Deadly Harmony

by Marissa Shrock

  “My mom liked this song.” She turned up the volume and sang along.

  I let her go because I wasn’t going to mess with the mom card. Still, it wasn’t a good sign that Makayla felt the need to defend Elias. She could sing all she wanted, but she was only delaying the inevitable question from me.

  The song ended, and I jabbed the radio’s power button. “I need you to be straight with me about something.”

  “Fine.”

  “Was Elias ever more than a professor to you?” I set my jaw.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Because if you’re not going to be honest, this investigation ends now, and you can go stay with one of your brothers.” I peeked at her out of the corner of my eye.

  She gazed out the window. “I may have a little crush that’s influencing my judgment. But Dr. Kurtz always acted professional with me. I loved taking lessons from him, and I was sad when he didn’t come back this year.” Her tone had lost the defensive edge. “That’s it.”

  “Okay. We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and look at other angles.” For now. I glanced in the rearview mirror. “Was Elias more popular than Dr. Jackson?”

  “Yes. Dr. Jackson’s nice, but he’s super stuffy. Dr. Kurtz is ten times more personable—and approachable. I can see why Dr. Jackson felt threatened.”

  “But their feud doesn’t help us know what happened to Quincy.” I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel. “When did she start dating Jonas?”

  “They got together after a pick-a-date the fall of our freshman year. He was a sophomore.”

  “What’s a pick-a-date?”

  “What it sounds like. Someone in your dorm plans a big group activity, and you ask a guy to be your date. Freshman year, our floor did a murder mystery dinner. Quincy had hit it off with Jonas, so she chose him.”

  “And you?”

  Makayla sighed. “I asked Jonas’s friend Micah because Quincy and I thought the guys could stick together if it didn’t go well.” She wrinkled her nose. “It did. For Quincy and Jonas. Micah is a nice guy, but I couldn’t get past his 1980s aviator glasses.”

  “But you like vintage.”

  “That’s one trend that needs to stay dead.” She gagged.

  “Amen. Is Micah in chorale?”

  “No, but he’s in a band with Jonas.” She smoothed her skirt. “Speaking of Jonas. You know something weird that I hadn’t realized until tonight?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Quincy’s been selling Tune supplements since freshman year, but I always thought Jonas recruited her—I had no idea it was Dr. Kurtz.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “No. I just assumed since Jonas sells it too. I never asked a lot of questions, and she didn’t bug me after I wouldn’t buy.”

  We rode a few miles in silence.

  “Would you be willing to take me to Brenneman tomorrow after church so I can get my car?” Makayla asked.

  “You mean you don’t want me to chauffer you around for the next week?”

  “Um, no. But I was also thinking I could look around our room to see if Quincy left any clues.”

  I smothered a grin. “That trip could be arranged as long as you keep your promise to be honest with me.”

  “No problem. You’re way more fun than I realized.”

  Gee. Thanks.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday morning, I was pouring a cup of coffee when Makayla shuffled into the kitchen.

  “They cancelled the chorale tour.” She yawned and pointed to her phone. “Sammi texted late last night, but I didn’t see it until I woke up.”

  Gus walked over and rubbed his nose against her hibiscus-print pajama bottoms.

  I dumped some creamer into my owl mug and stirred. “Did she give any other details?” I had a pretty good idea Stuart Ashbrook was behind the change of plans.

  “University administration decided it was in the best interest out of respect for Quincy’s family.” She patted Gus’s head. “Which, roughly translated means, ‘We don’t want to tick off one of our rich donors.’”

  I tossed my spoon in the sink. “Quincy’s parents implied they’re not wealthy.”

  “Mr. Ashbrook said they’re comfortable.” She made air quotes. “Don’t you know that’s rich-people code for loaded?”

  “A lot of people might say that about our family.”

