To Kill a Mocking Girl Read online

  “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.”

  Chapter Five

  “You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her as she needs you.”

  —George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

  “There’s crime scene tape all over this place. Everything’s blocked off. What do you think we’re going to find that the police didn’t?”

  It was a fair question, one Quinn didn’t have an answer for, at least not yet. Since both had only grabbed a few hours of sleep after being at the police station, their combined mental clarity was running half-speed, at best. That’s what she got for spending most of the night trying to clear her name.

  Quinn still insisted on returning to Sarah Walker Mercer Park, the place where she had found Tricia’s body. Only three-quarters of an acre, the park sat catty-corner between the elementary and high schools. Her mama had told her the area used to be, of all things, a public works property yard, but the town had decided to clean it up in an effort to attract more families by building more green space. After Tricia’s death, Quinn wondered if anyone would ever come back.

  “Remember how you used to find me here, cutting classes?”

  Quinn chuckled. “Actually, I’d forgotten about that. I’d always find you making out with what’s-his-name.”

  “Spencer. Spencer Something-Something,” Daria answered.

  “Right. Whatever happened to him?”

  Daria gave a crooked smile. “Last I heard, he came out of the closet and was living with his boyfriend in Richmond. They own a construction company together. I guess being with me confirmed for him he wasn’t into women.”

  Quinn took her hand. “Please tell me you don’t believe that.” She studied Daria’s face for clues. “I may not have remembered his name, but I do recall he was over the moon for you. And rightfully so because you are a crazy-beautiful, scary-smart girl that any man would be lucky to call his.”

  Meanwhile, throughout Quinn’s little speech, Daria looked like she was holding back a cackle.

  Quinn’s brows came to a “V.” “What?”

  Daria pulled her cousin close and gave her a tight hug. “I was kidding about what I said.” She let go of Quinn. “Spencer was probably just trying to figure himself out back then, which was fine with me because I wasn’t looking for anything serious anyway. He sure was beautiful, but he wasn’t joining Mensa anytime soon. Besides, you know I don’t believe being gay is a choice. We’re born the way God made us, and He doesn’t make mistakes. Love is love and all that.”

  Quinn had to admit she was relieved by her cousin’s declaration. When Daria had written to her about her intentions of becoming a nun, Quinn knew full well the Anglican Church’s conservative position on gay rights. She’d wondered if Daria had changed her stance but had been afraid to ask. Now that she’d received her answer, Quinn had other questions waiting in the queue.

  “Hmm, can’t imagine the sisters of your order are clamoring to march at the next pride parade with you anytime soon.”

  That comment made Daria squint in her direction. “No, probably not.”

  “So, how do you deal with that, then?”

  Daria shrugged. “We agreed to disagree. That’s all.”

  She wanted to do a deep dive into that whole “agree to disagree” landmine, but thought it best to keep the conversation light, especially since they weren’t enjoying a casual springtime stroll in the park. They were searching for clues left by a killer.

  RBG was pulling her, so Quinn let out the retractable leash some, walking through the parts of the park they still had access to. “So, wait a second—did you know Spencer was gay back then? And why didn’t you take him back to your house to fool around? Both your parents were always at work, so you’d have had the place to yourselves. Why go to a public park?”

  Daria gave her a look like Spencer wasn’t the only one who was thick. “Because I didn’t want him to think he had free rein, that’s why. I might have been rebellious, but there was no way I was going to sleep with him.” She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Of course, in hindsight, Spencer never exactly pushed to go home with me—and he always kept the action very PG. I’m thinking there may have been a sign or two I missed. Oops.”

  Daria went back to dragging her flip-flopped feet, her toes combing through the Kentucky bluegrass like rake tines. Quinn was doing the same, even though RBG kept trying to pull her to the other side of the road.

  “Hold on, girl. Let’s look around here first.”

  It really was a shame someone thought this cozy little park was the place to bring such ugliness. It had a rain garden and walking paths, all surrounding the paved inset compass rose marking the true north of Vienna, or at least where they memorialized those they loved and missed. There was a seating area honoring the late Sarah Walker Mercer. She’d died when Quinn was only two years old, so Quinn didn’t remember her, but she had heard, more times than she could recall, Ms. Sarah called “the mama of the neighborhood.” She had been the custodian for Louise Archer Elementary School for years, and living next door to the school allowed her the opportunity to care for anyone in need. There was also a memorial tree planted to honor Maxine Shelley Turner, “Max” to her friends. She was an honors student from their town and a victim in the Virginia Tech shooting of April 2007. Neither Quinn nor Daria had known her, but everyone had been stricken by Max’s loss. Somehow, this small patch of manicured green was able to hold the pain of a whole town without being weighted down by it. A miracle, the more Quinn pondered on it. Next time they came to this park, there would probably be a memorial tree or bench in Tricia’s memory.

