Deadly Harmony

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by Marissa Shrock


  I put on my robe and slippers and hightailed it to the kitchen where I set chocolate chip grocery store muffins, milk, and juice on the island. No doubt Brandi had made omelets or a fancy casserole, but my guests wouldn’t want me to cook. Continental breakfast was safer for all concerned. They weren’t even getting muffins from Pastry Delight, because even before Taryn’s date with Cal, she’d made me mad enough I’d boycotted her shop.

  While I waited for Brandi to finish investigating, I let Gus outside, and he took care of business quickly and scrambled back inside. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

  “Georgia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The girls haven’t heard, but none of them acted surprised Quincy disappeared.”

  “Why?” I cracked open the plastic muffin container.

  “The girls just looked at each other when I asked. Taylor mentioned Quincy had never even talked to her. They all checked social media but came up empty. Dani said she’d heard Quincy likes to bend the rules.”

  “Thanks for asking.”

  “No problem. Keep me posted.”

  We disconnected, and I went upstairs to search for clues in the guest room. Quincy’s suitcase yawned open on the floor with a pair of jeans and a sweater crumpled on top. She’d tossed her chorale dress on the chair in the corner. My navy comforter was puddled on the floor next to the bed, and the matching curtain fluttered as chilly air streamed in. I shut the window and rubbed my arms. The heat wave was long gone.

  Bending next to the suitcase, I poked around. Plenty of clothes, underwear, and shoes. A cosmetic bag. I tried to remember what Quincy had brought with her the night before.

  She’d carried a backpack, but she must’ve taken it.

  Buzzzz. Buzzzz.

  The suitcase vibrated. Quincy had left her phone? Sure enough, I found it stashed in the front pocket, which seemed strange. Why not keep it out for easy access?

  I sat back on the floor with a sigh. Quincy had been glued to her device the night before, so it was weird she’d leave without it. I pressed the home button and pumped my fist when I didn’t need a passcode.

  There were messages and missed calls from Ava, as well as Sammi and Makayla. Though guilt pricked my conscience, I checked Quincy’s other messages. I figured that a girl who borrowed my car without asking surrendered her right to privacy.

  Everything was typical—plans to see movies, questions about class assignments, texts from her mom and grandma checking on her—except there were no messages or recent calls to or from Jonas . . . or any other contact who appeared to be a boyfriend.

  Weird. Apparently, they used something else to communicate.

  Makayla opened the door to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that separated the guest room from my old bedroom. “Is that Quincy’s?” She knelt next to me.

  “Yep. I’ve been nosing around.”

  “I can’t believe she left without it.”

  “I know.” I tipped it so she could see. “It’s also strange that there aren’t any texts or calls to Jonas, even though his name is listed in her contacts.”

  “They used Snapchat a lot.”

  I handed her the phone. “Be my sidekick and look into that for me. I know nothing about Snapchat.” After her brothers had helped me with a case a couple of months earlier, she’d whined about wanting a turn to assist me.

  Funny how things were working out.

  Her expression grew serious as she investigated. “This is super weird.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t figure I’d find anything helpful since snaps disappear, but I was expecting Quincy to have a streak with Jonas.”

  I must’ve looked dumbfounded, because she grinned.

  “A streak is when you snap someone within twenty-four hours for more than three days in a row. It’s a big deal to break a streak. They had a good one going—for a while anyway.”

  Not knowing this information made me feel very old. “Even if she and Jonas used Snapchat regularly, isn’t it weird she doesn’t have any texts or calls from him?”

  “Super weird.”

  “Maybe they broke up, and she deleted his old messages?”

  Makayla wrinkled her brow. “They were sitting together on the bus yesterday, and she never mentioned a breakup to me.” She set the phone on the dresser, and her own phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her shoulders slumping. “Jonas hasn’t heard from her either. I guess I should ask him if they’re still—”

  My doorbell chimed. Gus woofed and scampered for the front door. Makayla and I looked at each other.