  “Sure. Dad does well, but Quincy’s family is on a whole other level. They have a live-in maid, and they take fancy vacations. Quincy drives a BMW.” She shook her head as worry settled in her expression. “Cancelling a tour affects a lot of people, so this is a huge deal. Do you think the school administration knows something we don’t?”

  I wanted to say something reassuring, but I couldn’t quite get there. “I sure hope not.”

  As Pastor Mark began his sermon, I scanned the congregation at Wildcat Springs Community Church, and my gaze fell on Hamlet, sitting one section over. Our eyes met, and I waved—as discreetly as possible.

  Makayla scribbled Hamlet? on her bulletin and shoved in front of me.

  I nodded. He’d chosen a pale-yellow sweater vest from his vast collection. At least the color reminded me of springtime. If we dated, would I be able to steer him away from his sweater-vest habit? Or did I care? Nah. Hamlet was Hamlet, and I’d have to accept his quirkiness.

  And what about Cal? The concern in his eyes yesterday morning had me wishing I’d given him more time to open up about what’d been troubling him. Would that have made a difference, since he couldn’t tell me he loved me? Besides, he was with Taryn now, so it was too late.

  Makayla elbowed me. “Pay attention,” she whispered.

  My cheeks warmed. At least she didn’t make kissing noises, like her brothers would’ve. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t apologize to me.” She rolled her eyes toward the heavens, opened my Bible, and pointed to Psalm 42.

  I stifled a giggle and turned to the sermon outline in my bulletin. The title was “Praising God through Our Difficulties.” Yeah. I should be paying attention all right.

  “ . . . something happens when we worship God,” Pastor Mark said. “That doesn’t mean we have to praise him for our terrible circumstances, but we praise God for being the one who loves us and will never forsake us in circumstances we don’t understand.”

  I glanced at my Bible, and my eyes fell on verse eleven of Psalm 42.

  Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.

  I clicked a pen and underlined the verse. The message from the scripture was clear. Even if the state of my love life disturbed and confused me, I needed to put my hope in God and praise him—no matter what.

  After church, Makayla and I grabbed sandwiches at Velda’s Café and then drove an hour east to Brenneman University. A stately brick sign beckoned us onto the campus, and I circled the winding drive past dorms and academic buildings. A large, white chapel stood in the middle of the campus, surrounded by a prayer garden with a water feature made of boulders.

  Makayla directed me to a three-story dorm with large white columns and McKibben in black letters over the main entrance. I parked on the street in front of the building.

  “So, here’s the thing,” Makayla said.

  I didn’t like her cagey tone. “What?”

  “Technically, the dorm is closed because it’s spring break. Sammi told me they weren’t even allowed to stay in their rooms last night. They were assigned to professors’ houses and were briefly allowed in this morning to get stuff for the rest of break.”

  “I drove all the way over here, and we can’t get in.” Was this what it felt like to be a parent?

  She displayed her ID. “I’ll try swiping my card, but we may have to go to the campus security office and beg.” She leaped out and ran to the door while I lingered behind.

  This felt shady, but I’d done plenty of questionable things in my ques
t for answers during investigations.

  Makayla swiped her card, and the light on the keypad remained red. She tried again, and when that didn’t work, she faced me. “On to the campus security office.” She pointed at my truck.

  “We should’ve gone there first,” I muttered and fished my keys from my pocket.

  “But I wanted to see if the residence directors were telling the truth about restricting our access or if they were bluffing.”

  I laughed as I got in the truck. “Did you and your brothers get this trait from your mom?”

  “What trait?”

  “The pushing-boundaries trait. Because I don’t see that quality in Dan—at all.” He was a buttoned-up lawyer who spent his days combing through contracts.

  “For sure. Mom was always playing pranks and cracking jokes. Not to be rude, but it surprised me when Dad married Jill—because she’s more serious. Even though she’s nice.”

  My mom was a librarian, and though she had a good sense of humor, my dad had been the ornery one in their relationship. “It works for them.”

  “Yeah. Follow this road around until you come to that limestone building ahead.”

