ATLANTA GEORGIA
7th March 2022

VINCE

Vince sipped an unsavoury concoction that comprised five of the things he hated the most: ginger, garlic, lemon, pineapple, and habanero ghost peppers. The pineapple was supposed to be the sweetener. Spoiler alert: The pineapple was not doing a good job at sweetening. He tried not to barf as the somewhat chunky mess burned its way down his throat and put on a smile even though his stomach was crying bloody murder.

“Want some more of my salacious mix?” Quinn teased, bouncing her baby on her lap. She pronounced the word salacious like it had four 'Ls' instead of just one.

“No, thank you. I will not have you pulverize my throat any further.”

Vince was at Quinn’s house. Quinn was the errand he’d told Daisy he had to run. Vince owed it to Quinn to tell her whatever had been going on concerning Clara’s investigation. For Vince, Quinn was like a big sister and a best friend conflated into one. Clara had been Quinn’s friend, too. They had bonded over their freakishly healthy lifestyles which, by the way, entailed such vile concoctions as the one Vince was currently drinking. In honor of Clara’s memory, during the pandemic, Quinn had started up a blog called C.E.G. to give advice on healthy herbal remedies to kick Covid out. C.E.G. were Clara’s initials; Clara Elmer Gilligan. Though to the world, the website had been inaptly called Corona’s Exit Guaranteed.

Yeah, Quinn was not very good with names.

“I’ve not been completely honest with you.” Vince began.

“Princess, baby,” Quinn cooed. “Don’t you think Armageddon is upon us? Your godfather is admitting that he has done something wrong. Gasp.” Quinn touched her forehead with the back of her palm like she was about to faint. She was melodramatic like that.

“You are not gonna make this easy for me, are you?”

“Fine,” Quinn carried Princess and put her on her shoulder. “Let me put Princess to sleep, then come and hear what it is Vince Gilligan has been dishonest about.” She went up the stairs and was back in five minutes.

“She fell asleep that quickly?”

Quinn smiled. “Princess is not a difficult child when it comes to sleeping. I think she loves sleep more than koalas do. So tell me. I'm listening.”

“Remember when you kinda sort of forced me to pinky promise that we would forget about the Clara investigation?” Vince waited for Quinn to nod before continuing. “Well, I was crossing my fingers behind my back. You know that crossing your fingers nullifies a promise and . . . Anyway, what I’m trying to tell you is that I never stopped investigating.”

Quinn sat back for a moment. Vince had expected her to be royally pissed off, but she didn’t look furious. If anything, she looked amused. “I assume you are telling me this because your investigation has turned out to be fruitful?”

“Somewhat fruitful. Remember Clara’s cameraman? Myles? Big guy, dreadlocks?”

Quinn pursed her lips, something she did when she was getting pissed off. “Keep saying ‘remember’ like I have amnesia and I will cut out your tongue.”

Vince stuck out his tongue then stuck it back in. What was he doing? Being with Quinn could really bring out the child in him. “Okay, fine. I met up with Myles today.” He began twisting his wedding ring nervously. He'd never stopped wearing it.

“And what did big dreadlock Myles have to say?”

“A lot actually. He told me some wacky story about how Clara was investigating Samantha Carmichael’s disappearance before she died. She even had some dinner with some mystery woman called Jae the very night she died.”

“Samantha Carmichael? Like the daughter of Mrs. Gretchen Carmichael? That case that’s been all over the news lately?”

“Yep, the very one.” Vince raised the concoction glass to his lips, saw that something was curdling on top, felt his stomach summersault, and put it back down. There was no way he was drinking any more of that. Health benefits be damned. “There’s more. Apparently, some renowned crime junkie that goes by the initials R.A. posted that he or she saw Samantha attend the Atlanta Film Festival. Myles believes that post is what caused a resurgence in the public’s interest in the case. He also believes”—Vince cleared his throat—“that Clara’s death is related to the Samantha Carmichael case.”

“Interesting. And what are you going to do about this information? Are you going to get dear old darling Rebecca to give you the case?”

