I remembered seeing the award certificate for the poetry contest in Makayla’s room and considered what Dr. Jackson had said about Quincy’s talent. “She wouldn’t need to if she was just writing the lyrics and Quincy was composing the music.
“Mak’s definitely into poetry.” Preston shifted back and forth as if he were winding up, ready to spring.
“What if the broken file is a song?” Cal and I said in unison.
Austin clapped. “I love how your minds are totally in sync.”
Preston elbowed his brother.
“I mean, that theory makes sense,” Austin mumbled.
I avoided Cal’s gaze. “Why wouldn’t Makayla have mentioned the song—or working with Quincy?” I didn’t want to believe she’d been dishonest with me—again.
“Maybe they never finished or entered the contest, so it never occurred to her,” Cal said. “Especially if it happed a while ago.”
I could tell he was having the same doubts about Makayla, but I appreciated his attempt to reassure me. “I should talk to Quincy’s parents first thing in the morning. I want to see if they know about the song.”
“Even though they accused you of trafficking?” Cal asked.
“I’m hoping they’ll have calmed down enough to be reasonable.”
Cal set his jaw. “You shouldn’t go alone. I’m flying out of Indy tomorrow afternoon to visit a buddy, so how about I meet you at the Ashbrooks?”
“Sure. I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll let Vanessa know everything we found out from Sammi.” He walked toward my front door, and I followed.
“Thanks for coming to check on me—us—because I appreciate it, and we’re all worried about Makayla.”
“You’re welcome.”
I gripped the doorknob. “Who are you visiting?”
“Mason.”
For a split second, he looked as if he wanted to say more. Or was it my imagination? Did I dare tell him I knew? Yvonne hadn’t given me instructions to keep quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me about his wife’s murder?” I met his eyes.
“Who told—?” He swiped his jacket from the bench. “Never mind. It was Mom.”
“Yes.” I searched his face for anger but only found sadness.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “You had a lot on your mind with Aunt Beverly dying and your grandpa’s wedding and your dad’s case. I didn’t want to add to your burdens.”
“But . . . I would’ve understood. I could’ve listened and been there for you.” That was what people in a relationship were supposed to do. “I wanted to be supportive.”
He put both hands on my arms. “I know. I’m really sorry.” Regret flickered in his blue eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He dropped his hands and slipped out the door.
Sorrow kept me frozen in place as he walked away.
Chapter Twenty
“I apologize for how my husband and I treated you the last time we spoke.” The next morning, Janet Ashbrook set a tray with glasses, a pitcher of lemonade, and a plate of sugar cookies on the coffee table on her expansive sunporch. It overlooked a pool, outdoor kitchen, and fire pit. “It was truly abominable to accuse you of trafficking. Please forgive us.” She smiled at me before letting her gaze linger on Cal.
Had Stuart followed through on the background check and realized his accusations were ludicrous? Would Janet be asking for forgiveness if her husband were here? Whatever the reason, I needed to put everything behind me and focus on Makayla. “I understand you were stressed.”
“We still are,” she said.
Janet had made an effort to disguise the bags underscoring her eyes, and her skirt, rose-print cardigan, and pearl necklace advertised her effort at maintaining a sense of normalcy. Her formal attire and living space made me glad that I’d made the extra effort and put on my black blazer and the chunky turquoise necklace that Cal had always liked.
“Georgia can relate to your situation because Makayla disappeared yesterday under circumstances similar to your daughter’s,” Cal said. “Even the note had similar wording. She told everyone not to worry, but as you know, that doesn’t quite cut it.”
Janet nodded. “Detective Hawk updated us last night. Do you have any new ideas about what’s going on?”
“Possibly,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask more questions? Cal is here as my friend since he’s taking time off work.”
“Not at all. As I told Detective Hawk last night, my husband and I want to find the girls as much as you do.” She fiddled with her cardigan’s hem.
“Did Quincy ever mention a song called ‘Broken’—or a song with that theme?” I asked.
