Out of Tune : A Riley Donovan mystery

Norah Mcclintock

Description

Everyone in town thinks they know who killed their musical prodigy, but Riley Donovan will have the final say.

In Riley Donovan's last whodunit mystery, Alicia, a talented high school violinist, is found bludgeoned to death in a field on the outskirts of town. The small town's suspicion immediately falls on Carrie, the teen's musical rival. But Riley isn't convinced of Carrie's guilt, and even though her police-officer aunt tells her to stay out of it, Riley goes searching for the truth. Did Carrie really kill Alicia in a fit of jealous rage, or is there another explanation for Alicia's death?

Sujets

• Univers ado
• Suspense
• Suspense
• police
• Detective Stories
• Young Adult Fiction
• Mysteries
• Suspenso

Informations

• Publié par: Orca Book Publishers
• Date de parution: 24 octobre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781459814660
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

out of tune  A OUTOF RILEY DONOVAN MYSTERy TUNE NoRAH McCLINToCK

out of tune

out of Tune

NoRAH McCLINToCK

Copyright ©Norah McClintock

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

McClintock, Norah, author Out of tune / Norah McClintock. (Riley Donovan)

Issued also in print and electronic formats.  ----(pbk.).—----(pdf ).— ----(epub) I. Title. II. Series: McClintock, Norah. Riley Donovan . j'. -- --

First published in the United States, Library of Congress Control Number:

Summary:In the third Riley Donovan mystery for teen readers, Riley tries to figure out who killed a young musical prodigy.

FPO

Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has ® printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council certified paper.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover design by Jenn Playford Cover photography by Getty Images

   www.orcabook.com Printed and bound in Canada.    •   

Also by Norah McClintock Taken(2009) She Said, She Saw(2011) Guilty(2012) I, Witness(2012) About That Night(2014) Tru Detective(2015) Trial by Fire(2016) From Above(2016)

ONE

I first got involved on the Saturday following the Wednesday that was officially “the last time anyone saw the missing girl.” I got involved because of Charlie. It was a clear midautumn afternoon. Around Moorebridge, where I live, that means field after brown field cleared and prepped for winter. It also means vast expanses of crimson, lemon, umber, pumpkin and tangerine in the tree breaks between fields and in the woodlots and forest that surround the town. We were on a road that hugged the perimeter of a stretch of forest north of town, we being Charlie, Ashleigh and, of course, me.

1

NoRAH Mc CLINToCK

“You can’t be serious.” The aggrieved expression on Ashleigh’s face was a perfect match for her whiny tone of voice. She’d been complaining more or less all morning, which was starting to drive me crazy, and Charlie looked ready to strangle her. “What would she be doing way out here?” Charlie spoke through gritted teeth. “Someone might have seen her. They might have seen if she was with someone.” “At the Trading Post?” Ashleigh shook her head impatiently. “It’s possible,” Charlie said. “And the Pines—which, may I point out, closed for the season two weeks ago? Or Broom’s Corners, population fiftythree. Unless someone died recently.” “You can always turn back,” Charlie said. If I had to bet, I’d bet he was hoping she would. She didn’t. “Tell me again why we’re doing all this,” she said instead. “You know why we’re doing it.” Charlie is gener ally a Clark Kent type. Mild mannered. Even gentle. But not at that exact moment. He spoke slowly, through clenched teeth, as if he was trying to tamp

2

oUT oF TUNE

down the exasperation that had been evident from the first moment Ashleigh decided to join us on our outing. “We’re doing it because Alicia is missing.” We had been out on our bikes all morning, deliv eringHave You Seen This Girl?flyers around town, and now we were heading out of town. “But it’s a long way to Broom’s Corners,” Ashleigh said, “and there’s zero chance that Alicia would ever go there.” Charlie’s jaw clenched. “If you want to wait here,” I said quickly, “I’ll go with Charlie and you can take a break.” Anything to restore the peace between the two of them or, at least, cut down on Ashleigh’s incessant grumbling. “No, no, I’ll come.” She said this with a heavy sigh, as if she were doing us a huge favor. Charlie glanced at me, rolling his eyes. All I could do was shrug helplessly and hope that Ashleigh’s mood would improve. We rode roughly two miles along a tree lined, twolane blacktop until we reached the tiny hamlet of Broom’s Corners. It consisted of a dozen or so houses spread out along the eastwest and

3

NoRAH Mc CLINToCK

northsouth crossroads. It also had a gas station (the vacanteyed guy at the cash register barely looked at the photo on the flyer), an antiques store that sold mostly old farm furniture and knickknacks from estate sales and wood from old torndown barns and farm sheds, an agriculturalimplements dealer ship (the sharply dressed salesman promised to put the poster up right in the showroom) and a bakery, where the two women behind the counter, one old, one young with a small child clinging to her, studied the flyer with concern. A dental office and a real estate office flanked a burger place in the smallest strip mall I have ever seen. We papered tiny Broom’s Corners with flyers. From there we rode back on a different road that ran beside the farthest edge of a large wooded area that bordered Moorebridge to the north. “Are we going home?” Ashleigh asked, her voice buoyed with hope. “Not yet.” Instead we rode about a mile to the Trading Post, which consisted of the Trading Post itself and its burger shack, where you could buy burgers, hot dogs, fries and onion rings and eat them at the picnic tables

4