A midsummer nights schem.., p.2
A Midsummer Night's Scheme, page 2
“The same is true for trauma victims.” Aiden studied her pupils. “Was today not a good day for some reason?”
Note to self: redirects don’t work on whip-smart detectives.
Quinn took back the wine he had poured for her. “I am totally fine. And today was great, although everyone acted like they’d just seen a ghost when they caught a glimpse of me working in my office. But on the bright side, I made these adorable mini journals—made with handmade aged paper and recycled leather. I’m hand stitching the bindings, so it’s taking a little longer than I’d like, but it’ll be worth it. We’re going to start selling them this week.”
Her man beamed at her. “I bet they’ll sell out in no time.” Aiden, still holding the wine bottle, glanced over at their unexpected guests. “I’m sorry, guys, but I didn’t bring extra glasses.”
“Not a problem whatsoever,” Leah piped in, rummaging through her mammoth satchel. Her face lit up as she produced two foldable metal cups. “We just got these in the store. Aren’t they adorable? Forget eco-friendly; these are eco-licious.”
Quinn chuckled while biting her lip, sneaking a peak over at Aiden. She could tell from one look that while he was being amiable—because his mamma would’ve slapped the hair off his head otherwise—he wasn’t stoked about the extra company, even if he did genuinely like the Grovers.
Leah further made herself comfortable by peering into the basket. “Wow, Aid … this assemblage is extra in the best possible way.”
Ryan coughed into his hand. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. I swear I take her out and romance her the way a thoughtful husband should.”
Quinn smiled. “What’s ours is yours.”
Leah’s face emerged from the depths of spelunking, and she fanned herself. “Whoa, Aid … not only do you have your own basket”—she reached inside—“but you brought along a book of Mary Oliver poetry. I mean, come on. Are you even real?”
He was smart enough not to respond with anything more than a polite chuckle, but something inside Quinn expanded, the way your heart does only when the person you love honors the words another person has been gracious enough to write upon your soul.
She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “You remembered?”
His eyes warmed. “Of course I did. She’s one of your favorites. Now one of mine too.”
Just then, someone tapped the now-live microphone onstage, breaking the spell between them. A rail-thin little body stood on her tippy-toes to reach the mic and squeaked out, “Testing. Testing, one, two, three. Can everyone hear me?”
They all looked up in unison. Some of the audience started cheering.
“Woo-hoo!”
“Play some music!”
“School of Rock rules!”
“‘Freebird’!”
Quinn shook her head. “That same dude always screams ‘Freebird’ at these shows. And they never play it. It’s time to give up the dream.”
The girl onstage was undeterred, sporting an impish smile. No longer the shy mouse, she started talking again, and the band members walked onstage, taking their positions. Soon six teenagers and one tween girl were ripping steel on their guitars and pummeling the skins on their drum kits in beautiful rock ’n’ roll unison. And they were playing an old favorite.
Ryan, however, appeared confused. “What’s this song?”
Aiden polished off his wine. “You don’t know Jane’s Addiction? Please don’t make me feel any older than I already do.”
Ryan’s face was still blank, so his wife piped up. “It’s not his fault. My man was homeschooled and not allowed to watch television or listen to rock music growing up. He’s learning.”
Aiden handed Quinn a Tupperware container filled with treats he had picked up from the Magnolia Dessert Bar, sliced up into bite-sized pieces. She brought the container of soft Nutella crepes right up to her nose to take in its aromatic, pan-fried doughy goodness. “Ooh, I love this! And sweets for dinner? It feels wrong in all the right ways.”
He smiled again. “I know.”
“Ryan, come to a couple of School of Rock concerts and you’ll get all caught up on the musical canon of the late twentieth century in no time. They cover almost everything.”
It was true. In the time they had been eating and drinking, the band had already played Jane’s Addiction, Radiohead, Fiona Apple, and Duran Duran—and they weren’t done yet. Quinn scanned the crowd off to the side of the stage, which was buzzing with performers and school staff. Then she spotted someone unexpected, a man zeroing in on Rachel.
