by Tess Rothery
Brenda greeted her with a mug of hot coffee and a tray of cheese and carraway seed muffins. “I bake when I’m worried. My brother—Molly was his oldest daughter—is beside himself. He’s on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. He can’t get here any time soon. Can you imagine?” She spoke in bursts, seeming to interrupt herself, and led Taylor to a large, Tuscan style kitchen with warm cherry cabinets and dark granite counters. It was not in current style, but was clean, organized, and warm. It felt like a safe cave in a storm.
Taylor sat at a chair of curved bronze-colored metal with a deep red velour seat. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing, or if there’s anything I can do.”
“Stay and chat a while. I need to be distracted from this tragedy or talk it over. Either one will do fine. You are going to catch the killer, aren’t you?”
Taylor nodded. She wrapped her fingers around the mug. “I really do believe the sheriff and his crew are perfectly capable of finding who did this, but you know me. I have to try and help if I can.”
“Good girl. And Molly was a good girl too. She was always my favorite niece. Witty, charming. A dreamer. Such a cute smile with those two deep, deep, dimples like the girl from the old Pepsi commercials. But you’re too young to remember those, so never mind. She was a bright light, Molly, and I’m devastated.”
“Was she the kind of girl others were jealous of?” Taylor asked.
“Only before they knew her. You know, pretty girls do make others envious. But she was so fun and so kind, that no one ever hated her long.”
“That makes it harder.” Taylor picked up a muffin. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound callous. But if she was a jerk, it would be easier to find people who hated her…”
“But jerks go on living every day. Just making people mad isn’t enough to get you murdered.” Brenda poured out her coffee and refilled it. “It was cold,” she explained.
A knock on the door followed by a loud, officious voice. “Darling, it’s me.” Cheryl, Brenda’s best friend and Hudson’s mom, strode into the kitchen.
“Speaking of.” Brenda wrinkled her nose at Taylor.
“Well, well. Didn’t take you long.” Cheryl looked Taylor up and down with distaste. Cheryl had deeply disapproved of Taylor when she was dating Hudson. Taylor had been too old. Hudson had loved Taylor too much. Cheryl didn’t like the Baker family or the Quinn family in general. Held something against them that Taylor chalked up to popularity. Maybe it had to do with Laura Quinn and her online fame or maybe it was just because Laura Quinn had been so much younger than Cheryl. Taylor didn't know and hadn't asked but having broken up with Hudson had made things worse, or so it seemed. Those rare times Taylor ran into Cheryl in public she received what the Regency novels called the cut direct. It was as though they didn't know each other at all. Once at the small grocery store on Center Street not far from where the Quilt Shop Owners Guild met, the greeting Cheryl offered Taylor was so cold it made Carly from Bible Creek Quilt and Gift laugh out loud. So, Taylor didn't expect much more love or friendly chatter now that Cheryl had shown up.
But Brenda surprised her. “Settle down, Cheryl. Molly Kay was my niece, and Taylor wants to help. Besides, I don't hold anything against her the way you do.”
“You don't have a son with a broken heart. You don't have a son at all.”
“You don't have a murdered niece whose body was left at the back of the Quinn farm. You don't have a brother stuck out in the ocean unable to get back here.” Brenda stopped and burst into tears.
“Well done, Taylor. Very well done.” Cheryl wrapped Brenda in her arms. “I’d say it’s time for you to move on.”
Between choking sobs Brenda managed to say, “No, no. She needs to know.”
“There is nothing that Taylor Quinn needs to know about your niece.”
“But if she wants to catch the man who did this, she has to know everything. Doesn't she?”
Cheryl didn't let go of Brenda, but she looked over the top of her head, ominously. “Why don't you have a conversation with Hudson about Molly Kay?”
Brenda managed to slip out of the smothering embrace. “I told you I want her here. I told you I want to talk to Taylor.” Brenda slipped into a chair and rested her head on her hand. “Maybe I can't do this right now, but Taylor, I want to talk to you soon. Please. I’ll call you, okay? I'll call you.”
