But there was one thing they all had in common: music. Every Thursday, from seven to ten at night, Quinn would DJ at her college’s radio station and spin vinyl of songs that spoke to her. And that’s how she had found her people. Music, like love, was transcendent and universal.
Each playlist she curated had to have a theme and a purpose. For example, the mixtape she had on now, The Revolution Will Be Memorized, was one she had made to help her concentrate while studying, by female artists who kicked butt in a male-dominated industry. It was pure old school, with artists such as Joni Mitchell, Stevie Nicks, PJ Harvey, and Kate Bush, to name a handful. They serenaded her as they always did, mournful and strong, hopeful and true.
It was years later, and she still loved that mixtape, listening while she worked. She kept trying to sort through the pieces of the investigation in her mind, to reveal what she couldn’t yet see. By the time Daria came by, suggesting they grab lunch, she was beyond frustrated and ready to admit: she was stuck.
Tiny little bells greeted them as they walked into Church Street Eats. Like her store, the eatery was surprisingly quiet for midday. Greg gave a chin lift from the grill while Ms. Eun pointed to two seats at the counter. “Be right with you!”
They settled onto their stools, not even bothering to glance at the menus.
“Here’s your usual,” Ms. Eun said as she plopped down one glass of seltzer and another glass of ginger ale. “Should I even bother to ask what you two want?”
Quinn spoke up. “I’ll have Bash’s burger.”
“I’ll have my usual,” Daria said.
Ms. Eun smirked. “Good choices. Be right up.”
Quinn glanced over. “Are you going to get in trouble with the Reverend Mother, being over here with me?”
“No, she’s encouraging me to take some time with you and the family while she works through a reassignment for me.”
Quinn’s face paled. “Are you leaving Guinefort House?”
“What? No. It’s a reassignment in the house.”
All right, glad that’s not going to be an issue.
Daria stared. “Okay, I know that look on your face.”
“What look?”
She chuckled. “The one you get when you’re ready to pull your hair out.”
Quinn sighed. “I don’t know if I should find it a comfort or an annoyance, you knowing me so well.”
“Chose the former because the latter will just tick you off more.”
“Fair enough.” Quinn did a quick glance around the place to make sure no one they knew was around to listen. Well, anyone besides Ms. Eun and Greg, but the lunch rush would start any minute, which she hoped would keep both of them into their customers and out of her business.
Daria smirked. “Coast clear, Madam Detective?”
“Ha-ha.”
Daria wiped her mouth with a napkin. “All right, let’s review: you’ve been talking with Aiden several times a day. That has to be helpful, right?”
Quinn took a long draw from her seltzer. “Yes and no.” She wasn’t in the mood to share the personal torture it was to spend so much time with someone she would never have for her own. “Let’s go over what we know. Wyatt Reynolds, now off the force, remains a person of interest. He was on-duty the night someone dumped Tricia’s body in the park, so that’s a seemingly solid alibi, on the surface. But Aiden told me the autopsy report indicated she died beforehand, hours before, actually—at least eight to twelve hours. So maybe Wyatt slipped her a little something-something not detected in an autopsy. Although anyone could’ve done that.”
Two sandwiches with fries and pickles slid in front of them. “Chow’s ready.”
“Thanks, Ms. Eun.” Quinn grabbed the ketchup, unscrewing the top. She was about to pour, until she noticed Ms. Eun wasn’t walking away.
She had her hand on her hip, an impish smile on her face.
“Can I help you?”
Ms. Eun tilted her head. “What are you two talking about?”
Quinn glanced over at her cousin. “What were we talking about? It flew right out of my head.”
Daria took a bite, pointed to her sandwich. “Can’t talk wif mouf full.”
Ms. Eun’s eyes darted back and forth. “Uh-huh.”
Greg hit a bell with the end of his spatula. “Hey, orders backing up!”
She twisted in his direction. “Imaginary friends don’t count, Greg. There’s only one other customer in here.”
“Well, then, his order is up, bride of mine!”
As soon as she was out of range, Quinn leaned close to Daria’s ear. “We may need to find a new lunch spot.”
She swallowed, wiping her mouth. “You think?”
Quinn scanned over her shoulder, noting Ms. Eun was on the other side of the eatery, serving the only other customer. “Okay, so Wyatt is still, technically, a suspect. What else do we know?”
Her cousin popped a pickle slice in her mouth. “You tell me. You’ve been on the case much more than me these days.”
Quinn pounded the back of the ketchup bottle, releasing the sweet tomato spread onto her plate. “All right, well, I also found out Ren’s vehicle is a match for the car that left the scene.”
Daria’s eyes widened. “Wow, okay. Is he a suspect?”
Quinn shook her head. “Not anymore. He was taken in for questioning and had an alibi. He also said that while Scott’s a person of interest, he is not a suspect. Aiden did tell me that the autopsy results not only proved Tricia died hours before I found her, but she died in another location. Also, the degree and depth of damage to her internal organs showed it took a long time for her to die.”
“Ugh, that’s awful.”
Quinn glanced down at her plate of food. She suddenly wasn’t that hungry anymore.
