She laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I’m waiting to hear an update on your progress with finding Tricia’s killer. I know there’s no way you just sat on your hands this past week.”
Quinn’s face brightened. “You know me so well. I have a lot to tell you.” She got the pages out of her bag again and handed them over, explaining everything that had happened thus far.
“So, unfortunately, they’re not in alphabetical order. Do you mind going through them and seeing if you can find a Hauser or any other name we’d recognize?”
She held out both hands, pretending to grab air. “Gimme … the highlighter too.” Daria opened the cap, putting the highlighter tip right under her nose. “Is it weird that I love the smell of markers?”
“Yes. But I like the smell of gasoline. So, there ya go.”
Quinn got on her computer to look up the Hauser home. It’s scary how easy it is to find where people live.
“Looks like they’re all the way over by Wolftrap.”
“What street?”
Quinn squinted at the screen. “Foxstone Drive. Know it?”
“Yeah, it’s near Foxstone Park.”
She stared at her cousin. “How is it I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never even heard of that park?”
Daria gazed up from the pages. “I don’t know. It’s definitely a woodsier section of Vienna. Lots of pine trees, but that’s hardly enough to even be a correlation. We have pine trees everywhere.”
Quinn eyed the couple of branches she had tucked away, wrapped in one of Lucas’s rags from the garage. Was it also weird she was walking around with branches in her messenger bag? She needed to get these to her mother to examine.
Let your mom and dad have their day off. Everyone needs time as a couple, even people who have been married forever.
Ensuring marital bliss for the parental unit wasn’t Quinn’s only motivation for delay. Truth was, she had a ton of work to do. The deadline to finish Rachel’s project was coming up fast, and she still had a quarter of the job left to complete.
“Do you mind if I work on Granny Nora’s journal while you comb through the names?”
Daria glanced up for a split second, eyed the diary on Quinn’s desk, and shrugged. “Why are you even asking? We’re in your office. Of course you have to work.” She went right back to scanning the pages. “All right, so it appears the Hausers do not own an Altima or an Accord sedan. These are only the 2013 models registered?”
“Yep.”
“There’s a lot.”
Quinn chuckled. “No kidding. It hurt my eyes just looking at it.” She opened the journal and checked the new spine she had glued in. “Looks good,” she mumbled to herself, reaching for the linen thread and needle. She laid the thread next to the journal’s original stitching. “That looks like a match to me. What do you think?”
Daria craned her neck for a peek. “Yeah, it’s ivory. It’s fine.”
“Not a real details girl, are ya?”
“Not those kinds of details. Better you than me.”
Quinn threaded the needle, perusing the pages as she stitched the binding. She started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Daria asked.
“I’m just reading some of the diary as I fix it—and even though young Nora was madly in love with this man named David, Rachel’s great-grandparents kept inviting different single men from the congregation over to dinner. Every Shabbat, a new face. Guess they didn’t like David too much.”
Daria giggled, snorting a little. “That’s right out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding!”
Quinn clucked her tongue. “Poor Toula.”
“Poor Ian.”
Quinn cut the end of the thread with her scissors, shaped like bunny ears. “Well, it worked out for them. I love that movie.”
“Me too.”
Quinn eyed the pages in Daria’s hands, noting she was on the last one. “Any luck?”
Daria made a stink face. “Nope, that would’ve been too easy.” She handed them back, and Quinn shoved them in her messenger bag. “What time is it?”
Quinn glanced at her computer screen and gawked. “Gee Zeus, we need to go.”
“Yeah, I gotta motor.” Daria tucked the stool back under the desk.
“Hey, so what made you finally come over here today?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Um … Bash called.”
Quinn stopped packing up. “What?”
She swore under her breath. “Crud, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
Quinn’s brows shot north.
“He came by after your little field trip to that mechanic—whatever his name—and said he was over us fighting and, besides, it was obvious you and I were a much better crime duo than you and him.”