Taylor excused herself and put, call Hudson back, on her to-do list. She wasn't surprised that Cheryl would believe her very popular son knew something about the pretty young Molly Kay, but she would be surprised if he actually knew something useful.
Her interrupted interview rankled at her. She could use the time to walk it off, probably. But instead, she went to the future content house of TikTok star Jonah Lang and her sister Belle to help paint the old ballroom.
“It’s stunning.” The ballroom was the whole third story of the house. Belle had told her the room came to almost 2000 square feet on its own. Maybe not huge by ballroom standards, but absurdly large in Comfort.
“How’s the shoulder?” Belle rested her paint roller in the tray of silvery gray that was going on the walls.
“Not the best,” Taylor admitted, “but it is my left shoulder. Pass a roller.”
Belle indicated a tray and paint roller and a nice big middle section of the wall.
“Originally that wall was lined with mirrors. It’s the only solid wall up here, and it’s just half the room long.” The other half of the wall was an archway that opened to the hall and the staircase.
“What can you tell me about Coco and her…um…side hustle?” Taylor was thankful for the drop cloth at her feet as little speckles of paint landed on her shoes.
“You want to know about A Friend of Coco, huh?” Belle had a way of stating things where you could hear her eyes roll. This was one of them. “Coco’s parents sent her out here last fall because they caught her dating one of their friends. Both of them said it was nothing, just fun, but since Coco was only eighteen at the time, and he was like, fifty, her parents drew the line in the sand. That was her first Sugar Daddy. I don’t know how she set up the website once she got here, though. I just know her idea blossomed, so to speak. I’m married so she hasn’t invited me to be one of her ‘friends.’”
“Shoot.” Taylor carefully wiped a drip from the wall. She wasn’t the best of painters.
“She calls it a matchmaking service. She introduces men to her ‘friends’. The men pay a fee to access the website.”
“I thought you didn’t know much about it.” Taylor rubbed her shoulder gently. She could do this. Slow and steady.
“You can get that much just from visiting the site.” Belle shrugged.
“It’s a sugar daddy site, right?”
“Basically, but she hasn’t outright labeled it like that. The branding is definitely dating site.”
“Do the men have a specific amount they’re required to, um, gift the girls?”
“I don’t know. I can’t get any of my friends to admit to using the service. I was suspicious of Aviva because she has an almost new Jeep, but I asked around and she bought it off her Aunt Jess at a pretty good discount.”
“What about Dayton?” Taylor mentioned one of Belle’s old buddies.
“Cooper would never let her. He’d rather quit school and support her for the rest of her life than let her do something like that.”
“Are they a couple again?”
“Who knows.” Belle laughed. “But it would be nice. I miss them both. That’s one sucky thing about getting married. You don’t really get to just hang out with your old friends anymore.”
Belle’s complaint sounded childish, but at the same time, Taylor had heard older newlyweds sadly discover the same phenomenon in the past. “Did you know Molly Kay?”
“Not really. She was kind of older than me.” Belle frowned. “Let’s see. You graduated in 07, and Hudson in 11. Molly must have graduated in 14 or 15…I don’t know. Something like that. Just enough older than me
that we never ran into each other.”
“You wouldn’t know any of her friends, would you?” Taylor pushed her roller up and down the wall, hoping it wouldn’t be terribly streaky.
“Let me think.”
Belle and Taylor painted in quiet for a little while.
“I just don’t know folks her age very well, but I think Asha who works at the Yarnery was a friend. You could ask, anyway. So many people leave and don’t come back after they graduate. There’s not a lot to choose from.”
Taylor had to agree. Of her old school friends, only she and Maddy were around Comfort right now. She and Maddy had had a falling out right after Taylor’s mother was murdered. Taylor’s counselor felt that repairing that relationship—especially as the falling out was truly just a misunderstanding—would be important for Taylor’s growth and healing, but she wasn’t ready.
She’d have to apologize and that just felt hard.
