“Wow, this is like a visit to science-nerd heaven.”
That made him laugh. “Bash always said you were the smart one of the family.”
“Yeah, and he also says he’s the looks and I’m the brains.”
Lucas stood up while hitting “Print.” “I know that game. He says that because he doesn’t want you to know how beautiful you are; otherwise, you’d really drive all the boys in town crazy, and he and your father would never sleep.” He looked over at her, giving a playful wink. “It’s a classic older brother trick. I should know.”
“Hey, stop flirting with my sister.”
Lucas sauntered over to the printer, gathered the pages, and stapled them in the corner before handing them over to Quinn. “It’s too easy to torture your brother. Hope this helps.”
Bash rubbed his face with both hands. “Listen, man, we appreciate your help, but do you realize how many Nissan Altimas and Honda Accords are out there?”
Plus, there’s no way Scott would drive either of those cars. He’s too much of a snob.
Lucas nodded. “That’s fair. Hold on a sec.”
He went over to one of the other computer setups and remained standing as he bent over the keyboard, typing at a furious pace. A couple of tabs opened on the screen.
“Assuming the car is registered to a Vienna address—and who knows if that’s the case, but whatever—then you would have six hundred and sixty-seven vehicles to cull through.”
Quinn perked up. “Any chance you have the names of those car owners?”
His eye twinkled. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He hit a couple more keys, went back to the printer, and removed those pages, stapling them together as well. He handed them over.
She took them, folding them in half. “Thank you for this and the impromptu forensics lesson. How did you ever learn all this?”
He shrugged, leading them out of the office. “Here and there.”
Well, that was forthcoming.
They descended the stairs and entered the garage again. As they cleared the docking bay, a familiar figure was tapping her foot while standing by the latest model Lexus SUV.
It was Milly Hauser.
“Young man, I’ve been waiting out here for ten minutes!”
Lucas muttered under his breath, “El diablo ha venido a castigarme.”
Bash suppressed a cackle.
“What does that mean?” Quinn asked.
Bash whispered in her ear. “‘The devil has come to punish me.’”
Lucas approached Mrs. Hauser. “Do you have an appointment?”
Her expression soured. “Well, no, but it’s making this weird sound, like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. I can’t take it!”
Now she had his attention. “Any idea where inside the car the noise came from?”
“How am I supposed to know that? I have a masters from Smith College—that’s one of the original Seven Sisters schools—not a mechanic’s certificate.”
Wow. What an elitist.
Scott’s mother may have been rude, but Quinn was raised to be polite, regardless. “Hello, Mrs. Hauser.”
“Hello, Quinn, Sebastian. It seems you two keep a wide array of company.”
“Yeah, we’re lucky that way,” her brother answered.
Lucas walked over to her car, popped the hood, scanning it for all of five seconds. “That looks okay.” Then he sauntered over to the driver’s side and crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he bent his head to peek under. He reached through the wheel well, feeling around. Then he pulled out, of all things, a handful of pine twigs.
And they were covered in sap. White sap.
Her hand fluttered to her cheek. “Well, will you look at that!”
His brows raised. “Yeah, look at that.” He gave a pointed gaze over his shoulder, back to Bash and Quinn. “You find any more clues, come on by. I’m happy to help.”
Mrs. Hauser fidgeted with her pearls by her throat. “Clues? What kind of clues? Please tell me you’re not trying to investigate Tricia’s death on your own.” She forced a smile. “We’d all be devastated if something happened to you, dear.”
Sure you would.
Quinn was about to argue the merits of her efforts, but the woman’s face paled, and she started swaying like she was going to be ill at any moment.
“Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Hauser?”
“Yes, of course I am. It’s just hot in here.”
Quinn didn’t want to pry, but something was definitely wrong. Scott’s mother was always impeccable, from her hair and makeup to her outfits and coordinated accessories. But her coloring was off, with a sickly sheen coating her skin. She had applied her cosmetics with her usual precision, but the colors of her lipstick and eyeshadow were about five hues off from being the correct shades. Not the norm for her. She also pressed a hand into her stomach as if she were holding herself up through sheer force of will.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Diaz, for helping me. How much do I owe you?”
“No charge.”
Quinn could tell that surprised her, but then again, she was still reeling from whatever was upsetting her stomach.
“I appreciate your kindness. I’ll be sure to return the next time I have engine trouble.”
She tried to maintain her composure, but there was no hiding her rush to get back inside her SUV. She hopped in like her heels were on fire, slammed her vehicle door, and skidded out of the garage, driving like a woman with a bounty on her head.
“I’d bet twenty bucks she hurls in her car,” Lucas said.
Quinn shot him a look. “Okay, am I the only one who got freaked when you pulled those branches from her wheel well?”
“No, it weirded me out too.”
Bash leaned his weight against one of the garage poles. “Well, unless a genie came by and granted someone’s wish to turn an Altima into a Lexus, I’m thinking it’s just a coincidence.”