“He just can’t help himself. He has to try and fix everything for everybody.”
Daria suppressed a grin. “He’s not the only one.”
Quinn ignored that comment. “I’m surprised that’s all it took for you to come over.”
“Well, the Reverend Mother did say I need to work on not being so prideful.”
“You’re stubborn is what you are.”
Daria gave her a pretend glare. “Don’t push it. I only allot myself so many acts of contrition a week, and I’m fresh out.”
“Fair enough. Now let’s get out of here. It’s been a day.” She turned off her computer.
“Oh, and he wanted to thank me too.”
“For what?”
“For the great advice he was never supposed to hear—about putting real effort in with Rachel for a change.”
Now it was Quinn’s turn to chew on her lip or a hangnail—anything to not have to respond.
“You are sooo busted!”
Quinn let out a squeak. “I know! But you weren’t there. Trust me, he needed to hear it. I was moved by the Holy Spirit to speak.”
“Really? You’re going there?”
Quinn didn’t bat an eye, pretending to take a card out of an imaginary deck and slapping it down. “Consider it in play!”
They stared at each other before dissolving into snorts, laughs, and giggles.
Daria wiped her eyes. “I really missed you.”
“I missed you too. C’mon—the Gooey Grilled Cheese is on me this time.”
Chapter Nineteen
“You think those dogs will not be in heaven. I tell you they will be there long before any of us.”
—Robert Louis Stevenson, nineteenth-century Scottish novelist
“Well, I, for one, am tickled hot pink you and Daria made up.”
“Me too, Mama. Me too.”
After her first good night’s sleep in days, Quinn stopped by the store—twigs in hand—dying to ask her mother about them. She had caught her at the perfect time: hours before they opened, with Adele sweeping the sidewalk and no one around.
Her mama stopped what she was doing, snatched her glasses off the top of her head, and examined the branches.
“They’re just ordinary pine branches, honey. No special variety, if that’s what you’re asking.” She peered over the rim of her spectacles, something her husband did often. “Do I want to know why I’m looking at these for you?”
Quinn pressed her lips together in case anything tried to spill out.
Adele Caine mumbled an “mm-hmm” before having more to say. “Whoever those trees belong to should know, though, they need an arborist—and fast.”
Quinn’s ears perked up. “Really? Tell me why.”
Adele pointed toward them. “There’s copious amounts of white sap. Imagine a tree like you would a human body. A tree’s normal excretions run clear to golden when healthy. But when sick, white indicates disease—the way pus forms in a human wound when fighting infection.”
Quinn tried not to gag. “Well, that’s a lovely image.”
Adele ignored her. “Those trees are gravely ill. That’s all I’m saying.”
Quinn wrapped them back up in the rag Lucas had given her, and s
hoved them in her bag. “You wouldn’t know exactly what would cause these particular kinds of symptoms in pine trees, would you?”
Holding her broom with both hands, chin resting on top, Adele shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know for sure … sometimes it’s a reaction to storm damage, but usually it’s from bacterial cankers.”
“What? Like canker sores?”
“No, smart-mouth. A human canker sore is from a virus. The ones I’m talking about emanate from dead spots on trees, usually caused by fungi growing under the bark.”
“I’m assuming it’s not the good kind of fungi, like the mushrooms Dad likes so much.”
Her mom tittered. “No, they’re not the same.” She propped the broom against the store’s doors, then bent over to fill up the large water bowl for the neighborhood dogs, from the hose off to the side. From over her shoulder, she added, “Those trees can be saved if the owners prune them back and cut away the sickness. I’m no arborist, but I’m guessing time is running out.”
Quinn sighed, realizing that her trying to find a cluster of sickly pine trees in town might not be the most solid lead. But perhaps she’d have some better clues after visiting Caffe Amour.
