Day Five - Benny Abbott
Benny Abbott
Day Five
“Turn right up there,” I say.
Sarah points to the strip mall off the main boulevard. “There?”
We’ve been in the car all day, having left the house before reporters set up camp in the hope of finding answers about Xander’s accident.
The exact location in Angeles National Forest was never disclosed, only that it happened off the Angeles Crest Highway, a windy two-lane mountain road north of Los Angeles.
We drove the entire stretch from the dry-brush hills through the pine-stippled mountains and out the other side to where the highway ended, and then we turned around.
But nothing. No traffic cones, no camera vans, not a single piece of yellow tape.
Which means they’ve either misled us about the location, or they’ve given up their search for Joy.
Or—I can’t even bear to think it—they never started searching to begin with.
The entire round trip took four hours, and between fits of anger and frustration, Sarah and I dissected every shred of information we’ve been given over the past few days. The part we keep coming back to is Mallory. And whatever it is she and Quinn are hiding.
“I can’t tell if it’s open,” Sarah says when she pulls into the parking lot.
Sandwiched between a liquor store and a sign shop, Quinn’s Cupcakery is hard to miss. Once a three-star donut shop, it is now a beacon of 1950s nostalgia with its bright neon signs and checkerboard floors. Through the front window, we watch Quinn slide an empty tray into an aluminum rack.
I call her number. She glances down at her phone, then lets it ring.
“Figures.” I unbuckle. “You coming with me?”
“Only if you buy me a cupcake,” Sarah says, already getting out of the car.
Quinn is still facing away when I push on the door. It’s locked. I rattle it to be sure.
“We’re closed,” she shouts.
I rap my knuckles on the glass. This time Quinn sees us, and her bright red lips form a stern line.
A moment passes in which I reassess everything I know about Quinn and realize it doesn’t amount to much. I’m associated with her only through Mallory, who’s an even greater enigma than her wife. When Quinn cracks the door, I find myself at a loss.
“Did something happen?” she asks.
“We were hoping you had a minute to talk,” Sarah says when it’s clear I’m not going to take the lead.
It seems entirely likely Quinn will shut the door on us, but she opens it wider without another word. The buttery aroma of baked goods fills our nostrils as we take a seat at a pedestal table with aqua-blue chairs. I wasn’t prepared for how awkward this was going to be.
“So, you and Mallory aren’t answering your phones,” I say.
“Because there’s nothing to discuss.”
I blink at her. “I think there’s a lot to discuss.”
Quinn sighs. “Do either of you want a cupcake?”
“Yes, please,” Sarah says. She follows Quinn to the display and coos over the choices.
On the wall in front of me is an old poster for milkshakes. Beside it, a marquee sign with old-fashioned light bulbs pointing THIS WAY FOR COCA-COLA. There’s a jukebox in the corner and vintage napkin holders on each of the three tables.
“Did you make all these yourself?” Sarah asks as Quinn plates two chocolate cupcakes with vanilla icing, one topped with a fondant poodle skirt, the other with a vinyl record.
“I have help in the morning,” Quinn says, more kindly than before. “But I do all the decorations myself.”
“Amazing.” Sarah pulls out her wallet but Quinn waves her off.
When they return, Sarah and I dig in. I’m not hungry, but Sarah’s tactics are clearly better than mine, and she seems to think this is necessary.
Quinn watches us chew. “So what have you heard?”
“Nothing since Keller showed up at Joy’s house yesterday,” I say, covering my mouth. “I’m sure Mallory told you about it.”
“About your criminal past?” She nods.
I flinch. “That’s not what I came here to talk about.”
“No?” She crosses her arms. “Did you come here to talk about the million dollars you stole?”
“I didn’t…” I gape at her, startled less by her words than her tone. She’s angry with me. No, furious. “Stole? Is that what Mallory told you?”
“Is it wrong?”
“Of course it’s wrong.” My voice is so shrill, so weirdly defensive, it takes me a second to remember why we’re here in the first place. “How long was Mallory spying for Xander?”
Quinn laughs bitterly. “How long have you been in love with Joy?”
“Fuck off.”
“Okay, okay.” Sarah holds out her hands. “We’re all a little on edge right now. Let’s start over. How are you handling this, Quinn? I can imagine your feelings are extremely complicated at the moment.”
Quinn sniffs at this.
My sister is right. Telling Quinn to fuck off probably wasn’t the best strategy. Brushing the crumbs from my hands, I push my plate away and try again. “What you said during the search party—”
Quinn stands abruptly and heads for the back room. “You can go ahead and forget that,” she says over her shoulder. For a moment I worry I’ve made another tactical error, but then she returns with a broom and begins sweeping the checkered floor.
