He smiled. “So…dinner?”
“After the day we’ve had, we’ve earned it.”
Chapter 14
It was nice to have a quiet dinner with Tucker, but it was a bit too quiet. He was trying so hard to put on a happy face, yet I could see the toll this situation with his aunt was taking on him. I wished I could do or say something that would make it better, but he was going to have to get past this on his own terms. All I could do for him was be supportive and give my all to the investigation.
After he walked me home, it still wasn’t terribly late, so I decided to do some digging on my own. Mom had stored her old keepsakes in our attic, because there just wasn’t room for them in Paul’s van. I was hoping to get my hands on her high school yearbooks. I knew she’d kept at least one, because I remembered her showing Delilah and me old photos of herself and our father, who’d been in the same graduating class.
In the attic, I opened box after musty box, tying myself up in more cobwebs than I could shake a stick at. I heard a thumping noise coming from the corner of the room and froze. Sucking in a breath, I prayed it wasn’t a rodent or some other kind of varmint. In this old house, it wasn’t unheard of to have a furry visitor now and again, but dealing with one was something I could not handle. That job fell to Delilah, who didn’t seem to mind at all. She set humane traps and carried the creatures back outside to freedom.
I’d only managed to find Mom’s freshman and senior yearbooks, which would have to do for now. I was not so invested in finding them that I was willing to come up against a set of beady little eyes. I hightailed it back to my room and sent D a text requesting she do a critter check as soon as she got home.
I settled onto my bed and opened the senior yearbook first. Esther Sinclair was certainly the Golden Girl, evidenced by the fact that she was pictured on nearly every page of the yearbook. Brock Sheridan was by her side quite a bit, but more often than not the same two girls popped up with her in the photos—Portia Barnard and Coralee Avery. Strangely enough, my father, Jack Anderson, was in several of those photos as well. My mother had only made it into the yearbook for her school picture and being a member of the prom committee. Judging by that and the meager number of signatures that she’d received in the blank pages in the front and back of the book, she wasn’t very outgoing. The one from my father caught my eye: To Dixie, Stay sweet, Jack. Not exactly Lord Byron, but his words seemed heartfelt.
I closed that yearbook and got out the one from Mom’s freshman year. It was like it belonged to a different student. Her smiling face was in photo after photo, many of them with Esther, and sometimes with the other two girls I’d noticed from the other yearbook. She was in several clubs and organizations and a member of the volleyball team. There were so many signatures, the overflow bled far past the blank pages. I began reading the well wishes—all complimentary and gushy, as if her fellow students were trying to one-up one another to get on Mom’s good side. This was the yearbook of a popular girl. I wondered what had happened in the span of three short years.
I came across an autograph from “Esther,” which I thought was safe to assume could only be Esther Sinclair. Even for back in the eighties, her name was outdated. I figured it had been chosen for its biblical roots, considering what I’d learned about her parents. Esther’s message read: To Dixie, We’ve had some rad times this year! Can’t wait for an awesome summer. Best Friends 4 Ever! LYLAS, Esther.
Stunned, I closed the book and took off my glasses to rub my eyes. Mom and Esther were BFFs? And she never mentioned it? In fact, when I asked if she knew Esther, she wouldn’t answer my question. Mom was hiding something, and I intended to find out what it was.
* * *
—
The next morning while we were making breakfast, I filled Delilah in on what I’d gleaned from the yearbooks and about my talk with Mom.
“Aside from the fact that I’m not happy you did an interview without me—”
“It was just Mom. Did you honestly want to have to sit through even a moment of her drum circle in order to talk to her? I feel like I did you a favor.”
“I guess,” she grumbled. “Anyway, it seems like those yearbooks might provide us with some great info about who was close to Esther—or possibly even who disliked her. And let’s not forget the most important part in all this—Mom basically lied about knowing Esther Sinclair.”
“Not exactly. She deflected.”
“Plus, when she was here the other day trying to get you to do that interview with June Devereaux, she said nothing about knowing Esther.”
“I know.
“Don’t you think under normal circumstances Mom would have led with that and made Esther’s death all about herself?”
I frowned. I did think that. But Delilah was clearly getting worked up over it, and if I didn’t get her calmed down before Mom showed up for breakfast, I’d have one enormous fight on my hands. “I don’t know, D. I’m sure she has her reasons.”
“I’ll be sure to ask her,” she grumbled, beating the tar out of the biscuit batter.
I changed the subject. “So did you find some kind of rodent in the attic last night?”
She shook her head. “That was Uncle Frank. He was trying to communicate with you.”
“Through an animal?”
“There’s no animal.”
“I distinctly heard an animal.”
“But did you see an animal?”
I wrinkled my nose and admitted, “No, I was too busy running away.”
“Then how do you know it wasn’t Uncle Frank?”
“Because Uncle Frank lives at the cemetery.”
“No, Uncle Frank lives in Papa Sal’s room.”
Delilah was so salty this morning, she wasn’t going to back down from any argument. Shaking my head, I said, “Never mind. So you say there are no critters in the attic, then? That’s really all I care about.”
