Chapter 10
Arthur wasn’t sure how he’d go about finding Quinn at city hall—and he was putting an awful lot of faith in the notion that she’d be working on the weekend as well as Nora—but for once, fortune favored him.
Quinn sat on a bench outside city hall, eating a bagel, a drink carrier in her lap with four coffees sporting the logo of the Big Bad Brew.
Her posture was ramrod straight, her business attire crisp and pristine.
Not even the breeze seemed to dare to ruffle her tidy bun.
The only crease on her was between her eyebrows as Arthur and Sal rode up on their tandem bicycle.
“Good morning,” she said in a manner that assigned absolutely no goodness to that particular morning. Though Nora wasn’t around, Quinn’s tone remained icy. Perhaps that was simply her default state.
“And what a lovely morning it is,” Salvatore replied far more convincingly. He left the shade of Arthur’s umbrella and sat on the bench beside her.
Arthur kept his distance, not wanting her to feel trapped. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions, Ms. Clark.”
“I can give you the number to our PR person,” she said. “They’ll answer all your questions about the mayor’s death. I can’t make any statements to journalists.”
“Oh, journalists! Can you imagine?” Sal chuckled. “Though I will admit to having published some of my youthful journals in a rather scandalous periodical as well as some more recent pieces collected in the Archive of Our Own—”
“We aren’t journalists is what he means. You know we own the Iris Inn. I’m investigating the mayor’s death.” Arthur stood tall as he said it, bracing for her ridicule. He wondered at what point he should remove his aviators for full dramatic effect.
“I don’t know anything about it. Or at least no more than anyone else. Really, it’s none of my business.” Quinn shifted away from Sal and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“Actually, we have a source that tells us you wanted the mayor’s job. So, a bit your business, as it turns out,” Arthur said in a rush, moving to block her path. “And also you were likely the last one to see him alive.”
She gave him a puzzled look, eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Your source is Nora Anderson?”
“We may not be journalists, Ms. Clark, but even we know better than to reveal our sources.” Sal rose to his feet as well with a flourish that quite knocked the deerstalker cap from Arthur’s head.
“So you didn’t see the mayor after you left him at city hall on Thursday night?” Arthur pressed as he stooped to pick up the hat.
“No. I wasn’t even in the office that day. I met with the school board for a few hours—an absolutely inane discussion about a parent worried that teaching binary and nonbinary numbers in math class will push children onto a ‘devious path.’ ”
“That’s ridiculous!” Sal scoffed. “Math never turned anyone gay.”
Quinn blinked at Sal, her gaze betraying the slightest surprise before she recovered. “Right…well…after that, I had lunch with Hannah from Accounting, then a meeting with Public Works. I didn’t even see the mayor until the late afternoon, when he told me about your wine and cheese thing.”
“What, did you plan your entire day to avoid seeing Nora?” Sal arched a solitary eyebrow. “Not very I-don’t-know-her of you.”
“Yeah, well. It didn’t work. I saw her anyway. She was with the mayor, actually. She’d cornered him for some PowerPoint presentation or something as I was on my way out. So, if you think about it, Nora was actually the last to see him alive.” Her expression settled into a smug smile.
“Nora didn’t mention seeing you.”
“Yes, well, she wouldn’t, would she? Whatever Nora told you about me was a lie. You can’t trust her.”
“Oh, of course. We’ll just take your word for it, shall we?” Sal pushed his aviators up, smoothing his hair back with the motion.
Arthur shifted his weight, hand fluttering by his own pair of sunglasses.
He wished he’d taken them off sooner. He looked ridiculous, to be sure, but if he removed them now, it would look like he was copying Sal.
Instead, he straightened the hat on his head and switched tactics.
“Can you at least tell us your whereabouts for the rest of that day?”
Quinn crossed her arms and huffed. “I met with the local chamber of commerce at Sugar and Slice before heading to the Iris Inn.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
She ticked off her fingers as she listed names.
“Theodore Park of the Big Bad Brew, Agnes Clement of Nuts and Bolts, and Trip Young of Young Family Dental. We were only there until about six. Trip had to leave early for what I now realize was Salvatore’s dental appointment.
Then I went to the Iris Inn. I trust you remember my being there? ”
Arthur nodded curtly, glad she couldn’t see his eyes behind his aviators as he glanced at Sal.
If only it weren’t for the damn dentist appointment, they’d be in the clear.
No. He couldn’t think like that. It wasn’t Sal’s fault the sheriff suspected them of murder.