And whoa, whoever that guy was, Quinn wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been magically transported right off the big screen into their not-so-little town. He was too pretty for her taste, born with the chiseled jawline and sharp-angled cheekbones meant for shiny show posters and other two-dimensional virtual realities. Broad shoulders. Lustrous dark-brown hair. Whoever he was, it was obvious, even from a distance, he was attracted to Rachel. But then again, he was also checking out his own reflection in her sunglasses.
She couldn’t quite recall who he was, but there was something familiar about him. He kept positioning himself in Rachel’s dance space—enough for Quinn to notice her taking a few steps back—before Bash came over, wrapping one arm around Rachel’s shoulder while shaking the guy’s hand with the other.
Classic Sebastian “Bash” Caine maneuver—making his claim on his girl but doing it in such a way that the other guy could save face.
A strong arm now curled around Quinn. Aiden leaned close to her ear. “Should I be jealous?”
Quinn tore her gaze away from the stranger. “Never. Why?”
“You’ve been staring at Broadway for a solid five minutes.”
“Broadway?”
Aiden’s brows shot up. “You don’t know Chad Frivole?”
She did a quick memory scan. “Nope. Should I?”
He shrugged. “Not necessarily. I think he had already graduated by the time you got to high school. But Chad’s the local kid who made good. He just finished a hit Broadway show.”
Recognition ignited the lightbulb filaments over her head. “Ah, that’s who he is. There were a bunch of articles about him in the Washington Post and the New York Times after he won the Tony. I knew he looked familiar.”
“Wait a second,” Ryan’s eye rounded. “You read both papers?”
Aiden chuckled. “Uh, no, she reads three. She forgot to mention the Wall Street Journal.” He placed a quick kiss on her temple. “My girl likes to keep up on all aspects of the news.”
Leah sat up, stretching her neck to catch a glimpse. “Huh. I thought he’d be taller.”
Quinn agreed. “Objects in the mirror are often shorter than they appear.”
“All right, all right, all riiiight,” the lead singer drawled to the crowd, doing his best Matthew McConaughey impression. “That happens to be one of my favorite songs on our set list. Is everyone having a good time?”
The crowd cheered and screamed.
“Cool, cool. We want to thank the town of Vienna for having us out here tonight. It’s always good to come back home …”
Again, the crowd went crazy. It was easy to forget most of them were aging parents with federal government jobs.
“We’re going to switch gears now, because we happen to have a very special guest. Like … really, really special. He’s a huge star, raised right here in Vienna, but this man used to be me—I mean, he was the lead singer for House band and the All-Stars. Give it up for last year’s Tony Award winner for best lead actor in a musical for his performance in Shake the Roof Right Off—Chad Frivole!”
The prodigal celebrity walked onto the stage with something between a strut and a saunter, waving to the crowd with the perfect aw-shucks demeanor. He patted the teen singer on the shoulder.
“My mother couldn’t have given a better intro—thanks, man.”
The singer nodded in a trance before one of the school staff grabbed him by the sleeve to coax him off the stage.
Chad kept sprinkling out the charisma for free. “Y’all sure know how to welcome a guy home! Makes me wonder why I ever left. In fact, what would you think if I stayed a while?”
Collective suburbia lost their ever-loving minds. All the soccer moms clapped, bouncing up and down, a twenty-first-century Saint Vitus dance. Their unbridled enthusiasm earned them an even bigger grin from the town’s star.
The roars around Quinn grew deafening. She cursed under her breath for forgetting to bring her noise-cancelling headphones along. She’s always been sensitive to loud noises.
“Dear Lord, if these women start throwing their bras and panties at him, I am moving back to Southeast Asia.” Quinn stuck her pointer fingers in each ear.
Her boyfriend stared at the scene, shaking his head. “It’s like watching him spoon-feed catnip to a clowder of cats.”
He was right. What once had been a crowd of respectable citizens had now transfigured into something feral. And Chad was just getting warmed up.
He beamed a gleaming Oscar-worthy smile. “I cannot tell you how good it is to be back in my hometown, especially since Vienna’s School of Rock’s the place that gave me my start. If I wasn’t playing in a rock show, I was playing a solo acoustic set over at Jammin Java. If I wasn’t doing that, I was in one of Mr. Henderson’s productions at Madison High. This place made me, and I think it’s time to pay it forward.
