“I don’t know—a new kidney? The contract for her soul from the devil?”
Daria’s mouth quirked. “Well, it has to be something just as significant; otherwise, you know Milly Hauser wouldn’t be on that lady’s turf, begging for anyone to see.”
“True, true.” Quinn tried to concentrate, jog something familiar, but her mind palace felt closed for summer refurbishing. “I thought I knew everyone in the northwest section of town, but I don’t remember ever seeing this woman.”
Daria eyed Quinn’s messenger bag. “Did you bring your laptop?”
“Yeah … ooh! That’s a good idea! Why didn’t I think of that? Hold on.” She sat on Daria’s twin bed, undid the flap of her bag, and retrieved her computer. Firing it up, she was relieved it was fully charged, giving her the illusion of actually having it together for a change.
Daria sat next to her, both peering at the screen.
“It’s cool y’all have Wi-Fi. What’s your password?”
“JesusBeMyFireWall.”
Quinn snorted. “That’s hilarious. I’m assuming you came up with that one?”
Daria gave her a playful shoulder bump. “Of course I did. They didn’t even have a website before I came along.”
Quinn looked up from the screen. “They’re lucky to have you … and so am I.”
“Ditto, but don’t get cheesy on me now.”
“Fine, have it your way … All right, let’s see what we can find.” Quinn typed the address into Google Search. There were a bevy of results. “Well, the owners of that house are Henry and Ophelia Patron. They’ve lived there for six years.”
“See if you can find her on Facebook. Maybe her social ties will tell us more.”
Quinn banged away on the keyboard. “See? This is why I need you—that’s good.”
Ophelia Patron was easy enough to find, especially since she didn’t have any of the privacy settings on for her page. Rookie move. Quinn scrolled through her time line. Lots of cats. A couple of memes about getting older. A few humble brags about her daughter.
Daria shrugged. “Standard suburban mom stuff, if you ask me.”
Quinn clicked on her albums. Profile pics. Time-line photos. Mobile uploads. “Ah, let’s see here … ‘Good Old Days’?” She perused those. “Bingo—look! Ophelia and Milly were in the same sorority.”
Daria sat back on her bed, leaning against her headboard. “All right, so they have history. Again, none of this proves anything.”
“We have to get closer.”
Daria made a face. “But you promised Aiden you wouldn’t put yourself in danger again.”
Crap. That was true. She couldn’t break her word, especially after he had come over with that heartfelt speech and apologized. “What am I supposed to do? Just let Milly Hauser loose in town? She’s probably the one who stole Ren’s car to dump Tricia’s body, framing him for a life sentence. She had easy access. And now she’s dragging this Ophelia Patron into this.”
“I know! Ugh, I really hope this is all a big misunderstanding. It’s one thing for Milly Hauser to be a ladder-climbing elitist; it’s another to be a cold-blooded killer.”
“And what about Trina? Arranging to have your own twin murdered? And what does she have over Milly to make her do such a thing?”
Daria shuddered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Trina Pemberley has always given me the creeps, like there’s nothing behind her eyes.”
“Oh, there’s something there alright—it’s called pure evil. She also had a tight hold on her sister, but would she really have her murdered just because Tricia wanted to get married and go to law school?”
“She didn’t see it that simply. For Trina, it was the ultimate betrayal. Ending their real estate partnership must have been like breaking the bonds of sisterhood, at least in her eyes. And if what Maxie said to you was true, about Trina being threatened by Scott …” Daria let out a heavy sigh. “It’s beyond awful, but it adds up.”
Quinn closed down her computer, slipping it back into her bag. “I don’t know. Aiden said to me the other day that it’s important for the evidence to speak for itself; that it was cool to have a working theory as long as the investigator doesn’t try to shape the evidence to the theory.”
Daria gnawed on her bottom lip. “Maybe Milly didn’t need convincing or to be blackmailed.”
