A midsummer nights schem.., p.8
A Midsummer Night's Scheme, page 8
“Someone maneuvered a sackful of poisonous snakes into his car and rigged the doors so he couldn’t escape,” Aiden explained. “He sustained over thirty bites from seven snakes.”
Quinn could tell by the expression on Mr. Fitzsimmons’s face that the news wasn’t sinking in.
“But we’re in talks for another Broadway run. It’s the part of a lifetime. We’ve got Julie Taymor directing!”
Daria cleared her throat. “Mr. Fitzsimmons, Chad made an announcement just last night that he was going to start a theater company here in Vienna.”
“I don’t know what he promised anyone around here, but believe me, his theater company was never going to happen.”
Everyone in the room was quiet, not knowing how to respond.
“Are you … are you absolutely sure he’s dead?”
“’Fraid so,” Aiden answered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Chad is … well, was … my absolute favorite client. I had such plans for him. Did you know we were in talks for him to star in the movie version of his last show?”
Aiden gave Quinn a brief side-eye. “Uh, no. We didn’t.”
His manager scanned the room. “Don’t misunderstand me. I cared for Chad. He was like a brother to me.”
Daria crossed her arms in front of her. “Which brother—Cain or Abel?”
Quinn coughed to cover her laugh.
Mr. Fitzsimmons sniffed. “Who are you, and why are you here in my client’s house?”
Daria lifted the cat carrier. “We were asked to collect and rehome your client’s kitty cat. But since you two were so close, maybe you should take her?”
“Uh, no, I just got into a co-op in SoHo. The co-op. Very exclusive. No pets. Steve Martin lives there. So does Donna Karan.”
Quinn turned to Aiden. “Guess that makes me a new cat mamma. We’re out of here.”
She grabbed the food bowls and the pet carrier and, followed by Daria and RBG, walked out of Chad’s home. She left Cindy Clawford’s monogrammed chaise longue behind because, though she might not know a lot about cats, she figured they were a lot like little kids—more interested in the box than the toy. The cat would soon find her preferred spots in Quinn’s tiny farmhouse.
Chad’s manager made sure to give them a wide berth as they passed. No love lost there.
As soon as they got outside, Daria commented, “Wow, that was weird.”
“I know, right? That guy is a real piece of work.”
Daria walked in step with Quinn. “If that’s the kind of people Chad had to deal with, no wonder he wanted to come home so badly.”
“Seriously.”
Quinn opened the passenger door. As soon as RBG settled in, Quinn clipped her belt and placed the cat in the bag inside as well. Ms. Clawford was caterwauling like a captured banshee—until her dog rested her paw on top of the carrier, her nose against the netted side panel. Quinn turned to Daria. “Do you see what’s happening right now?”
Her cousin offered a crooked grin. “Oh, I haven’t missed a thing. It’s hilarious. Seems your girl wanted a baby of her own—and now she’s got one.”
Quinn rolled her eyes.
“Should’ve let her mate with Rueger,” Daria mused. “They would have had the most adorable pups.”
“No, thanks. One dog’s enough for me. Anyway, hop in. I’ll drop you off on my way home.”
Daria’s hands were resting on her hips, a glazed stare leading nowhere special.
“That guy in there may be a big glitter bomb of pomposity, but no way would he kill off his meal ticket. I hate to say it, but I think the killer is someone from here—and she may have visited the abbey earlier today.”
Quinn’s knuckles whitened, her grip tightening around her keys. “What do you mean?”
Daria shared the impromptu quasi-confession she had overheard earlier. “Whoever she is, we can’t assume she worked alone. Think about it: how long was Chad at Ms. Sarah’s dog bakery—maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?”
“Yeah, about that.” Quinn closed the passenger door of her truck. “If he had locked the car doors like he thought, then whoever broke in knew what they were doing. They had to break in, stow the snakes, and have time to jam both car doors—all without being seen.”
“Well, we don’t know if the killer was seen, or if there are cameras around that part of Church Street. Aiden would know.”
