Deadly Harmony

by Marissa Shrock

  “What are you thinking?” Makayla asked.

  “Officer Schwartz is the second person to mention Quincy being under pressure from her parents, so maybe she is chilling at a beach resort.”

  She sighed. “Then maybe we’re just wasting our time.”

  “Not necessarily. Finding answers is important, and I doubt Quincy ever anticipated her actions would affect so many people.”

  “Probably not.” She finger-combed her ponytail. “Remember her note mentioned there was something she had to take care of. It would be classic Quincy to try to deal with a problem herself. What if somebody found out about her dad bribing Dr. Jackson and was blackmailing her because they know she has money?”

  “That’s a good theory.” As I shoved my hands in my pocket to grab my keys, my fingers brushed against the wadded paper I’d picked up. I uncrumpled it and held the handwritten note out so Makayla could see. “I found this in your room.”

  Forza 12

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  I chewed my lip. “Forza means force in Italian. Sometimes it’s used as a musical term.” It was good to know my degree could still come in handy. “I don’t know about the twelve. Was Quincy working on an assignment?”

  “I’m not sure.” Makayla took out her keys and turned toward the parking lot across the street. “She must’ve been.”

  “Can I feed Gus?” Makayla asked as we entered my back door an hour later.

  “Go for it.” I disarmed the security system and kicked off my heels, and she took care of my very hyper dog. After the past two days, I was ready for a Sunday afternoon nap before I took on any more investigating. Maybe I’d watch some old episodes of Murder, She Wrote. I was halfway across my living room when I froze next to the fireplace and groaned.

  I’d volunteered to host my Bible study group tonight.

  I surveyed my living room. At least I’d already cleaned off the layer of dust and swept in anticipation of my other guests, which was precisely why I’d volunteered to host two weeks ago. If I was doing all that work, I might as well have two reasons. This still didn’t help me with the food problem, and I hadn’t even remembered to buy supplies when I’d made a grocery run to get breakfast items for the girls.

  I tossed my shoes and purse into my bedroom and returned to the kitchen where Gus was chowing down, and Makayla was at the table scrolling through her phone.

  “I forgot I have to host small group tonight,” I said.

  “Do I need to make myself scarce?” She put her phone on the table.

  “Not at all—you’re welcome to hang out with us.”

  “Perfect. I’m ready to think about something besides Quincy. Is Hamlet coming?” Her eyes gleamed.

  “Probably.” After our talk, I had a feeling he’d be back after skipping our last meeting. I steeled my face, stalked across the kitchen, and opened my refrigerator.

  “Cool. I need to determine if he’s a better match for you than Cal.”

  Considering Cal wasn’t even an option, I failed to see why that mattered.

  “Hamlet’s cute,” she said. “I’m not a fan of the sweater vest he was wearing today, but he can pull off nerd chic, you know?”

  Life Lesson #429: Ignore annoying things, and they will go away.

  “I need to figure out what to serve.” My refrigerator contained creamer, milk, ketchup, pickles—and a package of dubious looking cheddar. I didn’t need to search the pantry because I already knew I had canned goods, courtesy of my mom, and cereal.

  “Couldn’t you order pizza?”

  I slammed the refrigerator door and tossed the nasty cheese in the trash. “I’ve done that the last two times I’ve hosted.”

  “What about sandwiches from Velda’s?”

  “We had that for lunch.”

  “If I were you, I’d go with pizza. It’s super easy and cheap.” She tilted her head. “Unless . . . Hamlet doesn’t like pizza, and you want to impress him.”

  So much for annoying things going away.

  “We’re friends, so if he doesn’t already realize I can’t cook, he’ll know soon. Pizza it is.” My friends wouldn’t expect anything else, and it was the fellowship that was most important, right? I started emptying my dishwasher.

  “I know a great recipe for a chicken casserole that your mom taught me.”

  “I didn’t know she taught you to cook.” I stacked plates in my cabinet.

  “Yep. I’m her star pupil, and I’d be willing to make the casserole—or teach you to make it since you’re putting up with me for a week.”