She had made arrangements to meet Maxie at the coffee shop before her shift began. Quinn knew it was a reach, but after the car registrations ended up leading nowhere, she was open to anything. Sister Daria had perused the list of car owners the night before, and not one had jumped out. It amazed Quinn how Vienna felt to her like such a small town, but in reality, there were sixteen thousand five hundred residents. Truth was, she didn’t leave her Northwest neighborhood often. Her slice of Vienna was a fraction of the rest of the area, her own portion of the ‘small town’.
“Do you mind if I leave RBG with you?”
Her mama rested a hand on her hip. “Of course not. Just tie her up on the patio under the shade. I need to pinch some heads.”
She meant buds in the flower beds. Unfortunately, her dog baby was in a “not having it” mood as Quinn tied her leash at her mama’s request—almost as if she knew Quinn was going out on a quest without her.
“I’ll be back soon. Be good.”
In no time, she was down the street, with Maxie already waiting for her. This time, her hair was dyed purple. “Whoa, a new color. What’s the occasion?”
Maxie fiddled with the end of her braid. “I think I may have OD’d on Prince.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. Prince was awesome.”
Maxie grinned widely. “Totally. Purple Rain was on TV last weekend, and my mom, my sister, and I decided to make it the theme for the weekend. We’re talking cupcakes made with purple icing, popcorn popped from purple corn kernels. I think I drank my body weight in purple Kool-Aid. Purple hair was inevitable after that.”
Quinn had always liked Maxie. They had never hung out in high school, but they’d always gotten along. Maxie played saxophone and had been in the marching band back in the day, so their paths had rarely crossed. Probably because Madison High School’s marching band was mafia-family close.
Maxie handed her a glossy flyer. “I’m playing at this big fundraiser for The Women’s Center at the end of May—Memorial Day weekend, actually. It’d be cool if you could come, maybe bring some friends.”
“Oh right, I heard about this already. I’m definitely going. Weird they’re having it the same weekend as Viva Vienna.”
Viva Vienna was a big deal and an event that rarely shared billing with anything else. Sponsored by The Rotary Club every year, it was a three-day smorgasbord of rides, craft booths, carnival games, live music, and crazy-delicious amusement park food. Turkey legs the size of an arm, shaved ices as big as a human head, along with fried Oreos, soft-serve ice cream, and rainbow-flavored cotton candy. Outsiders might think it was only for children, but Vienna residents of all ages made it a destination. Although, considering over fifty thousand people came every year, Quinn guessed the secret was out that the weekend was quite a time for everyone.
Maxie blew off her concern. “The event is at seven. Plenty of time for people to go to Viva, then clean up for the fundraiser.”
“True. Remember how we’d get those wrist bands from Doctor Garan’s office when we were kids?”
Dr. Arnold Garan was one of the local orthodontists, and every year, to demonstrate his appreciation for all the crooked teeth he wired into submission, he gave out free admission wristbands to his patients. Those bracelets weren’t cheap either. They granted the wearer access to unlimited rides. It was one of the few perks for having endured a metal mouth for a couple of years.
Maxie popped out a clear bottom-teeth retainer with her tongue before pushing it back in. “Please, why do you think I wear this thing? It keeps me on his patient list. Totally worth it.”
Quinn sat down on the parking space’s concrete bumper. Maxie had been the one to ask her to meet in the small lot behind the coffeehouse, where hardly anyone ever went, but Quinn noticed her friend was still scanning the perimeter, just to make sure they were alone.
Interesting.
Quinn decided to get right to it. “So, thanks for meeting me.”
Maxie hunched her shoulders. “Yeah, well, I might not have liked Tricia—like, at all—but it sucks she’s dead. I don’t know how you think I can help, though.”
“You never know. Something you heard or saw that appeared inconsequential at the time may mean more now.”
They were sitting side by side, legs straight out. Maxie was jiggling her feet, knocking her shoes together. The sound was, frankly, annoying, but Quinn thought better than to bring it up. She knew Maxie didn’t want to talk about Tricia, so if she needed to release some nerves, then so be it.