  “That better be Quincy,” I said.

  With Makayla at my heels, I tightened my robe and hurried downstairs where Gus circled in the foyer. Since it was still dark, I flipped on the porchlights.

  Peering out the sidelight, I gasped. Cal?

  “Ohmygoodness. What’s he doing here?” Makayla whispered. “Do you think he knows about Quincy?”

  That wouldn’t be good. “I sure hope not.” My stomach tightened. What if someone had found Quincy’s body? I swiped at the mascara remnants that I was sure were under my eyes, threw the door open, and braced myself for bad news.

  “Good morning.” My heart blipped—just a teeny bit—at the sight of him.

  “Morning.” Cal didn’t smile.

  Did I detect a hint of relief in his expression? He wore running shorts and a fitted, reflective shirt that showed the muscles in his chest. Clearly, he wasn’t on the clock.

  And merciful heavens, he looked good.

  Refusing to linger on the thought, I gripped the door frame and met his blue eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I found your Grand Prix abandoned at Fillmore Cemetery.”

  Chapter Three

  Sammi rushed downstairs to the foyer. Cal peeked inside my house as the girls huddled together.

  “Come in.” With a clenching stomach, I stepped aside so he could enter.

  He patted Gus on the head and surveyed the three of us. “What’s going on?”

  “Cal, you remember Makayla.” I closed the door.

  “Nice to see you.” His dimple made a cameo before vanishing.

  She flashed a half smile as she patted Sammi’s back.

  “This is Sammi Cardwell. They’re traveling with the Brenneman University Chorale and stayed with me last night—along with their friend Quincy Ashbrook who stole my car sometime after midnight.”

  “We just figured it out this morning.” Sammi sniffed, raised her head, and gaped at Cal—probably the same way I’d looked at His Handsomeness when we’d first met. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” He eyed me as if he were trying to decide what to say next.

  I figured he was wondering how I always managed to get myself in such messes, and it would be a legitimate question. This was what I got for trying to be hospitable.

  “For the last half hour or so, I’ve been hoping Quincy borrowed my car and would be back before I have to take them to the church at eight. Now that you found the car, and we know she’s really missing . . .” I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Please help us.”

  I didn’t even care that I sounded pathetic.

  “Of course. No problem.” He rested his hand on my arm.

  I hated that his touch was reassuring—and made my heart flutter. Focus. “Was there any blood or a sign of a struggle in the car?”

  “Not that I could see,” he said. “Your car was locked and parked between the road and the fence, but something didn’t feel right, so I stopped to look and didn’t see anyone.”

  I shivered at the thought of the creepy old cemetery.

  “That’s when I ran over here to check on you.” His sexy, resonant voice held a note of concern.

  “Thanks.” I hated the surge of hope that insisted on worming its way into my broken heart. He was an off-duty officer of the law doing his best to protect the community. I studied my fluffy gray slippers. “What should we do?” My brain swam as I tried to piece together an actio
n plan.

  “I have a few questions for Sammi and Makayla,” Cal said.

  “I’ll tell you what I can.” Sammi tugged the hem of her yellow peasant blouse. “But I don’t know Quincy as well as Makayla, so she’ll be more help.”

  “That’s fine.” Cal turned to Makayla. “How old is Quincy?”

  “Twenty.” She dropped onto the bench, and Sammi joined her.

  “Has she seemed depressed or upset about anything lately?”

  “No.”

  “Has she ever talked about hurting herself?”

  “No.”

  “Does she have a problem with drugs or alcohol?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Interesting how Makayla had left the door open on that answer.

  “Does she ever use drugs?”

  Makayla studied her brown ankle booties. “Possibly. But never in front of me.”

  “Has she ever mentioned running away?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “She did say she’d rather be at the beach in Florida than on our tour.” Sammi looked as if it pained her to say anything negative about Quincy.

  Makayla nodded. “She mentioned the same thing to me more than once, but I figured she was just complaining. I didn’t take her seriously.