“Don’t count on him spilling anything,” Quinn grumbled. “Except for asking us to come to retrieve Chad’s familiar, Aid isn’t going to let either of us near this case.”
Daria grimaced. “I get it. But c’mon—that’s quite a risk to take. Church Street’s busy. Whoever broke in also needed time to sabotage the locks so he couldn’t escape the car later.”
The blood drained from Quinn’s face. “Which is why, maybe, you send a friend inside to distract Chad long enough to get the work done.”
“C’mon, Senya has a temper, but no way she’s an accomplice to murder.”
Quinn agreed. Senya was beautiful and smart and had a flair for drama, but her cousin was spot-on. No way would she kill Chad over being dumped fifteen years ago.
At least she hoped so.
“Perhaps Senya didn’t think what she was doing would lead to his death. Maybe the person who did the actual dirty work only told her enough to make her think she was in on a prank, not a coup d'etat.”
Daria sighed. “Or maybe it was Senya’s plan all along. She’s one of the top lawyers in the state. Who better to break the law than the person sworn to uphold it?”
Chapter Six
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.
—Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing
“Welcome to Guinefort House’s very first emotional support training class for dogs. I’m Sister Daria. You can call me Sister D, if you’re feeling sassy.”
Her small funny, an attempt to break the ice, usually cracked a smile. But there were so many people and dogs chattering away, they missed her opening act.
“We should’ve worn our penguin outfits.”
Sister Theresa was correct, and even though Sister Lucy wasn’t one for words, the expression on her face conveyed her agreement.
“I didn’t want us to sweat off five pounds before lunch.” Daria swatted the gnats out of her eyes. “Well, considering this is a completely voluntary endeavor, I had thought they wouldn’t need the usual scare tactics.”
“Ha! Rookie mistake.” Sister Theresa surveyed the group. “This bunch’s soft. Need a firm hand.”
“Corporal punishment is illegal. You’re going to have to find new methods to scare people.”
The corner of Sister Theresa’s mouth twitched. “Surprised you’ve got this much spunk this early in the morning. Usually takes two cups to get a coherent sentence out of you.”
Studying her shoes, Sister Lucy tittered. “She speaks the truth.”
Daria gave a playful elbowing. “Well, good morning to you too. Glad you’ve come for the whole show.”
“Happy to oblige.” Sister Lucy perked up just enough for Daria to catch a glimmer of humor there. She was shy, but Sister Lucy appreciated smooth, dry wit.
And with that, she shoved the shiny whistle hanging around her neck into her mouth—and blew. Loud enough for the whole class to startle before going quiet.
“There’s the stuff!” Sister Theresa cackled, slapping her thighs.
Daria took a step forward. “Good morning! Let’s try this again. I am Sister Daria, and welcome to our first class on emotional support animal training. I assume you all are here because you actually want to be here and are looking for some additional emotional support from your beautiful dog babies.”
“Let’s be honest,” Sister Theresa chimed in, “you want to be able to take Appletini or Maple Bottom, or whatever highfalutin names you’re using these days, to places dogs really have no business going to, but hey, I’m seventy-eight. I’ve lived through the sixties, hair metal, and one too many Riverdance performances, so live and let live, I say.”
One thing Daria could attest to: being part of this Order was never boring. “And with that, allow me to introduce Sister Theresa. Don’t let her gruff manner and humor scare you.”
“Actually, I’ve been told I can be quite charming. Inspire me, and you’ll see it for yourselves.”
The only person to ever have told Sister Theresa she was charming was Daria’s cousin—last spring when she had been invited to dinner at the abbey. Daria loved Quinn like a sister, but yeesh, what a kiss-up.
Sister Daria clapped her hands together. “Okay, why don’t we go around and—”
Cutting her off midsentence was a noisy flash of shimmery chrome and glass. A blue Mustang GT convertible skidded fast around the corner, barreling down their street and screeching to a halt in front of the abbey. Then a young woman popped out of the driver’s side.
