A midsummer nights schem.., p.13
A Midsummer Night's Scheme, page 13
Her crew took Jenny’s reaction in stride. “Wait a second. I know all your friends,” Ella asserted. “Who’s Ash?”
“I meant Ashley Anderson, the guidance counselor. She’s awesome, but you, Detective Harrington?” she fumed. “Not so clone-worthy anymore.”
From his expression, it was obvious Aiden wasn’t going to touch that one. “We’ll be done in a few minutes. Then we’ll get you back. Ella? I would like you to come in for questioning. Obviously, Senya should accompany as your attorney.”
Senya glanced through her schedule. “Let me have a little time to confer with my client.”
Ella’s breath was uneven, like she couldn’t get the air fully into her lungs. “This can’t be real.”
Lucas enveloped her in a hug. “No has hecho nada malo. Está bien.”
She nodded into his chest. “I’m going to have to delay the opening.”
He shushed her as he kissed the top of her head, rubbing up and down her back. “Bet you my Triumph you’ll get a crap ton of publicity and be booked solid for the rest of the year.”
Daria chimed in. “Maybe consider taking snake tacos off the menu? Just saying, it might be too soon.”
Quinn was relieved her cousin said something, so she didn’t have to. It took big brass ones to still want to serve a cause of death as a grand opening special.
Either Ella was the most authentic person alive, dedicated to doing things her way no matter how it looked, or she was a brazen psychopath, salivating over the chance to serve her accomplices on a plate.
Aiden’s phone rang. He glanced at the number on the phone, his brows going up. “Harrington,” he answered. He stepped away from the group.
Ella glared. “For your information, I’ve had these snakes for months—way before someone decided to use a bunch of vipers as deadly weapons. I need them for their meat, not their venom.”
Quinn could tell by the look on Daria’s face that she wasn’t buying it.
“Who else knew about them? That you were raising rattlers for their meat?”
Ella’s body jerked. “I don’t know. The construction crew, for sure. That’s why I kept them in the back room. Not that they needed any reminding. Trust me, they stayed far away.”
“Maybe they did, but what about others?” Daria pointed toward the door. “You have no warning sign, and yeah, the door sticks, but it wasn’t locked. Anyone could’ve gotten in there.”
“Exactly. When was the last time you counted them?” Quinn asked. “Have they had any babies? If so, have they all been accounted for?”
Awareness swept through Lucas’s expression. “You’re wondering if someone else snagged some, knowing my sister had them readily available.” He squeezed his sister’s shoulder. “Someone may be trying to set you up.”
Ella shook her head. “No one’s taken any of my snakes, although several died in transit to me. But since then—nothing.”
Well, there goes that theory, Quinn thought. “Did the ones who survived hatch any new babies?”
“They’re called snakelets,” Jenny corrected. “Rhymes with bracelets.” She clocked everyone’s expression. “What? I used to volunteer at the National Zoo. I led their Lifecycles of the Smooth and Scaly program for years. Such fun!”
Aiden came back to the huddle, his eyes locked on Quinn. “You won’t believe who that was …”
He didn’t give her a chance to ask.
“That was your brother. First thing, he and Rachel are fine. Apparently, someone broke into their new apartment.”
Quinn pressed a hand to her stomach. “What the heck happened?”
“Nothing taken, but they found poisonous spiders in their bed. We’re talking brown recluses, black widows … who knows what else. Dozens of them.”
“Well, can’t blame that on me!” Ella balked, shuddering. “Ugh, I hate spiders.”
Daria paled. “That can’t be a coincidence. Was someone looking to harm Bash or Rachel?”
“Maybe both?” Senya scrunched her face, rubbing up and down her arms. “Can you imagine? I’d burn that mattress straightaway.”
“That’s beyond awful. Thank God they’re both okay.” Jenny took out her car keys from her purse. “But I really have to get back to school.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Aiden whistled to catch Officer Carter’s attention. “Escort Ms. Kieval back to Madison and Ms.—”
Corri interrupted. “I don’t need an escort. As long as I leave now, I’m cool.”