  “I see.” Cal glanced at me. “I’d like to get a look inside your car.” I could tell he wanted to say more but was holding back.

  “Good idea.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “We can stop there on the way to the church.”

  “Actually, it would be best if you gave me your spare keys, and I—”

  “I’ll hurry and get dressed, and we’ll all go. Makayla and Sammi, pack up Quincy’s things, and give Cal her phone. He might find something we missed.”

  Cal sighed. “Yes. Bring me her phone.”

  “On it.” Makayla said as they darted upstairs.

  I hurried to my bedroom, praying an inspection of my car would tell us something helpful, because I wasn’t looking forward to breaking this news to Dr. Jackson.

  The cemetery was located roughly two miles north of my house at the edge of a large wooded area. Floyd Fillmore had made his fortune during the natural gas boom of the 1880s and had longed to be buried on a piece of land his granddaddy had owned. With his newfound wealth, he’d purchased the land and created the burial ground. Beginning with Floyd, members of the wealthy Fillmore clan had buried their dead here for most of the late eighteen and early nineteen hundreds.

  The Wildcat Springs History Museum had recently paid to refurbish the headstones, but the place had always creeped me out because of the massive weeping willow lurking over the graves and the pretentious wrought iron fence. Not to mention, Floyd’s massive, angel-shaped monument in the center towered above the other markers as if it were keeping guard.

  Hints of pink-streaked daylight brightened the horizon as I parked my truck on the edge of the gravel path leading to the gate, and Cal, Makayla, Sammi, and I got out. Cal donned disposable gloves that I supplied from the first aid kit in my truck—just in case this turned out to be more than a bored college student running away. Then, he took my spare keys and flashlight and unlocked my old silver coupe.

  While he inspected the car, we watched as the wind whipped around us. The willow tree’s branches swung in time with the gusts. The raw, overcast morning made me wish for yesterday’s beautiful weather.

  Cal bent next to the driver’s seat. When he stood, he held up a brown paper napkin so we could see. “Take a look.”

  We huddled around him and read the note scrawled on the napkin.

  Georgia,

  I’m sorry I borrowed your car, but I figured it’d be okay locked up in the sticks. Mak and Sammi, something came up that I have to take care of, so I’ve got to go. Don’t worry about me. I’m totally fine and will be back when school starts. Tell Dr. J. I’m sorry about the tour.

  Q

  “Is this Quincy’s handwriting?” I snapped a picture of it.

  Makayla studied the note. “Definitely.”

  Cal put the note back in the car before popping the trunk and inspecting it.

  Sammi’s eyes were wide. “What if someone made her write it?”

  “It’s possible.” My gut screamed no. “But her tone is casual. Almost flippant. Does she always sign her notes Q?”

  “Yeah. That’s typical, so she’s not communicating a hidden message.” Makayla shoved her hands in her vinyl raincoat. “In fact, the whole note sounds like normal Quincy. Everything is always all about her.” She snapped her mouth shut and pulled up her hood.

  “I can’t believe she’d do this to us—and to Dr. J.” Sammi fiddled with her trench coat belt.

  “I don’t want to be around when he finds out,” Makayla murmured.

  “Now this is interesting.” Cal held up a pink leather wallet with a single key dangling from it.

  “That’s Quincy’s,” Makayla said.

  Cal examined the contents. “Her student ID. Two credit cards. And her driver’s license. No cash.” He slipped the cards out and glanced at them. “Did she have cash with her?”

  “Yes. A whole wad.” Makayla rolled her eyes. “Before we left Brenneman, we made a gas-station run to get gummy bears. When she was paying, she dropped a hundred-dollar bill. I told her she needed to be careful carrying that much money.”

  “Does she have a fake ID?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Interesting question.

  He shoved the cards into the wallet and looked back and forth between Sammi and Makayla. “Ladies, if there’s anything you’re not telling me, now’s the time to share.”

  Sammi shook her head.

