The Mia Quinn Collection

by Lis Wiehl

  “I called a locksmith to come out and change the locks.” She made an exasperated noise. “That woman swore she had given me all the keys when the bank took possession. Obviously she was lying.” Picking up one of the garbage bags, she shoved the bear inside and then grabbed a handful of clothes.

  “Hold on a minute,” Charlie said. “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I certainly can’t show the house when it looks like a homeless encampment. It’s going to be hard enough attracting buyers when someone was murdered across the street.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said drily.

  “With Google, there’re no secrets anymore.” She pursed her lips in disapproval.

  “What are you going to do with the girl’s things?” Mia asked.

  “Do with them? I’m going to throw all of this out.” She leaned over to grab the textbook.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Mia grabbed the textbook and the bag from the other woman’s hands. She tried to imagine Gabe alone, homeless, living in an empty house with nothing but peanut butter and crackers to fill his stomach. And yet this girl was still making it a priority to go to school.

  The real estate agent shrugged, clearly unmoved. Maybe with today’s down market, you had to harden your heart. If the girl was over eighteen she could be charged with illegal entry, but Mia wasn’t going to mention that possibility if the other woman didn’t bring it up. And if she was under eighteen, once they found her she would go to a foster home until her mother could be located to pick her up.

  Charlie helped Mia bring the girl’s belongings downstairs. While they were carrying them to her car, Violet came outside to meet them.

  “So you didn’t find anybody?” Violet asked.

  “No.” Mia shifted the bundles so she could press the button to unlock the car’s trunk. “But judging by the belongings she left behind, it looks like it was a high school girl. I think she saw me notice her and took off.”

  “If she could see you looking up at her from our yard, do you think she saw what happened to my mom?”

  Mia didn’t want to raise false hope. “It’s a long shot, but that’s why we want to talk to her.” Leaning in, she set the bag next to her spare tire.

  Violet shivered and crossed her arms. “It would suck to be a girl on the streets alone.”

  “Assuming this was the kid of your old neighbor, what’s her name?” Charlie asked.

  “Veronica Slate. But she went by Ronni. I heard the family moved out to eastern Washington to live with her mom’s brother. It sounded like it was going to be pretty crowded. Maybe that’s why Ronni decided to stay here.”

  “Do you know the uncle’s last name?” Charlie added the sleeping bag and the second bag full of clothes to the car trunk.

  Violet shook her head. “Sorry. All I know is that Ronni was going to be a senior this year. She was always asking me questions about college.”

  “We found a math textbook.” Mia closed the trunk. “So maybe she’s still taking classes.”

  Charlie said, “On Monday I’ll go to the high school, see if they have anyone registered as living here. Maybe she’ll even be in school. And if she’s not, once we figure out for sure who she is, we’ll put out a BOLO on her.” BOLO stood for “be on the lookout.”

  “Can’t you have someone watching the house to see if she comes back?” Violet asked.

  Charlie shook his head. “We can’t put someone here 24-7. After all, if Ronni sees the cops, she’s not gonna come back. I’ll ask for some random patrols, but even still, the real estate agent is changing the locks, so she wouldn’t be able to get back in unless she broke in.”

  “Which she might be tempted to do,” Mia said, thinking out loud. “After all, what’s in my trunk is probably everything she owns in the world. Call us if you see her, Violet. And I’m going to tuck one of my cards into the back door with a note on the back saying I have her stuff and that I can help her.”

  “Can you?” Violet asked. “Help her?”

  “Well,” Mia said, realizing how little she could actually do, “I could try.”

  “Won’t she just end up in foster care or out in eastern Washington?”

  “That’s still better than being homeless,” Charlie said.

  Violet didn’t look convinced. “Ronni didn’t think so.”

  “There aren’t a lot of alternatives.” As she pressed the lock button on her fob, Mia realized that the street was now empty of cars. While they had been busy searching the house, the wake must have broken up. “Hey, Violet, can I help you clean up?”

