Chapter Twenty-Six
“Love meant jumping off a cliff and trusting that a certain person would be there to catch you at the bottom.”
—Jodi Picoult, Second Glance
As always, her dog baby gave Quinn an ecstatic homecoming—a series of short “ruffs” at mid-range pitch. Her happy bark. The lower registers meant she was displeased at best, or at worst, ready to throw down if she sensed danger. Of course, danger to a dog from the suburbs usually meant a squirrel was getting too close to her dance space, but whatever. As soon as she got to the door, her girl had the odd habit of licking Quinn’s calves and ankles—her toes too if she was wearing flip-flops. Since RBG was Quinn’s first dog, she didn’t know if that was typical canine behavior or a Ruff Barker Ginsburg eccentricity. Not that it mattered. They shared unconditional love.
Before hooking her to the leash, she stood outside, door opened, shuffling through her mail. Bills. Coupon pack. Advertisement for a new mattress store—the last thing the town needed. There were already four of them. Quinn’s theory was some foreign drug cartel used these inexpensive franchises to launder their dirty money, picking one of the most desirable places to live for their nefarious deeds. Hiding in plain sight. Years ago, she had shared her hypothesis with Aiden and Bash. Her longtime crush had barked out a laugh, and her brother had told her she’d been watching too many episodes of Ozark on Netflix.
Sandwiched in between all the junk were two hidden gems. The first was the invitation to Hammock’s art show, benefitting The Women’s Center, the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. Ms. Withers had even written a little note in the corner:
I know I already gave you a flyer,
but I wanted to make sure you were on our list!
Great seeing you and Sister D—hope to see you on the 26th ☺
“Aw, that was sweet of her, wasn’t it, RBG?”
The dog wagged her tail and “woofed.” Quinn took that as a yes.
The next lovely piece of mail came in a thick, embossed envelope, a celadon-green melted wax seal on the back, with the initial “S” indented. Quinn opened the ivory flap, admiring the gold lining inside. Swirls of gold and silver skipped and danced around the calligraphed insert, and—surprise, surprise—it was an invitation to the Slingbaums’ anniversary party. A handwritten note was attached with an adorable butterfly paperclip:
You have to come, Quinn!
It’s all my parents’ friends.
Promise it’ll be fun.
Bring a date if you’re seeing someone.
Miss you. ☺
Love, Rachel
The Slingbaum party was on the twenty-fifth, the day before The Women’s Center fundraiser. “Looks like our Memorial Day’s all booked up.”
“Well, at least tell me we’re doing something fun.”
She didn’t need to look up because she’d know that voice anywhere.
Aiden.
Quinn was surprised to see him. He had missed walking with her and RBG for several days, and she had assumed his vigilant watch had ended. No calls or texts letting them know he couldn’t come. Just … nothing.
“We are not doing anything,” she said, willing herself to keep her tone light and breezy. Why couldn’t she be like the charming creatures of whimsy in her books, the ones who had men falling all over themselves in love? A dandelion spirit with pieces of herself floating on a breeze. Tiny seed hearts only landing where they might grow, fertile and wild.
Because you’re a human being. Not a weed. Not some literary manic-pixie-dream-girl device to further some Peter Pan’s individuation process. Give yourself a break.
Without her leash, as soon as she spotted Aiden, RBG bolted straight for him, barking happily, like a girl seeing her Army beau finally home from the war. Standing on hind legs, she rested both paws on his hips as he beamed down and gave her a proper scratch.
Way to be cool, girl.
Quinn wasn’t going to give him the human equivalent. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced up before stroking RBG’s head, telling the dog in a butter-smooth voice to calm down, which of course she did right away. Aiden walked up the gravel path, RBG trotting alongside as if she was born to be there.
Great. Now I’m jealous of my own dog.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come by recently. The case picked up.”
“It’s fine,” Quinn said too fast, stuffing her mail back into the box by her front door. “As I said from the start, I don’t need you to keep me safe. I have RBG.” She let out a whistle, bending from the waist while patting her thigh with one hand and jiggling the leash with the other. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go for our walk.”
