“If all the world hated you, while your own conscience approved you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.”
—Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
“Off the record, having a lawyer and a person of the cloth meet you at the station makes you look even guiltier.”
If Quinn thought she had misjudged Officer Wyatt Reynolds’s surly behavior before, his words now were a reminder that she’d been spot on: he was convinced she had killed Tricia and was hell-bent on proving his theory correct.
She had called her parents while still at the crime scene, asking her mom to bring over something for her to wear. And that’s because—in the backseat of a police cruiser, with Shae Johnson on guard—she was made to peel off her clothes and surrender her shoes for forensic testing, to rule her out as a suspect. And that was my favorite sweater too. Might as well toss it right in the giveaway pile because no way in Hades will I ever wear it again. Disposable booties donned her feet, along with a Vienna PD sweatshirt with matching sweatpants—all about three sizes too big for her.
Her dad and Sister Daria were already waiting for her at the police station when they arrived. She ran into their waiting arms, bathed in relief to be with family. She broke off mid-hug. “How did you know I was here?”
Her cousin let go. “Would you believe it if I told you our bond is so strong I felt your distress, even in the middle of the night?”
Her eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Wow, still gullible.” She shook her head. “Your parents called me. The Reverend Mother insisted I come, so Uncle Finn picked me up.”
One glance at their drawn, weary expressions wracked her with guilt; she hated that she’d woken them up in the middle of the night. Without a word, though, her cousin took her hand and gave it a firm squeeze, a simple gesture that meant everything, reminding her she wasn’t alone and hadn’t done anything wrong.
She offered a grateful smile, then eyed over their shoulders. “Where’s Mom?”
“On her way,” Daria told her.
“Your mother went over to your house to fetch you your own clothes and let in RBG,” her dad finished. “Officer Shae Johnson dropped her off.”
Well, that’s good. One less thing to worry about.
Then Finn Caine peered over his glasses toward Wyatt. “By the way, Officer, we’re her family, and it is wholly appropriate that we are here for Quinn. The fact that my niece is a novitiate and I’m a retired attorney should have no bearing on the efficacy of my daughter’s statement for your investigation, nor her presumed innocence. And frankly, your remarks are unbecoming of an officer of the Vienna PD. I know most of the fine men and women who serve with you, and none of them would condone such behavior or act in such a manner.”
Quinn’s gaze widened. “Wow—go, Dad.”
“Yeah, Uncle Finn. Go you,” her cousin added. “You’ve been getting your geek on at the bookstore for so long, I forgot that you used to kick butt in the courtroom.” She eyeballed the officer. “Rarely lost a case in thirty-one years as a litigator. Not that Quinn needs him for that, but good to know, wouldn’t you agree?”
For the first time since Quinn had met him, Officer Reynolds seemed unsure of himself in the presence of the Caine clan. Quinn had forgotten how intimidating her father could be when he was in “lawyer mode.” A lifelong rower, her father still had broad shoulders and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, although there was way more salt these days. When in a loving, playful mood, her mama called him “Clark,” as in Clark Kent, because he could be both dashing and nerdy, having a habit of hiding behind his glasses when uncomfortable. Watching him staring Officer Reynolds down like a guard dog, Quinn knew it was the other guy’s turn to fidget.
Sister Daria had also inherited the fierce Caine spirit. Since returning home, Quinn had learned something vital: that habits often serve as superhero capes.
Just then, the double doors of the police station swung open as Bash and her mom hurried in.
“We’re here! We’re here!” Adele Caine called out as she performed a combo power walk/jog into the station. She had her hair in a loose bun, tendrils flying, with one hand grasping the ends of her lavender shawl to her bosom. Quinn noticed she had her Lady Justice pin on, which made the corner of Quinn’s mouth curl up. Bash had a canvas bag tucked under his arm.
Adele was out of breath when they reached her. “Sorry we’re late, honey.”
Quinn’s gaze darted back and forth between them. “Everything okay?”
“It’s all good,” Bash interjected. He handed over the canvas bag, but just as she was about to take it, Officer Reynolds swiped it out of his hands.
“Hey! That’s for me!”
Bash scoffed. “Dude, really? It’s not like any of that stuff’s going to fit you.”
“Ha-ha, very funny, and I don’t need you to tell me my job. I’m entitled to take a look.” He stuck his hand in the bag, rummaging through, practically sticking his face inside.
