Kelly Quinn. Beloved daughter and sister. Rest in Peace.
She gasped. Her heart slammed against her chest, and her hands shook as she looked around, turning in a full circle. Nobody. She was all alone.
“Kell, you okay?”
Frankie must’ve heard her gasp. Shoot. She didn’t want to tell him about the note and worry him. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve gotta go.” She disconnected the call as she stared out over the ominous landscape of headstones and mausoleums. Someone had been watching her. She shoved the note into her pocket and climbed into her Jeep. The person who’d been there and left the note was long gone. And it was time for her to be gone too.
Chapter Fifteen
Kelly’s attempt to quell the uneasiness in her stomach by taking in deep inhales and exhales failed. After five breaths, she gave up. There was no quelling of anything. She hated to admit it, but she was a little freaked out. She’d received a direct threat, and the message came through loud and clear.
The drive back to Lucky Cove and the boutique was the longest thirty minutes of her life. She kept glancing in the rearview mirror to see if someone was following her. Why hadn’t she paid more attention after leaving Marvin’s house?
Between work, updating the apartment, decorating for Christmas, and finding the marriage certificate, she’d been distracted. No, she wouldn’t have noticed if she was being followed.
But now she would pay more attention.
When she arrived back at the boutique, she sent Breena out to get lunch for them, even though she didn’t have much of an appetite. She didn’t want Breena to see her freak out. She’d prefer to have her meltdowns in private.
She looked at the note.
Kelly Quinn. Beloved daughter and sister. Rest in Peace.
Rest in Peace.
Definitely a threat. She gulped. The uneasiness in her stomach ratcheted up. She had to report it to the police . . . just in case. She grabbed her cell phone, but before she could hit Gabe’s number, the front door opened and Hugh entered.
Good grief. What did he want now?
“We need to talk, Kelly. You and I need to talk.” He flashed his toothy smile as he strode to the sales counter, unbuttoning his coat.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Kelly set her phone down.
He stopped mid stride, his eyes widened. “You’ve reconsidered my offer. Wonderful!”
Kelly raised a palm. “Slow your roll, Hugh. I have reconsidered nothing. I told you I’m not interested, yet you told Summer I brought up the idea of being on the show. You lied! Now she’s upset with me.”
“No, sweetheart. I didn’t lie. I simply revised the conversation a fraction to elicit the desired response from her.”
“What the . . . Do you hear yourself? Revised the conversation?” She sighed. “This is pointless.”
“Lighten up. Summer will get over it. Trust me.” He slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Besides, tension is good for the show.”
“Why are you here?” Kelly had had enough tension with Summer and her uncle. She didn’t need to add any more, thank you very much. She would spend either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day with them, and she didn’t want the show looming over them.
“To make you an offer. Now, we rarely pay a lot to newbies, but I think your story, your struggle to make it in your new business and pick up the pieces of your tragic past—”
“My what?”
“The tragedy ten years ago when you left your friend and she wound up in a car with a drunk driver and was paralyzed. And then there’s your humiliating firing at Bishop’s. Wow! Serena Dawson fired you personally. We can probably get her to do a sit-down interview with us. Great stuff to work it.”
“No, no, no. Not great stuff to work with.”
“Look, there are many stories to tell on a show. Three of them are redemption, which is self-explanatory; walk away, you know where you walk away from a situation; and you’re not alone, kind of a heartwarming tale that lets people know whatever they’re going through, someone is right there with them. Those three stories are powerful, and let me tell you, sweetheart, you’ve got all three going for you. Millions of viewers will tune in week after week to see how you survive.” He stepped closer to the counter.
“Survive?” Kelly turned over the threatening note to keep Hugh from seeing it. She came out from behind the counter. The quick touch of the torn piece of paper reminded her of the fear that had pulsed through her earlier. Someone had stalked and threatened her. Why? She’d only asked a few questions. The same questions many people in Lucky Cove were asking. So why target Kelly? First things first. She had to make it abundantly clear, in no uncertain terms, that she would not appear on LIL.
“I don’t care how much you offer me. I’m not going on your show.” She hoped she was clear enough.
Hugh plastered on a cocky grin as he pulled out his phone from his pocket. He tapped on it and then showed her the screen. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. That much money to let a cameraman follow her around? Holy cow.
No! Focus, Kelly. Focus.
“In your situation, this much money could come in handy.” Hugh lowered the phone, taking a sweeping glance around the boutique.
Kelly fought back the tongue-lashing she wanted to give mister high-and-mighty reality-show producer, but she had questions, and insulting him would probably make him uncooperative.
“On second thought, maybe I’ve been too hasty.”
Hugh’s grin broke out into a full smile, and he nodded slowly. “You’re being a very smart girl. You might as well cash in on your disasters now while you’re still young.”
Ouch. Reality television was brutally honest.
“Well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly turn down the offer?” Actually, it was easy—though stringing him along could help her get answers to her questions. “Since I’m seeing how lucrative the job can be, I need a little more time to think about it.”
“If you’re trying to hold out for more money, don’t. I’m not open to negotiating any more money at this point.” Hugh lowered his phone.