Quinn’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Scott told you his mother couldn’t stand Tricia when she was alive. She about said as much to your face at Church Street Eats when you were there with Bash. It’s gross to even think about, but that woman has always had an unhealthy attachment to her son, like he’s the husband instead of, well, her actual husband.”
Quinn curled her knees to her chest, like a human shield from the truth. “Whoa, so you’re thinking Milly Hauser didn’t need any convincing to off Tricia, that she was fueled by control and jealousy?”
“Yes. Trina may be a lousy human being, but she’s not stupid. She knows how to read people. As Scott and Tricia became serious about each other, I’m sure the families socialized together. Trina read the situation and made Milly an offer she couldn’t refuse.”
Quinn mulled that one over. “Or didn’t even want to refuse. Nice Godfather reference. Two points for Slytherin.”
All humor left Daria’s face. “You know, you might have promised Aiden to keep out of it. But I didn’t.”
“Uh, no. No way. It’s too dangerous.”
“Oh, so it would be okay for you, but not for me?” She tsked, shaking her head. “I’m the one with the mad skills, remember?”
“This isn’t jump-starting a car for a joy ride. This is putting yourself in the path of a possible murderer.”
“Please, I can take Milly Hauser. What is she—five foot nothing and ninety-five pounds soaking wet?”
It was tempting. Her cousin had been a badass back in the day. “It’s just … if anything happened to you.” Quinn’s throat got tight. “For the rest of my life, I’ll never get that picture out of my head, of Wyatt pointing a gun at you.”
Daria nodded, grasping Quinn’s hand. “I get it. But this is important. I’m not talking about confronting Milly head on. I’m just suggesting we poke around her stuff, see what we can find.”
Just then, they both heard the sound of a car pulling up. Daria peaked out her window. “It’s the Reverend Mother and Sister Lucy. They must be back from their appointment. You’ve gotta go.”
Quinn nodded, grabbing her bag as her cousin followed her down the stairs. Just before she left, Daria cleared her throat. Quinn turned, her hand on the knob of the front door.
“Two words I want you to ponder,” she said.
“And they are?”
Daria gave a mischievous smile. “Clandestine methodology.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I only fear danger where I want to fear it.”
—Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
Next to the smell of books, the scent Quinn couldn’t get enough of was leather. She had Rachel’s journal parked under her nose, eyes closed.
“Should I leave the two of you alone?” Bash asked.
She peeked. “Just tell me you read it before I proceed to wrap it up.”
Her mama walked in. “Well, get to it then! We’re leaving in five minutes.”
Her brother whistled. “Wow, the Caine women clean up good.”
Adele Caine giggled, doing a twirl in the family kitchen. Both clapped, as did their dad, who walked in wearing a sharp suit and tie. “There’s my girlfriend.” He kissed Adele’s cheek.
“Make a note, Quinn,” her mama said. “You want a man who still looks at you like he did on your wedding day.”
They were a stunning couple. She was wearing a tea-length, taffeta, A-line cocktail dress in a rich aubergine shade that made her pale blue-gray eyes pop; a pair of kitten heels and a matching silk purse complemented the outfit. For a finishing touch, she was wearing a porcelain brooch
depicting Cupid in flight. Whimsical, sentimental, bordering on schmaltzy: perfect for an anniversary celebration.
“Man, I should’ve worn one of my enamel pins.”
Her mother pooh-poohed her. “You are perfect exactly the way you are. And I adore your dress. Is it new?”
“Actually, it belonged to Daria before she took her first vows. If only all nuns were as stylish in their former lives.”
Bash gave a warm smile. “It suits you.”
Adele made a motion toward the journal. “Now hurry up and wrap that thing already. I don’t want to be late.”
Quinn already had everything on the kitchen table. Once Bash had returned the diary (reading the whole thing without telling her how it ended), she’d called Rachel to inform her it was done. Rachel asked her to gift-wrap it and bring it to the party tonight. She made another request as well.
