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QUINN COULDN’T STOP watching Jessie from the corner of her eye as the choir sang “Ave Maria.”
She’s been Quinn’s best friend for decades. She brought her anything she needed during her recluse years and never once judged her for her fear of going outdoors. She felt more like a sister than a friend, and now she was in love with Quinn’s brother, which brought her a step closer to actually being a sister. Despite some drunken suspicions that seemed incredibly feasible when initially presented, the light of day and soberness of the morning now told her she was wrong. There is no way Jessie was capable of killing someone without provocation. Much like Heather, Jessie is a morally sound person who regrettably lost control once in her life. Quinn was willing to bet her life on the fact that Jessie would never lose control like that again, but it didn’t stop her from examining her eyes as she watches the pallbearers carry Dottie Carlson’s casket down the aisle of the church.
Jessie only had the pleasure of meeting Dottie on a couple of occasions, usually during Quinn’s book signings, but she was impacted by the woman’s kindness and admiration for Quinn. Any friend of Quinn’s was a friend of Jessie’s. She watched a solemn tear drop from Jessie’s eye as the procession passed their pew. She shed a few of her own when she caught sight of Dottie’s daughter, Beth. The pain in her eyes made Quinn’s breath catch in her throat. She thought of her own mother’s funeral. Although she was only thirteen, she knew her life would never be the same.
Dottie’s extended family stood outside the church to thank the attendees and accept countless declarations of thoughts, prayers, and stories of Dottie’s generous and kind nature.
Since Quinn, Jessie, Heather, and Meryl were sitting near the front of the church, they were among the last to exit. Camera bulbs flashed aggressively as Quinn and Heather exited the church.
“I’m so sorry for this,” Quinn said to Dottie’s daughter Beth as they approached her in the line. She felt the heat coming to her face and willed it to stop. She shouldn’t be embarrassed; she’s done nothing wrong. “There’s no good way to pay my respects to your mother without these animals hounding me.”
Beth assured Quinn she understood. She took her and Heather by the hand and squeezed them tight.
“My mother thought the world of you both. She would just light up when telling me about Quinn’s new novel or how well Heather is adjusting. She loved you guys.”
“The feeling was very, very mutual. She was a mother figure to us both, and lord knows we needed one,” Heather responds.
The ladies greet the rest of Dottie’s grieving family, doing their best to ignore the flashbulbs and shouts for a comment. It made them keenly aware of how Delta County residents probably feel about news outlets being in their sleepy town again so soon after decades of peace and quiet. The entire town thought the death of Mitzi Matthews would be their last dance with national news for a very long time.
Heather elbows Quinn and nods toward the street in front of them. Two unmarked cars are parallel parked with three men in suits leaning on the driver’s side doors. All three are wearing aviator sunglasses and have their arms crossed over their chests. Although they spend an extra beat staring at the two women, they continue to scan the crowd. Quinn and Heather both know they are detectives, and they are looking for anyone unusual at Dottie’s funeral service. There are also two cameramen filming everyone leaving the church. Neither of them is wearing any press credentials, which means they are probably working for the investigators. Quinn pictures the officers spending hours in a dark room, reviewing the footage and trying to identify anyone suspicious, just like they do in the movies.
Heather replays the details of the crimes over and over in her head, hoping to find any explanation other than a serial killer. Maybe it’s just the biggest coincidence in history that both women were killed at the same time in the same manner. Maybe they aren’t related at all.
Whether it’s the work of a serial killer or just two random killings, the same question is on everyone’s mind: will there be more victims before it’s over?