“The attic is clean.”
“Good.”
“But Uncle Frank still wants to talk to you.”
I turned and rummaged in the pantry so she couldn’t see me rolling my eyes. “Maybe he could talk to you, and you could relay the message.”
“He misses you.”
I had no comeback for that. We were too far into the nonsensical. “I miss him, too,” I replied, hoping being agreeable would appease her. I did not believe in ghosts, and nothing Delilah or Papa Sal could say was going to change my mind.
* * *
—
Breakfast came and went, and we saw neither hide nor hair of Mom. It wasn’t like her to stay away on a weekday. On weekends, she slept in. The other five days of the week, she made sure to be here and get her breakfast. Something was up with her.
I was about to bring it up when Delilah said, “Oh! I can’t believe I let this slip my mind. Get out your Sunday best, because we have been invited to have lunch at Brock and Portia Sheridan’s house.”
I stared at her. “Wow. You work fast. How did you manage to wrangle an invite like that?”
She batted her eyelashes at me. “I’m ever so charming.”
Chuckling, I replied, “No, you’re not. What really happened?”
Her sweet expression fell away. “Fine. I asked them when we could meet about fundraising for the theater. They were free today, so I took my opportunity.”
“And invited yourself over for lunch?”
“No, silly. They offered.”
“If poking around in this murder is going to get us invites for fancy lunches, then maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all.” I had a thought. “You said Portia Sheridan, right?”
“Yes.”
I frowned. “Is she from here?”
“I don’t know. I assume so.”
“I need to show you something.” Grabbing her by the wrist, I dragged her upstairs to my room.
“In the attic.”
“That’s what you were doing in the attic? You went through Mom’s stuff?”
I frowned. “I’m not proud of it.”
Grinning at me, she said, “Well, I’m proud of you for growing a pair and doing a little creative snooping.”
“I never would have considered going through Mom’s things if she hadn’t been acting weird last night.” I took the book from her and flipped to a photo of Portia Barnard, Brock Sheridan, Esther Sinclair, and our dad. “Is this Portia Sheridan?”
She nodded. “It is.”
“Interesting.”
“Why ‘interesting’?”
“Because she seems to have been a close friend of Esther’s…but now she’s married to Esther’s old boyfriend.”
Chapter 15
Delilah’s eyebrows shot up. “That is interesting. But I thought we weren’t pointing fingers, remember?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t pointing anything.”
“It kinda sounded like an accusation. Like you’re insinuating she killed Esther so she could have her boyfriend.”
I made a face at my sister. “I said no such thing. Actually, this is good, because then we can interview Esther’s former boyfriend and one of her besties at the same time.”
“True. And don’t get me wrong—I’m not upset in the slightest that you’re taking this investigation to the next level and trying on suspects for size.”
“I’m not—”
Her face lit up as she spoke. “But you are. Quinn, you know as well as I do that when we get into this thing, we’re going to form some kind of theory as to who we think actually killed Esther. We can’t uncover the truth about Lela without shining light on some other facts. And if those happen to point us in the direction of the real killer—”
“Then we’re going to give the facts to the police and let them run with them.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Right. That’s what we’re going to do.”
I squeezed her hands. “I know you want to throw yourself into a full-blown investigation, but it’s not the best idea. And as much as I want to go the extra mile to get Lela freed, I don’t want to take things too far and muck up the situation.”
“I get it.” She pulled her hands away and headed for the door. “Besides, I don’t have the time to get caught up in a big investigation. I’ve got toilets to scrub, you know.”
My heart ached as I watched her go. Delilah desperately wanted some adventure in her life, and that wasn’t something she got while helping manage the B&B. The most excitement that happened around here was when a customer complained about something or our old plumbing decided to act up. As much as I wanted her to be fulfilled, I couldn’t be the one to encourage her to get into potential actual danger by going full force with our sleuthing. It nearly turned out badly for me last time, and I didn’t want either of us to go through that again.
I did my usual morning chores and got the refreshments ready early for Papa Sal’s magic show. Then I went to my room to prepare for our luncheon with the Sheridans. I didn’t know how dressed up to get, but Delilah had said “Sunday best,” so I donned a hunter green dress and low heels.
Delilah met me in the foyer, dressed similarly and with a slightly improved attitude. We hopped into her old pickup truck and drove several blocks to a gorgeous home on Oglethorpe. It wasn’t located on one of the squares, but the tree-lined boulevard made the whole street seem like one long square. We parked and walked up to the front door, giving each other a last-minute once-over.
An older version of the beautiful girl I’d seen in all those yearbook photos greeted us at the door with a big smile, and not far behind her stood Councilman Brock Sheridan. She said, “Delilah, I’m so happy you could come over on such short notice.”
Delilah replied, “Thank you for having us.”
Councilman Sheridan smiled. “We love to help out our local theater.”
Delilah said, “This is my sister, Quinn. Quinn, Councilman and Mrs. Brock Sheridan.”
