Southern Harm

by Caroline Fardig

  After a couple of throaty coughs, she said, “Send him in.”

  Rufus went inside, and that left me on the porch with Flynn and Tucker.

  Flynn eyed me and head-nodded toward the direction I’d come. “I need a few more minutes alone with Mr. Heyward.”

  I was too spent for pleasantries. “I’m not going to go hang out in the backyard by myself, Detective.”

  “Take a walk around the park, then.”

  I frowned, but did as instructed. I supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be forced to take an afternoon stroll around Savannah’s crown jewel, Forsyth Park. Aunt Lela lived only a block away, so it wasn’t as if he’d asked me to trek across town. Maybe a quiet walk would be the perfect thing to clear my head. In no hurry to return—if I was lucky, the detectives would be gone by the time I got back—I ambled toward the park.

  Tourists and townies alike were taking full advantage of the warm afternoon sun. Teenagers played Frisbee and football in the open lawns on the south side. Couples strolled the shaded paths hand in hand. Tourists lined up to have their photos taken in front of the iconic fountain. Only an hour ago, I was as carefree as the any of the people here. Funny how life can turn on a dime.

  I dutifully took a turn around the perimeter of the park, a full mile. In theory, it should have been a nice escape. In practice, not so much. I was itching to get back to find out what the detectives had said to Tucker and Aunt Lela, so I ended up power walking most of it. The temperature had continued to climb higher, and as a result, all I ended up doing was making myself sweaty and hot again.

  I managed to find the shady side of the street and slow my pace on the way back, hoping not to arrive at the house as the hot mess I was at the moment. I took some deep breaths and tried to release my worried thoughts, but it was no use. I had a bad feeling about this I couldn’t shake.

  I felt a rush of relief when I saw no sign of the detectives’ vehicle in front of Aunt Lela’s house. But my relief was short-lived when I noticed there was instead a police car and the coroner’s van parked farther down the street. I found Tucker locking up the house and heading for his truck.

  “Good. You’re back. I was coming to pick you up.” His voice was tight and terse.

  “What’s going on, Tucker?” I asked warily.

  “They’ve taken Aunt Lela to the police station for further questioning.”

  Chapter 3

  “What? Why?” I cried. “I thought questioning was all a formality. Rufus even said so himself.”

  Tucker’s face was set in a grim frown. “Aunt Lela was always the black sheep of our family. Back in the day, she had a lengthy arrest record. I’m worried her past may have come back to haunt her.”

  “You can say that again,” said a smug voice from nearby.

  Tucker and I glanced around to find the owner of the voice. I spotted the top of an old woman’s head just barely visible over the hedge that separated the next-door property from Aunt Lela’s. I caught Tucker’s eye and head-nodded in her direction.

  Tucker walked toward the woman and peered over the hedge at her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. McAlfrin.” He didn’t sound too pleased to see her.

  “Good afternoon, Tucker. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friend?”

  He replied, “Mrs. McAlfrin, this is my girlfriend, Quinn Bellandini. Quinn, this is Imogene McAlfrin.” He seemed even more put out. It was clear to me that he had no use for this woman.

  I walked over and gave her a cheery wave. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McAlfrin.”

  “Same to you, dear.” In an innocent voice, she asked, “What’s going on over there? I heard some yelling earlier, and now the police are milling around in Lela’s backyard.”

  Tucker replied, “We’re not supposed to discuss it.”

  She ignored his comment. “I heard y’all talking about bones and missing neighbor girls.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Well, if you were listening in, then why should I—”

  “Mrs. McAlfrin, how long have you lived here?” I was afraid if I let Tucker finish his sentence, things would get real ugly real fast.

  Turning toward me, he gave me a rueful smile and mouthed, Thank you.

  Mrs. McAlfrin lit up. “Ever since I married Mr. McAlfrin fifty-three years ago.”

  “How nice,” I replied. “It’s such a lovely neighborhood.”