Aiden gave a brief nod. “Thank you for cooperating today.”
“I need to get the kibble back to the Abbey. Quinn?” Daria tugged at her sleeve.
Quinn held Aiden’s eyes. “Yeah. It’s okay we’re taking off?”
Aiden was busy with his team, comparing notes. He glanced up. “I’ll see you later. After I’m done here, I’m headed over to their place.”
The cousins thanked Ella again for the donation, but she was too busy being consoled by her brother to notice.
Daria clipped the dogs into their harnesses, both charges less than thrilled to be sharing truck bed space with food they couldn’t rip into. As soon as she hopped into the cab and slammed the passenger door, Quinn released the brake and stepped on the gas.
“What the heck? I haven’t even gotten my belt on!”
“Well, buckle up, because I’m not sitting back and letting someone come after my family.”
Daria cleared her throat. “You mean our family. Are you thinking the person who killed Chad is the same one that—”
“I don’t know, but like you said, it’s too bizarre to be a coincidence: first a car full of snakes and now a bed filled with spiders? It’s like a really twisted version of the ten plagues.”
Her cousin eyed the road. “Yeah, well, this traffic isn’t going to divide like the Red Sea, so maybe slow your roll?”
Quinn scoffed. “Someone is coming after my family. Scratch that: our family. And it’s going to take more than a couple of Camrys to stop me.”
Chapter Eleven
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
—Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure
Sister Daria wiped her face and forehead with the front of her T-shirt. She was dripping sweat, having had to move the dog food from the curb to the shed herself. Quinn was gone.
The plan had been to unload the truck fast and head over to Bash and Rachel’s apartment together. But Quinn took one look at the storage shed behind Guinefort House and went pale.
“What’s the matter?”
Quinn bent over, her hands on her knees. Breathing hard. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
“Sit down and put your head between your legs.”
Quinn eyed her.
“Just trust me,” Daria insisted. “It works.”
Her cousin did as she was told while Daria stroked her hand and back, ignoring the cold sweat. Using her soothing, social worker voice, she reminded Quinn she was safe.
“What triggered you?”
Quinn raised her head and pointed at the storage shed.
Daria hadn’t realized it was the same make and model as the one the killer had locked Quinn in during her kidnapping. She hadn’t been stuck in there for long, but Daria figured trauma didn’t come with a minimum time requirement. She tried getting her cousin to call someone: Aiden. Her parents. A therapist at the Women’s Center.
Quinn wouldn’t have it.
At least Daria had convinced her to leave RBG behind for the rest of the day and night for a doggy sleepover. She knew Quinn was planning on spending the night with Aiden, so at least Daria could breathe easy that she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Watching RBG play with Rueger in the field, galivanting and cavorting around, helped the day regain a bit of levity.
She called Aiden anyway, letting him know what had happened.
Daria might be a licensed social worker, but Quinn wasn’t her client and she felt not a scintilla of remorse for telling Aiden the details. As soon as she was done with the load, she was going to call her aunt and uncle too—this mini feud be damned.
Sister Ceci stood next to the pile. “I think this load’s bigger than I am!”
“She’s right.” Sister Theresa patted the top of the stack. “And this is only half the donation, right?”
Daria nodded. “I could only get half of it in Quinn’s truck. I would’ve gone back for the rest …”
“If it weren’t for the snakes at the restaurant.” Reverend Mother shook her head while crossing herself. “Dear Lord in Heaven, what’s next—locusts? Boils? It’s like living through the Passover.”
“Give me a second to change and I’ll help you with the rest,” Sister Ceci offered.
“That would be really awesome.” Daria smiled, relieved to not have to do it all by herself.
“A laudable gesture, but perhaps an unnecessary one.” The Reverend Mother motioned toward the street.
The most tricked-out truck Daria had ever seen had slowed down and was parking right in front of the abbey. On the side panel it read Frankie’s Garage in a bold, retro-folkloric font with swirls of colors around it in the shape of a car. The G in garage had a mohawk along the upper curve of the letter. Lucas waved hi to Daria and her sisters.