“By the way, tell your brother he can come too. If he wants. Otherwise, it’s weird if all the Caines are present and not him.”
Bash was so stoked, he went out and bought himself a new suit for the occasion.
Quinn perused his designer duds. “You look sharp, brother of mine.”
He grinned. “Why, thank you.”
“Ever find out why Rachel really changed her mind?”
He adjusted the knot on his tie. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Seriously?” She threw a gift-wrap bow at his head, which he caught with one hand and tossed back.
Bash shrugged. “Actually, after you told me Rachel said I could join the party, I called Stuart.”
She cut the gift wrap from the roll. “And? What did he say?”
“Well, being Rachel, of course she found out her brothers had told me to crash the party.”
“Of course. She finds out everything.”
Her brother handed her the tape. “First, she let them have it over inviting me behind her back. But then Stuart informed her how I passed on their offer in order to respect her wishes. That took her off guard.”
Quinn peeled the paper off the back of the bow and stuck it in the center of the present. “I don’t understand.”
He blew out air. “The Bash she knew would’ve crashed the party.”
“Ah.”
“Proof I’m growing up all up in here,” he said, pointing to his head.
She rolled her eyes.
Her father cleared his throat. “Okay, time to go, you two.”
* * *
“Wow, the Slingbaums really know how to throw a shindig.”
Those were her father’s words—borrowed straight out of 1955—and he was right.
They had rented one of those glorious white tents pitched high in their backyard, but this was no run-of-the-mill house party. They’d had a wooden dance floor installed. There were two bars stocked with premium liquor. They even had crystal chandeliers hanging from inside the tent. And the food smelled divine. No surprise. When Rachel wasn’t fighting for social justice as an attorney, she was a fully committed foodie who adored entertaining.
And the minute Bash spotted Rachel from across the room, Quinn got to witness two people falling in love all over again. Rachel was exquisite. Tendrils of loose, dark curls framed her pixie features, especially those huge blue eyes. Her dress hugged her curves, a shimmery gold and silver frock made for dancing, with sparkly fringes that hit the knee.
Bash made a beeline her way, and the room held a collective breath as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Everyone around fluttered, all caught up in young love and whispering to one another. Quinn even noticed Zach and Stuart giving each other a high five.
She heard her mother let out a happy sigh. “Maybe someday they’ll dance like that at their wedding.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, honey,” her dad said. “This here is just a small opening she’s given him. It’s not a victory dance.”
“Yet. But it will be. My brother, as he so eloquently said, is ‘growing up all up in here.’”
Finn Caine turned to Adele, offering his hand with a slight bow. “Let us ignore our children’s abhorrent vernacular, my lovely. May I have the honor of this dance?”
She blushed, placing her hand in his. “I thought you would never ask.”
Adorable.
As Quinn glanced around, she realized Rachel was right: there really weren’t very many young people at the party. It made sense. This was a thirty-sixth wedding anniversary celebration—as their invitation stated, a double chai. The number eighteen was considered lucky in Jewish tradition, represented by the Hebrew word chai, “to life.” Quinn thought them honoring a double chai anniversary was both charming and unique. But now, with Bash back in Rachel’s orbit, she felt rather out of place at the party.
She really wasn’t that hungry, but she decided to peruse the buffet anyway. Maybe nibble a little. Anything to stop watching other people dancing. Even Rachel’s two doofus brothers were pulling their wives close on the dance floor.
With care, Quinn placed the wrapped journal on the gift table and walked over to the buffet, trying to remember the last time she’d had a date. A real one. That’s when it hit her: the walks with Aiden and RBG were the closest thing she’d had to a date in a long time, and those weren’t even dates. They were escorted safety patrols.
I am sooo not living my best life.
Without RBG or her cousin around as a distraction, Quinn felt something she hadn’t been able to fully identify until that night: loneliness. Rachel had encouraged her to invite a plus one, and her first instinct—hand to God—had been to take her dog or to ask Daria if she were free.