  Makayla shuffled her feet against the gravel and heaved a sigh. “Last year when we were in London during our spring break tour, Quincy snuck out of our bed and breakfast to meet her boyfriend Jonas at a pub.” Makayla brushed her hair out of her face. “Even though they were the legal age in the UK, Brenneman makes us sign a conduct pledge that says we won’t drink.”

  I crossed my arms. I wasn’t thrilled that my stepsister had lied, but I’d deal with that later.

  Makayla shifted. “She would’ve been happier at a school without so many rules, but both of her parents are Brenneman grads—and big donors. I don’t think they gave her a choice when it came to college. I’ve kept being her roommate because I want to be a good example, and she can be a lot of fun, but . . .”

  “This isn’t how most Brenneman students act,” Sammi added quickly. “None of us are perfect, but most of us want to serve and honor God.” She shot a nervous smile in Cal’s direction.

  “I know,” he said. “My cousin Kelsey went there and is working as a missionary nurse in Ethiopia.”

  I chewed my lip, surveyed the graveyard, and considered everything that’d happened. “It’s almost like Quincy came here to meet somebody but intended to return. Otherwise, she could’ve left her wallet at my house with her phone and suitcase if she was planning to run away.” I walked around my car. “She learned something that changed her mind and made her leave with the mystery person. She found what she could to write the note, and the napkin fluttered off the seat when she closed the door.” I stopped and looked at Cal. “What do you think?”

  “That’s plausible. Right now, I’m not seeing any evidence that she was taken against her will. Sometimes adults leave and don’t want anyone to find them.”

  When Dr. Jackson studied the picture of Quincy’s note on my phone, his pudgy face turned a purplish red, and he reminded me of a cartoon character with steam spewing from his ears.

  “How did you allow this to happen?” His crisp voice sliced through the high-ceilinged chapel as he directed a scowl at me.

  The chattering in the room died off, and the students and hosts in the room turned to stare. As if they’d anticipated Dr. Jackson’s reaction, Makayla and Sammi had taken refuge in the restroom.

  Cal edged closer to my side.

  �
�How?” My face heated as I gripped the back of a pew. “I opened my home to one of your students who, of her own free will, chose to sneak out and borrow my car without permission.” I wasn’t going to let this man intimidate me—I’d dealt with arrogant professors like him before. I flipped my braid over my shoulder and stared at him. “This wasn’t the type of behavior I was expecting when I agreed to host college students.”

  He flinched and tugged his collar. “Yes. My apologies. This sort of nonsense isn’t what I expect from my students, and I can assure you we’ve never had an incident like this before,” he sputtered. “If the note you found is genuine, then Miss Ashbrook has committed a serious act that will involve discipline from school administration. If she wrote the note under duress, then my primary concern is her well-being.”

  “Ours too.” I motioned to Cal. “This is Detective Calvin Perkins from the Richard County Sheriff’s Department. When he was out running, he found my car abandoned at Fillmore Cemetery.”

  Cal shook Dr. Jackson’s hand. “You’re free to file a missing person report at any time—if you feel she’s in danger.”

  Dr. Jackson glanced at my phone and then back up at Cal. “Have you found evidence that this disappearing act wasn’t Miss Ashbrook’s idea?”

  “No, sir,” Cal said.

  “We’ve made commitments to churches to come and perform, and a great deal of time and energy has gone into planning this tour.” Dr. Jackson looked at the ceiling. “Yet I want to make sure Miss Ashbrook is safe.” He handed me my phone.

  “I understand, sir.” Cal said. “I’m sure you’ll want to contact her parents and let them know what’s happened. They can decide if they want to file a report.”

  “Yes. That makes sense. They’re very hands on and will want to be involved.” The purple hue in his face receded. “I’ll consult university administration to decide whether or not to continue with our tour.”

  “That’s wise.” Cal removed his phone from his pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask a few questions about Quincy before you make your calls.”

  “Certainly,” Dr. Jackson said.

 

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