“It’s easy to be friends when everyone’s eighteen. It gets harder, the older you get, as you make different life choices.”
—Zadie Smith, British novelist
Foraging mushrooms in nature might have been a Pinterest-worthy, albeit strange, way to spend an afternoon, but it wasn’t the place to find a cell signal. As soon as Quinn got back to civilization, she tried phoning Aiden. Her call went right to voicemail.
The same happened the next day too. When she texted him her latest theory, he replied with “Got it. Thanks.” And that was it. No follow-up. No ‘How are you, by the way?” Nothing.
Guess we’re not “partners in crime” after all.
“Working solo is better anyway,” she lied to herself. Quinn checked her lip gloss in her car visor mirror before exiting the truck. “Here goes nothing.”
Quinn wasn’t meeting a date, although she was starting to think maybe she should be more open to the idea. Because being hung up on a guy who was letting her down was beyond a drag. Anyway, Quinn had decided to head straight for the source for all things happening—and in the town of Vienna, that meant meeting with the “Clink-n-Drink” ladies.
Rumor had it one of their daughters had coined the nickname as a tribute to the moms who enjoyed their weekly “wine o’clock” soirees. The Clink-n-Drink gals not only knew what was happening in Vienna’s business community, they knew everyone’s business in the community.
Withers Hammock was one of them. No surprise. So was Sarah Jovanovićh, owner of the most adorable dog “barkery” in town, a business she readily admitted to opening just to have the excuse to take her mini Australian shepherd, Skipper, to work with her every day. If Withers was the town crier, then Jennifer Ranier was its mayor, at least in spirit. A former Texas sorority girl, Ms. Jennifer knew everybody’s life stories, because she was uber-friendly and extroverted. It also didn’t hurt that she was a realtor, which meant she’d been in almost everyone’s home at one time or another. The last one was Carina Adelman—definitely the odd duck of the group: first, because she was from San Francisco and not from below the Mason-Dixon line like the rest of them, but more so because she was an introverted author who preferred books to people. On paper, they sounded like the start of one of those tacky jokes: “A Catholic, a WASP, a Jew, and an Anglican walked into a bar …” And yet somehow their friendship worked.
Quinn might not have walked into a bar, but she did arrange to meet up with them at Maple Avenue Restaurant during happy hour. To call them gossips would have rendered them a tremendous disservice. Rather, they were the town’s civic memory, its pendulum marker, and its caretakers. It just so happened they knew exactly the kind of dirt under everyone’s fingernails.
So now the Clink-n-Drink gals were seated in a semicircle around her. The owner of the restaurant herself was waiting to take their order.
Quinn wanted to start off on the right foot. “Ladies, drinks are on me. Order whatever you want.”
They shared glances with one another and tittered.
“Ah, honey, you’re sweet, but that is totally unnecessary.” Ms. Jennifer leaned toward the the owner. “You are not to take one cent of this young lady’s money. You hear me?”
She laughed, offering a pretend salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ms. Jennifer nodded. “Now Amy, why are you the one waiting on us? Aren’t you in rehearsal for The Pirates of Penzance or something?”
It was a good question. Amy Lyons not only owned the restaurant; she was one of the most sought-after local thespians in the DC Metro area—not a small feat considering the innovative theater scene. If she wasn’t at Maple Avenue, she was in rehearsal for another new production.
Amy blew wisps of hair from her deep-set hazel eyes. “Petra’s having the baby.”
“Omigosh, how exciting!” Ms. Jennifer turned to Quinn. “Petra helps run the place with Amy. This marks baby number three for her. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Nice.”
Ms. Withers muttered. “You’d think she never heard of a baby being born before.”
Ms. Jennifer opened her mouth, but her friend raised a palm to her face. “I know you want to ask another ten questions, but some of us are starving and need sustenance.” She shrugged Amy’s way. “I’m sorry if I’m being rude.”
Amy chuckled. “No problem, Mrs. Hammock. What can I get you?”
“We want a bottle of prosecco, right?” She checked in with the group. Everyone but Quinn nodded. “Do you not like prosecco? That can’t be possible. It’s the house wine of Vienna!”
“I’ll just have a bottle of Pellegrino, a glass with ice, and a wedge of lime.”
