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Author's Chapter Notes:

This one I couldn't wait to write...and once I got started the words just seemed to come rushing out. AND I've given myself a ton of ideas for the next chapter or two (at least). Hope you like it :)




Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


 

 

It was 10:38 in the morning and Quinn was sitting at a sun-drenched table in front of a bay window with five women who were all thirty years or more his senior. There were scones. There was peppermint tea. But, Nicole James was nowhere to be seen. This was supposed to be a police investigation into a possible serial killer, but judging by the stark silence of the table they were all just as uncomfortable as he was. Of course, he’d tried to remind the women that this was not an interrogation and he only needed their help in understanding where the veils, and now handkerchief, may have come from. The only response he got was a very stern, “We’ll wait for Nikki.” Quinn was beginning the hate the sound of the bell jingling every time the door opened; it had yet to announce the arrival of the one person who could end his current suffering.

After five more minutes of waiting, Nicole trudged down the sidewalk just outside the bakery window. Her usual quirky spark Quinn had become familiar with was missing. He knew that Nicole would be shaken by the threatening note she received the day before, but whatever was weighing on her now was much bigger. Watching her as she entered the small bakery, Quinn noted that she repeatedly looked over her shoulder searching for something. She also studied the face of every person who crossed her path – to those she knew, she smiled hesitantly. Strangers, which there were many of given all the weekend visitors, received an anxious glare. Quinn rose from his seat and met her en route to the counter.

“What happened?” He was trying for mild concern but there was an edge to his voice that surprised even him. Quinn didn’t have the time or strength to become emotionally involved in another case. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get so deeply entrenched in the lives and sorrow of the families of the Veiled Killer’s victims. Yet he couldn’t tear himself away from the visibly frightened woman’s side.

“It’s nothing. Just…It’s nothing,” Nicole waved him off, shaking her head. Directing her attention to the girl behind the counter, she ordered a large coffee.

“The ladies already ordered for us.” Quinn needed to fill the silence. He’d spent the better part of his morning with women who refused to communicate with him. He was nearing the point where he’d settle for screaming or crying.

“I just want my coffee. I want something in my damn life to be my own without someone coming in and taking over. I want to be left alone,” Nicole wailed not caring about the dozens of curious eyes on her. Quinn wanted to kick himself for his earlier thoughts. A crying woman was not something he could handle, especially not in public. The looks from the other females in the shop were accusatory and murderous. The men all seemed to look at him with pity as though to say, “You poor bastard. Better you than me.”

“Why don’t you go back home, okay? I’m sure I can convince these ladies to tell me something.”

“I can’t leave you alone with that group,” she smiled half-heartedly. “They’ve been on this island their whole lives. If you aren’t from the island too, they will never trust you. Besides, I can’t let you back out on your end of the deal.” Vigorously wiping away the tears from her cheeks, Nicole turned and made for their table. And just like that, it was as though the entire episode never happened. Quinn wasn’t sure if he should be happy that it was over, or concerned at how emotionally unstable she seemed to be.

 

“So you want to know about Crazy Maisy, do you?” Whatever magic Nicole was able to conjure up, Quinn was grateful to her. The one that addressed him, Molly Harper, looked as if she would burst at the seams if someone didn’t let her tell whatever story she was holding on to. The other women – introduced as Valerie, Agnes, Laurel, and Charlotte – seemed just as excited to hear her tell it.

“Actually, I just need to know if any of you ladies recognize the veils in these photographs.” Quinn didn’t have time for gossip. While he was having mid-morning tea, Marconi was running down leads on a possible boyfriend of one victim and Karl was doing whatever lab geeks did. So far, all that they had was based on conjecture. The veils would give them a real solid start.  But the looks on the faces of the six women he sat with told him to shut up and listen.

“What Detective Quinn means is that...”

“Don’t you go excusing that man’s behavior, young lady,” the woman Quinn remembered to be called Agnes interrupted Nicole with a sharp tone and fiercely wagging finger. “You, young man,” the finger swung over in his direction, “are here for information. You are not in a position to interrupt or argue.”

“Of course not, ma’am, I apologize.”