“You don’t have to take it back,” Sarah says, flashing a meaningful glance at me. “We understand. He had your wife spying for him. Of course you didn’t like him. That’s a rotten thing to do.”
“Yeah, well. He’s done worse.”
“So you knew he was hurting her,” I say.
“Not exactly. Not that. I knew there was something weird going on, and that Mallory never sees things clearly when it comes to Xander. So I figured it was probably worse than she was letting on. But no. No. I didn’t know until Keller told us. And I want you to know it makes me sick.”
I shift to the edge of my seat. “Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”
She keeps sweeping.
“You know it wasn’t just a car accident, right?” I press.
She flattens a hand to her hip. “Why are you here, Benny?”
“Because—seriously?” I look to Sarah for help.
“Because whoever’s responsible for his death might lead us to Joy,” Sarah says.
“Just tell us what you know, Quinn.”
“What do you know, Benny?” She white-knuckles the broom. “If anyone had reason to kill Xander, it was you. You were in love with his wife. You keep playing dumb, but there’s no way you didn’t know about the divorce.”
I hold up a hand. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Bullshit. You wanted to push Xander out before signing the distribution deal. That’s why you emptied the account—so he would have nothing to fight with. Then as soon as he’s out of the picture, you sign the deal—more money for Benny, more money for Joy, and fuck everyone else, right?”
“That’s not…” I scrub my face. “Is that really what you think?”
She’s aggressively sweeping again. “We moved four hundred miles for your stupid podcast. I put all our money into this stupid cupcake shop expecting a safety net when your stupid distribution deal went through, and— You know what? No. Fuck this. We’re not doing this right now.”
I’m not sure how best to go about it, but I need to keep her talking. “When you said you’d have a safety net when the deal went through…”
Quinn’s red lip curls. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine, but some of us aren’t sitting on a pile of cash. We needed that money.”
“No, I mean…” What do I mean? I connect as many dots as I can as quickly as I can and take a shot in the dark. “Xander promised Mallory a bonus when the deal went through, didn’t he?” I try to say it like I already knew as much, and I’m relieved when she nods. Bingo.
“But after that shit with Ted and Emil went down, he threatened to take it away.” Quinn smirks. “But I’ll bet you didn’t know that part, did you?”
That shit with Ted and Emil? I’m about to ask what the hell she’s talking about when Sarah puts a hand on my arm. “Why would he do that?” she asks.
“Because I told Mallory to stop—” Quinn exhales sharply through her nose. “It wasn’t spying, all right? But when she told Xander she was out, he threatened to cut her bonus.”
“Motherfucker,” I mutter.
“You can say that again.”
We let that linger in the air.
Something occurs to me. “If you didn’t know Xander was hurting Joy, then what did you mean when you said he’s done worse?”
When she doesn’t respond, I press on. “How did you know something weird was going on?”
“I just had a feeling, that’s all.”
“But how?”
Quinn clears our half-eaten cupcakes from the table and tosses them into the trash. “What does it matter? He’s dead.”
My sister knows something. I can see it on her face. “He’s done this before, hasn’t he?”
The overhead lights hum.
“To Mallory,” Sarah adds quietly.
Quinn averts her eyes. “Not like that.”
“Like what, then?”
Cinching the drawstring, Quinn removes the garbage liner from the bin.
“Quinn,” I say.
She sets the bag down with a sigh. “I asked her recently if her family did anything to prevent her from getting sick. I know if I had ear infections that were so bad they made me throw up, then I would try literally anything to stop them before they started.”
“And?” Sarah says.
“And she was like, yeah, of course, Xander put these special drops in my ears every day.”
I don’t know where she’s going with this. “What kind of drops?”
“Some herbal concoction that was supposed to prevent bacteria.”
“That sounds reasonable.” My gaze darts between Quinn and Sarah. “Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, well. Would you feel the same if you knew he made it himself?”
Sarah’s jaw unhinges. “And you think…”
“I’m just saying,” Quinn says with a one-shouldered shrug. “Kind of a weird coincidence that the infections stopped when Xander went away to college.”
My vision clouds. I don’t want it to be true. I can’t even bring myself to consider what this might mean for Joy if it’s true. “Does Mallory know you think this?”
Quinn nods. “She doesn’t see it. Or she didn’t. I don’t know anymore.”
We’re all silent for a moment, which seems to be all Quinn needs to remember she wants nothing to do with me. “Listen, I have to finish cleaning up. I told Mallory I’d be home thirty minutes ago.”
“Hang on,” I say. “Just a minute. Can we talk about this?”
But she’s clearly done with us, avoiding eye contact as she holds open the door. Sarah takes my elbow, and I reluctantly follow. The moment our soles touch the strip mall concrete, Quinn locks us out without another word.