Her father rolled his eyes, and her mama looked as if she was ready to smack him into next Tuesday. “Jesus be my fence,” she said under her breath. “Don’t you think you’re going just a tad overboard? There’s no contraband in there, Officer. Just my daughter’s shorts, a blouse, and sandals, along with a fresh pair of panties.”
Officer Reynolds’s face reddened at the mention of her unmentionables. He thrust the bag at Quinn. “Fine. All clear. You can change after you give your statement.”
Sister Daria tsked under her breath. “It’s not like they were going to sneak in a file for Quinn to shave down metal bars or something.” She turned her focus to her aunt and Bash. “What took y’all so long to get here? You live less than five minutes away.”
Bash shoved his hands in his pockets. “The streets around the house have already been blocked off for the morning’s festivities. It slipped my mind that this weekend is Walk on the Hill.”
Walk on the Hill was one of many beloved traditions in her town. Held each spring since 1974, the event offered self-guided tours for fifty-odd participating gardens in Vienna’s historic Windover Heights neighborhood.
In Quinn’s opinion, her parents’ home wasn’t just a lovely addition to the tour: it was a highlight. Mama’s flowers were some of the prettiest around, but she made it extra special by offering folks homemade ginger-mint iced tea, along with sachets of fresh lavender and seed packets so they could start their own award-winning gardens. It was also common for Mama Caine to don a pair of fairy wings, made with the same iridescent fabric as her “magic” wand. “For the wee ones,” she’d explain to the people who thought she might be a bit touched in the head. She’d lead them through her gardens, where it wasn’t unusual for a child to find hidden treasures like Chinese yo-yos or rainbow-haired troll dolls. Quinn and Bash used to debate whether it was the kids or their mama who had more fun with the town tradition.
“Mom, you really don’t have to be here. You’ve got the walk starting in a few hours.” Everyone knew she spoke the truth. The official time might say two o’clock, but it wasn’t unheard of for people to start first thing in the morning.
Adele brushed Quinn’s words away. “Nonsense. I’ll take a lil’ ol’ disco nap and be ready to go in no time.”
“Mama, c’mon—”
Her mother interrupted, “Someday, you’ll have children of your own, and you’ll understand there is no choice.”
Officer Reynolds cleared his throat. “If you follow me, I can take your statement in our interrogation room.”
The whole Caine brood started walking behind him, until he stopped and turned around. “You do realize you all can’t be in there with her, right?”
Bash’s mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. “And why the hell not?”
“It’s fine,” Quinn interjected, not wanting a scene in the middle of the police department. “Y’all wait here.”
“I’m coming in with you—as counsel,” her father insisted.
“But why? I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t need a lawyer.”
“Well, of course I know that,” he said, giving the officer some side-eye. “But I’ll come anyway, to make sure he knows that.”
One glance at her father’s face and Quinn knew better than to argue with him. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
The two of them followed Officer Reynolds through the station. She spotted Shae Johnson leaning on Ned Carter’s desk. She also recognized a couple of people who had attended Madison High School in her year. The receptionist was getting herself a cup of coffee at the Keurig station in the back. Quinn recognized her as a frequent Prose & Scones customer and one of her mama’s book club friends.
They didn’t sneer, but none of them smiled either. Every one of them was assessing her with what her father called “cop eyes,” wondering if she could have done such a heinous thing.
Officer Reynolds opened the door. “Have a seat. We’ll be in in a minute.”
Taking the middle seats, they sat down in a nondescript room, with gray plastic chairs not quite molded right for the human form. Below her feet was the kind of wiry, industrial carpet found in school trailers. After scanning the room, Quinn was surprised there wasn’t one of those two-way mirrors.
Her father adjusted himself in his chair. “Listen, kiddo, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I know.” She craned her head, still taking it all in. “I just feel like I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office or something.”
He gave her a pointed look. “Just tell the truth. Leave nothing out.”
Quinn opened her mouth to answer just as the door to the interrogation room swung open. This time, it wasn’t just Officer Reynolds; Shae Johnson and Aiden came in as well.
“Hello, Caine crew.” Aiden gave a reassuring smile while glancing her over. “Rough night?”
I guess that’s polite guy code for looking like racoon dung.
“You could say that.”
Shae dropped a legal pad and pen in front of her. “We’re going to have you write a formal statement, but first we’d like to ask you some questions.” Her gaze volleyed back and forth between Quinn and her father. “Are you being represented by counsel?”
“Not real—”
“Yes, she is,” her dad interrupted. “I’m retired, but I’ve maintained my legal license.”
Shae seemed to study Finn Caine for a couple of beats. “You do realize she’s not under arrest, that we’re just here to find out what happened? We’re not pointing any fingers.”