“I wouldn’t offend your generosity by negotiating a higher rate. I need a little time since I’ve been so adamantly against it.”
Hugh nodded. “Understandable. Don’t wait too long.” He turned to leave.
“Wait, I have a question.”
Hugh stopped. “Promotion? You’ll be featured on our website and across all of our social media platforms.”
“No. I’m sure your company would do a thorough job raising my profile.” Or, rather, exploiting her tragic past and life disasters, because if Hugh was willing to pay that much money, he had to expect to rake in a huge amount himself. “No, I’m curious why Diana helped Patrice Garofalo after she got arrested.”
Hugh’s eyes darkened, and his jaw set. “Poor girl got hooked on drugs. Really messed up her life. She left the show a couple of seasons ago. Why are you asking about Patrice?”
“It seemed out of character for Diana to help one of the production crew. She lobbied for you to provide legal services for Patrice. There had to be a reason. What was it?”
“Diana had a big heart when she wanted to admit it. I guess she felt a sense of responsibility to the younger woman. I wanted to keep Diana happy. Back then, she was an asset to the show, so I hired a lawyer for Patrice. I hope she’s doing well, but sadly, many people who get caught up in drugs never get better. Now, you consider my offer.”
“One more question.” She stepped forward.
Hugh’s gaze narrowed. His smile had slid away. She suspected he was growing impatient.
“Does anyone on the cast or crew drive a Rolls-Royce?”
“There’s only one. Yvonne. Our viewers will find your curiosity charming. I, however, don’t. Let me know what you decide.” He turned and rushed out of the boutique.
The
car Marvin saw belonged to Yvonne? Kelly’s mind raced back to her conversation with Yvonne. What did she say about seeing Diana before the murder? Yvonne said the last time she’d seen Diana was a few days before the holiday party. She lied. Why?
Back at the sales counter, Kelly turned over the threatening note. Hugh wasn’t the only person who hadn’t found her curiosity charming.
Breena returned with lunch after Hugh’s departure, and the rest of the afternoon was steady with customers and new consignees. The boutique’s inventory was looking good, and one woman brought in a pile of Ralph Lauren sweaters, all with the tags still on them. They had never been worn. Merchandising ideas swirled around in Kelly’s head. She entered the sweaters into the inventory system and would make a final decision tomorrow on how to best showcase them for a quick sale.
Kelly asked Breena to close up the boutique. She explained she had errands to run but didn’t go into detail. Breena didn’t pry and reminded Kelly she’d work on the marketing plan for the Holiday Edit event. She’d already made up a flyer, which Kelly approved on her way out the door.
On her drive over to the Lucky Cove Police Department, she called Liv. It was her day off from the bakery, and she spent it at the community center preparing for yet another holiday event. The Morettis always took part in community events.
“Can you believe he said that to me? He made me sound like some pathetic loser America needs to root for in order to turn my tragic life around. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should cash in on my disasters while I have the chance.”
“Yeah, well, if you do, you’re guaranteed to have another disaster on your hands, and the disaster’s name would be Summer.” Liv’s voice was barely audible over the background noise of the other volunteers.
“Right.” While Kelly had a hard time hearing her friend, being able to vent felt good. She flicked on her blinker to make the turn into the police department’s parking lot. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for listening.”
“No problem. I have to go too. We’re almost finished here, and I want to wrap things up. Call me later.”
Kelly ended the call and pulled into a space. She grabbed her tote bag and dashed inside the one-story brick building. She’d hoped to catch Gabe during shift change but was too late. He’d already left work. Turning to leave, she was close to the exit when she was stopped by Detective Wolman.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Quinn?” Wolman had emerged from the back of the building. She let go of the door behind her. As the door shut, she walked toward Kelly. She wore her usual uniform of dark pants, a crisp, white button-down shirt, and a tailored blazer.
“I was hoping to see . . . I found this on my windshield earlier today.” Kelly pulled the note out of her tote bag and handed it to the detective. She figured Gabe would have to turn over the note to the detective, anyway.
Wolman read the succinct note and then lifted her unreadable gaze to meet Kelly’s. “Where were you when you received this note?”
“At the cemetery. I was visiting my granny’s grave.”
“Did you see anybody?”
“No. As far as I was concerned, I was alone. I didn’t even hear another vehicle. I guess I was too deep in my thoughts.”
“Did anyone know you were going to the cemetery?”
“I didn’t even know I was going there until I got there. Someone must be following me. Though I didn’t notice anyone following me on my way over here.”
Wolman lowered the note. “Do you have any idea of who or why?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Clue. Interesting word choice. Have you been meddling in my murder investigation?” Wolman squinted, and her brows furrowed.
“No, no, nothing like that.” Well, okay, something like that, but Kelly didn’t want to get into the weeds. “I’ve run into people who knew Diana, and we’ve had conversations about her and her death. I have spoken with Patrice Garofalo.”
“Patrice Garofalo?”
“She used to work on the show until she got arrested for cocaine possession and Diana arranged for the show to pay her legal fees.”
