Daria’s back straightened, chin up. “I’m here providing spiritual counseling after a trying ordeal. I’m with Guinefort House. Surely both myself and one of Fairfax County Fire’s finest can stay with her.”
The nurse grimaced before glancing over his shoulder. “All right, fine, but keep the curtain drawn and the talking on the quiet setting. Otherwise, I’m going to get chewed up and spit out by the doctor on call.”
Bash patted him on the back. “We’ve got you covered. Thanks, man.”
“No problem, but FYI,” he said, looking sternly at Daria, “the giggling from all your ‘spiritual counseling’ got loud.” And with that, the nurse pulled the curtain for privacy as Bash grabbed a chair, positioning himself next to Daria.
Bash’s expression was contrite. “Sorry I couldn’t get here until now.”
“Well, you were busy saving lives. That’s a very good excuse.” Quinn took in her brother’s gear. “Are you okay?”
“Please, for me it’s just a regular Tuesday. I’m actually off-duty now, but I wanted to see you before going back and getting into my civilian clothes.” He peeked on the other side of the curtain before pulling it back in place. “You and RBG are the ones everyone is freaking out about. I’ve never seen Aiden so worked up.”
Daria’s eyes blazed with mischief. “Oh really?”
Quinn glared at her cousin.
If Bash noticed, he didn’t let on. “Yeah, Aiden’s been on the phone, barking orders, having half the squad interview everyone on Church Street to see if anyone got eyes on who planted those dog biscuits. The urgent care staff made him go outside, he was so riled up.”
The curtain drew back. It was one of the doctors.
“Let’s see how our patient is doing.” She checked Quinn’s chart, making a mental note of the almost-empty IV bag. “Hello, I’m Doctor Coffy. How are you feeling?”
“I’m good. Really. Ready to go home.”
The doctor smiled. “Understood.” Then she caught sight of Bash and did a double take. “Oh, um, I didn’t know we’d have a visit from a bona fide firefighter.”
He gave a polite nod. “Just here to make sure my sister’s all right. She gave us a real scare today.”
The doctor jotted down some notes. “Well, everything looks good. We’ll get the results of your blood work in a few days. Until then, I’m going to need you to stay with a friend or family member. You need to be on the lookout for muscle spasms, especially in the neck and back, as well as seizures, abnormal pupil dilation, convulsions.” She pointed to her clipboard. “Don’t worry about remembering everything. I have all the instructions here for you.”
Quinn swallowed. Hearing everything that could go wrong made the reality of what had happened hit home even more.
Dr. Coffey paused. “Do you have any questions?”
She shook her head.
The doctor handed her a small stack of papers. “These are for you. If you experience any of these symptoms, I want you to go straight to the hospital. I have my phone number on here as well,” she said, sneaking a blushing glance over at Bash. “Feel free to call me if you think of something later.”
Great, I might’ve been poisoned, and Doctor McFlirty Pants wants my brother to text her for a date.
Daria stood up. “Thanks, Doc, we’ll take it from here.”
Once they got to the waiting room, Quinn expected to find her family. What she didn’t expect was to also find Sarah from the store, Amy Lyon from Maple Ave Restaurant nor Eun and Greg Hutton from Church Street Eats. Also there were the sisters from Guinefort House, the Clink-n-Drink ladies, along with Pastor Johnny. Maxie was there too, as well as Michael from Caffe Amour.
There were so many people, they were spilling out the doors and onto the sidewalk.
Quinn turned to her brother. “What’s going on?”
He draped his arm around her shoulder. “Everyone heard what happened. They stopped by to see how you’re doing.”
“Really?”
“Heck yeah,” Sister Daria said. “This town loves you.”
Her parents walked up. “Yes, that’s true, but we need to get you home.”
As she walked out, Quinn hugged and thanked everyone for coming over to check on her. It took awhile because there were so many of them. Just as they got to the car, she heard her name.
“Quinn!”
She turned around. Rachel Slingbaum was running in their direction.
“Quinn! Quinn! Wait up!”