  I parked in the lot next to the squat building, and we hurried inside where a young man with a buzz cut greeted us. I put him at about twenty-five.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I’m Makayla Farthing.” She flashed her ID. “I live in McKibben Hall—room 318.”

  He typed something and studied his computer screen. “I see you live with the Ashbrook girl who went missing.”

  I rested my hand on Makayla’s shoulder and feigned shock. “Last we knew, Quincy appeared to have left on her own. Has there been a new development?”

  He stood—and he was shorter than both Makayla and me. “I don’t know details—just rumors.” He glanced back and forth between us. “How can I help?”

  “My spring break plans changed, and I need access to my room to get my car keys,” Makayla said. “Will you let my stepsister and me in?”

  He lifted his chin. “Well, I don’t know if I ought to, given the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” I wanted him to explain his reasoning.

  “The Ashbrook girl.” He looked as if he were dying to tack a duh onto that statement.

  “If there haven’t been any new developments with Quincy, then I don’t understand the problem—especially if you accompany us. Weren’t the chorale members allowed into their rooms this morning? Makayla is a member, and since she stayed with me last night, she couldn’t make it here sooner.” I glanced at his nametag and manufactured a sweet smile. “Please, Officer Schwartz.”

  He huffed. “I suppose if I go with you, it’ll be okay.”

  “I’d really appreciate it,” Makayla said.

  “All right. Let’s go.” He strolled around the desk.

  With Officer Schwartz following, we drove back to the dorm, where he swiped a card and held the door open for us. We tromped up the stairs. Well, Officer Schwartz and I tromped. Makayla bounced with her pink-streaked ponytail swinging.

  “Doesn’t this building have an elevator?” I asked as we climbed the second flight.

  “Nope,” she said. “Try moving a carload of stuff up and down every year.”

  “Fun times.” I’d lived on the first floor of my dorm—a circumstance for which I’d been extremely grateful.

  When we arrived at the top, I tried not to pant as we strolled the long, cement-block hall to her room. A whiteboard surrounded by pictures of Makayla and Quincy hung on the door. There wasn’t anything remotely creepy about the building, but the lack of students made it feel lifeless.

  “I’ll wait here.” Officer Schwartz took a post across from the door where he had a clear view of the tiny space.

  I followed Makayla inside. She and Quincy had lofted their beds and arranged their desks underneath with a mini fridge and bookshelf between. Matching comforters in a purple zig-zag pattern created a fun vibe. The wall opposite the beds contained the closets they’d decorated with photos of friends.

  I walked to the window, opened the blinds, and looked out to the center of campus and the chapel. “Nice view.”

  “Yep.” Makayla reached into her closet and took out a black crossbody. On the way over, we’d agreed she’d pretend to have difficulty finding her keys while I snooped—as discreetly as possible.

  Makayla’s desk held her laptop and was cluttered with framed pictures of her family. The biggest one was of Makayla and her mother. They were both wearing pastel yellow dresses, and I guessed Makayla had been about eight. A certificate, declaring Makayla the winner of the Brenneman University Annual Poetry Competition, was tacked to a corkboard above her desk.

  With a growl, Makayla shoved the purse back in the closet and grabbed a macramé wristlet. I surveyed Quincy’s desk, which was downright sparse compared to Makayla’s. A lone family picture rested in the corner of her otherwise bare desk. The corkboard above her desk held a Tune Nutritional Supplements bumper sticker and picture of Makayla and Jonas dressed as Dorothy and the Tin Man. Funny she hadn’t removed it.

  I scanned the books resting on the shelves—a songwriting textbook, a music theory book, a business principles textbook, and other typical college textbooks for basic classes like world history.

  “What’d I do with them?” Makayla threw her hands in the air.

  “Try your coat pockets.”

  “Good idea.” She yanked an acid wash denim jacket out of her closet, checked—and then slipped it on.