  “You’ll have to supervise.”

  “I know. But you’ll have to buy the stuff for it. I’m not made of money.”

  I dealt silverware into the drawer organizer. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Now you’ll be able to impress Hammie.”

  I pointed a fork at her. “That’s not why we’re doing this.”

  “Sure. Whatev.”

  “Georgia Rae, this casserole is delicious.” Hamlet returned to my dining room with a second helping of King Ranch chicken casserole on his plate. He met my eyes, and there was no mistaking the admiration there.

  Makayla smirked.

  The rest of my friends—Ashley, my cousin J.T., Dave, Heather, and Evan—were engrossed in a couple of different conversations and didn’t appear to notice. Brandi had ditched us to go with her sister to the Parker Curtis concert in Fort Wayne.

  “Thanks. Makayla taught me how to make it. If it hadn’t been for her, you guys would be eating pizza—again,” I said. “My skill set includes calling for food and using the microwave.”

  He sat in the chair next to mine. “It’s refreshing that you aren’t perfect.”

  “Thank you?” How else should I respond to that? Did he know how to cook? Cal’s culinary skills were impressive, and if I’d ended up with him—never mind.

  “Have there been any new developments in the case with the missing college student?” he asked.

  There was a lull in conversation as the rest of my friends looked at me expectantly.

  I used my fork to poke a pattern in my empty Styrofoam plate. “It still appears Quincy left on her own, but we don’t know why.”

  Makayla started gathering empty plates. “Quincy has a history of sneaking off, but I’m not convinced that’s what happened this time.” The distress in her face was obvious.

  Evan turned to her. “Do you happen to know my youngest brother—Aidan Beckworth? He’s a senior at Brenneman.”

  Nice subject change, Evan. His thoughtfulness had been one of the reasons I’d had a crush on him for three years—until we’d decided we were only meant to be friends.

  Makayla’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. He’s cool. Last year, we had a world history class together, and he was always peeking at my notes. Finally, I had to turn my computer so he could see.”

  Evan chuckled. “That sounds like him.”

  “Do Aidan and Quincy know each other?” I looked back and forth between Makayla and Evan.

  “Yes—he’s the one who told me about Quincy because she’s dating his roommate Jonas,” Evan said. “He and Aidan have a house off campus with a few other guys.”

  So often Evan provided valuable information and didn’t even realize it. “What’s your brother doing this week?”

  He pushed his empty plate away. “He’s been hanging out at a friend’s house this weekend, but he’s coming over tomorrow. We’re going to play tennis at the indoor courts and hit the driving range.” Evan, a guidance counselor at the local high school, was also on spring break.

  “Is there any chance Aidan might be able to talk to me?” I asked.

  Makayla cleared her throat—loudly.

  “I mean, talk to Makayla and me. I’d like to see what he knows about Quincy and Jonas.”

  “He probably wouldn’t mind.” Evan took a drink. “How about joining us for doubles?”

  “Yes! I love tennis.” Makayla pumped her fist. “It’s like the o
ne sport I’m decent at. Dad made me take lessons when I was a kid.”

  I hadn’t played tennis since high school PE class. “I’m not sure—”

  “It’ll be fun.” Evan tossed his napkin on his plate. “We’ll play mixed doubles. You and me against Makayla and Aidan.”

  “I like that,” she said. “The young versus the old.”

  I stifled a groan. “Yay.”

  Monday morning, drizzle cast a gloomy pall over my home, and I would’ve preferred to stay in, drinking coffee and tweaking our crop plan for the upcoming planting season. Instead, I’d agreed to tennis torture.

  As Makayla and I were heading out to meet Evan and his brother, I opened my garage door and discovered Detective Vanessa Hawk emerging from her car. The willowy, auburn-haired detective looked more like she should be modeling instead of interrogating suspects. Last month, when she’d started working with Cal, I’d been relieved to discover she was engaged.

  Speaking of Cal, why wasn’t he with Vanessa?

