“Sweetheart, Whitney has been in an accident. She was killed. It happened, well, she was on her way here, to the house. I didn’t know if anyone else had gotten through to your team down there, that someone from home had told one of the doctors you were with. I wanted to tell you myself.”
There was no reaction from Reese, and Quinn’s heart sank. He couldn’t hate her, not that much. Reese looked up at her, his eyes troubled.
Quinn squeezed his hands tighter. “I know, honey, I know. It’s awful. There’s more. The police have taken Whitney’s laptop. Apparently she’s been involved, somehow, with this horrible man that has been killing these girls all over the Southeast. I didn’t know if you’d heard about that, either, though it’s been national news and in all the papers. I thought you might have heard something about it. Reese? Reese?”
Reese was staring, unblinking, his face drained of all color. A single tear built up in the corner of his eye and dribbled down his cheek unchecked. He shook his head, unbelieving. Quinn nattered on, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“I mean, I can’t understand it. Whitney, involved with this killer? I don’t know how that’s possible, and the police aren’t giving me a lot of information. I’m sure she was planning on doing some sort of story on it, and she was trying to reach me the day before-” Her voice broke, and she had to gather herself before she continued. “The day before she died. Oh, Reese, what are we going to do?”
Reese finally met Quinn’s eyes, gently removing his hands from hers. “So she didn’t know?”
“She didn’t know what, sweetheart?”
Reese stood up and walked to the bookcase. He reached out a slender finger and traced the spine of an intricately carved book. “All that work,” he murmured to himself.
Quinn heard but didn’t understand what he said.
“What, sweetheart? I didn’t hear you. Are you okay?”
He turned to her, a small smile on his face and a glistening in his eyes. “All my work. She didn’t know.” He started to laugh, and Quinn was unsure what to do. Grief took all forms, and though she knew Reese was not terribly fond of his other sister, she thought that laughter was hardly the best emotional avenue for him to take at the news of her death.
“Now, Reese Connolly, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. I’ve just told you your sister is dead and you laugh. What is wrong with you?”
He was laughing harder now, tears streaming down his face. He stepped over to Quinn, took her in a brief yet forceful hug, and then, still laughing, disappeared from the room. Quinn heard the laughter fade away, then heard the front door slam. A throaty engine turned over and he tore off down the driveway.
She sank into the chair he had been sitting in before his bizarre reaction to his sister’s death had drawn him to stand. What the hell was that about? Quinn shook her head. It was beyond her. She knew that there was no way he could know the truth, but maybe she was mistaken. Maybe Reese had been fooling them all along.
The doorbell rang, and she took a deep breath, got out of the chair and went to the door. She opened it to find both Taylor Jackson and a man she assumed was the FBI agent she’d spoken to standing on her doorstep. Taylor was sporting a black eye and a tight smile. The FBI agent just looked worried.
“Come in, come in, please.” She beckoned to the foyer and watched them closely while they came in the door. Something was going on. Hell, what else could be happening? The police had confiscated Whitney’s computer. They were searching for her husband. Her little brother had laughed when he found out his sister was dead. Her life was quietly disintegrating, and she didn’t know how to stop it.
Taylor and Baldwin settled themselves in the library, watching Quinn flutter about like a feather caught in a breeze. She finally sat across from them and took a deep breath.
“Please, tell me what’s going on. What’s the real reason the FBI is looking for my husband?”
Baldwin leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Mrs. Buckley, we have reason to believe that your husband has been involved in several crimes we’ve been investigating over the past few weeks.”
Quinn threw back her head and laughed. “Let me guess. You think Jake is the Southern Strangler. Please, Mr. Baldwin, let me assure you, Jake is no more the Strangler than I am. It’s just not something that could possibly happen. He’s not capable of killing. Sticking his dick into any female that comes within twenty feet of him, absolutely. But killing? No.”
