Chapter One
“Curses, like chickens, come home to roost.”
— Susanna Moodie, eighteenth-century Canadian author
Quinn Caine may have traveled all over the world, but she still thought nothing was more enchanting than springtime in Vienna, Virginia, especially driving with the windows down on Church Street. That’s where all the historic charm bloomed, with people she’d known since birth living close by. This was her hometown. Memories resided on each corner. As did oversized bags of dog food.
Quinn pulled up in front of the family business, Prose & Scones, Vienna’s only independent bookstore. Mama Caine stopped sweeping the sidewalk of stray petals from the flowering dogwood trees, leaning her weight into her broom handle.
“Need any help?” she asked.
“Nah, I got it.” Quinn hopped out of her truck and onto the curb, grabbing a sack under each arm before flinging them into the flatbed. Two pointy ears with a big smile and a wet nose poked out the passenger side window. Her German shepherd, RBG—Ruff Barker Ginsburg—always seemed to know when she was getting a treat. And sure enough, her mama’s hand spelunked down her jacket pocket. Then, palm out, she offered a liverwurst yummy in the shape of a lil’ cupcake, thanks to the new doggie “sweet” shop down the street.
“You spoil her, you know.” Quinn shook her head, pretending to mind.
“Please. This here’s just practice. Wait ’til I get my first grandbaby.”
Quinn chuckled. “New rule: Every time you drop a grandbaby hint, I’m delaying marriage and conception by at least six months, even if I meet the right guy.”
“Fine—eviscerate a mother’s hopes and dreams.” Adele Caine sighed, wiping the crumbs off her hand. Then, lightning fast, her expression clouded over. “In all seriousness, I’m glad you have RBG with you. Not just as company, but for protection.”
Her daughter gave her an “are you kidding?” look.
“I’m not kidding, Quinn. It used to be the worst thing to happen was getting your bike stolen if you forgot to lock it up. Vienna’s still lovely, but a lot has changed since you’ve been away.”
She was right. The town was in the midst of some growing pains, having transformed more in the last few years than it had in the quarter century before. Mainstays such as the Freemason Store, the Vienna Town Inn, and Caffe Amour had remained intact, but many long-standing institutions had closed. To the residents of Vienna, those businesses were more than just places of commerce; they were extended members of the family.
“I know change is hard, but it’s not all bad. I, for one, am doing a happy dance that we finally have some good tacos in town.”
Quinn’s attempt at levity was squashed by Adele’s stern-mama look. Every mother had one, and Adele Caine could wither the plumpest of grapes into hard raisins with hers.
“I’m not talking about tacos, Quinn. Someone was murdered here not too long ago.”
“Are you—oh, Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Who was it?”
Her eyes went soft. “How could you have? You were living in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world. Your father and I didn’t bring it up because we didn’t want you to worry. I wasn’t going to waste one second of my time with you on Skype talking about such tragedies.”
She had her there. “When did it happen?”
“Right before you came back. I don’t know the details, but supposedly, it was a strange death. It hasn’t been labeled ‘murder’ as such. But the police haven’t ruled out foul play either.” A strong breeze ruffled her blondish-gray hair all around, but Adele didn’t seem to mind. “I’m sorry I don’t know more.”
Quinn reached for her mother’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Adele’s cerulean-blue eyes lit up. “You know who would know?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Aiden. He made lead detective last year. The youngest in history, I believe.”
No surprise. Aiden Harrington was always going places. He had been her older brother’s best friend and Quinn’s secret crush since she’d been old enough to make pinky promises. He had movie-star good looks and a Superman physique, but those attributes—though a visually intoxicating bonus—weren’t why her heart pulsed a secret beat just for him.
Aiden “got” her. He appreciated her vast—and sometimes pointless—encyclopedic array of knowledge. Growing up, some boys had mocked her for being the first to raise her hand in class or for outscoring them on tests. But Aiden would remind her, “Any guy who’s intimidated by a smart girl will never grow up to be his own man. Keep those boys in your rearview, Quinnie. They’re well below your pay grade.” Such high praise from a beautiful, older, more popular boy had been heady liquor for a young girl. Every smile he gave and any chance to share his air intoxicated Quinn, her heart a swelling hope. Someday, she would think to herself. It was her most private wish.
He had always been a natural protector, so she hadn’t been surprised when he joined the police force after he graduated from the University of Virginia (double major in psychology and criminology with a minor in English literature—swoon). Her mom was right: Aiden was probably the perfect person to ask about what was happening in Vienna, but considering she regressed into an awkward, knobby-kneed tween every time she was in his presence, Quinn was going to pass on a one-on-one.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll talk to him later,” she lied.
“How many more pickups you got?”
Quinn glanced down the street. “Yours was the last one of the morning. We’ve been at it a while.”
She caught her mama staring.
“You okay?” Quinn rested her hand on her shoulder, gently bringing her back.
Her mother smiled. “Oh, don’t mind me. I know you’ve been home a little while now, but I swear, sometimes I look over at you and can’t believe you’re really here … that you’re back for good.”
“Well, believe it.”
Even with the reassurance, Adele’s hand still fiddled with a raven brooch on her jacket lapel. She collected intricate pins, getting the idea from former secretary of state Madeleine Albright. Years ago, Quinn had taken her to peruse the former secretary’s brooches on exhibit at the Smithsonian Castle, each pin a tongue-in-cheek “tell” on her mood and sentiments throughout her tenure. Quinn’s mama had been a collector ever since, encouraging her daughter to do the same. But Quinn wasn’t into the same fussy finery. She opted for some quirky pop culture–inspired enamel pins instead, some of her favorites being “These feelings would go good with pie” and “You can’t please everybody. You’re not a taco.”
Her mother rested her chin on top of the broom handle. “You ever miss the adventure?”
Quinn thought about it for a second. After graduating from The Catholic University of America, Quinn had spent the next three years teaching English all over the world, mostly in remote villages in Southeast Asia and Central America. For someone who hadn’t previously left the East Coast, let alone the United States, it had been a heck of a learning curve, one she’d never forget.
“I miss the people—a lot—but that’s about it. Don’t get me wrong—it was a phenomenal experience. But this is home. Besides, after living in yurts and huts, indoor plumbing and heat rock.”