“Their office is right down the street, and I know Trina and Tricia live on coffee and not much else. You saw them here often?”
Maxie stopped knocking her Doc Martens together. “All the time. They treated this place like it was their second office. They met their clients here, they hung out with each other here, on and on, yada yada … They were always together, until Scott came into the picture.”
Quinn tucked her legs under her. “They’ve both had boyfriends before. What made him different?”
“Well, for one thing, Scott stood up to Trina, especially if he thought she was pushing Tricia around, which she did. Not all the time, but enough. Trina did not like that.”
“Do you think they had a falling out?”
Maxie scoffed. “I don’t think. I know so. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
“Hear about what?”
Maxie smacked her purple-glossed lips together. “Well, about a month ago the sisters came in as usual, talking between themselves, and the next thing I know, Trina starts yelling at her sister, and is this close”—she held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart—“to flipping a table or something. I mean she got loud, saying Tricia would never make it through law school, which I was like, whoa, Tricia is going to law school? And that she was barely smart enough to carry her end of their real estate business … blah, blah, blah … yada yada yada.”
Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. “Wow, that sounds …” She couldn’t even finish her sentence.
“Yeah, it was bad. I never saw them in the coffeehouse at the same time after that fight. And then Tricia died.”
Quinn nodded, staring off into nothing. Well, that answers your question about why Trina wasted no time getting new real estate posters made.
She opened her bag and retrieved the list of 2013 Nissan Altimas and Honda Accord sedans. “Last thing, Max … can you take a quick look through these and see if any of these names rings a bell, at least in terms of being connected to Tricia’s or Scott’s families?”
“Sure,” she said, taking the list from her. Quinn knew it was another long shot, but she was willing to try almost anything at this point.
Maxie was only on the second page when she stopped. “Do you mean anyone connected to the families, even if they didn’t
know Tricia?”
“I guess so, sure.”
“Then here you go.” The tip of her finger pointed to a name: Lorenzo Diamond.
Quinn had never heard of him. “Who is that?”
“We’re friends. He was in band with me back in school. People call him ‘Ren’ for short. Playing the drums—that’s his true passion. Although he hasn’t gotten around to playing as much. He used to have regular gigs at Jammin’ Java. He’s, like, totally gorgeous, by the way. Unfortunately, I’m in the ‘friend zone.’”
“Yeah, been there. Sucks.”
If ‘Ren’ Diamond played at Jammin’ Java, that meant he must’ve been really good. It was a local music club with a national reputation. Vienna might be the quintessential suburban town, and yet in its midst was a rock ’n’ roll institution. Of course, its name was the ultimate irony because, in spite of being named after the beany brew, the coffee there was awful.
Quinn was lost. “I’m not getting the connection.”
“Oh, right. Well, even though Ren’s a musician like me, he’s got bills to pay, just like the rest of us. I mean, I like coffee just fine, but would I work here if I could make a living off playing my sax? Uh, that’s a big nada. No way. Anyway, Ren pays his bills by working for his family’s landscaping business. I guess he must’ve met Scott Hauser’s parents on the job. They hit it off well enough for Mr. Hauser to offer to rent out the guest cottage on the back of their property. I’ve been over there a couple of times for jam sessions. Let me tell you, that place is sweet.”
Quinn let what she had said sink in. “C’mon, Max, everyone knows Dr. Hauser is a sweetheart, but I’m having a hard time imagining Milly Hauser agreeing to such an arrangement, let alone getting along with some twenty-something-year-old drummer-slash-landscaper.”
That made Maxie chuckle. “Totally. Nah, I think he and Dr. Hauser were the ones who got along. Ren said Scott’s dad played the guitar a little. He was taking lessons over at the School of Rock, but supposedly Mrs. Hauser was less than thrilled over his new hobby, saying a surgeon should be more careful with his hands, which I was like, dude, it’s not like he’s taking up ax throwing or something. Yeesh, controlling much?”
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 21