  She sniffed. “Well, if you don’t count all the domestic disputes and rampant adultery that went on. And now of course the murder.”

  Tucker said nothing, but I could feel the anger radiating from him.

  She went on, “That neighbor girl who disappeared was the belle of the ball back in the day. Esther Sinclair was her name. Homecoming queen. Head cheerleader. Class president. And to top it all off, she was the prettiest girl in town. Boys fawned over her, and girls wanted to be her. Or at least be her friend. She turned the heads of every male on this street, young and old.” She eyed Tucker with a wicked smile. “Including your uncle Beau. Your aunt didn’t take too kindly to that, as I recall.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to such a clearly scathing statement. I was at a loss for words.

  Tucker somehow managed to hold his tongue, his fists balled at his sides.

  Oblivious to our reactions, Mrs. McAlfrin continued, “Thirty-three years ago, on the night of her high school graduation, Esther vanished without a trace. She left a note for her parents saying she was leaving town, and her things were missing from her room as if she’d packed, but there were rumblings that the situation was rotten. Why, only days before, her car mysteriously caught fire right there on the street. But the hardest thing to swallow was that she never once sent a letter home or called her mama and daddy. No one ever saw hide nor hair of her again. That right there made some people believe there could have been foul play involved. Now we know there was.”

  I said in as diplomatic a voice as I could muster, “Well, we can’t be sure of that. The police haven’t had time to determine who the bones belong to yet. I’m sure they have to do some kind of testing process.”

  Mrs. McAlfrin shifted her gaze onto me. “You told the detective that Lela thought the locket you found with the bones belonged to her neighbor. What more confirmation does anyone need?”

  Before I could reply, Tucker growled, “Have you been eavesdropping on our private conversations all afternoon?”

  Her face became a mask of piety. “Y’all were the ones who were speaking out in the open for all to hear.”

  Tucker was about to lose his mind. I grabbed his hands and pulled him with me toward his truck.

  Over my shoulder, I called, “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. McAlfrin, but I’m afraid we need to get going. Please excuse us. You have a lovely afternoon.”

  She replied, “Oh, yes. Thank you, dear. Goodbye, Tucker.”

  Tucker didn’t answer. He wrenched open his truck’s passenger door and helped me up into the cab. Once he was in the driver’s seat with the doors closed, he let out a sharp breath. “Thanks for saving me from myself back there. That old busybody has given Aunt Lela trouble for years. I try to avoid her, because sometimes I can’t hold back when she gets all judgmental.”

  I smiled. “I think it’s wonderful that you always stand up for your aunt.”

  He sighed. “She has always done the same for me, even when it didn’t earn her any points with my father. When I switched my college major from pre-med to business, she was the only family member who supported me. My dad was angry with me for a long time.”

  “Dr. Heyward wanted you to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Right. But Aunt Lela wanted me to be happy.” He started his truck and pulled away from the curb.

  I said gently, “You mentioned she has an arrest record that might be an issue?”

  “I’m afraid so. She has a few assault
charges to her name—some of them domestic ones for the times she clocked my former uncle, which in all fairness he had coming. She also had a couple of restraining orders against her as well.”

  “Restraining orders? Against Aunt Lela? I can’t imagine her being a danger to anyone.” Despite her grumbly demeanor, she had always been kind to me.

  He stared straight ahead as he drove. “She’s mellowed in her old age. But when she was young, she was quite the rabble-rouser. Troubled teen, runaway…then she married a total scam artist, Beau Habersham.”

  “His name even makes him sound like a bad guy.”

  “He was. Still is, actually. Earlier this year he tried to con my dad into investing in his latest business scheme. Anyway, Beau cheated on Aunt Lela all through their marriage, and everybody knew it. I’m not really sure why she stayed with him for so long. Still, she wasn’t one to take the cheating lying down, so she’d harass Beau’s mistresses. That’s where the restraining orders and assault charges came in.”

  Cheese and crackers. I had no idea. Sure, I’d always assumed Aunt Lela to be a rough and tumble old gal, but I never imagined any of this.