Quinn shoved her notebook and pen away. “Or she parks that car in the same location as our Accord or Altima.”
All three let that thought sink in.
“She seemed fine until she heard you talking about gathering clues.”
Quinn shook her head. “I don’t know about that. Mrs. Hauser looked genuinely ill, like she was hit with a stomach bug.”
Lucas shrugged. “They do have that kind of onset sometimes.”
Her brother crossed his arms, nibbling at the corner of his bottom lip. “I don’t know if I buy that.”
“Bash, what are you saying?”
He shook his head, staring off at the same point where Milly Hauser had just stood. “It’s one of two possibilities. One”—he held up his thumb—“she really is ill and needs to puke.”
“And two?” Quinn asked.
“Milly Hauser heard what we were talking about, and it’s a guilty conscience, not a stomach bug, that’s got her insides in a twist.”
Lucas wrapped the tree branches with a clean cloth and handed them to Quinn. “Well, take these to someone who knows about trees. Maybe they’ll be able to tell you what pine trees produce tons of white sap in the spring. When you do, you’re that much closer to the killer’s getaway car.”
Chapter Eighteen
“The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.”
—Terry Pratchett, Diggers
Quinn’s head was still spinning from what had happened at the garage. She needed to speak with her mother straightaway. She was a landscape architect and Quinn would bet a month’s salary she’d be able to tell her where to find this particular stratum of pine trees. She was also dying to sit somewhere quiet and comb through the names Lucas had given her. And she was itching to walk on over to the coffeehouse and talk to Maxie, like the Clink-n-Drink ladies had suggested, but she had other places to go. She had promised to cover the store for her parents so they could have some much-needed time to themselves.
Guilt ne
edled her: she hadn’t been much of an employee these last few weeks. She really needed to make it up to them. Quinn arrived at Prose & Scones, said her hellos to everyone, and then headed straight for her office.
There was no way she was going to be able to wait until she got home that night to scan through Lucas’s lists. She was dying to take a peek, to see if anyone in the Hauser family owned a 2013 Nissan Altima or a 2013 Honda Accord sedan. Doubtful, but she still had to double-check. Quinn fired up her computer so she could track down where Scott’s parents lived. She had been over to his place a long time ago, a swank—and personality free—condo in Tyson’s Corner. But never to the Hauser’s home.
Opening her bag, she grabbed all the pages; then a hard knock made her jump.
The door swung open. And it was the last person she’d expected to come by.
It was Daria. No habit, no wimple, just a simple peasant-style dress and flip-flops.
Daria stood in front of her, hands on her hips, face beet red. “I figured I’d grow old and feeble-minded and die before you came by the abbey to apologize. So I’m here, saving you a trip and me anymore aggravation.”
No “Hello.” No “How are you?” No small talk.
Pure Daria Caine.
She may have barged in on a boat christened Attitude, but this was her best friend in front of her, and with one look, she knew Daria had been experiencing just as much anguish as she had been over the last week.
And just like that, whatever anger Quinn had been holding onto evaporated as soon as her brain caught up to what her eyes were taking in.
Quinn slumped in her chair. “I know, I know … I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m sorry too.” Daria fidgeted with her cross necklace. “I can’t even remember the last time we had a fight like that.”
“That’s because we’ve never had a fight like that.”
Tears welled in Daria’s eyes. “I really am sorry for kicking you out of dinner.”
Quinn swallowed the knot in her throat. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Oh course I am. You missed a really delicious dessert.”
That did it. The tension broke, and the cousins laughed and hugged it out.
“I missed you, Hufflepuff.”
“You too, Slytherin.”
Quinn felt eyes on her, and sure enough, standing front row center over her cousin’s shoulder, right outside her office door, was, well, most of the family.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
Aunt Johanna laughed. “Then close the door! The whole town can hear you.”
“Good idea.” Quinn walked over and shut the door.
Once inside, Quinn pulled out a tucked-away stool for her cousin to sit on.
“Listen, I didn’t mean for you to have to be the one to come over. I’ve just been trying to comb through the mess and figure out what I wanted to say.”
Daria tossed her hands up, an exasperated expression coloring her features. “Quinn, this is you and me. When have we ever needed to filter what we say?”
“Honestly? Ever since you decided to become a nun.”
Instead of defensiveness, Daria just offered a sad smile. “Can you help me understand why my decision upsets you so much?”
That was a reasonable question.
“I don’t know if I have an answer to that. I guess if I had been around to see your evolution in this direction, I’d understand better. It just seemed out of nowhere to me.”
“I get that.”
“You don’t talk to me about that kind of thing. At least not anymore.”
Daria wasn’t so quick to respond now either.
Quinn went on. “Listen, I don’t want to push you to talk or anything. It’s just—”
Daria closed her eyes.
Ah crap, did I blow it again?
Quinn kept rambling. “Nothing you could ever say or do would make me love you less. I hope you know that. I’m talking big love, like way up here.” She reached up high, flopping her hand back and forth. “You know what? I’m doubling down. I’m like Father, Son, and Holy Spirit love levels over up in—”
“Stop! Stop talking. I know you love me.”