She turned to her family. “Hold up. Rach is coming.”
Barely out of breath, she caught up. “I just got Bash’s message and came right over. Oh my God, are you okay?” She didn’t wait for a response, throwing her arms around her. Quinn smiled to herself because she had forgotten that about her: Rachel was a world-class Olympic hugger.
“I can’t believe someone would want to hurt Ruff Barker G.” She spoke into Quinn’s hair, swaying back and forth. “If something had happened to you …”
“I’m okay. Promise,” Quinn told her. “But I need to get home. It’s been a day.”
Rachel released her, still holding Quinn by her shoulders. “Of course. Sorry. Can I come by tomorrow, to check on you?”
Quinn smiled, placing one of her hands on top of one of Rachel’s. “You never have to ask permission to spend time with family.”
Rachel’s eyes teared up. “I’ve missed you,” she said to Quinn before locking eyes with Bash.
Please, please give him another chance. Open your heart just one more time.
“Yes, what Quinnie said. Come by anytime, Rachel.” Her father opened the car door, but Quinn spun her head around. “Wait, where’s Aiden?”
A shadow crossed Bash’s face. “He got a call a little while ago. They found the 2013 Nissan Altima at the Hauser property. The tires are an exact match to the markings left on Nutley Street. And by the way, I don’t know if you know him, but the car belongs to Lorenzo ‘Ren’ Diamond. They’ve brought him in for questioning.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Parents are like God because you wanna know they’re out there, and you want them to think well of you, but you really only call when you need something.”
—Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
Aiden glanced down at her feet. “I heard Ruff Barker Ginsberg has been glued to your side since she was released from the vet. Now, I see the proof here for myself.”
Quinn scratched her girl behind her left ear, her favorite spot. “Yeah, it’s weird. She was the one in danger, but she insists on protecting me. The last couple of times I tried to leave the house, she had the equivalent of a doggie meltdown.”
Quinn could tell Aiden was trying to keep a straight face.
“And how does a ‘doggie meltdown’ present itself?”
Quinn’s eye narrowed. “It’s not funny, Aiden. She whines and barks. She tore into one of my couches. I even caught her chewing on the corner of a wall—saw it on the house cam. She’s never done that before.”
He frowned. “I didn’t know it was that bad. But at least the security cameras help you see what’s going on. Besides keeping you safe, that is.”
After she had been released from urgent care, Quinn had stayed with her parents for a few days. At first, her time at home felt like nostalgic decadence, staying in her old room—kept exactly as she had left it—with her mom and dad fussing over her. Surrounded by her pale sage walls, white Formica furniture, and shelves teeming with her old school art projects, she slept late, binge-watched Netflix series, and received visitors checking on her.
But savoring special treatment had turned into being suffocated. Seemingly overnight, Finn and Adele Caine had become helicopter parents, making sure one of them was in the same room with her at all times. Even taking her vitals every few hours. They took turns waking her up from a dead sleep, just to check for symptoms. Once she received the “all clear” from the doctors and RBG was released, Quinn couldn’t get back to her own bed fast enough.
Little did she know that privacy, as she had once experienced it, was gone forever. Aiden and Bash took it upon themselves to install high-tech security cameras all over her property. They even convinced her auntie and uncle to alarm their house and get a monitoring system for their fencing.
It was total overkill. Quinn thought everyone sweet, but illogical. And for the Caine family to lose its reasoning, one of their most precious assets, worried her.
“The thing is, Aid, I always felt secure in my home. Someone tried to kill my dog at the bookstore, not here. It doesn’t make any sense to have all this”—she waved her arms around—“this stuff around. What if some creeper hacks into the spy cam feed thingy and tries to watch me taking a shower? I’m telling you right here, right now, Detective Harrington, I will be none too pleased if I end up naked on the internet.” She shuddered. “Trust me, I am not the kind of girl who could shake that off.”
