Daria’s cheeks reddened. “All right. That’s fair. What other questions have you been holding onto?”
Quinn glanced around. All eyes were on her.
“Well, since you asked … whatever happened with you and Raj?”
Her cousin bristled. “You know what happened.”
“Actually, no, I don’t,” Quinn countered. “You two were together for, what, three years? He was practically a member of the family. And then you show up solo, two hours late to my going-away party, talking about how the two of you decided it ‘just wasn’t working out.’ That was it. No more discussion. No deeper explanation. And every time anyone tried to bring it up, you’d walk out of the room.”
Her cousin folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Actually, that sounds like a really good idea right about now.”
“See?” Quinn tossed her hands up in exasperation. “You keep running away. It’s like you don’t trust me or something, which, I’ve got to say, hurts.”
The veins in Daria’s neck pulsed. “What? Like you tell me everything going on with you?”
Quinn’s head jerked. “What do I have going on that you don’t know about? It’s not like I have a life!”
Whoa, that felt strange to say that out loud.
But Daria wasn’t hearing her. Not really. “How about your decision to go teach across the world? We were supposed to get an apartment in the city that summer, but you bailed. Why? To teach English? If you wanted to truly help disenfranchised children you could have accomplished that in Southeast D.C., South Arlington—you didn’t need to leave everything behind and go to the other side of the globe!”
Holy cow, she’d had no idea her cousin was this angry.
“You’re right, I could have, but I wanted an adventure. Can’t you understand that?”
Daria’s eyes gentled from anger to sorrow. “Of course, I understand, and this, here, is my adventure. More than that, it’s my calling.”
She didn’t believe her. “If that’s true, how come I hardly hear you talk about the work you do here? I think you spend more time with me than you do at the abbey.”
Daria huffed. “Because you came back! I’ve wanted to enjoy my cousin and best friend finally being home!”
Quinn had gotten so caught up in their “discussion,” she had forgotten they had an audience. She shrank back. “Reverend Mother, Sisters, I apologize for airing all this ugliness at your table. I’ve been a horrible dinner guest.”
Daria grumbled. “That’s for sure.”
The Reverend Mother raised a hand. “We are her family, and you are her family. We broke bread together, and we share the contents of our hearts and minds together. Like Sister Theresa, I too abhor ‘small talk.’”
“As usual, you are being too kind, Reverend Mother.” Daria laid her palms flat on the table, taking a deep breath. “Quinn, I know you think you’re looking out for me, but you have disrespected me and this house. I think it’s best you leave.”
Quinn’s mouth gaped. “You’re kicking me out?”
“If you want to phrase it that way, then so be it.” Daria stood, clearing her plate and utensils. “Maybe this relationship isn’t as healthy as I thought it was.”
Her ears started ringing and her throat tightened. Quinn felt like someone was breaking up with her. Actually, it was worse.
“Y-you can’t mean that.”
“I do.” Daria’s eyes blazed anger, pain, determination. “Go, Quinn. And don’t come back unless you can support my decision.”
Chapter Fourteen
“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”
—George Bernard Shaw, Irish playwright and theater critic
“You’ve been moping around the store for five days now. Don’t you think it’s enough already?”
Quinn had her face buried in a book but eyed her father over the pages. “Feel free to continue work on your social skills, Dad.”
If he was bothered by her attitude, he didn’t let on. “I know you’re going through a hard time over the falling out with Elizab—I mean, Daria.”
“I’m fine,” Quinn lied, not bothering to look up from her book, although with the mention of her cousin, the words blurred on the page. Tearing eyes aren’t conducive to reading.
He swiped the book out of her hands. “You need a change of scenery, kiddo.”
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Doing you a favor.” He placed the book inside the cubby under the register. “Dress for hiking and meet me at the house. We’re going foraging today.”
“But what about the store?”
Sarah stopped mid-task, shelving a title in her beloved poetry section. “We’ve got it covered. I’m here and your mom’s coming in an hour.” She placed the rest of the stack she had on the nearby table. “Isn’t this your day off anyway?”