“No.” Janet didn’t meet my gaze.
“Did she ever talk about writing a song with Makayla for a contest?”
“No. This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Uncertainty filled her voice. “Though Quincy has entered her own songs in contests.”
“Did she win?”
“No. But I told her not to be discouraged. She’s very talented.” Janet examined her French manicure, and seconds ticked by.
“Is there something else you want to tell us, Mrs. Ashbrook?” Cal asked.
She smoothed her skirt. “Since we spoke with you last, my husband has informed me that our daughter was far more involved with Elias Kurtz than I realized.” She stared out the window toward the fire pit.
My guess had been correct. Stuart had hidden Quincy and Elias’s relationship from his wife. “Sometimes children make choices that go against the values their parents try to instill.”
“Yes.” Janet’s chin trembled. “Yes, they do.”
Since we were on the subject of Elias Kurtz, there was another angle I wanted to pursue. Tune Nutritional Supplements probably didn’t have anything to do with this case, but something was still bothering me, especially now that we were in the Ashbrook’s million-dollar home. “Why did Quincy decide to sell Tune?”
Janet ran her hand over the sofa. “After Quincy ran away in high school, my husband cut off her allowance. We paid her college tuition and any other necessities, but Stuart wanted her to understand the value of a dollar. She sold Tune because the flexibility permitted her to work around her class schedule. She also believes the products are beneficial to people’s health. Unfortunately, business has dropped off lately, and I suspect the market is tapped out.”
It was probably too much to hope that Janet would admit to running Quincy’s Tune business.
“Could you tell us about the band Quincy ran away with in high school?” Cal asked.
Janet grimaced. “She was enamored with the drummer in a rock band. His name is Tanner Smith, and he’s in medical school now.”
“What was the band—?”
The back door slammed. “Janet?”
Stuart rounded the corner into the kitchen and scowled when he caught sight of us in the sunroom. “What’re you two doing here?”
Janet shot up and hurried over to her husband. “They had a few questions.” She rested a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. They’re just worried about Quincy and Makayla.”
He shook off her hand. “You know how I feel about this. We told that other detective everything we knew last night.”
Janet blanched. “Stuart—”
“I want them out of my house. Now.” He pointed toward the door.
Cal and I stood.
“Thank you for your time,” Cal said.
“And hospitality.” I swiped two cookies and followed Cal out the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
I parked next to Cal’s Jeep in the William’s Home Supply lot and hopped out of my truck. Neither one of us had wanted to linger in Stuart and Janet’s driveway, so he’d told me to follow him to the store to debrief.
As he walked around his Jeep to meet me, he was whistling “C is for Cookie” from Sesame Street.
I burst out laughing. I probably should’ve been embarrassed, but my sweet tooth wasn’t a secret to my ex-boyfriend.
“How were the cookies?” He pushed his sunglasses up on his head, and his eyes gleamed.
I withdrew a napkin-wrapped cookie from my purse and held it out. “I saved you one.”
He chuckled. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” I returned it to my bag. “Janet’s a good baker. Her cookies rival Taryn’s.” The comment spewed out before I could stop myself. Breaking news—Nice Georgia was still on the lam.
His amused look made a comeback—along with his dimple. “I need to price some kitchen cabinets, so let’s walk and talk.” He motioned toward the store.
“Sure.” I slammed my truck door. Walking and talking was perfect. Plenty of built in distractions in case awkwardness decided to pay a visit, and since that trait and I were old friends, that was pretty much a given. “You decided to renovate?”
“I hired Hamlet to update my kitchen and the bathrooms.”
I nearly tripped on the curb. Hamlet? Why hadn’t he said anything? Would they talk about me? Seriously, Georgia? Life Lesson #829: Not everything is about you. “I’m sure he’ll do a good job.” The doors slid aside, and we entered the store.
“Yeah. I checked out the work he’s doing on his flip, and he knows his stuff.” Cal glanced at me. “He’s a nice guy too.”
