Chapter 18
Though Arthur couldn’t be completely sure, he suspected that never before had the setting for a detective’s interrogation smelled so heavenly.
He and Sal had made a spread to rival that of the first morning of Nora’s stay—before the discovery of the late mayor in their flower garden.
The meals since had been a tad lackluster in Arthur’s estimation, but perhaps he didn’t need to worry about Nora’s opinion of the inn, considering she might be involved in the murder.
This morning, Sal had revisited his anatomically correct heart–shaped pancakes, adding raspberry syrup Arthur had made from fresh berries, and he’d shaped the scones like little bats.
Arthur was too nervous to even playfully chide Sal for leaning too heavily into the whole we’re vampires business.
There were far more pressing matters at hand.
A few minutes before ten, Nora walked into the kitchen, looking cozy in an oversize T-shirt and leggings.
Arthur had yet to see her in such casual attire, though of course brunch didn’t have a dress code.
He himself had tried to go for a lazy Sunday look, sporting a taupe sweater with elbow patches over his usual button-down along with slacks and his most comfortable loafers.
His neat white apron completed the ensemble.
A timeless look he liked to think would put their guests at ease.
Sal, on the other hand, was making a particular statement with his tie-dye and bell-bottoms.
“This looks incredible,” Nora said, though her tone was muted. Perhaps she, too, was drawing parallels between today’s offering and that from her first morning at the Iris Inn. The shadow of the mayor’s death loomed in every corner.
“Nora, darling, can you help me carry these plates?” Sal asked. “Quinn will be here soon, and I want to have the whole table set by then.”
“Quinn?” Her words turned brittle. “She’s coming?”
“Yes, didn’t I mention that? We’ll be a fearsome foursome!” Sal swooped forward with a few platters of food. “There’s something so clandestine about the number four, isn’t there? The Beatles, the Incredibles, the Jonas Brothers—”
“There are five Incredibles,” Arthur said. “And only three Jonas Brothers.”
“Joe, Nick, Kevin, and Vladimir.”
“Vladimir Jonas? You’re making that up.”
Sal huffed. “Just because he’s their grandfather to the eighth degree…You’re just like all those other fake fans.”
Arthur held up his hands in surrender. Now wasn’t the time for one of Sal’s impassioned rants about pop culture.
“You did not tell me about Quinn.” Nora fisted her hands in the fabric of her shirt. “You said this brunch was to apologize for accusing me of murder.”
“Come now.” Sal turned back to Nora, replacing his pout with a glowing smile. “You don’t suppose you were the only person we accused of murder yesterday, do you?”
“Please tell me you didn’t invite them all,” Arthur muttered.
“Of course not! Though, now you mention it, Theo would have been an excellent addition to our party…”
Nora sighed heavily. “I…I need to go change.” She fled the room, knocking into Sal on her way and nearly bringing a platter of sausages to their demise.
“Well, that’s something,” Arthur said.
“I’ll say!” Sal lowered the plates back to the counter. “Downright heroic of me, I should think.”
“What?”
“The sausages. I saved them!” Sal gestured to the links, now clustered near the lip of the platter. “They’ll probably throw a party in my honor, give me a medal or something.”
“We’re just going to eat them all anyway.”
Sal pressed a finger to Arthur’s lips and hushed him. “Not so loud! The sausages will hear you!”
“Right…” Arthur eyed the sausages with trepidation, his train of thought quite derailed by Sal’s dramatics. “Anyway, did you notice the way Nora clammed up when you mentioned Quinn?”
“Indeed! Such delicious tension!”
“I don’t think she’s been sleeping well. The bags under her eyes were more substantial than her luggage when she arrived. Perhaps the pillows are not to her liking.”
“Yes, well, she has a high-pressure job and an unrequited love, my dear. You ought to know something about that.”
“Unrequited love?”
“Oh, you know you wanted me right away.” Sal quirked an eyebrow and licked his lips. “I, on the other hand, was very cool.”
“To the touch, maybe,” Arthur muttered, but he was saved the unfortunate job of clarifying the narrative of their love story by Nora’s reappearance.
Now she looked the part of city manager in her blue blouse and skirt.
She was even a few inches taller in her heels.
So much for creating a relaxed atmosphere from which to launch his interrogation.
Before Arthur could ask why she’d changed, the front door opened. Sal rushed out to greet Quinn, who looked almost cheerful until she caught sight of Nora on the other side of the dining table. Her face fell.