Daria was almost finished with her lunch, and Quinn shook her head to herself: Well, at least some things stay the same. Nothing ever killed her appetite.
“So, we need to find out how—and with whom—Tricia spent her last day on Earth,” her cousin said, pushing her plate away. “Agreed?” Daria held out her fist.
Quinn reciprocated the gesture, giving her cousin a bump before making exploding sounds and jazz hands.
Ms. Eun refilled their drinks. “Every time I see you two do that fist thingy, I’m just waiting for the sound of sirens to follow.”
“Now that’s not fair. We were only picked up twice. And that was years ago.”
Daria cackled. “Speak for yourself. The siren call came for me many times.”
She’s regained her sense of humor about her prodigal past. That’s a good sign.
“Yeah, you were more interesting back then,” Greg said. “I miss hell-raising Daria. No offense.”
“Ignore him.” Ms. Eun rested one palm on the counter; the other held her pencil and pad hoisted on her hip, elbow out. Her head twisted toward her husband. “You are not as charming as you think you are, my ‘king.’”
He returned a wolfish grin. “Well, I know that Eun, but I can’t help it if you don’t.” He glanced at Daria and Quinn, giving them a friendly wink. “The woman can’t get enough of me. What can I do?”
Daria snorted. “Yeah, yeah, it’s the curse you live with. Such a trooper.”
Quinn wasn’t getting involved. She had too much on her mind with the investigation. As soon as Ms. Eun walked away, Daria continued where they left off.
“Okay, so someone ‘borrowed’ Ren’s car to move the body. What else do we know?” she asked.
Quinn folded the paper from her straw into sections, keeping her hands busy, unable to eat just yet. “Well, the problem is, Ren made a habit of leaving his car unlocked with the keys inside.”
“Wow, are there people really that trusting out there?”
Quinn shrugged, taking a small bite. “Apparently so, which means anyone could’ve taken it. But I don’t think just ‘anyone’ did. He rents the Hausers’ cottage on the back of their property. I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s a massive
house on several acres of land. It’s also kind of in the middle of nowhere, for Vienna that is, so I don’t think some random person took that car.”
Daria finished her sandwich. “Well, it couldn’t have been the Hausers. My parents said Milly was genuinely devastated over losing Tricia.”
Quinn made a “so-so” motion with her hand. “I don’t know about that. Scott told me at the funeral that his mother seems to like Tricia a lot better in death than she ever did when she was alive.”
“Yeah, but it’s a big jump from typical mother–daughter-in-law rivalry to having the girl murdered and dumping her body.”
Quinn considered her cousin’s point. “That’s fair. But truth is, we can’t rule anyone out unless the police have already. We need to learn everything that Tricia did the last two days and who she was with.”
Daria rolled her eyes. “Well, Trina said she hadn’t seen her sister in days.”
“We need to find out if she’s telling the truth. We should also talk to her parents, then Scott and his parents. And any friends she had.”
Daria gave some side-eye. “Okay, you take on Scott and Trina, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“This isn’t like calling shotgun so you can sit in the front seat. Let’s talk to whoever will talk to us. Together.” Having a plan of action made her feel better. Quinn attacked her sandwich.
Ms. Eun came over and placed the check on the counter. “Trina didn’t have friends. She had colleagues. So you can take that off your list.”
The cousins shared a glance.
Ms. Eun had more to share. “But I’m telling you—and I don’t wish to speak ill of anyone—but Trina was only happy if she was leading someone by the nose. My theory? Tricia marrying Scott, wanting out of their real estate business, was something her twin wasn’t going to tolerate. Everyone knows what a scene Trina made over at Caffe Amour. I’m not saying she killed her sister, but it wouldn’t surprise me either.”
Quinn’s phone rang: the caller ID said “Vienna PD.” “I need to take this.”
Ms. Eun nodded. “There’s only one other customer in here right now, honey. You don’t need to go outside.”
“Thanks.” She slid the bar on her phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Aiden. Are you busy right now?”
It turned out, Detective Harrington didn’t just have cop eyes, he had a cop voice too, one that went an octave deeper when he was at work.
“We’re just finishing lunch. What’s up?”
“I need you to come down to the station and take a look at something.”
He did not sound pleased.
“Sure, but can you give me a heads-up what it is I’m going to see?”
He paused. She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
“Security camera footage.”
She drew a blank. “I don’t understand.”
“We finally got hold of something useful. It’s video footage of the person who tried to poison RBG.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has data.”
—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Aiden was waiting for them at the lobby of the police station.
“Thanks for coming right away.” He didn’t seem surprised that Daria was with her. He gave her a chin lift as a greeting. “How are you holding up?”
Daria shrugged. “I’m all good. What about you?”
He stopped cold. “Really? You’re good? Even after being held against your will with a gun to your head?”
Daria sucked in air.
His reaction knocked the sass right out of her.
He went on. “You find you’re not ‘all good,’” he said, using his fingers as air quotes, “you let me know, right away. I’ll connect you to Victim’s Services, make sure you see a counselor who knows what they’re doing. In fact, consider it done. I’ll call the Reverend Mother and let her know.”