“So then what’s the prob—”
“Raj broke up with me because I wasn’t Indian,” Daria blurted out.
Quinn wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “I don’t understand.”
Daria sighed, slumping in her seat. “Honestly? Neither do I.”
“But you were tight with his family! They adored you. You went on holiday to India with them—twice!”
“They were fine with me as the girlfriend. They preferred that if he was going to “sow his oats,” it was with one white woman instead of dozens. They basically kept me close so they could keep an eye on him.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could anyone think her cousin wasn’t good enough?
Of course, she understood the arguments against cultural assimilation on an intellectual level, but Daria was brilliant—and hilarious. Compassionate and original. And she was beautiful. Even though she had always despised any kind of popularity contest back when she was Elizabeth, her cousin had won the Homecoming Queen title two years in a row. And those silly high school titles were the least interesting facts about her.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Daria picked at her fingernails. “There’s more.”
Quinn held her breath.
“He said he loved me, but he could never have a ‘jailbird’ as the mother of his children.”
Oh no he didn’t.
“He said what to you now?”
Daria let out a shaky sigh. Quinn could tell she was shoring up everything she had so as not to cry.
Watching Daria trying to hold it together sparked a deep, almost primal anger. Quinn could feel her cheeks and neck getting hot. “Tell me.” Her voice cracked. “Please tell me he didn’t have the nerve to say that to you.”
“Yes, those were his exact words.”
“Wait a second—you have an expunged juvenile record, which means you don’t have any kind of record anymore. Besides, it was for taking a couple of joy rides and hanging out on school property. You never got caught for anything else. Big deal!”
Daria met her gaze, her hurt scoring through her. “Evidently it was to him.”
Quinn grabbed her messenger bag, stuffing the papers back in and taking out the keys to her truck, holding them between her fingers like a weapon. “I am going to kill him. I have a big brother, a dad for a lawyer, and a shovel. No one will miss him.”
Daria put her hand out like a stop sign. “You will do no such thing. Sit down.” She leaned closer. “Please.”
Quinn plopped her bum on the hard seat. “How can you be so calm? Don’t you want to gouge his eyes out?”
“Oh, trust me, I did,” she said with a half-hearted laugh. “When he left—and then you left—I spiraled. But this time, instead of drinking too much and acting like an idiot, like I would have in college, I started going to church. A lot. At first, I’ll admit, it was an escape. But then, I don’t know … something clicked for me. It was like a peace I’ve searched for had been waiting for me this whole time.
“I’m sorry I didn’t share this with you. It’s just that … have you ever experienced something so painful that it took all your energy just to survive it, never mind having to retell it to someone else?”
Yes, every time Aiden Harrington pats my head, I keep each cringe-worthy moment all to myself.
Quinn knew it wasn’t the same thing—not even close. But she had nothing else from her own life to compare it to. At that moment, she felt like an overprotected, sheltered baby.
Daria wasn’t done. “Besides, if I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t have to live my humiliation outside my own head.”
Quinn grasped her hand. “I understand, but you have no reason to feel humiliated. He’s the one who should be embarrassed for being such a poor excuse of a human
being. He basically led you on for three years.”
Daria squeezed it back. “I just …”
“What?”
She met Quinn’s eye. “I just never knew someone could be so callous. And I have to admit I’ve been wondering … what’s wrong with me that I never picked up on that side of him before? I prided myself on being shrewd, a good judge of character. But looking back, I had some real blind spots when it came to him. No wonder pride’s a sin … it’s like believing I could read into someone’s heart, like I had some unique gift or something. What a crock that turned out to be.”
It was a special kind of agony, seeing someone she loved suffering so. Now that Daria had abandoned the tough-girl facade, Quinn was bearing witness to her pain: raw and exposed, the kind that hurt to watch.
“Listen, if the church gives you comfort, if you’ve developed this rad relationship with the big JC, then you have my full support.”
Daria wiped tears away. “I appreciate that. But, you know, I’m not one hundred percent sure this is the life I want either. I have doubts, just like everybody else. That’s why the process takes years. It’s why I’m a novitiate.”
Quinn let her words sink in. “Makes sense.”
Both of them got quiet.
Daria took a cleansing breath. “I’m sorry I got so defensive the other night.”
“And I’m sorry I picked a nice dinner to bring up my issues with you.”
“Well, that’s not all on you. The Reverend Mother played a hand in that.”
Quinn grimaced. “Yeah, I know, and I am not happy with her right now.”
“Don’t be mad. It’s her job to gauge my readiness, and she’s all about complete transparency. I knew she’d poke the bear. That’s why I was so nervous that night.”
Quinn still wasn’t thrilled, but what Daria said made sense. “I guess I get it.”
“So, I’m waiting.”
Quinn tilted her head. “Waiting for what? I already said I was sorry.”
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 20