Sister Theresa let out a low whistle. “It looks like Santa found my Christmas wish list from 1966. Better late than never.”
Sister Ceci fanned herself with both hands.
He walked around to the back of the truck. “Where do you want me to put these?”
Daria waved back. “Hold on a sec!” She turned to her roommate. “That’s Lucas Diaz. He’s our donor’s brother. Why don’t you direct him to the kennel storage? The outside storage shed’s all full. I’m going to hop into the shower.”
The Reverend Mother emitted a sound from the back of her throat, which was never a good sign. “Sister Daria, why don’t you direct Mr. Diaz where to go? No need for someone else to finish what you’ve started. You’ve done a wonderful job today. When you’re done, you can shower.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother,” she responded. She knew it made sense, but that didn’t mean Daria hadn’t hoped to put some yardage between her and Lucas.
“Come, let us return to our duties. Our sister is more than capable of handling things here,” the Reverend Mother added while shooing the others along. She walked over to Lucas, who had two bags hoisted on each shoulder. As soon as he realized the head of the Order was approaching, he offered a megawatt smile, placing the bags down so he could shake her hand.
Sister Daria had no choice but to join them.
“I want to thank you for bringing over the rest of the donation to us, Lucas.”
“For you? Anything.”
Daria regarded their easygoing demeanor. “Do you two know each other?”
“Oh my, yes! I’ve known Lucas for years. He comes around to help us with the occasional handyman job. Although I haven’t needed to call for a couple of years because you did such commendable work the last time.”
Lucas shrugged off the compliment. “Oh, that reminds me … I may have a 2014 GMC Sierra 1500 for you by the end of the month. It’s in good shape, only fifty thousand miles on it. My cousin Alicia’s getting herself a new one, and I convinced her to donate it for the tax write-off—and to help her soul. She was a hellion when we were kids.”
“That would be wonderful,” the Reverend Mother mused, “but I wouldn’t want to step on Father Anthony’s toes.”
Father Anthony was the priest at Saint Mark’s. Must be Lucas’s church, Daria surmised.
“Nah, I already got him a truck, a car, and a van. Trust me, he’s good.”
The Reverend Mother clapped her hands together. “Excellent! Then yes, we’d be so appreciative. It would certainly give Quinn Caine a break in picking up donations.”
“Speaking of which.” Lucas picked up the dog food bags, balancing them on his shoulders. “Where you want these?”
“Sister Daria will show you,” she told him.
Before she turned back toward the chapel, Daria could’ve sworn she saw a little sparkle in the Reverend Mother’s eye. What the heck was that about?
“You going to show me the way or just stand there torturing me?”
Daria coughed. “If you’ve been over here as much as the Reverend Mother alluded, then I’m thinking you already know the way.” She went over to his truck and grabbed a couple of bags. “By the way, flirting with me is a waste of my time and your energy.”
He let out a soft laugh. “There’s always time for flirting.”
Gawd! Even with Daria using one of the bags to shield her view of him as she walked, she could just tell he had on one of those self-satisfied grins.
“Well, then don’t waste my time, okay? I’m sure you drive women crazy. They’ll be a much more receptive audience.”
“I don’t care about what other women think. I would, however, like to get to know you better.”
Nope. We are not going there. No way. No how.
“There’s not much to know. I’ve only traveled a little. I’m a social worker slash nun-in-training, and I love dogs. There ya go. End of story. Now let’s focus on work, okay?”
Still using the bag as a shield, Daria led the way to the kennel storage unit, already left unlocked by one of the other sisters. Daria flipped the light switch and glanced inside. “Not much room, but enough for the rest of the food in your flatbed.”
He tossed the bags down. “Where are you keeping the rest of it?”
“In a garden shed on the back of the property.”
Lucas frowned. “That may be a problem. Show me.”