Finn Caine nodded. “I understand, Shae. Still, I’d like to be present—especially since there are some on your team who have demonstrated a rather hostile attitude toward my daughter.”
The mood changed in the room, most of the charge coming off Officer Reynolds. “I would think, counselor, as a longtime Vienna resident, you’d be just as upset as I am over what’s happening here.” A thick, purple vein down the middle of Officer Reynold’s forehead thumped, sending out its own kind of distress signal. “Over thirty years without a murder and now, two in less than six months. Strange, dontcha think?”
Her father’s face turned scarlet. “She wasn’t even in the country when the good doctor died.”
This is going nowhere fast. “Let’s get this over with, okay?” Quinn pulled her chair closer to the table.
Aiden and the other two officers sat across from her. Quinn noticed that Wyatt was the only one of the three who had not brought in a notepad and pen, which she could interpret in one of two ways: either he had an outstanding, eidetic memory, or he wasn’t much interested in the details, which was a scary trait for a cop to possess.
Officer Reynolds’s beady eyes bore into hers. “Isn’t it true, Miss Caine, you and the victim had an altercation earlier in the day, before you found her murdered?”
She stilled. “How on earth do you know about that?”
He smirked. “I have my sources.”
It should be a crime for someone to come off this arrogant. Quinn wanted to smack the smug right out of him.
Shae Johnson glanced up from her note-taking. “So, you did have it out with Tricia just prior to her murder?”
Quinn grimaced. “Sort of, but we cleared things up later.” She studied Officer Reynolds. “I’d still like to hear how you knew we’d had words.”
He scoffed. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Enough, Reynolds.” Aiden eyed the sergeant before turning his attention back to her. “Why don’t you start from the beginning and just tell us what happened when you saw Tricia earlier.”
“Okay, well, I was dropping off the dog food donations I had collected for Guinefort House’s kennels. Everyone knows I’m over there the first Friday of the month. The next thing I know, I see Tricia. She came by to let me and my cousin know she got engaged to Scott Hauser the night before.”
The tips of Officer Reynolds’s finger did a staccato tap on the table, which was as annoying as it sounded. “I thought you stated that the two of you weren’t exactly friends.”
“We aren’t—I mean, we weren’t.”
Both of Officer Reynolds’s dark, bushy brows shot up. “Hmm … well now, I’m a guy, and I know nothing about typical wedding brouhaha, but it seems to me that coming over to where she knew you’d be is something good friends would do.”
Quinn tsked, shaking her head. “Well that right there is proof you’re not from around here. Because if you knew Tricia Pemberley—God rest her soul—you’d realize there’s nothing she enjoyed more than flaunting what she perceived as her good fortune, in someone else’s face.”
Aiden’s nostrils flared. “But why you, Quinn?”
She exhaled loudly, tossing up her hands before they landed in her lap. “I don’t know. For some reason, she had it in her head that I might want her fiancé back, which, I can promise you on a stack of Bibles, could not be further from the truth. By the way, when I saw her later, over at the old tomato factory lofts with her sister and Bash—my brother is looking for a place to live—it was Tricia who ended up apologizing to me. We were fine.”
Aiden’s jaw hardened. “Wait a second, what do you mean by wanting him ‘back’? Does that mean you actually dated Scott Hauser?”
It’s like he didn’t hear anything I just said! And why should he care who I dated? I’m just “lil’ Quinnie Caine,” remember?
“Scott and I dated for, like, a few weeks before I left for my first assignment teaching abroad, which, by the way, was over three years ago.”
Aiden was unappeased. “How did I not know about this? And what were you thinking, dating that guy of all people?”
Wow, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous.
“Well, Aiden, not that it’s any of your business, but back then he had worked hard to prove he wasn’t the same frat-boy Neanderthal he was back in high school and college, so I gave him a chance.”
The detective grumbled something incoherent under his breath, all the while jotting something down on his legal pad.
She went on, “When I realized he was still pretty much the same, though, I broke it off. Needless to say, he didn’t take it well, which, may I add, was due to his huge ego—not because I really meant anything to him. That was it. End of story as far as I was concerned.”
“But not for Tricia.” Officer Reynolds leaned forward, staring her down. “It bothered her enough to wake up early to meet you at Guinefort House.”
Her father let out some kind of grumble/growl. “Are you suggesting my daughter was having an illicit affair with that idio—pardon me—that man?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” he spat back.