  “It’s mostly just folding up the chairs and tables,” Violet said. “And loading the dishwasher.”

  “Loading the dishwasher?” Charlie echoed. “Why didn’t you say so? That’s my favorite thing to do in the whole world!”

  Suppressing a smile, Mia walked with Charlie and Violet across the street.

  The next morning Mia woke up craving French toast. It had been Scott’s favorite breakfast. The last time she made it, though, had been months before he died. But today the guilt didn’t weigh on her as much. She remembered what her dad had said. She couldn’t change what she had done. She couldn’t change anything about the past. All she could do was do better in the future.

  She went downstairs and mixed eggs, vanilla, and a dash of cinnamon in a shallow dish, and started melting butter in a pan.

  “That smells good,” Gabe said as he came into the kitchen. He leaned in the doorway, looking like he wanted to say something more. Mia waited, but after a few seconds he dropped his gaze and began combing his hair with his fingers.

  “I was thinking how much your dad liked to eat this, and I decided I should make it.” Mia picked up a spatula and flipped one of the pieces. Just the perfect amount of golden brown.

  Gabe took the syrup from the fridge and began to set the table.

  “Did you have a good time yesterday? Dad said you went out with your friends.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” Gabe said, concentrating on lining up the silverware. “How was the wake thing?”

  “It was a little bit strange. When I was there we figured out that someone has been living in the foreclosed house across the street. We think it’s a high school girl.”

  His startled eyes flashed up to hers. “Living in an empty house?”

  “She had a sleeping bag and some clothes and a little bit of food. It looks as though it might be the same girl who lived there before the bank took the house.”

  “That’s sad, Mom.” Gabe’s face changed. “Are we going to be okay? You know, since Dad died?”

  She should never have mentioned Ronni to him. “Of course we are. I mean, I’m working now, and I wasn’t before. We should be fine.”

  “I miss him.”

  “I know.” Mia sighed. “I do too. And I know it’s been hard on you. I’ve asked you to grow up so fast.”

  He looked away. “I don’t think I’ve been doing a very good job of it.”

  “Of course you have. What are you saying?”

  “Sometimes . . .” Gabe hesitated. “Sometimes I screw up.”

  He must be thinking of how much she had to nag him to get him to do his chores. “We all make mistakes. But you’ve really stepped up. You’re watching Brooke after school, you’re starting to pick up the house and help with dinner. You’re doing a lot. You’re growing up before my eyes.”

  Mia felt a pang of pride. She had been so worried about how Scott’s death would change Gabe, but it had clearly been an overreaction. Sure, he had been faced with challenges, but he seemed to be taking them in stride. Looking at her son this morning, so polite and pleasant and humble, Mia was sure she was doing something right as a parent.

  CHAPTER 38

  On her way to the office kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Mia passed a conference room where a half dozen of her co-workers crowded around a monitor.

  Curious, she stepped inside. Someone hit the button on the remote and started whatever they were watching over
again. It was silent black-and-white footage from a security camera mounted above the door of a small convenience store.

  Young people began to pour in through the door. Since the camera was looking at their backs, it took Mia a moment to figure out there was something different about their appearance. They seemed blank, anonymous, and then she realized it was because they all had their hoods pulled up or their hats pulled down. Then she saw a kid with a bandanna obscuring the lower part of his face, like he had stepped out of one of the old Western movies Mia’s grandpa used to love.

  She was looking at a crime.

  More kids poured in. A few wore no disguises, just T-shirts pulled up over their noses. And one or two were even barefaced, as if their sheer number made them invisible. At first they just milled through the aisles, their fast strides and swinging arms betraying their nervous energy. Then at some sound or signal they began to snatch and grab—cans of soda, candy bars, bags of chips, packets of miniature donuts.