Usually she did not do well with such a bossy tone, but for some reason, it didn’t bother her coming from Lucas. Maybe because he had taken the hint and had stopped asking her questions about herself. Maybe perhaps underneath the Viking-styled hair and classic Mesoamerican good looks was not just a guy but a man, the rare kind who invested even more in his community than he did his braiding technique.
“This way,” she told him, walking over to the shed. Now, every time she saw it, Daria was reminded of Quinn’s reaction. She took out the key and opened it for him. “I’m guessing this shed came in since you were last here?”
He nodded, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah. I mean, it’s fine for what it’s intended for, but not for this. See how there are those slits of light coming through the metal panels?”
She peeked her head in to see. “Yep.”
“Right, well, that’s exactly how mice and rats and whatnot are going to get in. They’ll eat through those bags in no time. This shed’s okay for some garden tools but definitely no good for food storage.”
“We’re a small Order, and we’re running out of room around here. If it’s okay with Sister Ceci, I guess I could keep the rest in our room?”
Lucas’s expression went soft. “Nah, don’t do that. I’ve got you. Let me transfer all this food from the shed into the kennel unit, and I’ll take what I have in my truck back to my garage. I’ll store it there until I can get you a new concrete storage unit built.”
Daria chewed the corner of her lip. “There’s no way we have the budget for a whole building right now. Maybe in a year, if we’re lucky.”
“It’s not a problem. I can get the materials and labor donated. My cousin Lupe is in construction. It’s a simple structure. She and I will knock it out in no time.”
She gazed up at him. Daria couldn’t deny it: she liked them tall. She squinted while shielding the sun with her hand. “Exactly how many cousins do you have, Lucas Diaz?”
He cracked up. “You’re kidding, right? We’re Catholic. I have eleven cousins, and those are just the ones who live around here, although most of them are in Herndon.”
Tires screeched against the asphalt. Flashes of bright chrome and electric blue singed Daria’s retinas. She’d know that car anywhere.
“Corri Rypka,” she muttered under her breath.
Lucas turned. “What is she doing here? Didn’t she say she had a shift at the hospital?”
Daria knew Corri was itching to speak with Sister Theresa, probably about her role in Chad Frivole’s murder. Guess a guilty conscience was enough reason to call in sick for the rest of the day. But no way was she going to say anything to Lucas. He might be a good man, but that didn’t mean she was going to trust him.
But she couldn’t help but wonder: what if Corri was there to confess?
Corri got out of the car, and the second she spotted Daria and Lucas, she frowned. She dashed into the abbey as if the bottoms of her shoes were on fire.
Lucas went right back to work, muttering, “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” and Daria silently marveled at how he made those heavy sacks of dog food look like slumber party pillows.
“Uh, hey, are you good handling this on your own? I need to check on something.”
“Yeah, go do your thing. I’ve got these.”
Walking inside, she was able to view straight through the house. Corri was seated across from Sister Theresa, head in hand. Daria didn’t know if it was a sin to eavesdrop, but she had spent her young life asking for forgiveness instead of permission. And the only way to hear what was going on was to linger in the kitchen.
She tiptoed in, immediately reaching for a couple of glasses and a large carafe of iced tea in order to give the illusion of purpose. Someone before her had propped the kitchen window open, an attempt to capture anything resembling a breeze inside the house. Daria couldn’t have picked a better setup: she had a front-row seat to Corri’s possible confessional.
“It’s bad enough she wasn’t really upset when Chad died,” Corri was saying, “but now she’s acting like it’s the end of the world that she has to come in and talk to the police, that her precious restaurant is on hold because it’s a potential frickin’ crime scene!”
For once, Sister Theresa was at a loss for a snappy retort. She had her elbows dug into her knees as she leaned over, almost head-to-head with Corri.
“I would think Senya, as an officer of the court, would be encouraging Ella, as her client, to act remorseful. But instead, their energies are feeding off each other. I’m telling you, it’s not healthy. Senya keeps insisting that Ella being suspect number one is a civil rights violation, but it’s really hard to see that when, I don’t know, she’s kept a stockade of snakes on her property, like they’re her familiars or something.”