“That’s why I’m stoked to announce I am opening a new theater company. I’m talking new plays, reinvented musicals … we’re going to change the future of theater as we know it!”
Leah clapped and shrieked at the same time. “Can you imagine? Our own theater company? What a fabulous thing to do for the town!”
Quinn smiled at Leah but leaned close to Aiden’s ear, keeping her voice down. “Actually, we already have one.”
“I know, the Vienna Theater Company. They’re great. My mom used to perform with them.”
Quinn stared, taking her fingers out of her ears. “She did? How did I not know this?”
He shrugged. “Before your time. Come to think of it, before my time.”
Quinn tried picturing Mrs. Harrington as a young thespian. “Why’d she stop?”
“I don’t know. Life got in the way, I guess.” He popped a gooey chocolate bite into his mouth, the thought melting away faster than the chocolate on his tongue.
The applause kicked back up, becoming even more deafening than before. Quinn covered her ears again, wishing she had her noise-canceling headphones with her. From what glimpses she could catch over the heads of the crowd, she could see Chad was basking in the warm glow of the local limelight, pacing back and forth onstage.
“Man, I cannot wait to bring a world-class theater company to this town. You deserve it, all of you. Imagine, being known for theater that means something. We’re going to bring reimagined productions of Shakespeare, Moliere, Williams, O’Neill. You and me, Vienna, we’re going all the way!”
That got the town’s favorite son another round of applause and whistles. Leah was fanning herself with a paperback copy of some young adult novel she must have brought with her.
But not everyone was singing Chad Frivole’s praises tonight. Close to Rachel and Bash on the sidelines was a trio of young women. Like MacBeth’s storied coven, they whispered curses under their breaths, their focus sharp as a dagger’s blade.
Even from afar, Quinn could spot the alpha of the group—a natural stunner, with something indiscernible behind her gaze.
Ella Diaz.
Heartbreaker. Short-tempered. A genius in the kitchen. She was a Michelin-star chef, a local gal who brought cuisine from the far corners of the globe back home.
Next to her was another beauty, Corri Rypka, a nurse practitioner who had served in the military until a bomb blast near her MASH unit took one of her legs from the knee down with it. Quinn had always thought she resembled Sarah Connor from those vintage Terminator movies—windswept blonde hair, sun-kissed cheeks, biceps sculpted out of granite.
The last one was never last in anything in her life: Senya Petrova.
She was a woman rumored to have a family lineage peppered with KBG spies, then CIA operatives after they defected to the United States. All before Senya was born, of course, but she hadn’t stepped too far from the Petrova Justice League: she was one of the best defense attorneys in Northern Virginia.
Quinn knew all of them—not well, but enough to know the three of them didn’t have much in common. “I’ve never understood why Ella, Corri, and Senya are tight, but they’ve been friends for years.”
Aiden studied them. “True, but you’re right, they’ve always been close friends, probably because of their differences. Opposites attract and all. That said, they did have something-or someone-in common—and he’s giving everyone quite a show.”
Leah tugged at Ryan. “Honey, do you mind if we get a little bit closer? I can hardly see Chad from way back here.”
Ryan glanced back and forth from where they were to the stage. “We’re only about thirty yards away. How much closer do you need to be?”
She blushed. “Just a little closer, honey.”
“You two go on,” Quinn insisted. “I want some alone time with my man anyway. You’d be doing us a favor.”
Leah mouthed thank you and dragged Ryan away before he had a chance to complain.
Aiden’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Finally, semi-alone at last.” He went in for the kiss. Quinn placed two fingers on his lips.
“Wait a second. What did you mean when you said they have Chad in common?”
He let out a grunt. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to let that comment go.”
“Indeed. Now explain.”
Aiden looked around and over his shoulder, but for once, no one could care a flying leap about him and Quinn—they were all mesmerized by Chad Frivole. Keeping his voice low, he said, “He dated each of them in high school—at different times, mind you, but still. And if memory serves, he broke up with all of them.”