Shae Johnson cleared her throat. “We’re veering off track here,” she said, directing her remark to the other two. When she glanced back at Quinn, her expression softened. “So, she came by the kennels to torment you, then she left. Later that same day, you and your brother met up with Tricia and her sister to look at a unit at the lofts. While there, any hard feelings on either side were appeased. Am I getting the gist of what happened?”
“Yes, we left that loft on good terms. In fact, she apologized for trying to involve me with—in her words—‘her drama.’”
Aiden stopped writing, meeting her eyes. “Did she elaborate on what she meant by ‘her drama’?”
Quinn nodded. “Tricia said something along the lines of Scott wanting to be his own man, something she was trying to help him with—how, specifically, I have no idea.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry—I don’t have any more info.”
Officer Johnson nodded. “Okay, it’s been a long night. Why don’t we skip forward to later in the evening.”
Quinn was grateful for the redirect. “I was sound asleep, when RBG—that’s my dog—started growling and barking. I had the bedroom windows open, and she was spooked by something she heard or smelled outside. Usually, it’s just a squirrel or a bird, and I pet her until she settles. But tonight, nothing I did or said was working, so I got dressed and decided to let her sniff it out for herself.”
Shae Johnson stopped writing. “Do you remember what time this happened?”
“Yes, I remember because I glanced at my phone and got very annoyed. It was 1:07 AM.”
Her father pinned her with a steely glare. “Did you ever think, Quinn Victoria, to just close the window instead of going out in the dead of night?”
Detective Harrington leaned forward, a brief touch on the table, near her father’s forearm. “Finn, you’ve got plenty of time to give her a proper dad scolding later, but for now, we really need to get this statement down.”
Finn frowned but also acknowledged Aiden’s sound advice with a nod. Meanwhile, Quinn wondered when those two had gotten to be on a first-name basis. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Aiden had been hanging with Bash, rough-housing in the front yard, her dad chastising them to stay away from his wife’s prized peonies?
“Anyway, as I told y’all before, we were walking down Knoll Street when I heard a thud, like something being dropped. Then a car door slammed and took off—fast. RBG and I bolted over but were too late to see the car because there was a lot of white smoke from where it sped off. Plus, the lights were out around the park. We found her right after that.”
Officer Reynolds scratched the back of his neck, sporting a confused look. “And you mean to tell me, you and Tricia had no other contact besides the run-ins earlier that day, first at the abbey and then at the lofts?”
She nodded again. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“And you hadn’t had any contact with that Hauser guy for years either?”
“Well, I did run into him earlier at Church Street Eats while grabbing breakfast with my cousin, but other than that, no.”
He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I find that highly unusual—and suspect—that these two just magically appeared in your life on the same day Tricia Pemberley was murdered.”
Quinn dug into her messenger bag until she felt what she was searching for and then tossed it across the table toward them. “If you think I’m hiding some secret relationship with Scott, or hiding anything for that matter, then take my phone and see for yourself. You won’t find any texts or emails from either of them.”
He eyed her phone. “What’s your password?”
“I have the same password for everything, which I know isn’t smart, but it’s easier that way. It’s written in the notes section. Oh, and the code to get into the phone is 1993.”
Aiden pressed both fingertips into his temples. “You use the year you were born as your code? You do realize how unsafe that is, right?”
Quinn sighed. Whatever adrenalin spike she’d experienced beforehand had long worn off. “I’ll change it when you give me the phone back.”
Shae Johnson took the phone. “Commentary aside, let me confirm: except for the incidents you shared, you haven’t had any other contact with Tricia or Scott recently?”
“Up until yesterday, I hadn’t seen or spoken to either one of them in years, which was why I was surprised Scott asked to talk to me.”
Aiden wrote some more on his pad, not looking up. “What was that about?”
She eyed her father, who gave her a brief nod. “You’ll have to ask Scott because I have no idea what he wanted except to tell me he got engaged. Then, his mother made a mean crack about Tricia and then yelled at him to sit with her. Frankly, I thought the whole exchange was unnecessary and a little weird. We have nothing to do with each other except for living in the same town.”
Aiden stopped writing and peered at her. “What crack did Milly Hauser make?”
“She complained that Tricia was—in her words, not mine—“only in sales.” Then, my brother showed up and Scott left us alone.”
All three officers’ phones beeped, almost in unison. Officer Johnson and Aiden stopped taking notes, both checking their messages.