  “Morning, ladies.” She entered my garage and surveyed us without a hint of the friendliness I’d experienced on the double date with Cal, Vanessa, and her fiancé Curtis. Beads of moisture clung to her black trench coat.

  “What’s going on?” I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets.

  “I need to ask the two of you a few questions about Elias Kurtz.” Her expression grew severe.

  Uh-oh.

  “What about him?” Makayla asked as the tennis bag she’d retrieved from her trunk slid from her shoulder.

  “He was found dead in his car at Briarwick Cemetery, and the two of you were among the last people to see him alive.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “That’s awful!” I wrapped my arms around my waist and shivered.

  Makayla’s tennis bag plopped onto the concrete. Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears welled in her eyes. “Wh-when was he found?”

  “Yesterday morning.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes and rested her gaze on Makayla and then me. “The cemetery’s maintenance man reported finding Elias’s body in an abandoned car.”

  “How’d he die?” I asked.

  “Shot in the chest.”

  Makayla winced.

  Vanessa furrowed her brow. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about his murder on the news last night.”

  “We were very busy yesterday,” I said. “Is Quincy Ashbrook involved in his death?”

  Makayla’s eyes widened.

  “You know I can’t discuss an active investigation.” Vanessa studied us, and it was clear she was reading us for any signs of guilt.

  “How can we help?” I rested my hand on my stepsister’s arm and faced Vanessa. “And where’s Cal, by the way?”

  Her eyes flashed. “We’ll get to Detective Perkins in a minute. Tell me what you were doing in Elias Kurtz’s dressing room on Saturday night. I have a witness who saw you both go in.”

  Makayla hunched over and shoved her hands in her raincoat pockets.

  Maria. She must’ve remembered our names from the meet and greet. Elias had called Makayla by name, and she’d introduced me.

  “Well?” Vanessa tapped her foot.

  Makayla clearly wasn’t going to speak, so I’d better nip this problem in the bud. “After Quincy disappeared, one of my sources—”

  “Be specific,” Vanessa said. “Tell me who you talked to.”

  Vanessa’s girl-next-door looks had to be her superpower. They were disarming and friendly, and then out of nowhere, bad cop showed up.

  Cal, where are you?

  “Bobbi Sue Miller at Latte Conspiracies,” I said.

  “Go on.” Vanessa withdrew a small notebook and pen from her jacket pocket and scribbled on the paper—very old school.

  “Bobbi Sue said a handsome man in a Brenneman University jacket came in and asked about Quincy. He had a picture of them together. Based on Bobbi Sue’s description, Makayla guessed it was Dr. Kurtz. When she showed Bobbi Sue his picture, she confirmed it.”

  “He doesn’t work at Brenneman anymore.” Makayla hovered at my elbow.

  “I’m aware. So the two of you thought you’d play detectives and talk to Elias about Quincy after the show.” Vanessa arched one eyebrow.

  “Pretty much.” There was no point in denying it. “I paid good money for the meet and greet. Besides, I was going to call Cal today and let him know that Quincy was part of Elias’s downline in the Tune Nutritional Supplement Company. I suspect he may’ve had a romantic relationship with her—though he denied it.”

  Makayla studied her tennis shoes.

  Vanessa scrawled on her notepad. “You should report anything pertaining to this case to me. Detective Perkins is taking time off.”

  My eyes widened. “Why? Is he okay? Is it because he’s moving?”

  “If he wanted you to know, he would’ve told you.” She lifted her chin.

  Her words gut-punched me, but I admired her loyalty. Though I wasn’t thrilled to be pegged as the evil ex-girlfriend. That was a role I’d never played before, since Cal had been my first actual boyfriend. “Is it because his mom is visiting?”

  She consulted her notepad. “Did you learn anything else from Elias?”

  I smothered a sigh. “Dr. Jackson was the one who told Elias Quincy had run off.”

  “Speaking of Dr. Jackson . . .” Vanessa surveyed Makayla. “When I met with him, he mentioned you asked to leave the tour prior to it being cancelled. Why?”

  “I wanted to figure out what happened with Quincy.” She ducked her head.