“But that was years ago. No way they’d hold a grudge for this long.”
Aiden frowned, his eyes never leaving the huddle. “Usually you’d be right, but Chad didn’t just date them and break it off. He humiliated them. I don’t know what he’s like now, but back in the day, he had a big mouth and an even bigger ego. It’s one thing to harbor a broken heart in private, but it is quite another when half the town knows your business.”
Quinn sat there, gobsmacked. “How did I not know any of this?”
“Why would you? He’s five years older than you and hung with a different crowd. Plus people know better than to talk trash around you—you’ve never been into town gossip, thank Christ.”
Chad must have finished with his announcement, because everyone got to their feet for a standing ovation. Quinn started packing their stuff into the basket. “Perfect time to bolt before everyone leaves and the traffic gets backed up.”
“A girl after my own heart.” He hoisted the basket and blanket in one hand and grabbed her free one with the other. “Let’s get out of here.”
Aiden zigzagged through the crowd, Quinn’s short legs ramping up to a sprint to keep up with his long strides as he made his way toward Rachel and Bash to say good-bye. On the way they passed Chad’s ex-girlfriends, who were still talking among themselves but doing it loud enough for her to catch some of their words:
“That weasel made a big mistake coming back here. I told him he’d be sorry if I ever saw him again.”
“You’re not the only one,” Corri growled.
Senya’s face turned beet red. “He’s a plague upon this town.”
Ella didn’t even try to keep her voice down. “He may think there’s no place like home, but this here’s not his home. Not anymore. He needs to go—and never ever even think of coming back.”
Chapter Two
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
—Shakespeare’s Macbeth
Before she became Sister Daria, when she was just the scrappy girl everyone knew as Elizabeth “Lizzy” Caine, she was obsessed with all things The Sound of Music, which everyone—including Lizzy herself—thought off-brand. She was the kid with the sweaty mess of hair and scabbed-over knees who’d zoom past you on her skateboard and flip you the bird if you got in her way. Back then, Lizzy didn’t even like going to church, because why be stuck inside when you could be whacking a softball out of the park or knocking a bully off his feet?
But then again, Fräulein Maria didn’t start off as Baronin von Trapp either. People change, usually in ways they could never have anticipated. Sister Maria began as an abbey outcast, annoying the older nuns like it was her God-appointed job to do so. Lizzy could still remember watching The Sound of Music with her parents, singing along with Julie Andrews about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, thinking, Thank you, Jesus, no one can see me now. She’d lose all her street cred, which, in hindsight, was ludicrous: she was from a tony suburb outside of Washington, DC.
But years later, when she became obsessed with BBC’s Call the Midwife, it dawned on Lizzy that the crux of her favorite musical’s appeal didn’t reside in Dame Julie Andrews’s sonorous pipes or how the hills were alive with the sound of music. Elizabeth was wholly transfixed by the tenacious, enigmatic spirit of the nuns and the religious orders in which they served.
And who could blame her? They might have been solely devoted to the son of God, but that didn’t mean they were meek church mice: these ladies had moxie and took care of their own. An apt example was the nuns of Nonnberg Abbey. They certainly high-fived each other when they married off Governess Maria, but there was no way they were going to let the Nazis get to her and her new brood, even stealing car parts to make sure they couldn’t go after the von Trapps. Saving their lives was totally worth the extra Hail Marys.
And what about the sisters of Saint Raymond Nonnatus? Pedaling their little hearts out around Poplar, London, alabaster wimples flapping like dove wings in the breeze as they brought new life into the world. The only comparative that came close, from Elizabeth Caine’s perspective, was social worker pioneer Jane Addams and her girl gang at Hull-House, who lived among the immigrants on the West Side of Chicago during the early part of the twentieth century. They weren’t perfect, by any means: a bevy of middle-class, white women who assumed they knew best and inserted themselves into spaces they weren’t invited-a tradition kept alive and unwell into present day. But Lizzy still adored them. They dared to live their lives outside the comforts and expectations of their prescribed roles. It was no wonder her heroes growing up were Jesus, Jane Addams, and Henry Rollins. In that order.