“What’s she doing here?” Quinn groaned.
Arthur glanced at the coffee mugs, freshly poured, almost expecting to see them ice over. Whatever was going on between these two hadn’t gotten any better in the days since Nora’s arrival. If anything, it was worse. Perhaps it had something to do with Brody’s attack last night.
“You can’t expect us to exclude our paying guest, can you?
” Sal gestured Quinn toward the table, pulling out a chair for her.
Quinn’s nostrils flared, but she sat down all the same.
Arthur knew well the position she was in, being swept along by Sal’s charms while trying to stay furious with him.
If he’d been in a more charitable mood, he would have intervened.
“You said you had information on the break-in—” Quinn began, but Sal waved her off.
“Not before the yum-yum! Come on, the coffee will get cold.”
Nora glanced at Arthur, and for a moment they shared identical fond exasperation, then she reached for the chair beside him.
“No, no! Nora, dear, you’re here next to Quinnie!” Sal guided her by the shoulders to the other side of the table.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nora muttered under her breath.
Quinn, on the other hand, took no pains to lower her voice. “Don’t call me Quinnie.”
“No? What nickname would you prefer? Quinner? Q-tip?”
“No nicknames.”
“Ah, a Quinnter chill…”
Rather than reply, Quinn reached for her coffee and drained her mug in one fell swoop. When she was done, she put the mug down on its saucer and set her gaze on Arthur. “Now, what do you know about who broke into my office?”
Arthur snuck a glance at Nora. She didn’t look up from her plate, fork toying with her hash browns.
“We know who is responsible for it,” Arthur said, taking a bite from his own plate. It wasn’t blood, but he had to admit ketchup was a particular triumph of human invention.
“And? Are you going to actually tell me?” She placed her hand palm down on the table as she leaned forward, a tremor building in her voice.
“Not just yet, I think. I have a few questions of my own.” Arthur wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin and returned it to his lap before continuing. “First, have you heard about what happened to Brody Young last night?”
The mood around the table got even tenser. Nora frowned and nodded. “I woke up to an email about it from the sheriff. He’s still in critical condition.”
“And so did I,” Quinn said icily. “What does that have to do with the break-in?”
“I’ll get to that,” Arthur said. This whole confronting-the-suspects business was quite thrilling. “You told security nothing was stolen from your office.”
“So? A break-in’s still a break-in. Just because they didn’t manage to take anything valuable doesn’t mean they won’t try again.”
“But they did take something, didn’t they?” Arthur eyed her carefully. “Why lie?”
Quinn didn’t blink.
So it was going to be like that. Arthur sighed and leaned forward on his forearms. “They took a backpack full of spray paint, one you’d previously confiscated from Brody Young.”
Nora’s gaze snapped to Quinn, apparently done pretending not to care about the conversation. “You took Brody Young’s backpack?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn said.
“Yes, you do.” Arthur placed his napkin beside his plate and rose slowly to his feet. “You took his backpack, and when you discovered it was gone, you tracked him down and took your revenge.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of a break-in?” Nora’s voice wavered for a moment before she continued in a more stately manner. “You really should report things like that to my office.”
“I don’t see a need to report anything to you—your office.” Quinn stared down at her still mostly full plate as she spoke. “It’s not like you’ll stick around for long. You never do.”
“We’ll see about that,” Nora muttered.
Quinn turned her back on Nora, speaking more to the ground than to Arthur. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I confiscated Brody Young’s backpack because I caught him outside city hall planning to graffiti the walls. He broke into my office to take it back, I assume.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Brody didn’t break into your office.”
Quinn looked up at that, a tinge of pink remaining in her cheeks. “What do you mean? Of course he did.”
“Thought you might find that interesting.” Arthur moved his plate aside and folded his hands atop the table.
He didn’t want to come on too strong, but he also didn’t want her to dismiss his line of questioning.
He needed to assert himself without scaring her.
It was a delicate needle to thread. “But, no, it wasn’t Brody Young.
His friends were the culprits, but Brody wasn’t with them. ”
“Bet you don’t feel so good about trying to kill him now,” Sal said with a smug smile. “Don’t try to deny it. We read the text you sent him with our own four eyes.”
So much for the delicate needle.
“I know what you did. This isn’t over,” Arthur repeated from memory. “Not exactly something an innocent person would send to a teenager.”