“You should drop by The Yarnery anyway.” Belle dipped her roller in the tray and rolled it back and forth. “Evelyn, who owns it now, would really like to be part of the guild. Her store has more in common with you all than it doesn’t.”
“How do you know Evelyn who owns The Yarnery?” A twinge of defensiveness came out in her words. Taylor was hardly the boss of the Comfort Quilt Shop Owners Guild. She’d never be able to convince the others to let a yarn store in.
“We met at church.” Belle didn’t look up.
“With Roxy and Clay?”
“Uh, yeah. It wasn’t so bad or whatever.” She sounded embarrassed and turned her slightly pink face toward the wall.
“I’ll go see her. I want to get along with all of the stores in town. Rising tide lifts all of us and stuff.”
“She’s nice. You’ll like her.”
It was weird enough that Taylor’s ex-boyfriend, who had been seeing her buddy Roxy for ages, now was going to church, and now her sister too? But whatever. People liked churches or they wouldn’t still be a thing.
Taylor added “interview Asha” to her list. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tackle the guild issues just yet.
She’d spent the whole day painting with her sister. Her shoulder was okay, since it was mostly right-handed work, but when it was over, she was glad she didn’t have a shift at her own store.
Coco hadn’t called her back, and Grandpa Ernie was still enjoying Grandpa Quinny’s company on the farm, so Taylor took a minute to head back to her own little house on Love Street. Like driving herself around instead of walking, she had to admit that being holed up at the Quinn farm would make the investigation quite a bit easier. She’d be on hand to talk to Coco, and she’d have company for Grandpa Ernie while Belle was wrapped up in her renovation work. Relying on her family’s offer of help wasn’t failure. It was strategic use of all available resources.
While packing up a few more things for her stay at the farm, she called Hudson.
After all, the news of Molly’s death had upset him. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe he had more to say about the charming young woman.
Taylor paused.
She’d expected some kind of pang of jealousy to hit, like she owned Hudson and no one else could have a history with him, but it hadn’t come.
Of course, she didn’t know what kind of secret he was hanging onto, so she didn’t congratulate herself on her balanced reaction just yet. She got voicemail but didn’t leave a message. Not this time.
Chapter Three
Ingrid Quinn, Grandma Quinny to her many grandbabies, had always been an early riser, and life on her little hobby farm was well suited to it. She was warming the kitchen with a fresh batch of scones when Taylor slipped in for some coffee. “Sleep well?” Grandma smiled, face tilted slightly up at her granddaughter. She always swore she did not have a favorite out of her dozen or more grandkids, and would have passed a lie detector test with ease, since it was true. But Taylor was her son Todd’s only child, and Todd was the only child she no longer had with her. So, though not technically her favorite, Taylor held a special place in her heart. If only Todd’s wife Laura had been easier to get along with…
She closed her eyes to rid herself of the ungenerous thought. She and her son’s wife had been too much alike. But that chafing between them had made it so difficult to be as close to Taylor as she would have liked.
And all for what?
Delma Baker, Laura’s mom, had been a dear lady. She and Ernie had become two of their closest friends once the kids had started dating.
The kids. Todd and Laura, now both deceased.
All that unnecessary coldness for all those years.
Ingrid turned to the fridge and pulled out the little jar of cream she’d picked up from her next-door neighbors who kept a cow for milk.
The thing about the special place Taylor held in her heart was that Taylor could be just as frustrating as her mother had been. It wasn’t favoritism so much as a constant nagging worry that she and Angus would lose her too. She tried not to stare as Taylor limped to the counter.
Taylor didn’t believe she limped.
She said her leg hardly hurt at all.
But she used to stand tall and move with an easy, loose-limbed grace.
Taylor had been a hiker as a kid and was still the kind of girl who’d walk even in the rain. But she was slower now, and a little lop-sided. Less balanced.
It was a limp, there was no other word for it.
And it made Ingrid angry. It had been so unnecessary.
A tight spot in Ingrid’s shoulder pinched. Her own run-in with danger from many years ago.
Taylor, like Laura, was too much like Ingrid for comfort.