Quinn noticed the veins in Daria’s neck thrumming hard. Aiden was right to call her out on her frivolous attitude. That’s something she should have done. Had Daria been covering this whole time, acting as if she were right as rain while personally struggling with what had happened to her at Guinefort House?
“Thanks, Aiden, but I swear I’m okay.”
“Then seeing a trauma-informed social worker will be a quick visit for you.”
Quinn watched them both, wondering what would happen next.
Daria’s face muscles tightened, and her cousin couldn’t tell if her reaction was due to being annoyed or actually afraid. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go. Satisfied?”
Those gray cop eyes of his assessed her cousin. Quinn guessed he was mollified with what he saw because the hardness melted away as he nodded. “All right, follow me. You can come in together.”
They walked through the station, just like she had weeks before. Quinn was glad to see Officers Carter and Johnson laughing over something. They stopped when they saw her walk by, and each gave her a nod.
Aiden led them to a part of the building she’d never been in. Judging from the slew of computers and tech equipment, she assumed they were in Vienna PD’s IT division. He opened a door at the end of the hall. There was already someone sitting inside, facing a huge screen, his fingers moving at lightning speed across the keyboard.
“Quinn, Daria, this is Gavin. He’s going to run through the footage we found. Have a seat.”
There were two chairs, one on either side of Gavin, who offered a perfunctory head nod while his eyes remained glued to the screen.
Positioning himself by the large screen, Aiden got started. “As you may or may not be aware, we have police cameras positioned on Maple Avenue and Lawyer’s Road, since those are the main arteries running through town. We have only one on Church Street, and that’s on the Glyndon cross street, which, as you know, is too far down to have captured anything. But we still caught a break. Okay, go ahead and roll the footage, Gav.”
He hit “Play.” Aiden turned off the lights in the room before returning to the screen. “This camera belongs to that new restaurant across the street from Prose & Scones. It took us longer than we’d like to get hold of the footage, and unfortunately it’s not great quality, but something is better than nothing.
“Their camera doesn’t run twenty-four hours, but they do have it recording from dusk until dawn, give or take an hour or so on either end. The time stamp here”—he pointed to the screen—“indicates it was 5:38 AM. The suspect must have parked out of frame from this camera, but, okay, here you see them walking toward the store.”
Quinn watched the assailant move at a fast clip, but then the feed popped and zapped, distorting the image. The picture zapped back, and the suspect entered the patio. The person’s back was to the camera, wearing a hoodie about three sizes too big. Just as the person took something out of his or her pocket, the feed cut out again for several seconds.
Aiden let out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, as you can see, the quality stinks, but based on what we have ascertained, the suspect is about five eight, with a slender build in spite of the baggy clothes.”
Daria leaned back in her chair. “No offense, Aiden, but that describes most of Vienna already.”
“No offense taken. You’re right. But keep watching. See if there’s anything about them you recognize.”
They kept watching the video feed as it cut back in. Quinn’s heart was beating fast. Just watching someone planning to hurt her dog made her want to jump out of her skin. If there was a way to run away and clobber someone at the same time, she would have done it.
“Unfortunately, once they enter the courtyard, it’s too dark for us to see them laying down the tainted biscuits. Whoever it was, they were in there for no more than ten seconds.”
Quinn watched the jerk face walking away from the patio. Aiden asked Gavin to zoom in some. “Of course, we can’t be a hundred percent sure, but from their gait, we’re thinking the suspect
’s male. Quinn, I want you to watch him move. Is this person familiar in any way?”
Quinn watched. “Can you replay that part again?”
Gavin nodded. “Sure thing.”
She wanted to be sure. The tape played, and Quinn studied it as if everything depended on it. Because it did.
Quinn peered at the screen. “I just wish I could see his face.”
Aiden glanced over at her, wearing a pained expression. “Yeah, whoever this is, he wasn’t taking any chances.” He motioned to his colleague. “Gavin, pause the video for a sec. Thanks. As you can see, he pulled the strings of the hood tight. I don’t even know how he was able to see where he was going.”
Daria peered closer. “All I can see is a nose sticking out.”
Gavin tsked. “Due to the low resolution of the footage, we can’t get a real description. We can’t even be sure if it’s a male or female.”
Daria piped in. “Could be someone non-binary, you know.”
“True,” Aiden said. “We have just enough here to make assumptions, which is a dangerous thing.”
Quinn let out a sardonic laugh, which was something, considering none of this was funny.
Gavin went on. “We were able to determine one small identifying marker—the crisscrossed fish logo from the hoodie brand he was wearing. It’s one I’ve never heard of, but maybe you two have. It’s called Hering.”
Quinn drew a blank. Daria seemed just as clueless.
Aiden leaned against Gavin’s desk. “I did a little research. They’re a huge Latin American textile and retail company, with clothing stores in Brazil, Chile, Paraguay, Uruguay, Bolivia, and Venezuela. It’s an unusual brand for someone to wear in the States. Maybe this guy does business down there. We’re checking it out. You can stop the feed. Thanks, Gav.”
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 24