RBG tilted her head but didn’t move.
Of course her dog was confused. Quinn wasn’t the only female who had gotten used to their routine of walking with Aiden. She recalled reading a bunch of articles about forming new behaviors, saying it took an average of sixty-six days for a habit to become part of an individual’s routine for the long term. She gave herself a mental reminder to write those scientists scalding notes later, informing them their research was one big bucket of bull poop, and she had the proof, because it only took her and her dog baby a little over a week—twice a day—to become accustomed to Aiden’s presence in their lives. The positive reinforcements of coffee in the morning for her and the liverwurst treat for her dog certainly seemed to have sealed the deal for her impressionable basal ganglia.
He held his hand out. “Give me the leash. I’ll hook her up, and then we can get going.”
Quinn made her way over to RBG. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry yourself.” Keeping her eyes averted, Quinn clipped the leash to the dog’s collar. “I’d love to catch up, but I really need to walk her so I can get going.” She gave a short tug and shimmied around him, forcing a smile. Small miracles, her girl followed, falling into step with her.
Unfortunately, Aiden was undeterred, jogging up next to them, RBG in between. “I should have called to let you know I wasn’t going to be able to join you, once things got crazy.”
“Not at all,” Quinn said, straightening her spine and quickening her pace. Chin up. Gaze straight ahead. They were off the gravel path and onto Windover Avenue. No sidewalks, but plenty of mature-growth trees lining the street. One of the store’s regular customers drove by, and she waved. Quinn eyed Aiden with an expression she hoped said, “Oh, you’re still here? Cool. Whatever.”
But who am I kidding? She’d never been, nor would she ever be, the cool girl.
“I’m disappointed in you, Quinn.”
That made her stop. “Excuse me?”
He halted, both forefingers hooked through his belt loops. “I always thought you were the kind of person who always shot straight, who didn’t play games.”
How did she respond to that?
“If you’re upset with me—which you have every right to be, by the way—just tell me. Lay me out. That’s how the adults do it.”
“Are you seriously mansplaining how I should be angry with you right now?”
If she could have killed him and gotten away with it, Quinn would’ve done it. She already had a calligraphed list forming in her head.
“No, I’m just calling you on your crap.”
Sitting between them, RBG whined.
Quinn sighed, gazing down. “It’s okay, girl. Mommy and daddy aren’t fighting.”
Aiden chuckled. “Even when you’re acting all pissy, you’re still the funniest girl I know.”
“What?”
He folded his arms across his chest. Lopsided smile and gray eyes dancing. “It’s true, Quinn. When you’re relaxed and being yourself, you’re totally unfiltered and make me laugh long after I’ve hung out with you. You’re also one of the smartest people I know—so whip-smart, it’s scary sometimes—and that’s not even close to the best part of you.”
“I just read a lot,” she said, wondering if the blood rushing to her face was making her blush.
He wasn’t done.
“You were the kind of kid who volunteered on weekends not because you were looking for something to pad your college application, but because you are invested in this town, which is pure Adele and Finn Caine. I knew that to be true then, but you proved it with your work over the last three years and with the donation stuff you coordinated for the abbey as soon as you got back.”
“You’re making me out to be some kind of saint, Aid, and I’m far from one, I promise you. Yes, I taught English because I wanted to help the kids, but what I really wanted was to experience the world outside this little bubble for myself. And I coordinate the dog food pickups because I’m trying to build a life here as an adult—beyond being Adele and Finn Caine’s daughter.” She sighed, brushing the hair away from her forehead, which was sweaty from her standing on the asphalt in the sun. “Also, since you value honesty, I help the sisters because it gets me and my head out of a book once in a while.”