Aiden’s brows shot up before he barked out a laugh. “Okay, first of all, there are no cameras in your bathroom. There aren’t any in your bedroom either. So, you can let that go.” The humor melted away. “And second, did you even consider the fact that if someone’s bold enough to come after your dog in a public place, then it’s not much of a stretch to target you at home?”
Quinn looked aghast because she hadn’t even considered the idea that what had happened with the poisoned dog treats would be anything more than a one-time incident.
It was early morning, and Aiden was keeping Quinn company while she walked RBG—something that was becoming a regular occurrence for them. So were Quinn-and-Aiden evening walks. Truth was, he was in her atmosphere any spare moment he had. Not that she was complaining. The first morning had been a surprise. He hadn’t informed her he was stopping by, and once he realized Quinn wasn’t a morning person, he’d brought her a medium, iced, white chocolate mocha latte to quell her “mood beast”—his term, not Quinn’s—when he showed up the following morning. As she had enjoyed her chilled latte, she’d snuck peeks of Aiden as he drank his hot, black coffee, marveling how he didn’t break a sweat, even with it being over eighty degrees outside.
As much as her schoolgirl heart wanted to believe his attention was their beginning as “Q & A,” her grown-up-woman brain understood that his frequent check-ins were more about being vigilant for a family friend’s safety than about him developing any romantic notions. But as one day turned into two, and two turned into four, and then a week, a tiny flicker of hope returned. Only the size of a grain of sand, her wish was surprisingly tenacious and strong. She hammered reason and logic at it: Don’t forget our failed history, she reminded herself; add on his limiting perception of her as the extra cherry on top. Nevertheless, the dream of Quinn and Aiden didn’t have the good manners to die a quick and painless death.
There was only one way to kill a stubborn wish on life support—she’d have to pull the plug. She hated to do it because her current drug of choice was his company, but Quinn had enough self-respect not to allow herself to be led on, even if he didn’t have a clue that was exactly what he was doing.
“You don’t have to keep coming around, Aid. I know you’ve got your own life.”
He eyed her for a second, taking another sip of his coffee, but not responding.
Okay, that’s annoying. “Aren’t you going to say anything? I’m letting you off the hook here. Acknowledgment would be appreciated.”
He chuckled. “Well, it’s either I keep my mouth shut and we continue to have a good morning, or I answer that nonsense with what I’m thinking, and we have a fight.”
“It’s not nonsense. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve traveled all over the world by myself. I don’t need a knight in shining armor for protection.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Are you saying I am your knight in shining armor?”
Wait a sec. Is he flirting with me?
“You know what I mean, Aiden.”
“I do.” He smiled, warm and gentle, only adding to those hopeful grains of sand. “But humor me and let me look after you.”
They were halfway down Church Street when Quinn spotted Purple Maxie coming out of a consignment shop with ‘Ren’ Diamond. They were laughing, with him sneaking a kiss on her cheek before they clasped hands and headed toward the coffeehouse.
Quinn stopped walking. “Well, that’s new.”
Aiden nodded. “Yep, I noticed that too. She’s the one who picked him up after questioning.”
“I thought they were just friends.”
He shrugged. “One of the many things I’ve learned being a cop: Nothing’s better than a crisis to help people figure out how they feel about each other.”
Hold the phone, is he talking about Ren and Max—or us?
Well, there was no way she’d ever have enough courage to ask, so she went for the redirect.
“Wait a second. I thought his car tires were a match with the ones left at the scene.”
“Oh, they’re a perfect match. Your field trip to Lucas’s garage aside—”
She interrupted. “Wait—how do you know about that?”
He gave her his “you must be joking” face.
Bash. Traitor.
It was as if Aiden could read her mind. “And before you get tied up in knots, no, your brother did not betray your trust. He mentioned it in passing because he assumed I already knew. Because, of course, you’d go to the cops with any information—right, Quinn?”
She stopped in her tracks. “Excuse me, but I did reach out. And you never called me back!”
“I was tied up on another case, and, by the way, I did text you back.”
Quinn started walking again, picking up the pace, which was ridiculous because his legs were a block long. There was no way she was going to outwalk him.
