“Plans are of little importance, but planning is essential.”
—Winston Churchill, British politician and author.
“Are you sure you heard right?”
Quinn got lucky that Daria was available when she arrived, because lately she’d been swamped with her duties at the abbey.
“What do you mean ‘if I heard right’? Of course I did! They were on the steps of the house next door! No cars driving by. No lawn mowers roaring. I had my head inside a hedge of azalea bushes when Milly Hauser practically admitted to killing her future daughter-in-law for Trina.”
“Shh!” Daria said, her forefinger to her lips as she closed the door to her room. “I don’t want anyone to hear you. Technically, you’re not even supposed to be up here.”
“Wait—why can’t I be up here? It’s not like I’m some boy you’re trying to sneak into an all-girls dorm or something.”
“Because this isn’t a dorm, Quinn. This is the home of my order, and we don’t have outsiders traipsing around up here. Also, Sister Ceci is my roommate and as annoyingly eager beaver and chipper as she is, I can’t imagine she’d maintain that perky disposition if she found you in her personal space.”
She made a fair point. This order was her new-ish life, and Quinn needed to respect Daria’s choice. “I just didn’t know who else to turn to. I promised Aiden I wouldn’t interfere in the case anymore, but it’s not like I can help what I overheard.”
Daria leaned her weight against the closed door. Quinn could tell from the look on her face that her cousin was in strategic thinking mode. “No, you can’t help what you heard. That’s for sure. But if you were a killer, would you talk so casually about what you did? Outside, for anyone to see and hear you?”
“No, I’d sneak into the upper-floor residence of my nun cuz.”
“Ha! You probably would,” she said. “Who was this woman again that Milly was talking to anyway, and what does she have that Milly needed so desperately for Trina?”
“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.”