“Morning, Grandma.”
“Morning love.” Ingrid passed the little jar of cream to Taylor. “Big plans today?”
“We need to find out what’s going on with Coco.”
Ingrid’s heart warmed at the “we” even as she worried about what it might mean for Taylor’s safety. “Do you have something in mind?”
“I’m heading to the Yarnery to talk to Asha Szkolaski at the very least.”
“Evelyn is a friend of mine. Maybe she’ll have lunch with me.” The oven beeped and Ingrid drew out a baking stone covered in fluffy fat scones. “Fresh out of the oven.”
Taylor nabbed one and slathered it in butter. “Thanks. It’s early, but I want to sneak a little time in at the shop before the whole world wakes up. You don’t mind my leaving Grandpa Ernie, do you?”
“Darling, I love Ernie Baker like he’s my own brother. And he gives Grandpa Quinny something to do with his time. They’ll go dig in the field together.” She paused, images of what they’d dug up coming to mind.
Molly Kay wasn’t the first body she’d come across, but it had been many, many years.
Taylor slipped out as quietly as she’d come in.
Ingrid stared after her, thoughts of the deceased—not Molly Kay, but the first body she’d ever stumbled across—filling her mind. It had been years. Decades even. But some things never fade with time.
She turned off her oven. The baking was done. It was early still. Plenty of time to make herself presentable and have a visit with her old friend Evelyn. She was out of cotton wool for dish clothes anyway.
She exhaled slowly. It had taken years of hard work to still the panicked voice in her head. Every decision she had made for her family had been to protect them from what she’d experienced, but perhaps chasing trouble was in the blood. Something you could stifle, but never remove.
She turned in a circle, admiring the large, clean, safe kitchen with its white Corian counters and strawberry decorations. Angus Quinn had been everything she’d ever wanted. Sweet, safe, and stable. But trouble had found her loved ones anyway.
There was a knock at the door. Early for a visitor. Ingrid turned to answer it, but Taylor had gotten there already.
“Graham!” Taylor’s voice echoed through the front hall.
Yes. Trouble had found her family.
B
ut Ingrid Quinn knew how to deal with trouble.
The Yarnery was a warm little shop with walls filled to overflowing with skeins of yarn. Merino, Alpaca, Cashmere, Angora, cotton, acrylic, bamboo, coated, glittery, spun, and novelties of all kinds. Evelyn wasn’t fussy. She wanted to have whatever you wanted to buy. Some shelves were dusty and rarely turned over, but yarn was different than fabric. You could pop in and spend five dollars then go home and crochet a baby bonnet for the great granddaughter of an old friend and mail it to Mexico if you wanted. Yarn crafts had a low cost of entry. A couple of needles or a hook, and an afternoon with an instruction book. No big machines costing hundreds or thousands of dollars.
Ingrid wandered the room running her fingers across the tops of the yarn as she went. She really ought to get out her little sock loom. Angus always loved a gadget and had rebuilt her mother’s old machine years ago.
But who had time? Especially when Amazon would do its overnight delivery even all the way out in Comfort?
“Ingrid!” Evelyn’s cheery voice called from behind the register.
“Darling!” Ingrid flung the long end of the shawl her daughter Susan had knitted for her across her shoulder.
“What are you in need of?”
“Information, if you’d believe it.”
Evelyn lowered her heavily made-up eyelids. “Poor Molly.”
Ingrid Quinn paused to assess the scene. They’d gone back over the family tree at least a dozen times, but though they both had Johnstones in the branches, Ingrid and Evelyn had never been able to tie their two families together. A coincidence, and yet neither woman believed in coincidences. Especially when they both had a rather impressive divot in their chins, one dimple low on the side of their smile, and the same gray-green eyes.
But Evelyn just wore so much makeup. Ingrid would never understand. It certainly didn’t make the woman look younger. Nor did those form fitted T shirts she preferred. But then, Evelyn’s hobby wasn’t baking, like Ingrid’s was. She could pull off a different look.