids. Plus, I can guarantee she has a soul.”
He exhaled. “I hear you, but those two have got the exclusive on this building. Trina has promised to take two percentage points off her commission.”
“That’s not a big deal. She’s representing both sides of the potential sale.”
“This is true.”
“And—an extra bonus for her—she’s always had a thing for you. Big time.”
He responded with a wicked smile. “They all do. It’s a curse I live with.”
Quinn pretended to gag.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on Bash’s driver-side window. Sitting in her seat, Quinn almost jumped out of her skin. He rolled down his window, but just an inch.
“Hey, Bash!” Trina’s pearly white smile gleamed—until she spotted Quinn. “Oh, I didn’t know you’d be here too, Quincy.”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she answered, not bothering to correct her.
“Just give us a sec.” Bash rolled the window back up in her face before turning his attention to his sister. “What’s up?”
“That girl’s been saying my name wrong on purpose since Girl Scouts.” Quinn whipped off her seat belt. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” He tugged her sleeve as she started to exit his truck. “Just say the word and we’ll get out of here. Nothing’s worth you being made to feel bad.”
She opened the truck door. “Ugh, don’t be nice to me. It makes it harder to stoke my hate fire.”
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 3