Wolman’s nostrils flared as she stepped forward. “I warned you. You’re a civilian with no training in law enforcement. Your nosing around can put not only yourself in danger but also those of us trained in law enforcement.” Wolman took a breath. “Where were you before you arrived at the cemetery?
“I was at Marvin Childers’s house on Glendale Road.”
Wolman shook her head. “Where Diana lived? Why were you there?”
“I went to see him on a matter that relates to the boutique.”
“He wants to consign clothing?”
“No. But you should know he told me that, the night of Diana’s murder, he saw a speeding Rolls-Royce on the road, and Yvonne owns one. She said the last time she saw Diana was a few days before Diana died. It appears she lied.”
“It appears you have been meddling.” Wolman turned and headed to the interior office door. “Come on back to my desk, and you can file a report. And then I’ll give you a tour of our holding cells so you can see where you’ll end up if you continue meddling.”
“Thank you.” Kelly caught up with the detective and followed her through the doorway to file the report, though she’d politely decline the tour of the jail cells.
Chapter Sixteen
An hour later, Kelly exited the police department minus the up-close-and-personal visit to the holding cells. She told the detective she needed to get back to the boutique. Behind her back she crossed her fingers because it wasn’t a small lie. It was a big fat lie, because her next stop was Yvonne’s house—to find out why the woman lied about the last time she saw Diana.
However, there was a snag in her plan, thanks to Dorothy Mueller chasing after her in the parking lot. Bundled in a full-length puffy coat with a knitted hat pulled down over her ears, Mrs. Mueller waved a gloved finger at Kelly as she approached.
“Is everything okay, Mrs. Mueller?” Kelly’s thoughts about Wolman and her next stop disappeared. The tone and urgency of the elderly woman worried her.
“No. Everything is not okay, Miss Quinn.” Gone was the familiar greeting of Kelly’s first name, along with the kind smile she’d offered Kelly earlier in the day. “What did you think you were doing?”
“When? What are you talking about?” Kelly burrowed into her coat. The late-day wind was whipping up and slicing through the air like a frozen blade. She chided herself for forgetting her hat.
“Don’t play coy with me, missy. Why on earth did you badger poor Marvin about your grandmother?” Mrs. Mueller lowered her hand and rested it on her handbag, which dangled from her other arm.
“Badger? I did no such thing. I only asked him if he knew my grandmother.” Kelly wasn’t about to reveal to Mrs. Mueller her discovery of the marriage certificate. There was a chance this was all a bad dream and she’d wake up and learn her granny never knew a man named Marvin. Okay, a very slim chance, but she wanted to hold on to it. “Wait, how do you know I went to see Mr. Childers?”
Could Mrs. Mueller have been the one who followed her? Left the threatening note? She shook her head, snapping her out of the ridiculous train of thought. Dorothy Mueller wasn’t a stalker.
“He called me after you left. And what’s this nonsense about him letting the police know if he sees a Rolls-Royce again?”
“It might be important to their investigation of Diana Delacourte’s murder.”
Mrs. Mueller frowned. “Where do you come up with this stuff? You know, he’s not a well man. He’s been sick.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Kelly shivered. She desperately wanted to get into her Jeep and crank up the heat.
“Now you do, and I suggest you leave him alone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to update the police on my security system.” Mrs. Mueller brushed by Kell
y and strode toward the building’s entrance.
The tension headache that was building earlier had returned, and now it throbbed dead center in her forehead. She waited a moment before slipping into her Jeep. She wanted to make sure Mrs. Mueller got into the building safely. The woman was so petite Kelly could imagine her being swept away, and there were also some slippery patches on the pavement. When the woman entered the building, Kelly got into her vehicle and drove out of the parking lot.
By the time Kelly reached the highway, the sun had set, and the commuter rush hour was also in full swing. Traffic crawled, and forty minutes later, she reached her exit. Once off the highway, she followed the directions on her GPS.
Her visit to the cemetery and the sinister note had zapped whatever holiday cheer she’d begun soaking up after getting her Candy Cane manicure. Now, driving along the snowy roads, with homes looking like Christmas thanks to holiday lights and mega-sized inflatable Santa Clauses, a bit of seasonal cheer seeped back into her.
She wiggled her fingers on the steering wheel and smiled. Her nails were definitely festive.
The GPS announced her final turn before arriving at her destination. The left turn was onto a long, plowed driveway that led to Yvonne’s home. Situated on what was known as the Gold Coast of Long Island, where the ridiculously wealthy at the turn of the twentieth century built lavish estates, Yvonne’s house didn’t disappoint.
“Holy cow!” Kelly shifted her vehicle into park and leaned forward on her steering wheel to take in the expansive house. “No surprise a Rolls-Royce lives here.” She grabbed her tote bag and stepped out of her car.
The white colonial house—well over five thousand square feet, she guessed—was lavish, yet it had a down-to-earth vibe. White with traditional black window shutters, copper-roofed bay windows, a portico supported by massive columns, and meticulously trimmed evergreen hedges running the length of the house, it felt more like a home than a mansion. A heck of a big home.
She glanced upward and noticed a roof deck. Yvonne hadn’t struck Kelly as a roof deck kind of gal.
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