“Hold up! I’ll be right there!” She slammed her door and ran to the other side of the car, retrieving the cutest English bulldog pup. Cradling her dog to her bosom like a newborn baby, she jogged over.
“So sorry I’m late! We’re here! We’re here!”
She went to the end of the line, placing her dog down on the grass like her pup was made of eggshells. “Okay, no more interruptions. Promise!”
Daria didn’t mind her tardiness because she was too busy taking in the woman’s navy-blue scrubs and grown-out roots. It was the same woman from a week ago, the one who had come to Sister Theresa a wreck over Chad Frivole’s death.
Well, if she’s the killer, she seems well over it now.
“No worries,” Daria answered, trying to sound casual. “We were just about to go around the group and have y’all introduce yourselves and tell us what specifically compelled you to sign up for this class. Why don’t you start?”
The woman’s face brightened. “Oh, sure! Well, I’m Corri Rypka, and this precious girl is Queen E. Can you tell I’m kind of an Anglophile?”
Sure enough, the Queen was sporting a Union Jack collar with a rhinestone-encrusted tag in the shape of a crown. “Anyway, I’ve always been a dog lover, but because of my hours at the hospital, I’ve never felt right keeping one, but recently I got a new roommate, and she works from home—and she adores dogs as much as I do, so here we are!”
“That’s great,” Daria offered. “And why this class?”
She hadn’t planned on asking everyone why they had signed up, but Daria couldn’t let the opportunity go by without at least trying to find out more about Corri’s possible involvement in Chad’s murder. Quinn might have promised not to poke around a new investigation, but Daria sure hadn’t.
“Oh, right! Well, I’m a nurse practitioner ER nurse and I love my job, but it can be super stressful, so knowing I can come home to her, well, it’s really helped me. I also love traveling, and I want Queen E to be able to go with me.”
What were you expecting, a confession? For her to say, “Oh, yeah, after hooking up with my ex, who treated me like a heaping pile of donkey dung, me and my accomplice—probably Senya—devised a super-clever plan for murdering him; we should get extra credit for the snake handling—in broad daylight, no less”?
“That’s great.” Daria faked a smile while her attention went to the next student. “Now, what about you?”
The rest of the class rolled on without incident. Since there were so many students, Daria and her sisters worked up a sweat even without their weighty habits on. What surprised her most was that she had lived here her whole life and hadn’t known any of her students before today. Either this town’s population was going through a mighty growth spurt or more people were living under the radar than she realized.
“Yoo-hoo, Sister Daria! Telephone for you!”
It was her roommate, Sister Cecilia—or Sister Ceci, as she preferred—calling to her from the abbey entrance. Good timing, since class was over anyway.
“We’ll tidy up,” Sister Lucy offered. “Go take your call.”
Before leaving, Daria noticed Sister Theresa making a beeline for Corri, who had stayed behind while everyone else was scattering back to their cars. All through class, her colleague hadn’t shown any sign of even knowing Corri, but it was obvious Sister Theresa had a genuine fondness for the young woman. Daria couldn’t help but wonder how they knew each other.
She walked into the house, closing the door behind her, surprised to find Sister Ceci talking on the phone. Ceci held up a finger, signaling Daria to wait. Usually her roommate was easy to read, but for the first time in, well, ever, Daria couldn’t decipher her manner, except that someone was talking her ear off and making her hazel eyes grow wide as an owl’s.
“Uh-huh … yes, absolutely. Okay, I’ll tell her … I promise. Bye.”
Sister Cecilia hung up the phone, and Daria was confused.
“What just happened?”
Ceci chewed the corner of her lip. “That was your aunt Adele. She said tonight is an emergency Caine family meeting.”
Daria’s stomach churned, a blooming sour taste coating the inside of her mouth. “Did she say what it was about?”
Her roommate scrunched her shoulders up to her earlobes. “She said she couldn’t get into it over the phone.”