Quinn could feel her face turn crimson. Sarah was right. She rested her head in her hands. “Ugh, I have no life.”
Sarah offered her a patient smile, brushing wisps of her dark hair behind her ear. Quinn thought it was cool that Sarah wasn’t self-conscious about her hearing aids, being born partially deaf. Quinn’s own mother was prescribed a hearing aid set a fraction of the size, but she refused to wear them half the time, feeling uncomfortable and citing, ‘Most people have nothing interesting to say anyway.’ Adele Caine was only ever rude when something or someone questioned her vanity.
Sarah gave her a look. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m just saying, it’s a beautiful day.”
Quinn met her gaze. “It is, but it doesn’t mean, I don’t know … mushroom picking?”
Her father peered over the rim of his glasses, pretending to grumble. “Excuse me, young lady. You don’t know what you’ve been missing. Out in nature? Close to the earth?” Finn Caine let out a slow, happy sigh. “Nothing like it. It’ll clear your head, give you a different perspective. Now, go and get ready. As I said, we are leaving in less than an hour.”
He had a point: she’d been a Gloomy Gus all week, mostly because she kept replaying what had happened between her and Daria, on an endless loop. She still couldn’t believe her cousin had kicked her out. In the history of Quinn and Daria, neither had ever done something so heartless. Of course, Quinn wasn’t blameless, and she knew it. Sometimes she wished she had just shut her mouth. Kept the peace. But underneath that impulse resided a sadness she couldn’t shake. When had their relationship become conditional on being silent? They’d always been able to speak truth to each other.
Well, almost always.
Back at her beloved farmhouse, she donned a three-quarter-sleeved T-shirt and long khakis, tucking the pant legs into her hiking boots. She wished she could bring her dog baby along, but her dad had vetoed the suggestion.
“Too dangerous, honey. Most of the mushrooms are harmless, but not all of them.”
As Quinn folded herself into her dad’s Volvo station wagon, she could tell by the goofy smile on his face that he was jazzed she had agreed to come along. Not that I had much choice. With his eyes fixed on the road, he beamed an ear-to-ear grin, and her usually taciturn father jabbered the whole way.
“I know you and your brother think foraging a strange hobby, but I tell you, Quinn, it’s like going through a secret portal into another world. Not quite as magical as C. S. Lewis’s wardrobe to Narnia, mind you. Speaking of which, remember when you were younger, every time we visited a house with an armoire, how you’d insist on going inside, needing to check if any of them was the long, lost portal of your book dreams?”
Quinn’s body shook with her silent laughter. “Oh yes, I remember. Found my share of unmentionables in many of those. If only I’d found the spell for forgetting embarrassing stuff I learned about people. Made it hard to share a meal with them afterward.”
“Well, maybe today will be the day we find something magical, like a fairy glen or a gnome’s hidden hideaway on our expedition.”
She ro
lled her eyes. “Forest fairies? Clandestine gnomes? C’mon, Dad.”
He adjusted the air vent away from him. If Finn Caine had his way, he’d never have the air-conditioning on. “All right, I may have overstated the finds of the forest.” He coughed into his hand. “I suppose the window for magical thinking has closed for good?”
Quinn glanced over. He had worked relentless hours when she and Bash were little, a necessity to support the family, considering her mom’s landscaping business was seasonal. But she knew he regretted missing so much of her childhood.
“Afraid so, Dad. I’m all grown up.” Supposedly. “But I can open another kind of magical portal.” She pressed her finger onto the window button, the glass squeaking loudly as it slid between the rubber casing inside the door. She turned off the air-conditioning.
“Better?”
He followed suit, then closed his eyes for a couple of seconds as the wind blew onto his face and through his hair. She marveled at the change in him. “You’re like a happy puppy with his head out the window.”
Any tension stuck inside his corporeal being melted away. “Nothing like the real thing, as I always say.”