He took a step closer, his gray eyes locked on hers. “I am sorry—really sorry—I didn’t call or text, letting you know I got busy with the case. It was thoughtless. You promised to stop sniffing around and stirring things up, and I promised to keep you safe and find the person who poisoned your dog and murdered Tricia. You’ve held up your end of the deal, and I didn’t hold up all of mine. There’s no excuse, so I won’t disrespect you further by trying to sell you one. Bottom line: I’m hoping I can earn your trust again, over time.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, “but there’s nothing to ‘earn,’ Aid. You apologized. I accepted. Clean slate.” She averted her gaze, her mind still working. “Now, if it kept happening, that’s a different story. I’m forgiving, but I’m not a schmuck.”
“Good.” He took the leash out of her hand. “Let’s get a move on. Our dog baby has been patient while ‘Mom and Dad’ work things out.”
She emitted a pretend groan, rolling her eyes. “That was a joke, to cut the tension.”
He shrugged, walking as if he had all the time in the world. “I don’t know about that, Quinn. You know what Shakespeare said: ‘Many a true word hath been spoken in jest … just sayin’.”
They made a left. “Everyone knows that one,” she said.
“True … What about ‘Humor is the good-sided nature of a truth’?”
Her mind went blank. “Who said that?”
“Mark Twain.”
She was impressed. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
They fell into a comfortable silence. Rays of light filtered through the tree canopy. A favorite of hers. It was still hot—she’d guess high eighties—even though it was close to six o’clock in the evening. But that wasn’t what was really on her mind. Any thoughts with even a hint of a possible “Q&A” happy ending she pushed away and shut in a mental box. What she did allow was the nugget he had dropped at the beginning of their talk.
“So, you’ve made headway in the case?”
“Yep.”
That’s all she got.
“Care to elaborate?”
He kept his focus straight ahead. “Nope.”
“Oh, c’mon! I’ve proven I can be trusted.”
“You absolutely can be trusted.”
Well, at least that’s something.
“Still not going to tell you anything,” he said.
Ugh! I take it back. Bumping him off is so totally worth going to prison.
His phone rang in his back pocket. He reached for it, saw the number, grimaced, and answered. “Harrington speaking.”
No uh-huh’s or mm-hmm’s uttered. He just listened to the person on the other end. After several minutes, he eyed Quinn, handing her the leash. RBG wasn’t bothered by the change in command; she was sniffing near an azalea bush on someone’s lawn.
“Yeah, I got that. I’m about eight minutes out. Right.”
He hung up. “I’ve got to go. Let’s get you back home.”
They had walked in a wide semicircle, not too far from her parents’ place. “No need. I’ll just hang out at Caine central for a while. I’m supposed to have dinner there anyway.”
“Really?”
She shooed him. “Go. I’m fine.”
“Okay, good plan. You know you can always talk to me, Quinn. No matter what?”
“Sure. Yes, of course.”
He nodded, then jogged off back toward Walnut Lane, where he had left his SUV. She understood he couldn’t share police business, but she was dying to know if he had to leave because of a crack in the Pemberley case. Or if they’d found that monster who poisoned RBG.
Glancing over at her dog—with those warm chocolate eyes—she wished RBG could sniff out the killer. Lead a path right to that person. Give her answers. Something. Anything.
And with that, her dog baby squatted and deposited a big pile of dog poop for her to clean up. Such a giver. She pulled one of the biodegradable bags out of the dangling holder attached to the leash, slipped her hand inside, and bent down to pick up the mess and tie the bag tight.
While bent down, she heard voices coming from the other side of the bushes.
“Milly, honey, are you sure you’re feeling okay? I don’t feel right, letting you drive home by yourself.”
While still crouched down, Quinn peaked through the hedges. RBG took the cue and laid down on the grass beside her, content to take a breather. Milly Hauser was leaving the house next door, saying goodbye on the porch to someone Quinn didn’t know. I guess it’s possible I don’t actually know everyone on this side of town.