  The sinewy arms of neon tape blocked a proper exploration, so Sister Daria and Quinn walked along the edges of the grass, scanning for anything even resembling a clue.

  Her cousin batted gnats away from her eyes. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  Quinn sighed, the heaviness not leaving room for her hopeful heart. “I know. Me too.”

  In spite of Quinn’s best efforts to stay near the garden, RBG kept insisting they explore across the street. “All right, fine. Have it your way,” she relented. She crossed Nutley Street, where the car had screeched away into the night. Quinn spotted the tire treads, seared onto the aspha
lt like a newly inked tattoo. She stopped and took a bunch of photos of them on her phone. Not like she’d know what to do with them, but she wasn’t going to ignore any markings the potential killer might have left behind.

  There were several houses on the street, each with their own personalities: colonials next to split-levels alongside modern Craftsman. Her section of town, northwest Vienna, wasn’t a cookie-cutter suburb, and Quinn appreciated the small slice of heterogeneity in an otherwise homogenous area.

  The sun peeked from behind a chorus of clouds, casting much-needed light and warmth down on them. Something shiny glittered by a fence a few yards away. RBG got there first, sniffing until Quinn was able to bend down and examine what had caught the sunlight.

  It was an iPhone with a Kelly-green silicone cover, enough of a match with the grass that it was able to hide in plain sight.

  “Daria! Come here quick!”

  She dug into her messenger bag for a pencil and a plastic bag, the kind used to pick up dog mess. Using the end of her pencil, she turned the phone over.

  “What’s up? What’d ya find?” She hovered over Quinn’s bent frame.

  “You’re blocking the light. Move over.” Quinn noticed the iPhone was the latest model, so there wasn’t the old “home” button like in previous incarnations.

  Daria positioned herself in front of Quinn and out of the sun, crouching down and balancing on the balls of her feet. “We shouldn’t touch it.”

  Quinn eyed her. “We aren’t,” she said, putting her hand inside the clean plastic bag. “See? An instant glove. Of sorts.”

  With care, she used her wrapped hand to press the side button. The screen flashed on, making both of them rear their heads back in surprise.

  “Look, cave girl. Fire.”

  Quinn laughed hard enough to cough.

  Daria peered closer. “It’s actually kind of cool, the phone still having power. It’s like a modern-day Chanukah miracle. Except, of course, it’s April. And instead of keeping a menorah lit for eight nights on little oil, the phone battery survives for over twenty-four hours on just five percent power.”

  “Way to keep things Old Testament,” Quinn answered. “Look at the home screen.”

  Sure enough, there was a photo of Tricia with Scott. He was on bended knee, ring in hand, while she cupped her face, crying happy tears.

  “He must’ve arranged for someone to take their picture right at the big moment,” Quinn said, her voice soft. “Look how happy they are.”

  “Were,” Daria corrected.

  “I really was happy for them,” she said. “As happy as I could be for two people so utterly self-involved.”

  Daria’s expression softened. “I know, sweetie.”

  The screen shut off. Quinn was about to pick it up with her bagged hand, but Daria stopped her. “Better not. You don’t need any more heat than you’re already getting. We need to call the fuzz.”

  Quinn bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Ten-four, good buddy. Is there a reason why you’re talking like a rerun of Starsky and Hutch?”

  Daria didn’t return the humor. “The sooner we get this phone to the police, the quicker you get off that crazy cop’s hit list of suspects.”

  “Fine.” Quinn stood in place while reaching for her phone-well, not exactly her phone, but an old one her parents gave her to use in the interim. She paused.

  Daria also stood up. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Feels weird calling Aiden.”

  “You’re not calling him for a date; you’re letting him know that Vienna’s own Rizzoli and Isles found evidence his entire department missed.”

  Quinn whacked her chest with her fist, trying to clear her lungs. “Oh, that should go over well.”

  Sister Daria studied her. “You still like him, even after all these years?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He has always and will always see me as a little kid.”

  “Even after your welcome-home party? You looked uh-mazing that night.”

  Quinn picked at the hangnail on her thumb. As close as they were, she hadn’t shared with her cousin the buildup and letdown of that night. Not because she didn’t trust Daria to handle her with care; more like she was too humiliated to admit her delusions out loud.

  “He patted my head and called me ‘Quinnie.’”

  Daria winced. “Ouch.”

  Quinn gave her a look.

  “Well then, he’s obviously not as smart as everyone thinks he is.”

  Quinn shrugged. “People like what they like. I’m not going to hold a grudge because I’m not what he wants.”

  Sister Daria offered a conciliatory smile. “I’m thinking maybe you’re the one who should’ve been the nun, not me. Your response is much kinder than mine would have been.”