She rested her cheek on the curve of her arm, bent and leaning against the passenger-side door. Eyes open, she stuck her head out. The wind against her face. Hair surfing the breeze like waves in the ocean. Her father was right. There really was something to being outdoors.
Before too long, they arrived at one of the mycological group’s surreptitious foraging spots. As she got out of the car, the rest of her father’s friends were already waiting.
“Good to see you, Quinn.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Officer Carter.”
“Out here in the green, you can call me Ned.”
Quinn eyed her dad, shrugging. “No offense, Officer Carter, but it’d feel weird. My parents have always insisted on their children not calling adults by their Christian names.”
He chuckled, along with the rest of the group. “That’s fine, but even from the cheap seats, it’s easy to see you’re grown.”
“Don’t remind me.” Her father retrieved some empty bags from the trunk before slamming it shut. “You know everyone else here?”
She knew Officer Carter, of course. She was also acquainted with her parents’ neighbor, Mr. Esfahani, owner of what she liked to call “the big fat Greek wedding house” because it had a long driveway lined with eight goddess statues from Greek mythology, even though he was Persian. There was also Dr. Barbara Franklin, the local allergist who kept Quinn stocked with EpiPens in case she was stung by a bee. But the last person was a surprise.
“Sister Theresa, I didn’t know you were a member of Vienna’s Mycological Society.”
The nun was nonplussed. “How else do you think I procured those tasty morels we ate the other night? Those beauties can go for eight dollars a pound at Whole Paycheck.”
“Whole Paycheck?”
Dr. Franklin laughed. “She means Whole Foods. Sister Theresa has a wry sense of humor.”
“Quinn knows all about it,” Sister Theresa interrupted. “She calls me ‘the charming one.’ No truer words said, in my opinion. Now, are we going to chat like a bunch of kids at recess, or are we going hunting?”
Officer Carter grinned, gesturing forward. “Lead the way, Sister.”
Mr. Esfahani pointed. “Nice shirt, by the way.”
Quinn gazed down, almost having forgotten what she was wearing. It was a T-shirt her dad had stuffed at the bottom of her Christmas stocking years ago saying “I dig fungi.”
They started walking into the forest. “Thanks, Mr. Esfahani. As you can tell, Sister Theresa isn’t the only one with a rapier wit.”
He just nodded and veered off. Dr. Franklin leaned in. “He’s not much of a talker. Nice man—don’t get me wrong. Some are part of this group for the exercise and camaraderie, others strictly for the ’shrooms. Mr. Esfahani falls into the latter category.”
“As do I,” the sister interjected. “So, do you know what you’re doing out here?”
“What do you mean?”
She let out a frustrated sigh, scratching at the mole by her ear, something Quinn hadn’t seen at dinner the other night, what with her wearing her wimple.
“I mean, do you know what to look for, girl? You can’t just pick up any mushroom. Some are edible, some aren’t—and by inedible, I don’t mean they don’t taste good. I mean, they can make you sick—even kill you!”
Her father placed his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re going to work as a team. I’ll show her the ins and outs.”
She groused. “Very well then, carry on.”
The rest of the group fanned out, gazes on the ground, walking with care through the grass and trees. Her father handed Quinn a printed burlap bag that read “I didn’t like the fungus at first, but then he grew on me.”
“Wow, that one might rank in the top five corny dad jokes of all time.”
He broke into a huge grin. “Oh, that’s just one of them. Your mother had a bunch made for me. Perfect, right?”
Quinn shook her head. “Enabler,” she teased.
He aired out his bag, waving it to and fro a couple of times. “Okay, so we’re looking for edible mushrooms, so think morels, chanterelles, oyster mushrooms, champignons, and also ‘hen of the woods,’ which, confusingly, is entirely different from ‘chicken of the woods.’”
“Is that similar to ‘chicken of the sea’?”