Mrs. Sheridan took my hand and shook it heartily. “Welcome. Please, call me Portia.”
“Nice to meet you, Portia,” I replied.
The councilman shook my hand as well. “It’s nice to see young people interested in programs that bolster the arts in our community. It’s a pleasure to have you.”
“Thank you, Councilman.”
As if we were old friends, he clapped me on the back as I entered their home. “Brock, please.”
Portia led us through her stunning home to a sunroom off the kitchen. The whole place was done in whites and grays, with pops of red as her holiday accent color. Like Tucker’s mother, she had a decorated Christmas tree in every room. Another magical home holidayscape. I hoped this one had some actual Christmas cheer. Although if someone was to destroy the mood of our luncheon, it was probably going to be Delilah and me when we shifted our conversation to the subject of the Sheridans’ beloved old friend.
Lunch—which turned out to be more of a buffet fit for a bridal shower—consisted of an assortment of meat salads, vegetable salads, and fruit salads, some hot, some cold. There was also a choice of soup as well as a charcuterie board spilling over with imported meats, cheeses, nuts, and olives. A separate dessert table sat in the corner. I saw no lit candles in the room, so maybe I could refrain from setting this one on fire.
As we ate the sinfully delicious spread, Delilah spearheaded a conversation about the community theater fundraising. I mainly geeked out over the food and nodded at the appropriate times. Once coffee and dessert were served, they’d managed to wrap up the business discussion. I wasn’t entirely surprised the topic turned quickly to city politics.
Brock said, “How’s the tourist business this season? I’m hoping to see a bump in overall revenue for the industry after the citywide tax cuts that went through for establishments like yours.”
“Business is booming this season,” I replied. “We’re booked solid through the New Year.”
“Excellent.”
Unable to think of a better segue, I said, “Unfortunately, the holiday season has quite a pall over it this year for some of us. I…um, understand you were quite close with Esther Sinclair.”
Portia’s hand fluttered to her mouth and tears filled her eyes. Brock frowned and shifted in his seat.
I soldiered on. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend. From what we’ve heard, everyone loved Esther. She was a friend of our mother’s as well.”
Portia smiled through her tears as she reached out and placed a hand on each of ours. “You’re Jack and Dixie’s girls? How silly of me not to put it all together, but you really look nothing like either of them. I thought you might be related to Dixie because of your name, but mother and daughters wasn’t what I’d expected.”
That was true. Mom was the spitting image of Grandmama Hattie—petite and blond, and we definitely got Papa Sal’s dark-haired Italian genes. Our father was quite handsome, but neither of us resembled him in the slightest.
Delilah blurted out, “You knew our dad, too?”
“Yes, very well. Jack was one of our closest friends. How is Jack these days?”
Ignoring her question, because she didn’t know the answer, Delilah said, “What was he like in high school?”
I nudged my sister under the table. We needed to stay on track talking about Esther, and her question was going to derail us. Delilah had an odd relationship with our father. Still harboring resentment from his leaving when she was five, she didn’t allow herself to get close with him. However, she was always interested in learning things about him from people who knew him.
Brock chuckled. “Jack was a character. One of those bad boys all
the girls swooned over, if you want the truth.”
Portia gave her husband a light cuff on the arm. “Oh, Brock. You make Jack sound like a delinquent. He was far from it. I’ll allow he was a speed demon on the road in that old sports car he’d restored, forever getting pulled over by the police for speeding. I think that’s where a lot of the bad boy reputation came from. He lived with his uncle, who let him stay out all hours of the night. With less supervision than the rest of us, it was natural that he got into his fair share of mischief.”
“Don’t forget to mention you were one of the girls who swooned over him, dear,” Brock said, smirking at his wife.
She tittered out a giggle. “Guilty. I dated Jack briefly during our senior year.”
I smiled. Again, I couldn’t think of a smoother segue, so I turned to Brock and said, “And you dated Esther, as I hear.”
A shadow crossed his face. “Yes. Even though we’d parted ways several days prior, I was devastated when she left town…or when I thought she’d left town. Now it seems that she never got the chance.” His eyes widened. “Wait…Quinn, you were the person who found her, correct?”
I nodded.
Portia reached for my hand again. “Oh, dear. That must have been awful.”
“It was. But even more awful is that my boyfriend’s aunt Lela Heyward has been arrested for Esther’s murder.”
Her face fell. “The lady from next door. Forgive my candor, but I do understand why she ended up in jail over this. The woman seemed to be obsessed with Esther. Every time we were outside at Esther’s house, she made it a point to yell at us or say something unkind.” Hesitating, she added, “She even set Esther’s car on fire. For some reason, she thought Esther was trying to steal her husband. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.”
Brock clattered his coffee cup onto its saucer. His voice unsteady, he said, “Esther was a good girl. She wouldn’t have done that.”
Delilah nodded and lied, “We’ve heard that, too.” I could tell from the spark in her eyes that she had some tricks up her sleeve to get them to open up even more. “Do you know why she was leaving town the night of graduation? Was it to break free from her strict parents?”
Southern Harm Page 8