  Vanessa scribbled. “Do you believe your roommate is in danger?”

  “My gut says yes, but I’ve been going back and forth in my head for two days and can’t come up with a specific threat.”

  Vanessa scrawled more notes. “Did you take classes from Elias Kurtz at Brenneman?”

  “He was my voice teacher freshman year.”

  “Did your relationship with him extend beyond the classroom?”

  Makayla blushed. “No. I had a crush on him, but he was always professional with me.”

  If we were suspects in this case—and I wasn’t convinced we were—then we needed to wrap up this conversation and talk to a lawyer. “Vanessa—”

  “It’d be best if you called me Detective Hawk.” She gave me a tolerant half smile that reminded me of her predecessor, Detective Marvin Kimball.

  Did trainers teach that expression at the police academy? I pictured a room full of recruits practicing stern facial expressions and had to battle a snicker.

  “My apologies, Detective Hawk,” I said. “If you don’t have any more questions, then Makayla and I need to be on our way. We’re meeting some friends to play tennis.”

  “One more question—for both of you. Where were you Sunday between one and three in the morning?”

  “We were here. Sleeping,” I said.

  Makayla’s face had lost all trace of color.

  “Was there anyone else here?”

  I looked her in the eyes. “No, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” Detective Hawk slipped her notebook in her jacket pocket and turned toward her car.

  “Detective Hawk?” I said.

  “Yes.” She faced me.

  “I didn’t want to break up with Cal. I needed him to be more open with me about his life, but he refused.”

  “I see.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  “I really cared about him. I still do.”

  “He cared about you.” She took a menacing step toward me. “You could’ve been a little more patient with someone going through what he’s dealing with.”

  “I tried to be as understanding as I could about his parents’ divorce—”

  “I’m not talking about their divorce,” she snapped. “That’s old news.”

  The day we’d broken up, he’d alluded to something going on, but when I’d asked, he’d told me his life wasn’t a mystery I needed to solve. “Then what do—?”

  “Never mind
.” She wrenched open her car door. “Forget I said anything.”

  Makayla and I stood frozen as Detective Hawk zoomed out of my driveway.

  “I can’t believe Dr. Kurtz is dead—and that she thinks we killed him,” Makayla whispered.

  I curled my fingers around my keys. “I don’t think she does, but she has to rule us out.” For Makayla’s sake, I was trying really hard to stay calm.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But now it’s even more critical that we figure out what’s going on, so we’ll play tennis as planned. Aidan might know something important.”

  She swallowed. “Okay.”

  We got in my truck, and I handed Makayla my phone. “Text Evan and tell him we’re running a few minutes late.”

  Back in high school, my best friend Laura had wanted to catch the attention of Richardville High School’s number one tennis player. Journey O’Neill was a handsome stud on his way to earning a college scholarship at an NCAA Division One school. Laura was a decent player herself and earned the number two spot on the Wildcat Springs team. They’d met at a tournament the previous summer and had been talking ever since.

  One fall afternoon, she needed a wingwoman and dragged me into Richardville to watch Journey play his sectional match. We shouldn’t have bothered. Journey won 6-0, 6-0, but not before his hopelessly mismatched opponent lobbed one of Journey’s power shots over the fence where it rocketed to the bleachers and slammed smack dab into my cheekbone.

  The ball left an ugly bruise that took a couple of weeks to fade and caused rumors about me being knocked around by a boy—never mind that I wasn’t dating anyone—and Laura had decided that arrogant Journey wasn’t for her.

  This fear of tennis balls loomed in my mind when Makayla handed me her extra racket as we walked from the locker rooms to the courts inside the Richard County Tennis Center. Since I didn’t have a cute red and white striped vintage dress like my stepsister, I’d settled for a faded Wildcat Springs High School T-shirt and black athletic shorts that displayed my pasty legs.

  Evan waved us over to where he waited next to the net with his handsome, look-alike little brother. I introduced myself to Aidan, who had sandy hair and hazel eyes. While Evan’s eyes were kind, Aidan’s held a spark of mischief.