Her father’s shoulder bobbed with his chuckle. “Not your best, but still amusing.” He walked a bit farther, until he arrived at the base of a tree with some old growth. “Ah, this is a perfect laetiporus sulphureus specimen.” He bent his knees and grabbed a bunch with a gloved hand. “Your mother’s going to love these. They’re meaty.” He fished deep in one of his pants pockets, retrieving a pair of small leather gloves. “These are for you.”
She put them on, a perfect fit. “Mom’s?”
He nodded. “Same hands.”
Quinn followed his lead, gazing at the ground, focusing around mature trees. “Any truffles to be found?”
“Ha! I wish!” Officer Carter saddled over. “I could’ve paid for some of my boy’s college with some good truffle green.”
Quinn smiled. “All drama aside, you must be happy to be getting your usual partner back now.”
He took out a cotton bandana, wiping his bald head in a circular motion. “You’ve got that right. I never liked the idea of Shae being partnered with that boy. Something off in his eyes, you know? But the chief had his reasons at the time.”
“Do you think he was ‘off’ enough to be the killer?” Quinn asked.
He blew out a raspberry. “Who knows. The evidence will out the truth in time. I’m just glad Wyatt Reynolds is behind bars.”
“Unless he makes bail.” Dr. Franklin butted in.
Quinn froze. “Is it possible some judge can let him out?” Just the thought of Reynolds free to roam around made the ground shift under her feet.
Her dad gave them all a withering glare. “Some of us came out here to get away from the town’s troubles, not to bring them into this natural sanctuary.” He pointed at Quinn’s bag with his chin. “Less talking, more digging.”
Dr. Franklin sighed, wiping her brow with her cotton-gloved hand. “You’re right, Finn. My bad. We need to enjoy this unseasonably long spring while we can. These mild, wet conditions are perfect for mushroom growth.”
With that, they both went back to what they were doing, and her father continued his lesson. “All right, I want you to find some on your own. I’ll give you some simple rules to follow.”
“Okay, hit me with the knowledge, Dad.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and there was another grin as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “All right, sometimes it’s easier learning what to avoid than what to look for. So, avoid mushrooms with white gills, a ring on the stem, or a bulbous sack at the base. Avoid the red ones too.”
“Oh, so take the blue pill instead of the red one this time?”
He looked blankly at her.
She shook her head. “Guess you didn’t see The Matrix?”
“You know I’m not much of a cinophile. You have to rely on Bash to understand those references.”
That was true. Bash had always been the one to take her to the movies growing up—he adored them as much as she did. Although she was watching more documentaries these days. The fallout with Daria had given Quinn more time on her hands, and she found Netflix helped fill the void. Or so she tried telling herself.
As she continued foraging, Quinn had quiet time to think, and she found her mind whizzing with a million different thoughts at once: how to patch things up with her cousin without ripping her integrity apart. She harbored mixed feelings about the Reverend Mother, who, though she might have been a delightful hostess, Quinn couldn’t help but feel had instigated the argument between them. Quinn didn’t care for small talk either, but she also regarded the woman’s actions as provocative, needling a confrontation between the cousins.
There was also the lingering problem of who’d killed Tricia.
They had arrested Wyatt Reynolds—that she knew. He had been fired from his position at the Vienna Police Department. Another fact. The other day, over coffee, Bash had shared that when Aiden and his team combed Wyatt’s apartment, they found his whole second bedroom had been built as a shrine to Tricia. “Aiden said the scene gave him the creeps. Something right out of a true crime podcast.”
Quinn always thought it ironic when people cried that the sky was falling out of fear of immigrants sneaking over the border to “terrorize citizens,” when the most dangerous criminals were seemingly innocuous white guys right from the good ol’ U.S. of A.
After hearing what the police had found in Reynolds’s apartment, Quinn would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles he was the killer. But Wyatt had been on duty the night Tricia had been found murdered. Still, that didn’t mean he hadn’t slipped her something before his shift, something easy to do if they were social. Unfortunately, the results of the autopsy weren’t public record, but if they had found some kind of inorganic poison in her system, Quinn had to imagine they’d inform the public. Wouldn’t they?
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 17