  I peeked in the trashcan next to Quincy’s desk, but it was empty. However, a crumpled piece of paper rested next to her chair leg as if she’d missed a shot. I glanced out at the hall. Officer Schwartz had taken out his phone and was gazing at it fondly as his thumbs tapped.

  Must be texting a girlfriend since he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  I bent, swiped the paper, and shoved it into my raincoat pocket. “Hey, Mak. What about your desk?”

  This was our code for when I was done snooping.

  “I’m so stupid!” she shrieked. “That’s exactly what I did with my keys.” She stomped over, yanked open the top drawer, and held them up.

  “Do you want your laptop?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” She grabbed the pink shoulder bag and slipped the computer inside.

  We turned to go, and Makayla locked the room.

  “Did Quincy take her laptop on tour?” I asked as we returned to the hallway.

  “Yeah. In her backpack, but I didn’t want to drag mine around.”

  “She left her phone and wallet behind, but she took her laptop? That’s weird.”

  “Definitely.” Makayla pocketed her key.

  Officer Schwartz looked back and forth between us. “Sure is.”

  We filed downstairs, and I couldn’t leave without trying to extract more information from Officer Schwartz. Maybe he was in a better mood now.

  “Have you heard people say why they think Quincy ran off?” I asked.

  He held the door open for us. “Not about that, but there’s plenty of speculation about her family.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “I heard through the grapevine they put a ton of pressure on her to live up to their high standards.” He closed the door and double-checked to make sure it was locked.

  Funny how even a campus policeman knew that. “Most parents want their children to succeed,” I said. We stood next to my truck as the sun peeked from behind a cloud.

  “But the Ashworths are next level.” He glanced at Makayla. “At least . . . that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Anything specific?” I grabbed my wind-whipped hair to keep it from landing in my lip gloss.

  He lowered his voice. “Well, my sister works in housekeeping, and last night my girlfriend and I had dinner with her. We talked about Quincy blowing off the tour and how her dad was raising a stink about the tour going on like nothing happened. Anyways, my sister told me that a
bout a month ago she was cleaning in the music building, and she overheard a professor saying that Quincy Ashbrook’s dad had tried to bribe him to get her into Brenneman—even though her grades weren’t up to snuff.”

  “Who was the professor?” I asked.

  He waited until a jogger had passed and then cupped his hand next to his mouth. “Dr. Jackson.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Dr. Jackson doesn’t work in admissions, so how could he get Quincy in?” Confusion played in Makayla’s eyes. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and she tugged her jacket closed.

  “By telling admissions the music department wanted her,” I said. “I’m sure she had to audition to be accepted as a music major.”

  “But she’s a fantastic pianist—and has a beautiful voice,” Makayla said. “Why would her dad need to bribe Dr. Jackson into telling the truth?”

  “Is it hard to get into Brenneman?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I had straight A’s in high school, and I was wait-listed. I was ready to go to my second choice when I finally got my admissions packet.”

  “What kind of student is Quincy?”

  Makayla chewed her lip. “Not the greatest.”

  “So it’s possible her mom and dad needed to make sure Dr. Jackson recommended Quincy—otherwise she definitely wasn’t going to get in.”

  “Yeah. Even though her dad has donated a ton of money, I doubt the admissions office would’ve overlooked her poor grades without Dr. Jackson’s recommendation.” She shifted. “I hope it’s not true he took a bribe.”

  Officer Schwartz tugged his shirt collar. “I’m just telling you what my sister heard, but we don’t know Dr. Jackson took the bribe—or even that the Ashbrooks offered him money. You know how stories get twisted.” His eyes grew wide. “You’re not going to tell anybody, are you? I don’t want to lose my job for spreading rumors.”

  “I’ll only mention this to my friend in law enforcement if Quincy doesn’t turn up soon.”

  “All right. I suppose that’s fair.” He glanced at Makayla. “Enjoy the rest of your break.” He moseyed back to his car and drove away.