  An Asian man came out from behind the counter with his hands raised, his mouth moving in a silent yell. The kids began to run out. Someone threw a can of soda at the man, and he ducked. One of the kids knocked into a circular card rack, which wobbled back and forth, spinning. A second kid crashed into it and it fell. The man spread his arms and tried to block the thieves from leaving, but the kids just pushed past him, sometimes shoving him. A tiny woman ran up and grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back behind the safety of the counter.

  And then the kids were gone, leaving the floor covered with trampled cards, spilled soda, and squashed snacks.

  And it had all happened in ninety seconds.

  Mia was rooted to the floor. Her first, incongruous thought was, I thought I told him not to wear that shirt.

  Gabe had been in the middle of the mob, with his I hate everyone T-shirt pulled up over the bottom of his face.

  “That’s crazy!” DeShauna said. “They were like . . . like locusts.”

  “It’s called a flash mob,” Tracy said. She worked in the Juvenile Unit. This had to be her case.

  “I thought flash mobs were those people who got together in public someplace to sing or dance.” DeShauna did a jazz hands motion. “Like that big group of people that got together at Westlake Park a couple of years ago and danced a routine from Glee.”

  “That’s what flash mobs used to be.” Tracy tapped the end of the remote into her open palm, reminding Mia of a cop with an old-fashioned nightstick. “People alerting each other by text or Facebook to get together to do something spontaneous and fun. Now it’s more like a flash rob. It’s gone from fun to felony.”

  It sounded like hyperbole. Until Mia looked at the tape, frozen on the last frame of the trashed store.

  “But those are just kids on that tape,” Jesse said. “Don’t you remember how it was when you were a kid? One person started something, maybe dared everyone else, and you would just follow along. A crowd mentality takes over. I bet in their normal lives these kids wouldn’t think of stealing.”

  “So you think these kids are blameless? Harmless?” Tracy asked, her jaw tight. “Three weeks ago there was another convenience store robbery just like this, only they didn’t have a security camera. In that robbery, a customer was pushed to the ground and sprained her wrist. If these incidents continue, it’s only a matter of time until they become violent.” With one long red fingernail she pointed at the frozen image of the shop owner and his wife. “We all know what those mom-and-pop places are like. Half the time there’s a baseball bat under the counter. Maybe even a shotgun. What happens when a clerk pulls that out? Or a customer tries to stop someone?”

  Jesse looked torn. “I’m not saying we don’t need to do something about it. But those are just kids, and people’s brains don’t fully develop until they are like twenty-five or something. Teens are just more into thrill-seeking and risk-taking. They simply don’t recognize the consequences.”

  In Jesse’s words Mia heard an echo of Frank’s “kids will be kids” argument. But she hadn’t let Darin Dane’s tormentors off for that. How could she even be thinking of letting Gabe off the hook for this?

  Or not off the hook exactly. But part of her was saying that she could keep this private, between her and Gabe. And she would make sure he never did anything like this again.

  Tracy said, “On the East Coast they’ve been having a huge problem with flash mobs. They’ve had groups of kids who gather and then just randomly attack whoever walks by. Or they pour into high-end clothing stores and make off with stacks of expensive jeans. This”—she pointed at the screen—“is penny-ante stuff. Literally. But we need to nip it in the bud before it gets worse. We don’t need kids thinking that they control the streets, making it so people are afraid to go out. This is our chance to teach these kids a lesson.”

  “So you don’t know who they are?” Mia asked. “Nobody was caught?”

  “The owner pressed a silent alarm when he realized there was a robbery in progress. A cruiser was on-site less than two minutes later, but by then they were gone.” Tracy pointed at the screen again. “Luckily, the quality of this surveillance tape is very clear. We’ve counted at least twenty-one individuals. We’re going to be working with officials from neighboring schools to see if they can help us put a name to any suspects. If we can identify the ringleaders, they are going to face some serious charges.”

  Tracy ran the tape again. This time Mia only had eyes for Gabe. At one moment, someone tossed him a candy bar, but then he let it fall onto a shelf. When he left the store, as far as she could tell he left empty-handed.