  Tucker sighed. “I hope this doesn’t ruin your opinion of her.”

  “Of course not.” Maybe a tad, if I was being perfectly honest.

  “I’ve retained a lawyer for her, and he’s meeting us at the station.”

  “Have you called your dad?” I asked.

  Shaking his head, he said, “There’s no need. She and Dad don’t speak much. Sibling stuff. They’re polar opposites. I’m sure you can relate.”

  I could, to a point. My older sister, Delilah, and I were nothing alike. She always complained I was too prim and proper, and I always complained she was too brazen and impulsive. But the big difference between the Bellandini sisters and the Heyward siblings was that the Bellandini sisters always stuck together and had each other’s back no matter what. I knew Delilah was going to do crazy things, and I’d have to help her get out of jams. She knew I sometimes needed a push to stand up for myself and not let my fear of disappointing people keep me from achieving my goals. I couldn’t imagine not being there for my sister in her time of need, and vice versa. In fact, I couldn’t wait to go back to the B&B and tell her all about what had happened to me today. She would probably be mad I hadn’t called her the minute I found the skull, but she wouldn’t hold it against me. Sure, Tucker had been great about soothing my frazzled nerves when I’d found the bones, but there was nothing like a good pep talk from my big sis.

  Tucker and I drove the rest of the way to the station in an uncomfortable silence. I could tell he was lost in his thoughts, which was no surprise. He was a sweet man and cared very deeply about those he loved.

  When he shut off his truck, he turned to me. “Quinn, I wasn’t thinking. You probably want to go home and rest after the day you’ve had. You don’t need to be here.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “You’ve been my rock all afternoon. Let me do that for you now.”

  “You already kept me from losing my cool with an old lady. You’ve more than done your duty.”

  “It’s not my duty. I want to be here for you.”

  He pressed a kiss to my lips, then came around to help me down from the cab of his truck. He gripped my hand tightly as we entered the police station. The lawyer he’d hired arrived shortly, and after a quick exchange of pleasantries headed in to do whatever he could to help Aunt Lela. We of course had to wait for hours while the detectives grilled her.

  Finally she emerged from the inner sanctum of the station, her lawyer in tow. She suddenly seemed much older than her sixty-five years, her eyes cast down and her gait slow. Tucker and I stood.

  When she registered that Tucker and I were waiting for her in the lobby, her face flushed. “Why are you kids here?”

  “For moral support,” Tucker replied, bending down to give her a hug.

  She shrugged him off. A woman of few words, she only said, “I’m fine.”

  Tucker exchanged a glance with Aunt Lela’s lawyer, Bob Stiles, over her head.

  Bob said, “The detectives asked some tough questions, but Ms. Heyward is not an official suspect in the case at this time. However, her property will be searched today and possibly into tomorrow, so it would be best if she found another place to stay for the weekend.”

  “You can stay with me, Aunt Lela,” Tucker offered.

  Aunt Lela grumbled something unintelligible at him, but the expression on her face was agreeable. And relieved. Her eyes were what tore at my heartstrings. I noticed a sadness in them I’d never seen before. Poor woman. I’d been drug through the same knothole, and it nearly did me in.

  As she began shuffling toward the door and digging in her purse, Tucker pulled Bob aside. The two of them conferred quietly.

  Once she got to the door, she turned and griped, “If you ladies are finished gossiping about me, I’m ready to get the hell out of here. I need a smoke.”

  Then again, maybe Aunt Lela was tough enough to get through this just fine.

  Chapter 4

  News traveled fast among Savannahians, and Aunt Lela’s backyard bones became the scuttlebutt everyone was gossiping about. Not only that, once the remains had been officially identified as Esther Sinclair’s, the media took the story and ran with it. You couldn’t turn on a local news program or crack a newspaper without being bombarded with speculation over what had really happened to her. Preliminary reports stated she’d died of “blunt force trauma” to her head, which coupled with the fact that her body had been hidden pointed straight to foul play. Worst of all, somehow my name got thrown into the mix. I’d had to dodge phone calls and impromptu visits from reporters as well as questions from nosy guests at our B&B. I was pretty sure I knew which neighborhood busybody had sold me out.