Ironically, she was not. Her cousin, who had sworn off men for the rest of her life, was spending this particular Friday night at a church function.
Wow. The nun has a better social life than I do.
Quinn grabbed one of the patterned china plates and began to pick and choose items from the buffet. Southern fried chicken legs. Truffle mac and cheese. Latkes with sour cream and caviar. Dressed-up comfort food.
Even though there was plenty of seating—Rachel had opted for plush sofas and chairs instead of the typical ten-rounds with folding chairs—Quinn chose to eat standing near the bar. If she didn’t have anyone to talk to, at least she could listen to the conversations of others with fully actualized lives.
Two women about her parents’ age approached the bar. “I’ll have a Dubonnet with a twist.” One woman turned to the other. “Did you see the framed family photos by the sign-in book?”
“I did!” She smiled and said to the bartender, “I’ll have the signature cocktail.”
I need to get one of those: vodka and champagne with ginger and mint. Hello yummy.
Baby-boomer lady number one wasn’t done with the appreciative sharing. “And did you taste the latkes? The ones with the sour cream topped with caviar? They are divine!”
“I heard Rachel made those from her late uncle’s recipe, the one who died several months ago. It’s her way of honoring his memory. The rest of the food is catered.”
Quinn took a bite and OMG, where had these fried potato pillows of heaven been all her life? These ladies knew what they were talking about—they were divine.
The other woman gasped, her hand to her cheek. “That is the loveliest tribute! He would have loved everything about this party.”
“He really would have. He adored this family, especially his sister. Can you imagine, a surgeon of his caliber moving here and starting over?”
“Well, his wife cleaned him out in the divorce.”
“I never did like that woman. So cold!”
“And a schnorrer to boot. Not once did she host Break Fast or Passover.”
“Awful. Just awful,” the other woman said, shaking her head before both she and her companion accepted their drinks and walked away. The people waiting behind them gave one another knowing looks.
The wife requested a Jack and Coke, then turned to her husband. “Those two ladies must be talking about Doctor
Chaim Levine.”
The husband told the bartender he’d have the same.
“Oh, I know they were. Because two weeks after Dr. Levine died, Milly was bragging how her husband’s referrals went up by fifteen percent.”
Quinn pretended to be occupied with the food on her plate so they wouldn’t notice her eavesdropping. All the while, she was quietly freaking out. Both Tricia and Dr. Levine had died of mysterious causes with similar symptomology. Was it possible Milly Hauser had knocked off Dr. Levine because he was competition for her husband?
A melodic voice came from behind. “Having fun?”
Quinn nearly jumped out of her skin before whirling around. It was Rachel.
“Hi!” Quinn gave Rachel a one-armed hug, holding her plate with the other hand. “Wow, you look amazing!”
She beamed. “Oh please, you do. I love, love, love your dress. Emerald-green is definitely one of your colors.”
“Thanks, Rach. It’s a great party, by the way.”
She gave a pained smile. “I’ve been a lousy friend tonight. I take one look at your brother, and I totally bail on us hanging out. You came here to keep me company, and I repay you by—”
Quinn cut her off. “Stop it. We’re fine. You know I’m thrilled you’re giving him another chance.”
“We’ll see,” Rachel said with a sigh. “Tonight doesn’t mean we’re back together. It just means I’m thinking about it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my mind.”
“You set the pace, okay? My brother will do whatever you want.”
She nodded. “It’s really good to see you. I’ve missed you over the years. A lot.”
“Me too,” Quinn told her. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Of course! Anything.”
“I know you said it was okay if I read Granny Nora’s journal, but I didn’t get a chance to read the whole thing. What happened between Nora and David? I’m dying to know!”
Rachel opened her mouth to respond.
“Don’t you dare answer her.” It was her brother, wreaking havoc as usual. “For the first time since Quinnie was born, I’ve got something over her. Besides fighting fires. And I plan on milking the suspense for as long as possible.”
To Kill a Mocking Girl Page 27