Why was Cal stating the obvious? I’d known Hamlet for years, so of course I knew he was nice. Was Cal making a casual comment, or was he hinting that he approved of me dating Hamlet—if he hadn’t changed his mind?
“He’d be good for you.”
I commanded my feet to keep moving past the appliances. Right. Left. Right. Left. For once, I didn’t have to wonder what Cal was thinking. “Really?” I sounded as squeaky as my shoes against the concrete floors.
“Yes. It’s obvious he cares about you, and you have a lot in common.”
I reminded myself to take a breath. And another. “Tell me about the renovation.” That was a safe subject.
“We’re opening the kitchen into the living room,” Cal said. “It’ll give the house a more modern feel.”
“Uh-huh. That’ll be nice if you have kids someday.”
“Don’t know if that’s ever gonna happen.” He strode toward the displays of kitchen cabinets.
“Things not going well with Taryn?” I tried to sound casual, but there was no getting around it. I was flat out nosy—and needed to know if she was the reason Cal was encouraging me to date Hamlet.
“Nope.” His jaw twitched.
So much for the Taryn theory. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” He stopped in front of white Shaker cabinets. “I like these.”
“They’re pretty.” And exactly what I would’ve chosen. I even had them on my Pinterest board of kitchen renovation ideas.
He snapped a picture. My nose started to burn, announcing imminent tears, so I had to think about something else before I shut myself away in the floor-model pantry and bawled.
I needed to focus on finding Makayla instead of my own drama. “Did you think it was weird that Stuart and Janet were on completely different pages about our visit?”
“Yes. I also wonder why Janet tried to hide her husband’s feelings.” He examined the cabinet’s price tag and made a note in his phone.
“Unless she didn’t know.”
“Or she’s in denial.”
Janet seemed to possess a special talent for that where her loved ones were concerned. “It’s interesting that Janet told us the Tune market is tapped out when Makayla said Quincy had a wad of cash before the tour.”
“I’d agree if the Ashbrooks weren’t wealthy, but Janet’s perspective about the amount of money Quincy made is probably very different than yours and mine.” He shoved his phone into his pocket.
“True.” I thought of the diamonds she’d worn when she and Stuart had visited my house and the pearls she’d had on today. Not to mention her clothes might as well have come with a neon sign that flashed expensive. “I wish we hadn’t been interrupted. I really wanted to know more about Tanner Smith.” I’d definitely look into him later.
“I agree. Before I leave, I’ll call Vanessa to make sure she’s followed up with him—and the band.” He turned toward the exit, and we strolled to the front of the store.
“Thanks. Are you headed to Cleveland?”
“Atlanta. Mason’s been staying there with his grandma ever since they realized Natalie’s death wasn’t random.” He shoved his phone into his pocket. “His parents died when he was seven, and his grandma raised him.”
“I assume he’s worried about his grandma’s safety.”
“Yes. And his two-year-old son, Henry’s.”
I stopped near the checkout lanes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know Mason and Natalie had a son.”
“Yeah.”
The anguish in Cal’s blue eyes broke my heart. It was so unfair that a precious little boy would grow up without his mother. “You can count on me to pray for justice.”
He brush a strand of hair back from my face and looked me straight in the eyes. “I appreciate that.”
For a few seconds I held his gaze and forgot everything that’d gone wrong.
Then, he glanced at his watch. “I need to get to the airport.” We stepped through the sliding door into the sunshine and walked toward our vehicles in silence.
“Thanks for your help today.” With shaky fingers, I dug in my purse for my keys when we lingered behind my truck.
“That’s what friends are for. Take care.” He got in his Jeep and waved.
Friends. My heart squeezed as I watched him drive away.
I made it home from Indianapolis without driving off the road. Tears had blurred my vision more than once, but the closer I’d gotten to my farm, the more I realized I had the answer I’d been praying for. Cal and I were friends, and I should be thankful for that development and that he’d clearly given me reason to stop hoping we’d reconcile.