  My nerves were shot. I’d already burned one batch of scones this morning, and the second one had only narrowly escaped the same fate, thanks to Delilah swooping in and saving the day.

  “Quinn, my favorite sister—”

  “Your only sister.”

  Delilah grinned at me. “You’d still be my favorite. As I was saying, you need to get a grip, woman. Go upstairs and get your head on straight. I’ll take over and finish up breakfast.”

  It took all I had not to tear up. Often sharp-tongued, Delilah never minced words, but her heart was as soft and squishy as they came.

  “You’re the best, D. And I will, just as soon as I welcome our guests.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, go ahead and give your daily spiel before you scoot on out of here. I’m happy to clean up the whole kitchen myself, but I draw the line at having to play the part of the good ol’ Southern hostess with the mostest. That’s all you.”

  I smiled as I headed toward the dining room. Delilah would give you the shirt off her back, plus she was a talented community theater actress. But ask her to interact with our guests and pretend to be a charming Southern belle in real life, and she would run screaming. It just wasn’t her.

  I went out to join our grandfather, or as we called him, Papa Sal. He was the complete opposite of Delilah—always happy to chat with anyone and everyone, in any setting. The gift of gab came naturally to him. In his heyday, he’d been Sal the Magnificent, half of the magic act “The Amazing Bellandini Brothers,” along with his brother, Frank the Great. Papa Sal left the traveling circus business to open the B&B with my grandmama Hattie, but he continued to perform his act here every afternoon. And according to Papa Sal and Delilah, Frank’s ghost lived in the house with us. But that was another story.

  Papa Sal’s still-sharp eyes regarded me as I approached him. He murmured to me, “You okay to do this, Quinnie? I can play both our parts this morning if you’re under the weather.” His thick New York accent had never left him even after spending his entire adult life in the South.

  I patted him o
n the shoulder. “Thanks, but you know I love this part of the job. I’ll go rest soon.” Gathering every drop of energy and enthusiasm I had left, I put on a genuine smile and said loudly, “Good morning, friends. I hope y’all are enjoying your stay in our lovely town of Savannah during this gorgeous, if a bit warm, holiday season. Our offering this morning for breakfast includes scrambled eggs, Papa Sal’s special recipe sausage, hash browns, grits, and cinnamon-eggnog scones for a little Christmas cheer. If there is anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, please don’t hesitate to ask us.” I gestured to my grandfather. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce the owner of Bellandini’s B&B, Sal Bellandini. You may have heard him called Sal the Magnificent, which he truly is.”

  As he did each morning, Papa Sal gave a theatrical bow and magically produced a handful of flowers, which he proceeded to distribute to the giggly little girls and surprised ladies seated at our table. “Welcome, all. It’s an honor to us that you’ve chosen Bellandini’s B&B as your home away from home during your vacation. Make sure to join us at one p.m. for our daily magic show, which will amaze and astound you. Enjoy your day, and please eat up!”

  When our guests had been served and were tucking into their food, Papa Sal ushered me into the kitchen. “Back to bed, young lady,” he said, giving me a gentle push toward the back stairs.

  “Hold your horses, there, Daddy. Quinnie, get over here and give your mama a hug.”

  My mother, Dixie, or Suncloud, as she insisted on being called, sat at our small kitchen table, ready to mooch breakfast and hold court as she did most mornings. She normally managed to show up once the dishes were done, but thanks to my scone fiasco this morning, we were running late. A self-professed free spirit, Mom had no interest in taking part in the family business. Despite only being a toddler in the sixties, she had a love for all things hippie—drum circles, flowing flowered clothing, unemployment, and mood enhancers. But like any Southern woman worth her salt, she wanted her daughters to shine above everyone else’s.