“Oh right, I got a whole four words,” she huffed. “If you had bothered to respond in any real way, you would have heard my plan to talk to Lucas.”
“Well, if you’d texted that to me, I would have gotten in contact with you sooner, to let you know it was a waste of your time. We were handling it.”
She was already over this conversation. “Whatever, Aid.”
He grabbed her elbow and stopped walking again. “Quinn, you need to get something straight: I don’t work a typical nine-to-five. My hours are all over the place, and when a case heats up, I sometimes go off the grid. Not for long and not often, but it happens—something I was planning on discussing with you, by the way, but didn’t get a chance to before you decided to be a human guinea pig and sniff out RBG’s strychnine snacks for yourself.”
She met his gaze but didn’t know what to say.
After waiting a beat or two, he added, “I thought we had a deal, Quinn. And I have to admit, I’m disappointed you didn’t at least give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Ah craptastic. He has a point. They may not have made a pinkie promise or sworn with one hand on the Bible, but she had agreed. Something her dad said a long while ago echoed back: “Everything can be taken away from you except two things: your knowledge and your integrity. The rest turns to dust sooner or later.”
Both Adele and Finn had also taught her that if she made a mistake, she should own it. Take your medicine. Because trying to squirm out of responsibility was a worse violation than the original offense. She only hoped Aiden felt the same way.
“You know what? You’re absolutely right, and I’m sorry. I promise, from now on I will assume the best—not the worst.”
“I need you safe, Quinn.” He threaded his hand through his dark, thick hair. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
That was the truth, at least.
He studied her expression, his eyes scouring hers, and must have decided he believed her, which was good because she’d meant what she said.
“All right, let’s move on.” He started walking and so did she. “As a gesture of good faith, I’ll give you the following nugget of information. I
t won’t be released to the public until later today: Ren Diamond has a rock-solid alibi, so while his car may have been at the scene—he sure wasn’t.”
“Wow, so someone else used his car?”
“That’s what we’re thinking. Whoever stole it made sure to bring it back to the exact spot where the car had been left. They were also careful not to leave any of their DNA or fingerprints inside the vehicle. And before you go off on your Scott Hauser theory—who, by the way, is a person of interest, but not, I repeat, not a suspect—it could’ve been anyone because Ren’s a popular guy who had a lot of visitors. He also had a habit of leaving his car unlocked with the keys tucked under the visor.”
She sighed. “He’s not the only one. Half my family does the same thing. Vienna’s safe, but it’s not like people have to go through a magical wardrobe or something in order to get in.” Dread washed over her. “That must mean the murder was planned?”
He hedged. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s possible Tricia’s death was accidental, but the assailant took his or her time figuring out how they were going to dump the body without leaving any evidence. They certainly didn’t bother to give her any medical care. What we do know so far is that Tricia Pemberley did not die at that park. The autopsy report indicated that organ failure occurred over an eight- to twelve-hour period.”
Quinn bit the inside of her cheek. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means she had a long and painful death, the kind you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, even Tricia Pemberley.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“There are crimes of passion and crimes of logic. The boundary between them is not clearly defined.”
—Albert Camus, French philosopher and author
So much of what Aiden had said was on a repetitive loop: Quinn kept mulling over and over again what she knew so far. She was grateful for the slow day at the store. It gave her time to think while working on Rachel’s family journal.
She popped in one of her older mixtapes, one she had made back in college that had withstood the test of time and personal taste. Anyone could throw together a collection of songs and call it a mix, but they would be wrong. That was amateur hour. Going to college at a Catholic-affiliated university wasn’t easy for a left-leaning, Anglican-raised feminist. But then again, she hadn’t fit in at her Young Life group during high school either. It’s not that she hadn’t had friends there. And Quinn appreciated both institutions’ call to serving a higher purpose. She respected the earnestness of her peers. But none of them wanted to discuss the themes of intersectional inclusivity in works by Audre Lorde and Kimberlé Crenshaw or analyze history through a Foucault-inspired, postmodernist lens of history.
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