Aiden shared a look with the other two, then stood up. “All right, I think we have what we need for now. Make sure to include everything you know in your written statement.” Aiden checked his phone again. “One more thing: Can anyone else verify you were home all evening until you went for a walk with RBG?”
Quinn hunched her shoulder toward her ears. “Um, I don’t know. You’re free to talk to my dog.”
Shae smiled. Her father chortled to himself. But Aiden’s grim expression indicated that he did not find her funny. “But there wasn’t anyone else over?”
“What—you mean like a boyfriend?”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes, Quinn, like a boyfriend. Stop stalling and answer the question.”
She glanced over at her dad, thinking, What the heck is that about?, only to find him biting the side of his lip, fighting a smile.
Quinn refocused on the surly detective. “No, I didn’t have a boyfriend over.”
“Okay then,” Officer Johnson chimed in, “why don’t you write down everything you told us. Sign it too. In the meantime”—she picked up Quinn’s phone—“I’ll get this over to our IT specialists. They’ll search your texts and emails to verify your statement in terms of lack of recent contact with Tricia or Scott. Assuming there’s nothing incriminating in it and that the Huttons can verify your account of events at Church Street Eats, you should have it back in a day or so. We’d also like to interview your brother, to verify your story.”
“Fine. Do what you have to do.”
Her dad dragged his chair back along the carpet, then stood up. “Aiden, a moment?”
He gave one of those chin lifts men give to each other, and they filed out of the room. She took hold of the pen and started writing. She wished they had given her a laptop, or even a typewriter, because writing longhand took quite awhile. She had to stop several times to rub out the cramps in her hand.
As soon as she was done, she left the room, holding onto her bag of clothes. Daria was waiting for her.
“You okay?”
Quinn blew out an exhausted breath. “Yeah, I know they’re just doing their jobs, but that was annoying.”
Sister Daria cracked her knuckles. “That’s true for Aiden and Shae. But what’s the other one’s deal?”
“You mean Officer Reynolds?”
Her cousin watched him stalking away from the other officers, the dark cloud above his head almost visible to the naked eye. “Yeah, there’s something really off about him.”
Quinn was relieved her cousin felt the same vibe. “Totally. You missed it, but during the interview, he kept calling Tricia by her first name, like he knew her. I’ve watched enough cop shows to know they say phrases like ‘the victim’ or ‘the body.’ They don’t personalize like that.”
Daria kept her voice low. “Do you really think she was murdered?”
“None of us can be sure until there’s an autopsy, but I’m telling you, Daria, no twenty-five-year-old dies of natural causes looking the way she did.”
“You never told me. How bad was it?”
Quinn would never forget the sight of Tricia, lying there on the paved section of the park, her limbs in unnatural, distorted angles; a sharp contrast to the fluid symmetry of the compass rose. “That’s because I don’t want you having the same picture in your head as I do in mine. Part of her face looked paralyzed. Her body jack-knifed like a twisted pretzel … Trust me, it’ll take me forever to get over that sight.”
Her cousin’s brows scrunched together. “That sounds like she had a stroke of some kind.”
Quinn readjusted the strap of her messenger bag across her chest. “I don’t know—do healthy twenty-five-year-olds have strokes?”
“We need to find out.”
“We?”
Daria nodded. “Absolutely. Listen, no one who knows you thinks you did this terrible thing. But for some reason, that cop has it in for you. We need to find out the truth before he tries to pin this on you.”
“C’mon,” Quinn tsked. “He may be a tool, but do you really think he’d exclude evidence that would prove I’m innocent?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Hufflepuff, but you’re my family, so we’re not going to take that chance by assuming he has the best of intentions.”
Daria meant business. Growing up more like sisters than cousins, they’d had countless nicknames for each other. When she used “Ms. Hufflepuff,” it was her cue that Quinn was being too trusting and naive. Those Harry Potter house monikers worked both ways.
“Someone’s being extra cynical today—and that means you, Ms. Slytherin.”
“I make no apologies. I’d rather be cynical then caught off guard and have you suffer the consequences.”
“I read this study the other day—this team of experts estimated that at least four percent of people on death row right now were unjustly convicted. So that means if we had a hundred of those inmates standing here, four would be innocent.”
“You’re such a nerd.” Daria fidgeted with her cross necklace. “But stop reading that stuff. You’re not going to jail. Not on my watch.”
“I’m not worried about going to jail. I’m ticked off there’s a murderer in our town. Maybe even more than one if that doctor didn’t die from natural causes. I didn’t like Tricia all that much, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Vienna should have been her safe place. We need to find out what’s going on. We need to take our town back.”