  Could he be charged? He hadn’t even stolen anything.

  But then she argued with herself. He had clearly been part of the mob that terrorized the poor shop owners. He hadn’t tried to stop them. He hadn’t even said no and walked away. Instead he had pulled his T-shirt over his nose and walked inside.

  Mia checked the time in the upper left-hand corner of the tape. It was not long after she had left for Colleen’s wake.

  What should she do? She had taught her kids that it was important to tell the truth, to accept the consequences of their actions.

  But it would be easy to say nothing. It might not ever come out that he was part of the mob. And then she would punish him herself. Ground him for weeks. Months.

  But there were so many kids in this video they were sure to catch up with some of them. And those kids would rat out the others.

  Although what was she thinking? It wasn’t “rat out.” It was “tell the truth.” It was “cooperate with law enforcement.” It was what in her line of work they called a CI—confidential informant.

  And if she didn’t make Gabe come forward? Then Tracy might come for him first.

  She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, then stared into her own eyes. Just below the left one, a tiny muscle was twitching.

  Katrina came out of one of the stalls. “So did you see that video? Pretty horrifying, isn’t it?”

  Mia swallowed. “Yes. Yes. It was.”

  “Are you all right?” The other woman’s face creased with concern.

  “I think . . .” She forced herself to say the truth. “My son, Gabe, was one of them.”

  “Oh no.” Katrina looked around, even though they were the only two in the bathroom. “Are you going to tell Tracy?”

  “The sad part is that I thought about just keeping quiet. But it won’t do him any good. The thing is—it feels like it’s partly my fault.”

  “Just because you’re his mom doesn’t mean you are responsible for his behavior.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Mia took a deep breath. “Remember how I was on the phone with Colleen when she was shot?”

  Katrina tilted her head. “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to keep listening to see if she said anything. I also wanted to get over there as fast as I could, and I was talking to her on a landline. So I handed it to Gabe and asked him to listen in case she said anything
.”

  “Oh no.” Katrina’s eyes widened. She put her hand over her heart. “And did Colleen say anything?”

  “No. That’s why I’m keeping it kind of quiet. The only thing Gabe heard was the sound of her dying. But I can’t imagine how terrible that must have been. And I think it hurt him.”

  “Then don’t tell Tracy,” Katrina said decisively. “It’s not worth ruining his life. Certainly not over a bag of chips or whatever.”

  “But even if I don’t say anything, it will still come out.” Mia could feel the muscle twitching faster. “They’re going to figure out who is on that video.”

  “Then you should talk to her. Nip it in the bud before it gets any worse.”

  Mia nodded, but she couldn’t help thinking that it might well get worse no matter what she did.

  CHAPTER 39

  Online in the Mystical Realms of Everland, Ophelia wasn’t Ophelia Moyer, but Eric the Mage, an elf wizard who had amassed a fortune in griffin’s gold with his famed Worstalk, the magic wand that could both save and destroy.

  And Jonas Carvel was Mercenweaver, a cyclops who possessed a mirror shield that could reflect back any spell onto the person casting it.

  Ophelia didn’t know about Jonas, but there were many days when she would have preferred being Eric the Mage to being Ophelia.

  Eric the Mage and Mercenweaver had begun a tentative friendship, still online but not within the main arena of the game. Gradually they talked a little bit about their real lives and the parallels they shared. Both of them worked daily with crimes, he with computers at the King County District Attorney’s Office, she as a Portland private investigator who specialized in solving crimes against women.

  A few weeks ago Ophelia had slipped and revealed that she was actually a girl, an idea that seemed to fascinate Jonas.

  When Jonas’s name showed up in a chat bubble a few days ago, Ophelia almost clicked the X to close it. But then she read that he was seeking her help—not as Eric the Mage, but as a PI. A woman he worked with had been murdered, and he was trying to figure out if her death was related to the earlier murder of another co-worker. So far, his search of the office’s database had come up with nothing.