Even if it was a little bit his fault. But only just a little bit.
“And where did you go after you left the Iris Inn?”
“Home.”
“Can anyone else verify that?”
“I live alone,” Quinn snapped.
Salvatore wiggled his eyebrows. “Any nighttime callers?”
“I’m single, if you must know.”
“I certainly must! Perhaps when I’m finished with all this unsavory murder business I’ll offer matchmaking services.”
“Pardon me if I don’t avail myself of these…
services.” Quinn narrowed her eyes. “I’ll say this, though.
Everything in this town was running smoothly before Nora came back.
The day she arrived, the mayor ended up dead, and she replaced him.
I don’t know why you’re bothering with me when she clearly benefited from his death.
Meanwhile, the only thing that’s changed for me is instead of fetching coffee for Mayor Roth, now I’m doing it for her. ”
Without a backward glance, Quinn snatched her drink carrier and stalked off to city hall. Arthur watched her for a moment.
“Well, she’s hiding something.”
“Of course she is, darling. Aren’t we all? What is a human if not thirty thousand secrets in a trench coat?”
“Is that why you have so many trench coats?”
“Of course not. I have more secrets than that. My coats are purely decorative.”
“What could it be, though?” Arthur mused aloud.
“I just told you—trench coats were a fashion staple of 1820 and I suppose 1915 and most definitely 1970. They’ll have their day again soon, mark my words.”
“No, I mean Quinn. And Nora, too. Do you suppose they did it together?”
“A sexy past?” Sal gasped.
“The murder, Sal!”
“Oh! But how much more salacious if they were lovers.”
As Sal’s imagination unspooled into a tale taller than its teller, Arthur let his husband’s voice fade into the background.
It was possible, he supposed, that Quinn’s and Nora’s animosity was all for show, though there was still the matter of Nora’s alibi.
The night of the mayor’s death, Arthur and Sal had flitted in and out of the living room and kitchen while they’d cleaned up until dawn, so he was fairly certain she’d remained inside the inn, unless she had supernatural abilities of her own he didn’t know about.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t in on it, just that she hadn’t struck the killing blow.
“Arthur, are you listening to me?”
Arthur was not, in fact, listening to him. “Of course.”
“Isn’t it interesting, the text I just received?” Sal’s eyes glittered with mischief.
“Quite.” Arthur would not have his bluff called so easily.
“Didn’t expect that, did we, Rumble?” Sal placed the phone screen in front of Rumble’s nose. The cat yawned. “What do you suppose she wants with me? Other than my charming company. If you had a phone she might text you, too, Arthur.”
“All right, out with it.”
“Out with what?” Sal’s eyes grew wide and innocent—or as innocent as a six-hundred-year-old vampire could be. “I thought you were listening.”
“You know very well I wasn’t.” Arthur heaved a sigh and placed his notebook in his pocket. “Tell me who texted. We both know you’re dying to share.”
Sal, of course, was already dead, but that was neither here nor there.
“Maybe I don’t want to tell you anymore.” Sal frowned and furrowed his brow. “I don’t need your pity. Rumble is plenty interested in what I have to say.”
Rumble chose that moment to disappear back into the bag, likely to nap.
“Fine. It’s Lore. She says she wants to hang out again.” Sal’s expression turned devious. “What do you think that means? She knows we’re married, doesn’t she? You don’t suppose she—”
A thrill of excitement shot through Arthur, though not at the prospect of whatever risqué proposition Sal had imagined. “It probably means she’s hedging against her text history getting subpoenaed.” He swiped the glasses from his face. “She must have more information about the case.”
“Oh, such delicious dramatics! Yes! I love it when you talk like Hercules Parrot.” Salvatore walked his fingers up Arthur’s arm before planting a kiss on his cheek. “Though I must say, that wasn’t exactly a big reveal. Maybe try it again when we discover something truly tantalizing.”
“It’s Hercule— You know what? Never mind.” Arthur slipped the glasses back on. “Let’s go meet her.”
“She said she’ll be waiting for us by the river. What a romantic adventure!”
Meeting “by the river” might have been too vague a set of instructions in the previous places they’d lived, but in Trident Falls, it could mean only one thing.
A row of shops overlooked the most scenic slice of the Cutlass River as it wound through town, a quick ride from city hall.
Charming brick buildings with candy-bright awnings were bustling with Saturday morning shoppers.
A wooden boardwalk ran the length of the stores, hanging over the edge of the river enough to allow for what Salvatore would call perfect Instagram moments.