“I love stories where women save themselves.”
—Neil Gaiman, British author
She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but by the time Quinn came to, her mouth was as dry as a desert, and her limbs were heavy like concrete. She felt like she’d been run over by a bus. With effort, she opened her eyes, hoping to find herself in her own bed, with the memory of what happened being just a bad dream.
Instead, she was on a concrete floor, her back against something made with aluminum siding. No windows. No air-conditioning either. It felt like she was in a steam room without any way to breathe.
“Oh, thank God, you’re finally up. Please tell me someone is coming to rescue us?”
She knew that voice. Cracks of light peaked through the bottom of the door in front of her. It was just enough illumination to make out the form next to her.
“Mrs. Hauser?”
“Yes, it’s me. He’s gone crazy. Please tell me someone knows you’re here. I don’t have much time!”
Images rushed back. The auction. Her father’s desk. The mushroom directory. She tried wetting her lips, but it was like all the saliva had been vacuumed out of her mouth.
“What do you mean, you don’t have much time?”
She groaned. “My own husband! I can’t believe it. I think he’s been poisoning me.”
“But why would he hurt you? I don’t understand.”
She started crying. “Neither do I! I thought we were fine. Is anyone coming? Did someone see him take you?”
“I don’t know. I was at my parents’ house. He used something to knock me out. They were at the auction.”
She got quiet. “Then we’re going to die in this shed, behind my very own house.”
The door to the shed lurched open. It was Dr. Hauser. Quinn’s instinct told her to try to make a run for it, but then she saw the gun.
“Don’t even bother screaming, because no one will hear you.”
With the light pouring in now, Quinn could see Mrs. Hauser more clearly—her complexion was the color of ash. If she looked off the other day, Milly Hauser was gravely ill now. Still, she tried smoothing down her hair, feigning a smile for her husband.
“Please, honey, let’s talk this out. Just give me the antidote, and I promise I won’t press charges. I’ll do whatever you want.”
He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “It was you who was supposed to die, not Tricia. I put enough poisoned mushrooms in that quiche to kill an elephant.”
He waved the gun back and forth between them, sweat dripping down his face. “Can you believe it, Quinn? The one time she decided to act like a human being and offer that girl a touch of kindness. She invited Tricia over for dinner so Scott could quietly prepare his proposal in the backyard. She offers her a big slice of my quiche; which Tricia ate because she wanted to please my witch of a wife.” He turned his attention to Milly, who was still on the floor. “You took a photo of my boy on one knee, the happiest day of his life, something you didn’t deserve by the way. All the while, Tricia’s got the poison meant for you.” His maniacal gaze locked back on Quinn. “This one over there,” he said pointing the gun at Milly, “only eats a few bites herself in order to watch her figure. I got home later that night and saw a chunk of it gone, and I thought, ‘Finally, I’m free. Now I just have to wait.’ You can’t imagine my reaction when she told me how Tricia scarfed down the quiche and wanted the recipe so she could make it for Scott. I wished I could’ve warned her, but that would’ve given me up and, well, my boy will find someone else. My only consolation is, I finally convinced Milly to eat more than her usual two measly bites. She’ll be dead by nightfall.”
Quinn’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t from the effects of the chloroform.
“I thought Mrs. Hauser was the one who killed Tricia. I heard you say to Mrs. Patron how you had to finish what you started for Trina.”
Milly’s lids were heavy, her lips cracked and bloody. She looked like she hadn’t had water in days. “What? Oh, you mean … I wanted to work for Trina’s group—as a realtor. Ophy is an old friend. She was going to let her house be my first listing. That’s what you heard. I would never—”
How could I have been so wrong?
“Cut the sorority chitchat.” He reached for Quinn, grabbing her by the arm—hard. “I only came back here for you to tell me whatever else you know. I heard most of it last night while you were on the phone with that detective, but I need to know the rest.”
He jammed the gun into her stomach, hard. She sucked in a sharp breath. “Like what?”
He was right in her face. “Right now, they all think Milly did it, don’t they?”
“Don’t tell him anything, Quinn! He’s going to kill you as soon as he doesn’t need you anymore!”
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the barrel of the gun to his wife’s temple. “Will you stop talking for one second of your life! Your voice is like nails down a chalkboard! I can’t think with that voice in my head!”