However, instead of wearing one of her usual dressed-to-the-nines, well-heeled designer outfits, Mrs. Hauser was in a pink tracksuit and sneakers, her ebony hair in a tight ponytail, and she didn’t have on a stitch of makeup. Her coloring was off, like the other day at the garage, but even worse.
“I can’t seem to shake this bug. I’ve been to the doctor, but he says it’s probably viral, so there’s nothing he can do. Something must be going around.”
“Let me call Carlson to come and get you, or leave your car here and I’ll drive it out your way as soon as Henry comes home.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. He’s in surgery all day, with real medical emergencies. And you shouldn’t be bothering Henry with such nonsense.”
“Well, at least will you let me bring over some chicken soup tomorrow?”
Milly shook off the offer before pressing her hand to her lips, as if she were holding back from getting sick right there. “I can barely eat a thing.”
Her friend gave her a look. “You never eat, Milly.”
“Well, it’s even less now, so don’t bother. You’re a dear, though.”
Her friend wrung her hands, a pained expression on her face.
Mrs. Hauser scoffed. “What now?”
“I don’t know, Milly. Maybe you should forget it and—”
“Don’t back out now.” She grabbed her friend’s wrist. “Please, Ophy … I need this. Otherwise, Trina says the deal is off.”
“Haven’t you done enough for that girl? She should be bending over backward for you—not the other way. With Tricia dead—”
Milly held onto her friend. “I need to know we still have a deal.”
The other woman patted Milly’s hand. “Fine. Yes—happy now?”
Her shoulders dropped, and Quinn witnessed a first: Milly Hauser smiling, looking happy. “You are aces! And I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
“I’m quoting you on that.” Her friend sighed, waving as Milly got herself into her Lexus, driving down the road.
If Quinn could’ve run all the way to Guinefort House, she would’ve, but she couldn’t, which made her consider joining the new gym because—whoa—her legs ached and her lungs burned like the devil, and she had only jogged five blocks. She dropped off her girl at home, who actually seemed relieved for the break as she crawled straight for her doggie bed. Quinn hopped in her truck and proceeded to violate at least three rules of the road on her way to her cousin and best friend—the only p
erson who could help her figure out how to catch Tricia’s killer—her would-have-been future mother-in-law, Milly Hauser—and the one behind it all, Tricia’s own sister, Trina Pemberley.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Plans are of little importance, but planning is essential.”
—Winston Churchill, British politician and author.
“Are you sure you heard right?”
Quinn got lucky that Daria was available when she arrived, because lately she’d been swamped with her duties at the abbey.
“What do you mean ‘if I heard right’? Of course I did! They were on the steps of the house next door! No cars driving by. No lawn mowers roaring. I had my head inside a hedge of azalea bushes when Milly Hauser practically admitted to killing her future daughter-in-law for Trina.”
“Shh!” Daria said, her forefinger to her lips as she closed the door to her room. “I don’t want anyone to hear you. Technically, you’re not even supposed to be up here.”
“Wait—why can’t I be up here? It’s not like I’m some boy you’re trying to sneak into an all-girls dorm or something.”
“Because this isn’t a dorm, Quinn. This is the home of my order, and we don’t have outsiders traipsing around up here. Also, Sister Ceci is my roommate and as annoyingly eager beaver and chipper as she is, I can’t imagine she’d maintain that perky disposition if she found you in her personal space.”
She made a fair point. This order was her new-ish life, and Quinn needed to respect Daria’s choice. “I just didn’t know who else to turn to. I promised Aiden I wouldn’t interfere in the case anymore, but it’s not like I can help what I overheard.”
Daria leaned her weight against the closed door. Quinn could tell from the look on her face that her cousin was in strategic thinking mode. “No, you can’t help what you heard. That’s for sure. But if you were a killer, would you talk so casually about what you did? Outside, for anyone to see and hear you?”
“No, I’d sneak into the upper-floor residence of my nun cuz.”
“Ha! You probably would,” she said. “Who was this woman again that Milly was talking to anyway, and what does she have that Milly needed so desperately for Trina?”
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 26