Chapter Fifty-Two
“Well good morning,” the pretty nurse says to Quinn. “Are those for me?” He’s carrying the bouquet of Cosmos. He didn’t want to leave them in the car. The area isn’t the nicest.
Stacey wears scrubs that hug her curves and has long braids that she swishes over her shoulders.
She’s a flirt and has an infectious positivity that is foreign to Quinn, but he likes that George is breathing its air—even if he doesn’t know it.
The doctors aren’t sure how much he comprehends.
But they are certain about one thing: George doesn’t have much time left after the last seizure.
Hospice will be his last stop on this earth.
“Good morning,” Quinn replies.
George’s room smells faintly of cleaning products and maybe a hint of perfume, probably Stacey’s. It’s a tiny space with plants and other failed attempts at hominess.
He puts the flowers on the sill. Mr. Agbayani is an incredible florist. He tried to refuse Quinn’s money, to argue that Quinn works the case for free, but Quinn would have none of it. He takes off his backpack and slides the chair close to the bed.
“Hey, George. It’s me.”
The machines continue to beep, not a break in the rhythm.
Quinn starts with his usual ritual. Reading from Where the Wild Things Are.
As he reads, he looks for any reaction. There’s none.
He puts the book away and studies the folder for today’s assignment for Midwest Investigators.
A background check on a guy named Lance O’Dell, who Berkshire Hathaway plans to hire as an executive.
The usual criminal checks came back clean.
But the company requires all applicants to take psychological tests.
O’Dell’s indicated “addictive personality” traits.
Quinn is supposed to shadow the guy see if anything weird pops up. Easy enough.
He’ll tail O’Dell at lunchtime. His boss said the weekend is too obvious—Friday night isn’t going to tell you much about a person. But someone who slips off to the bar or to the racetrack in the middle of a weekday …
He’s dreading the anniversary dinner tonight.
He shouldn’t be, but he is. He and Holly both know they’re on a ship headed toward an iceberg.
She’s been supportive. But she’s tiring of his shit.
The nightmares. The gloom. The anchor of Quinn and George around her neck.
Quinn’s obsession with finding his mother’s killer.
He instinctively pulls out Mom’s case file.
It’s been dead end after dead end. Even Randy Calhoon’s lawyer said it’s time to let it go. Deep inside Quinn knows everyone is right. But somehow letting go feels like letting his family down, again.
Also, his mom’s Red Flag file meant something.
He feels it in his bones. The reference to Megan Tucker, a classmate of Dad’s who was brutally murdered, Dad wrongly accused.
The photo of Mom wearing pearl earrings that look identical to the ones Megan has on in her senior picture.
Quinn has dug up everything he could on Megan Tucker.
The newspaper articles largely repeat the same facts: Megan was last seen alive at a house party—talking to Quinn’s father.
Police found her body four days later. The press accounts are vague, but the killer had raped and strangled her.
Dad was initially arrested, then released for insufficient evidence. He moved to Monarch after graduating, reuniting with Mom, who’d moved there after her parents’ divorce. Took a job at the factory.
Quinn has driven the four hours to Ashwell on two occasions.
He tried to talk to Megan’s family, but they shut down when they heard Quinn’s last name.
Megan’s brothers—meth dealers, by the looks of them—threatened him if he came around again.
He talked to the local police, but everyone who worked the Megan Tucker case is dead or retired, and they aren’t sharing files with a P.I.
He’s been trying to track down the retired sheriff who led Megan’s investigation.
Nurse Stacey comes into the room, checks George’s chart. “I hear you’re a private eye? Like in the movies.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Sounds interesting, though.”
“Sometimes.”
“I bet you’re good at it,” she says.
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause you like to keep things close to the vest.”
He smiles. Fair enough.
“I got something for you to investigate.” She cocks a brow. “How this fine-ass woman is still single and why all the damn men in this town are scrubs?”
“I’ll look into it.”
“You do that, handsome.”
After a time, Quinn packs up his folder. Thinks about Mr. Agbayani’s daughter, Minnie. About Mom. About George.
“Some private eye I am,” he says to George. “I can’t solve a damn thing.”
The unique chime of his Nokia phone interrupts the self-pity. That’s what it is, he decides: self-pity.
“Happy birthday, Q!” Uncle Pat says on the line.
“Thanks, Pat.”
“You and that lady friend of yours got big plans tonight?”
“Just dinner,” Quinn says. He thinks about Holly, her frustration with him this morning.
The reality that she’s leaving for Chicago in a few weeks to work as a summer associate at a big law firm; how the widening gulf has grown between them; how maybe she’s staying with him because she feels obligated, given George’s condition, given that his little brother isn’t going to make it.
“You having any luck with your investigation about your mom?” Pat asks. Quinn’s had told him about the tension with Holly over it.
“Nope.”
“Sorry, Q.”
Quinn’s asked Pat about his father’s arrest back in the day, about Megan Tucker’s murder.
Pat said that it was all B.S., that Dad had nothing to do with it.
That Dad was talking to Megan the night she was last seen because he was comforting her after some girls at the house party were harassing Megan, calling her a slut.
“Let’s get together soon, kid.”
“For sure.”
Quinn hangs up the line. Another call comes in. It’s his boss Eric from the office.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Eric.”
“You got what you need for the Berkshire Hathaway file?”
“Yeah. I’m heading out soon to tail the guy.”
“Well, I got you a birthday present.”
“Yeah?” He expects Eric to make some joke about a stripper or something. But then Eric surprises him.
“I found that sheriff you’ve been trying to track down.”
Quinn feels a jolt of excitement. He’d asked Eric to run Sheriff Rupert’s name by some of his contacts at the DMV, see if they could track down the retired lawman who led the Megan Tucker case. He didn’t mention that part to Eric since he’s already on thin ice with the firm about Kenny Pearl.
“The guy lives at a nursing home in Beaver City.”
Quinn takes down the information. “I owe you, Eric.”
“Yeah, you do. Happy birthday, man.”
They end the call and Quinn feels a small tingle of hope.
Maybe the retired sheriff will have some answers to these puzzles—who killed his mother, who killed Megan Tucker—that are quite literally driving Quinn insane.
He decides today’s assignment for Midwest Investigators can wait.
If he leaves now, he can make it to Beaver City by late afternoon.
Quinn says goodbye to his brother, who remains nonresponsive. On his way out of the hospice, he stops at the nurse’s station. Hands Stacey the flowers without a word and leaves.