Baldwin wasn’t deterred. “Mrs. Buckley, you don’t seem to understand. Your husband has been in the exact areas that the girls have gone missing from, and the exact spots where their bodies were recovered. That in and of itself is compelling evidence against him. Have you heard from your husband today?”
“No, I haven’t, but that means nothing. Jake goes for days without checking in. I have no idea where he is half the time…” Her voice trailed off. She stared out the window for a moment. “You’re serious, aren’t you? That’s why you took Whitney’s computer. You think Jake’s been sending her these messages, these poems. But why in the world would he do that? Jake doesn’t send poetry to anyone.” She broke off, her voice catching. “At least, not anymore.”
Her eyes widened. “That son of a bitch. He was sleeping with Whitney, wasn’t he? He was sending her love poems, like he used to do with…Dear God, is nothing sacred? That would make sense. My perfect husband fucking my equally perfect sister. Isn’t that just a riot?”
Baldwin tucked that morsel of information into his mind and tried to get the interview back on track. “Mrs. Buckley, I know how hard this must be for you. You’ve lost your sister, and your husband, well, we don’t know where he is, or what he’s been doing for the past few weeks. I’d like your permission to take a few articles of Mr. Buckley’s personal items with me. We’d like to run some tests, see if we can’t match-”
Quinn came to life, fire spilling from her eyes. “Are you out of your mind? Do you actually think I’m going to march upstairs and give you anything that might implicate my husband in a crime? You get a warrant, Mr. Baldwin. I won’t help you frame my husband for something he didn’t do.”
Taylor stepped in. “Quinn, you and I both know that the best thing you could do would be to let us take some things to the lab, to rule Jake out as a suspect. It would make everyone’s life easier if you’d just cooperate with us now. Think about it, Quinn. There have been seven girls murdered. An eighth is missing. Your husband has dropped off the grid. Your sister died trying to warn you that you were in danger. It all fits. Help us now. Help us help him.”
Quinn shook her head, a sob escaping from her throat. “Absolutely not. No. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” She stood, arms crossed against her chest. Her eyes were strangely bright, tears of frustration trying to break free glistening in the corners.
Baldwin and Taylor stood, as well. As they walked into the hallway, they heard soft mewing sounds coming from behind the door. Quinn noticed the noise, too, and stalked into the marble-floored hallway. Gabrielle, her Italian student-cum-nanny, head in her hands, was weeping softly. Quinn softened for a moment.
“Gabrielle, it’s all right. Everything will be okay. Sara tutto il di destra, cara. Non si preoccupi. ”
Gabrielle raised her head and glared at Quinn.
“Non, it ees not going to be all right. You have no idea. None. There ees no way Signor Buckley has done these things. I know.” She began crying harder and a torrent of Italian flowed from her mouth. “Sto facendo l’amore con il Signor Buckley per parecchi mesi. Siamo nell’amore. Non significo danno a voi. E il mio amante. E il vostro difetto, Signora Buckley. Non e di destra voi non lo ama come.”
Gabrielle stood straighter, and Taylor recognized immediately the stance. A woman in love. Not like Quinn Buckley, resigned but proud. This young girl was madly in love with her employer, and had seen fit to let her employer’s wife know it.
Taylor looked at Quinn. She seemed to have shrunk three inches, her arms wrapped even tighter around her slim frame.
“Quinn, what did she just say?” Taylor asked, a note of concern in her voice. Woman to woman. That might be the trick.
Quinn was still in a visual standoff with her young nanny. She finally took a breath and began to speak, her eyes never leaving Gabrielle.
“She says that she and Jake are having an affair. That they are in love. That it’s my fault, that I don’t love him enough. Is that about right, Gabrielle? I don’t love my husband enough, so you felt the need to step in and love him for me? Get out of my house, voi poco squaldrina. VOI SORCA! ”
Gabrielle’s eyes widened, and Taylor realized Quinn must have called her some sort of terrible name in Italian. The girl cried out, whipped her long hair about her body and ran from the room.