“Go on Molly, tell them about Maisy. But do refrain from using that childish name.  Poor woman’s dead, have some respect.” Clearly Miss Agnes was the ringleader. Quinn put her at about seventy years old and she had a look about her that screamed librarian. She wore gold rimmed glasses on a thin gold chain around her neck, probably for reading. Her steel gray hair pulled into a bun and prim button down blouse and twill pants completed the look. Quinn reminded himself to avoid another confrontation with her or he’d likely get his knuckles rapped.

“Oh, hush Agnes. We all called her that. No sense in pretending to be above the fray now. Sorry Molly. You go ahead.” Valerie winked at Quinn. Nicole was right, that one was trouble. Recalling her earlier breakdown, Quinn cut his eye and caught a glimpse of her cradling a coffee cup between her two hands and staring blankly into the foamy, steaming brew.  He wanted to reach out to her – to bring her attention back to the conversations, to offer comfort, or was it simply because he wanted to touch her? Mentally shaking himself, Quinn pulled his eyes away and refocused on the job.

“Well, I can tell you,” Molly began, “that Maisy Collins was certainly crazy, or something very close to it. For as long as I can remember, that woman never left her house. I mean, wouldn’t even step foot out on her front porch to get the mail. Don’t know how she got taken care of, suppose her mama took care of her. Now that’s who I feel sorry for – working herself near to death while Maisy moped about the house mooning over some scoundrel of a man.”

“I always thought that was her aunt. Didn’t Maisy’s mama drown herself in the sound after killing her husband for carrying on with a mainland girl?” That time, it was Charlotte who interjected. She was the living embodiment of everything Quinn thought a sweet, grandmotherly-type should be.

“You know that isn’t true. Old Mrs. Collins died of heartache after Mr. Collins ran off with the store clerk’s daughter. Though that weasel of a man could do with a killing if you ask me,” Agnes sniffed.

“Ladies, not to interrupt, but you were talking about Maisy?”

“You’re right Detective Quill, we’re sorry.”

“Miss Molly, his name is Corwin Quinn,” Nicole corrected the older woman with a slight giggle in her voice. Hearing the lightness returning to her voice helped to subdue the worry that was festering in Quinn’s chest. “Molly’s not so good with names, but I’m sure the detective doesn’t mind. Do you Corwin?” The fact that Nicole had used his first name had Quinn almost chocking on the tea he was drinking. Struggling to cover his shocked reaction, he simply shook his head, fearing his voice would betray his surprise and pleasure.

“I’ll get right to it then, and spare you the island rumor. Cra...Maisy was believed to be madly in love with a traveling salesman who came to the island one summer trying to sell catalog and magazine subscriptions. I forget his name, but he was quite the handsome fellow. My daddy would just go on and on about how Mother almost wasted his money buying silly books from a prettied-up snake. Maisy must have fallen for him hook, line, and sinker because there was all this talk about a wedding and moving off the island. She even got her mother to order all this fancy silk fabric so she could make herself a dress, and spools and spools of thread for a veil.”

“Only there was no wedding, of course,” Agnes continued the story. “Your daddy was right, Molly, that man was a snake. Tricked Maisy into buying all sorts of books and magazines, promising a big house and fancy car with a cute little family. Must have made her think the only way they’d be together was if he made enough money so he could support them. Silly girl never realized he was taking her for all she had. When he left at the end of the summer, promising a fall wedding, Maisy kept on making plans – and making veils. Story goes, she made one after another while she sat by the window waiting for the salesman to come back and whisk her away.” Agnes huffed and dipped her scone into her tea cup.

Charlotte picked up where Agnes left off saying, “By the time we were old enough to know anything about it, she’d become ‘Crazy Maisy’ who never left the house until the day she died.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice. “Maybe if we were nicer to her…”

“Detective,” the woman called Laurel finally spoke up, “whoever’s been killing these ladies somehow got hold of Maisy’s veils, and probably knows what they meant to her. We couldn’t begin to guess who that might be or how he got them, though. All of the Collins’ stuff was boxed up and shipped to relatives after they all died, but no one on the island ever knew who that would have been. And there was never any indication that the belongings made it to their intended destination. We don’t know how helpful this all is in finding that awful man who hurt those poor girls, but at least you know where the veils came from.” Laurel offered an apologetic smile and covered his hand with hers. It was warm and soft, and Quinn nodded his thanks at the kind gesture.