  She didn’t want to talk about Aiden anymore. The unrealized fantasy was still too depressing. “All right, let’s get this over with.” She slid the bar on her phone and called the elusive detective/rock star, Aiden Broadwater Harrington.

  He answered on the first ring.

  Chapter Six

  “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

  —J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

  “Why am I not surprised to find you two skulking around my crime scene and getting into more trouble?”

  Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. “Getting into trouble? Did you hit your head on the way over here? Because from where I’m standing, I’m quite the helper.”

  Sister Daria pretended to scowl. “Ahem.” She gestured back and forth between them with her forefinger. “We are quite the helpers.”

  Quinn gave a brisk nod. “Apologies, cousin … we would appreciate a little, well … appreciation.”

  Aiden towered over her, arms crossed. “And I’m trying to catch a killer, something I can’t do if you’re tampering with evidence.”

  “But she didn’t!” Daria said, elbowing her. “Show him.”

  Quinn reached into her messenger bag. “Yes, let me show you, my doubting detective, oh ye of little faith.” She pulled out the clean plastic doggie bag and pencil. “See? I used these as a makeshift glove and stylus. Clever, eh?”

  Sister Daria tossed her fiery-red hair over her shoulder, raising her chin. “We’re ready for that mea culpa–slash–thank-you anytime now.”

  Aiden gazed up to the heavens, muttering, “Deliver me” under his breath.

  Quinn leaned into her cousin. “I don’t think that’s an apology.”

  Daria gave him the stink eye. “No, I don’t think it is. Rude, by the way.”

  Aiden opened his mouth to respond, but then a squad car pulled up to the curb—flashing lights and all—where the three of them were standing. RBG pressed her body into Quinn’s legs, something she did when she was in protective mode. Officer Reynolds and Shae Johnson unfolded themselves from the car. Quinn stroked RBG’s head and down her back, letting her know everything was okay.

  Sister Daria’s whole face scrunched, like something reeked. “Oh don’t look now, but the other one without manners is here too.” She straightened her spine as they approached. “Just so you know, I’m this close”—she held up her thumb and forefinger, an inch apart—“to reporting your conduct to your superior.”

  “Good afternoon to you too, Sister.” Officer Reynolds adjusted the holster on his belt. He looked to be around their age, with sable-colored hair and brown eyes. He would’ve been more handsome if his face wasn’t set in a permanent scowl. But it was, so he wasn’t.

  As Quinn watched Officers Johnson and Reynolds standing side by side, something hit her. “Wait a second—aren’t you usually partnered with Officer Carter?”

  Now it was Shae’s turn to frown. “The captain thought it’d be good for me to partner with Officer Reynolds for a little while.”

  Sister Daria barked out a laugh. “You mean he’s hoping you’ll teach him how to behave, since everyone witnessed how awful h
e’s been to Quinn.” She met Wyatt’s gaze. “Who, by the way, is innocent of any crime you may think she’s committed in that head of yours.”

  That vein in the middle of his forehead was beating like a drum again, but Shae gave him a “don’t go there” glare, so he didn’t take her cousin’s bait. “We heard over the radio, you found evidence relating to Trish’s murder?”

  Quinn and Daria locked eyes, both thinking the same thing: for a new cop in town, he sure sounded familiar with Tricia Pemberley. Only those closest to her were allowed to call her “Trish.”

  Her cousin pointed toward the fence line. “Yes, it’s right there, exactly where we found it.”

  That’s when Quinn noticed Shae Johnson was holding a couple of evidence bags and latex gloves.

  Aiden reached out. “Here, let me,” he instructed.

  She gave them over. He slid on the gloves and opened the evidence bag, bending down to the grass, in a fluid motion, to retrieve Tricia’s phone, then sealing it right away. She couldn’t help but marvel at the grace of his movements, at how someone so built could move with such ease.

  Wyatt Reynolds stepped forward. “I’m happy to take those in for you, sir.”

  Sister Daria huffed. “Oh, so you can try and frame my cousin for murder? I don’t think so.”

  His face turned beet-red. “You know, just ’cause you sometimes wear that penguin getup doesn’t mean I won’t cite you for interfering with this investigation.”

  Sister Daria stepped forward, getting right in his face. “Calling you out on your offensive and biased conduct isn’t a crime, Officer Reynolds. But harassing innocent citizens of this town is, the last time I checked.”

  Spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth. “You know what else is a crime? Planting evidence and pretending it’s something you found.”

  She reared back.

  Quinn piped in. “She would never—I would never do such a thing!”

  His eyes squinted. “Pretty convenient if you ask me, finding her phone.”

  Officer Johnson tugged at his sleeve. “You need to back up, Reynolds,” she told him. “Besides, hate to break it to you, but it’s plausible we missed this one, with the phone case blending in with the grass and it being just outside our search radius.” Shae Johnson kept going. “And think about it: Why would Quinn have called us—twice—if she were guilty?”