It was time to quit dwelling on the past.
With my mind on Makayla and Gus at my side, I entered my office, did a quick online search for Tanner Smith, and laughed aloud at the large number of results. What had I been thinking? I added the words drummer and band to the name.
Though it showed fewer results, I didn’t find anything helpful.
I leaned my elbows against the desk and buried my face in my hands. What now? Would Sammi know the band name? If she didn’t, maybe she could ask her cousin. I found her number and sent a text.
Do you know the name of the band Quincy ran away with in high school? If you don’t, will you please find out? Thank you!
I drummed my fingers against the desk and waited for a few agonizing minutes, but when she didn’t respond right away, I leaped up.
The day had turned warm, and since playing in the dirt always eased my frustrations, I rushed to my room, donned a pair of overalls, and went outside to till the soil in my backyard garden bed. I’d be able to plant carrots, peas, and onions before long.
The wind painted faint ripples across the pond, and the grass was slowly shedding its dull brown in favor of a tentative green. I tethered Gus nearby so he could get some fresh air and watch me work. He ran back and forth barking at the ducks before settling in the grass with a chew toy.
I strolled to the backyard shed next to my garden bed. I took my phone out of my pocket, tapped my favorite playlist of choral music, and put in my earbuds. While the beautiful melodies and harmonies soothed me, I spun the padlock on my shed and rolled out my rototiller.
As I worked the soil in my garden bed, I pondered my unanswered questions about Quincy and Makayla. I walked the length of my garden and turned. Even if the girls disappearing had something to do with a song they were writing, how did Elias’s death figure in?
Why did Quincy’s disappearance, Makayla’s disappearance, and Elias’s death all take place at cemeteries? That had to be significant. But why? If Jonas were guilty, why would he draw attention to himself by lying about coimetrophobia—and then go on to kill E
lias at a cemetery? That made no sense. Clearly, I was missing something important.
My phone buzzed, and I yanked it out of my pocket. Sammi had responded.
Boneyard Rebels. Creepy, right?
Definitely. In spite of the afternoon warmth, goosebumps rose on my arms. I fixed my gaze on the northern horizon in the direction of Fillmore Cemetery.
Cemeteries—a.k.a. boneyards.
I shaded my phone from the sun’s glare and searched for information about the Boneyard Rebels.
The first hit was Parker Curtis’s website. Weird. I tapped the result and skimmed his bio.
Parker’s music career began during college with a rock band called Boneyard Rebels. Parker was the lead singer, earning the nickname Boneyard Boss.
BB. My heart thudded.
When the band broke up, Parker returned to his first love—country music. He formed the Parker Curtis Band in 2016 and transformed himself from a rock singer to a country star whose original, heartfelt songs resonate with audiences everywhere.
Quincy knew Parker Curtis from her time following the Boneyard Rebels, which meant she’d met him that night at Fillmore Cemetery. But how did Elias figure in?
Whatever was going on, I had to call Detective Hawk and tell her. I paused the music and scrolled through my contacts.
Gus woofed as a thick arm captured my waist, and a gloved hand covered my mouth.
I writhed in the assailant’s grip, and Gus strained against his tether. I bit the leather glove, but my captor drove a fist into my side. Groaning, I flailed my elbows, aiming for my attacker’s gut. I lost my grip on my phone, and it thumped into the dirt.
Gus howled.
A pinch bit my bicep, and I gasped as my captor injected a drug. No, please, God. I twisted and kicked but my movements grew sluggish until I couldn’t command my limbs to move.
Within seconds, my yard dissolved to black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I needed to open my eyes but couldn’t. It was too hard. Relaxing was easier. Something was wrong. No, I was floating on a raft. A summer day at Grandma and Grandpa Smith’s lake cottage. Gentle waves. Warm sun. But didn’t I need to fight? Why? Sleeping was . . .
Deadly Harmony Page 16