Milly Hauser used whatever life force she had left to straighten up. “I’ll stop talking as soon as you let her go. Then I promise I’ll never say anything again. Quinn is innocent in all this. If you let her go, I’ll give you all the money you want. You can run off and never come back. Just don’t hurt her. She’s young. She has her whole life ahead of her.”
He started laughing, high pitched and crass, jamming the gun back into Quinn’s ribs. “Oh, so now you’ve finally grown a heart? Maybe I should’ve poisoned you years ago. Maybe those death caps somehow killed the nasty in you. But you’ve got the right idea … a new start. Marry myself someone young and sweet, and forget I ever laid eyes on you.”
He was so caught up in his rant that he moved the gun away from Quinn’s middle, using it to gesture around the tiny shed, but he still had a vise grip on her arm.
Then the sound of sirens stopped him cold.
Milly’s head lolled to the side, her breathing shallow, but she still had some vinegar left. “They’re coming for you, Carlson. I may die in this shed, but it’ll be worth it just to see them take you away in handcuffs. You were always weak. If you didn’t have that gun, you’d be nothing.”
He was ignoring his wife, panic written on his face. “Crap, I’ve got to get you out of here!” He pulled Quinn’s arm hard enough that she heard it pop. There was a flash of pain, but she couldn’t focus on it. He was dragging her out of the shed. The light blinded them both.
On the other side of the door someone yelled. “Now!”
Dr. Hauser grumbled. “What the heck?”
That’s as far as he got. It was so bright, he didn’t see the real threat barreling down the grass, straight for him.
Quinn was having a rough time focusing too, but her hearing was unaffected. And that’s when she heard it—two growls, one from a Rottweiler and the other from a German shepherd. Both were headed dead center for their target, the rottie for the throat and the shepherd for the leg.
“Ahhhh! Get them off me! Get these mongrels off me now!
Then Quinn heard the sound of a low groan behind her.
Omigod … Ms. Milly!
Her left arm was useless, hanging loose down her side, like a sausage roll from a hook, but Quinn spun around and ran back into the shed.
“Quinn!”
She heard Aiden calling for her, but she didn’t respond. There was no time left. Milly Hauser had shown signs of being ill weeks ago at Frankie’s Garage. Then again at the Patron house mere days ago. Her husband must have been poisoning her, little by little at first, before realizing that approach wasn’t working. That’s when he had insisted she eat one big piece of quiche—a substantial dose. Death by mushroom quiche. Had Dr. Hauser used the same method to off Dr. Levine, his professional competition?
She had a lot of questions, but none of that mattered. Mrs. Hauser was dying. She had to save her.
Quinn scanned the inside of the shed, noting that Ms. Milly had somehow crawled into the corner and curled into a fetal position. Eyes closed. A low, whimpering moan the only sound she was making. Quinn ran to her.
Shoving her shoulder under Mrs. Hauser’s armpit with her good arm, Quinn said a silent prayer, then hoisted her up.
“Noooo, I can’t. Just leave me …”
Quinn scoffed. “No way, Mrs. Hauser. We’re getting out of this shed together. Hold onto me as tight as you can!”
She started making a deep sound, like a wounded animal. “I deserve to die. You go. Tell my boy I’m sorry …”
Quinn wasn’t having it. “No! You hold on, you hear me?” With a strength she didn’t know she had, Quinn pulled the woman up and toward the doorway. Mrs. Hauser’s feet couldn’t hold her weight and she stumbled into Quinn, whose body slammed against the doorjamb on her useless shoulder. She didn’t know pain like that even existed. The pain went from white to yellow, searing the retinas of her eyes. As much as she wanted to, Quinn knew she couldn’t hold on. Still grasping Mrs. Hauser, she felt her body fall forward.
She braced herself to hit the concrete. Every muscle tensed, even as the yellow around her turned black, closing in. The last thing she remembered was falling into someone, not something. Strong arms surrounded her, and Milly’s weight vanished.
“I’ve got you, Quinn. You’re both safe now. You did it—you got ’em.”
She knew she must have been dreaming because Quinn was floating on air, with Aiden flying next to her, telling her everything was going to be okay.