Carina tilted her head. “Are you in the program or something?”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
She wiped the corners of her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “The program. AA.”
Sarah’s mouth dropped. “Car, I can’t believe you just asked her that!”
“Why? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I, myself, come from a long line of addicts and alcoholics.”
Quinn wished she could’ve recorded what was happening. The Clink’n’Drink ladies were hilarious. “Not in AA. I’m just not much of a wine drinker.”
“Carina, leave her alone.” Sarah elbowed her friend. “Can we get an order of truffle fries and some of that Brie toast too? She gets ‘hangry’ this time of day.”
Quinn smiled to herself. They sounded like one of those old television sitcoms—like Golden Girls, but younger. She could sit there and listen to them all day.
The rest gave their orders.
Quinn cleared her throat to get their attention. “Okay, now for the uncomfortable portion of our scheduled program. Do you have any theories about who could’ve wanted Tricia dead?”
Sarah took a big swig of water. “First that doctor what’s-his-name and now this. It’s awful.”
Ms. Withers swirled the ice around in her glass. “I can’t believe it. Everyone’s wondering what’s happening around here.”
“I showed a condo to the loveliest young man the other day. He’s an officer at Vienna PD,” Ms. Jennifer said while cutting into her Brie toast. “He said that before all this ugliness, there hadn’t been a murder in town for over thirty years.”
Ms. Withers eyed her plate. “Who eats a Brie bite like that? It’s finger food. You’re like Costanza on Seinfeld, eating a candy bar with a knife and fork.”
Ms. Jennifer put down her utensils and scrunched her nose like a bunny rabbit. “Hey, I actually like that episode and thought it was a good idea.”
“It’s a fancy-pants, fussy idea is what it is,” Ms. Withers answered.
The other two friends shared a glance.
“The twins and Scott graduated your year, right?” Ms. Carina picked up a couple of fries. “You and your friends must know more about Tricia than any of us.”
Quinn hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know about that. We weren’t exactly close, and not too many of my former classmates still live around here.”
“Yeah, but there’s got to be a few.” Sarah speared a Brie bite with her fork.
Ms. Withers stopped mid-sip. “Now you too?”
“What? Jen had a good idea. This way, I don’t get cheese grease all over my fingers.”
“That’s a fair and valid point.” Ms. Carina waved Amy over. “Can we get another order of those Brie bites?” She handed her the empty plate. “They went fast, as you can see.”
Quinn grabbed some more fries. They were ridiculously addictive. “Was there anything going on with her family?”
“Tricia’s? Oh please, her parents are the nicest people.” Jen took the bottle and refilled her glass as well as the other ladies’.
Ms. Withers leaned in and said in a low voice. “Can’t say the same for her fiancé’s family. Scott’s all right and Carlson’s a sweetheart, but Milly … yeesh. Can you imagine having that woman as your mother-in-law?”
“What about Maxie? She graduated with you, right? Maybe she knows something.”
Quinn hadn’t thought about Maxie. “Hmm. Maybe.”
Ms. Carina rummaged through her purse. “Hey, does anyone have an extra hair tie? I’m feeling all schvitzy up in here.”
Quinn had never heard that word before. “Uh, is that like psoriasis?”
The usually taciturn author stifled a laugh. “No, honey. It’s not a disease. Schvitzy is Yiddish for ‘sweaty.’”
Ms. Jennifer took a hair tie off her wrist and handed it over. “I brought an extra one just for you.”
Ms. Carina fanned her pretend tears. “See? This is why I love you!” She took the tie and threaded her hair through before refocusing on Quinn. “By the way, I still think talking with people Tricia had regular contact with is the best way to go.”
She had a point. Maxie worked the morning shift at Caffe Amour, only a block away from the twins’ real estate office. She knew Trina’s coffee order without having to blink. When Quinn had mentioned Trina, all the joy had drained away. Perhaps she knew something about Trina that others didn’t? Maybe she’d observed something critical between Tricia and her killer?
“That’s a really good idea. Thank you.”
Ms. Carina beamed, giving her a wink. “If you end up solving the case, you know I’m writing a book about you, right?”
Quinn snort laughed. “Oh please, who would ever want to read a book about me?”