“Actually, I didn’t need to do much. My new partner did most of the work for me. She requested the case, got dressed down by Rebecca and that’s where I came in. I offered Rebecca a deal she couldn’t refuse. I told her that if she gave me the case, I would take my psyche evaluation seriously and get back to the GBI.” Vince left out the part that if he failed his psyche evaluation, he would voluntarily resign. It wasn’t important at this point.

Quinn took out a carrot from a red plastic bowl that Vince had not even noticed and took a bite. The chewing sounds made Vince shudder. “And when was my best friend going to tell me that he finally got a partner that he was willing to work with?”

“I got a new partner today. And I am not exactly willing to work with her. We just share a common interest. And that is solving the Samantha Carmichael case. That’s it.”

Waggling her brows suggestively, Quinn spoke around the carrot. “It’s a she?”

Vince sighed. Quinn could be annoying that way. She’d been shipping him with every female he associated with for the past three years. “Yep, a very young she.”

“Tell me all about this very young she.” Quinn was as giddy as a child on Christmas morning.

“Her name’s Daisy Atkins. She came here from San Francisco. Apparently, she caught the Fairytale Killer back in San Francisco. Big whoop.”

“She can’t be that young if she has such an achievement under her belt.”

“She’s twenty-three, Quinn. That’s how old some people are when they get out of college.”

Quinn took out another carrot. With the number of carrots she ate, she could have night vision. “You are thirty. There are only seven years between you two.”

“Jesus, Quinn. Again with the shipping?"

“And what’s wrong with shipping you two? You have been alone for too long.”

Vince bobbed his leg, a sign of irritation. “Five years is not too long. Besides, I don't think she’s too keen on the idea of love at the moment.”

Quinn stopped chewing and rested the carrot on her thigh. “What gave you that idea?”

“It’s just something Rebecca said. She said that Daisy transferred here because of love, and Daisy got angry. Like real mad to the extent that she was shaking. I get the impression that things with her lover didn’t go so well.”

“Who is to say that you can’t be there to teach her what love is?”

Vince stood up. This was going too far. Love? He couldn’t love someone else. “That’s enough, Quinn.”

Quinn stood up, too, standing on her tiptoes to look him in the eye. Not many people could look Vince in the eye by virtue of his height. Even standing on her tiptoes, Quinn didn’t quite reach his shoulders. “Vince, I love you and that is why I am going to say some things that may hurt you. Clara died. It was tragic, yes, and you had the right to grieve. But five years have passed, Vince, and you are still living with the ghosts of your past life. Clara’s memories —no matter how good they are—are eating you up. They are sucking the life out of you. You are not the Vince I befriended ten years ago. You need to forgive yourself. You can't keep blaming yourself for her death."

Vince knew that Quinn was right. He should move on. He should stop living with the ghost of his wife in his house and in his head. He should get on with his life. He should stop blaming himself for what happened to Clara. Quinn had been saying variations of the same thing for the past year. But Vince couldn’t do that. Doing what Quinn was saying would somehow mean letting Clara go. Even loving someone else like Quinn so desperately wanted him to do would mean replacing Clara. And Vince didn’t want that.

Clara was his life.

“I think it’s time I go.” Vince took his half-drunk concoction glass to the kitchen.

“You like her don’t you?" Quinn said, her voice echoing through the room.

Vince froze. The glass almost dropped. Almost. “What?”

“You like Daisy.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Quinn picked up another carrot and raised it to her lips. “Let’s just say that every time you have talked about Daisy, you’ve been saying negative things about her as if you are trying to convince your brain not to like her."

“That’s bullshit.” Vince spat

“Prove me wrong then. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like Daisy. Not even a little bit.”

Vince didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to lie to his best friend. Instead, he kissed Quinn on the cheek, sent his regards to Princess and Herb, and left, getting into his car and driving away.

Like was too strong a word. He’d only seen Daisy once. Maybe it would be more correct to say Vince fancied her. She had a good head on her shoulders. And a good body, too. The rage hidden deep inside her had also made quite an impression on him.

Vince would take her under his wing, and maybe —just maybe— if fate willed, he would take her into his heart. Taking her to his bed would be a bonus.

●●●

A/N: Chapter 12 is out as well.
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