“This will certainly give me a starting point,” Quinn rose from the table. “Thank you, ladies, for all of your help.”

“It was all Nicole’s doing. She’s the one that came to us thinking we would know something.”

Looking down at Nicole, Quinn rested his hand on her shoulder, finally drawing her attention to him. “Can we talk outside?”

“Oh, I’m sure the ladies have more they’d…like…to,” she drew out her words, seeing the five shaking heads and the shooing hands urging her away from the table and out the door. “Right behind you.”

Quinn led the way out of the tiny bake shop and around the corner to a small park. Pointing to one of the benches, he sat down and turn expectantly toward her. “What happened?” Nicole’s eyes widened in mock indignation, and she made as if to stand up and walk away. Quinn grabbed her arm holding her in place. “If something happened that is scaring you, I need you to tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“You’ve got a fairly full plate there. Are you sure to really need to add my drama to the mix?” She was trying to make light of things, but the haunted look in her eye told Quinn otherwise. Plus, she was still scanning the area like she was on perimeter watch.

“Is it the flowers? I already sent the card to the crime lab to see if they could pull anything from it.” Karl looked like he was going have an aneurysm when Quinn brought him the paper, but agreed to have someone in the lab take a look at it.

“There was another one on my car when I left work yesterday and one on my doorstep when I got home. There wasn’t a card attached to either of them, but they had to be from the same person, right?”

“Who would have any reason to want to scare you or hurt you? An obsessed client or unhappy ex-boyfriend

“I highly doubt my ex would risk incurring the wrath of his wife just to send me flowers.” Quinn didn’t want to judge her, because he was certainly no saint when it came to relationships. But the image of Nicole as a home wrecker was jarring to say the least. Besides, it was usually the betrayed wife who lashed out, not the cheating husband.

“It’s not what you think,” Nicole rolled her eyes and huffed, regretting that she’d mentioned anything about the torrid liaison. “I didn’t know he was married. All I saw was a sweet, loving, attentive man who made me feel like I was on top of the world. Then, it all came crashing down around me when I ended up in the hospital, waking up to a screaming woman standing over me going on about how her husband had almost died because of me. So, no. I won’t be getting any flowers from him, like ever.”

“Point taken. Anyone else?” If he could get even a tiny bit of information, Quinn could get Marconi to check into things for him while he ran down the new lead on the veils. He took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and started dialing his partner’s number. Glancing up at Nicole, he raised his eyebrows urging her to continue.

“Well, there’s been this guy. I’m sure he’s really fairly harmless, but he can’t seem to take a hint.”

“Then he’s not harmless. Who is he?”

“His name is Casey something-or-other.” Quinn dropped his chin and looked at Nicole in disbelief. “What? It wasn’t like I was planning on dating him, why should I waste time trying to memorize his name and birth sign?”

“I don’t care what his damn sign is. His name, however, is pretty vital.” Quinn directed his focus to the phone at his ear once Marconi finally picked up. “Yeah, it’s me. I know exactly what time it is. I don’t care about your damn headache, shut up and write this down. Fine, but hurry the hell up.” Placing a hand over the phone, Quinn decided on a different tactic to get Nicole to remember more about the wannabe boyfriend and the mystery flowers. “Where did you meet this guy Casey?”

“He came in to pick up his aunt from the shop last weekend. Mrs. Bernstein…Barstool…Barn…Barnhard,” she finally shouted. “Mrs. Barnhard had a ton of stuff she wanted Leigha to sell, a lot of antique and vintage clothes and jewelry. They were in really nice condition, too. Casey swooped in like a total Don Juan.”

“Did you see him…hang on,” Quinn put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, look up a Casey. Last name possibly Barnhard. If not, look at the family first and see if you can track him that way. No, he may be stalking someone and making death threats. I don’t know, but if he is our job just got a lot easier.” He ended the call and smiled at Nicole. “That should take care of Casey. If he comes around you again before I’ve checked him out, call me.”