“Wait a sec, my aunt called and then said she had to go? I don’t understand.”
“I got the impression that, while she was waiting for you to come to the phone, it started getting busy. It sounded like they were at the bookshop.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Who knows. Anyway, her exact words were ‘make sure you tell my niece to come over.’ Oh, and this was the most important part—she said, ‘Don’t forget to tell her to wear her habit, with the cross we gave her for confirmation. We’re going to need all the reinforcements we can get.’”
Chapter Seven
O Romeo, Romeo,
wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name,
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
—Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet
Two strong, muscled arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling Quinn close, even though she was armed and dangerous. “Good thing I know it’s you, or I’d be using this needle as a deadly weapon.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Aiden rested his chin on her shoulder, peering down at her working hands. “I thought you just made a bunch of those.”
He was talking about the small, handmade, recycled Moroccan leather notebooks Quinn designed and hand stitched especially for Prose & Scones. “I did. They sold out in two days.” She pulled the thread through the middle of the pages, making a saddle stitch. “I thought the price point would’ve slowed the sales. They’re not cheap.”
“People around here know when they’ve found something special.”
He gave her a feather-light kiss on the nape of her neck, Aiden’s way of letting her know he was talking about more than notebooks. She wanted to bask in moments like these, allow the euphoric rush of everything Aiden wash over her. But there was no time, especially today.
“You can’t hide back here forever.”
Quinn let out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, really? Watch me.”
He hugged her tight. “I hear you, babe, except you’re forgetting one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Aiden released her. “Your brother needs you right now. They both do.”
He was right, of course. Her stomach churned, making a loud, echoing grumbly sound. “Great, now I’ve got the collywobbles.”
He let out a soft laugh. “Do I even want to know what that is?”
Quinn grabbed another restoration project she was working on, an English novel from the mid-nineteenth century. “It’s an old word, meaning I’ve got butterflies in my stomach, but not the fluttery, romantic kind—the ones that usually accompany a trip to the bathroom.”
“Difference noted. Thanks for the image.”
She smirked. “You’re welcome. I’m a giver. Anyway, as I was saying, I read it while repairing this book for the Freeman House. They want it fixed so they can display it for their Christmas exhibit in a few months. It’s really quite lovely.” She turned around to face him, book in hand. “See this laced-case binding? It’s not the sturdiest of designs, but whoever bound this beauty was either French or was trained by the French, because they added this wide strip of vellum with an extra paper spine inlay. Only the French—and maybe the Germans—ever reinforced their work that way, at least during that time.”
His eyes crinkled with his grin. “Lace-case bindings really do it for me too.”
She narrowed her gaze, pretending to be annoyed. “You mock my bindings, but there’s more to this book than meets the eye.”
“Of course there is. Go on …”
She turned the pages in a slow rhythm. “What makes this book so special is how generations of women in this family wrote their impressions of the story in the margins as they read along. Some are even dated. This is going to be a great addition to the exhibit.”
The Freeman House was one of Vienna’s most adored historic landmarks, not just because they sold old-fashioned toys and candies but also because they curated unique exhibits highlighting local history, relating them to national events.
“Supposedly, the author had a secret love affair with a local woman, Elizabeth van Laer—with their whole courtship occurring over Christmas right here in Vienna. She rebuffed him for another, and he went back to England, never to marry. Isn’t that heartbreaking?”
Aiden gave a patient smile. “It is.”
“I actually read the whole novel, something I don’t usually have time for. I couldn’t put it down. It reads like a roller coaster ride: the slow build of getting to know each other, the rush of falling in love … and just when you think you’re about to witness the most charming proposal, she turns him down. Doesn’t even pause for the sake of decorum. And as she gives her reasons, you realize how utterly unreliable the narrator has been throughout their courtship. How one-sided the whole ‘affair’ turned out to be. Scary how men mistake basic kindness and friendship for affection. Isn’t that an interesting take on a love story? So unusual for the era, if you ask me.”