“Why? So you can scare the poor guy? He may be slightly creepy, but that does not a stalker make.”

“And you know this because you have expert knowledge into what makes a stalker?” Nicole rolled her eyes in response. “No? Didn’t think so. How about you let me judge who or what a stalker is because between the two of us, I actually do this for a living.”

“Fine.” Nicole pushed herself off of the bench they’d been sitting on, started to march away, but turned to address Quinn once more. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

“At least five times a day,” Quinn answered with an unapologetic smile.

“Just don’t be late tonight. And wear something other than jeans and that hideous thing you call a jacket.” Satisfied that she’d gotten the last word, Nicole resumed her self-righteous march away from the park and out of sight.

Quinn sighed, leaning back against the bench with his arms and legs out stretched. His mind was a swirling mess of information – Maisy Collins’s veils, six murder victims, and now Nicole’s stalker. He’d take care of Nicole first. But only because it’ll be an easy case, he told himself. That, and there was also the fact that Marconi was proving to be surprisingly competent in working the murder cases.  It sure as hell wasn’t because the mule-headed woman was somehow growing on him.

 

#

 

He hadn’t thought his little Nicole would be ready for him, but watching her search the faces of those around her all but pulled him out of hiding in the shadowy alleyway and to her side. She was looking for him. She knew he sent her the flowers – courting her – and now she was seeking him out. His once heavy heart seemed to have thrown of its shackles and was now filled with the lightness of joy and rapture.  He would not force her to wait any longer. He would claim his love and give her heart the wholeness it desired.

 

#

 

Looking at myself in the mirror, I continued to fiddle with the peacock feather pin on my sweater. Should I even wear the sweater, I wondered. It wasn’t as if I had many other options. There was a uniform that had to be worn by Matchmakers while hosting or assisting at events. I’d donned the very same dress, sweater, and heels combination dozens of times over. I knew what to expect each time I had to wear it. So why I was fidgeting and scowling at my reflection was beyond me.

“Is Detective Hottie going to be there?” Leigha wasn’t going to the mixer, but not because I didn’t need her. I didn’t want her disrupting the fragile balance within the group of potential clients I had slated to attend. All of the women were disillusioned with the idea of true love and romance. They had all been overlooked or cast aside by their ideal man. As far as they were all concerned, Prince Charming was dead and gone. The men were finally exiting what I referred to as the ‘horny toad phase’, where they all wanted porn-sex with supermodels and would not compromise on their obscenely high standards. The fact that they had average looks and meager bank accounts however, were not going to get them a one night stand with a runway diva. Leigha would be catnip for the men, and the cause of a cat fight with the women.

With slumped shoulders, I admitted defeat and decided to keep the sweater. “He’d better be there. I’ve got at least four women with cop fantasies who I promised a real live officer of the law. If he doesn’t come I’m screwed.”

“Wrong, sweetie. If he’s not coming you’re not screwing.” Leigha giggled at her lame attempt at humor. I wanted to take the high road and ignore her, but the twitch of my lips told her I was fighting to keep from smiling.

“You know that was good, come on and admit it.”

“Fine, yes, that was clever. Do you ever think of anything other than sex?”

“Clothes?”

“You’re hopeless,” I called over my shoulder as I walked out of my bedroom and down the hall to the living room to gather my things and leave.

“And your horny,” she yelled back at me. “Call me when you’re done. Or if you plan on spending the night with you-know-who.” I slammed the door against the sound of her high pitched laughter. Walking down the steps and to the path leading to my car, my lightened mood was quickly washed away by the sight of the crushed lilies I found waiting for me the previous night. Taking a brief scan of the yard and street, I was somewhat relieved to find there was nothing, and no one, waiting for me. Nevertheless, I made a bee line for my car and didn’t breathe until safely locked inside. Starting the car, I sent up a silent prayer that tonight would be an uneventful one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 






Chapter End Notes:

Hmmm...something to think about, right?? How did our killer get his hands on Crazy Maisy's veils? When is Nicole going to stop being so daggone stubborn and let Quinn do his thing (lol)? Thanks for reading/reviewing...stay tuned for more :)







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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.