I gasped and peered into the car’s windows. There was our dad, sitting in the car, wearing a sheepish expression.
“Hi, girls,” he said.
I finally found my voice. “Dad, what in the world are you doing here?”
Delilah had other things to say. “ ‘Hi, girls’? You show up out of nowhere and all you have to say is, ‘Hi, girls’? Have you been following us? Like for two days?” She glanced at the Prius and wrinkled her nose. “And in a rented vehicle? What is your problem?”
Dad got out of the car and came over to the sidewalk to meet us. When he glanced at Tucker, I realized the two of them had yet to meet.
“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Tucker Heyward. Tucker, this is my dad, Jack Anderson.”
The two exchanged a handshake, each seeming to be sizing the other up.
D griped, “Hello? Are you going to answer my questions or not?”
He turned to her. “Yes, Delilah, I admit I’ve been watching over you two girls. After my conversation with Quinn yesterday, I got a bad feeling about this rogue detective work you’ve been doing. So I came down.”
Delilah frowned. “Why didn’t you just talk to us instead of being all creepy about it?”
Dad sighed. “I tried. Your sister was surprisingly bold and didn’t want to hear any fatherly advice from your old man.”
Delilah began, “Fatherly—” I put a hand on her arm to stop her, knowing her rebuttal was about to take an ugly turn.
I said, “You were kind of vague with me, Dad. I mean, I understand that you were trying to warn us off this investigation, but you gave me no hard reasons for it. You dodged my questions, and I know you were holding back. Now we find out that you’re so freaked out over this that you actually drove down from Charleston to do your own brand of security for us, when it’s like pulling teeth to get you to visit otherwise. Forgive us if we’re a bit confused—and skeptical.”
He frowned. “I’m allowed to be worried for your safety.”
“Since when?” Delilah blurted out before I could do anything to stop her.
Dad held his hands up and backed away from us. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I really wish you’d quit this nonsense, but it’s clear to me that I can’t change your minds.” He addressed Tucker, “Young man, I hope I can count on you to look out for my girls.”
Tucker replied, “Don’t worry. That’s why I’m here.”
Nodding, Dad said, “Good.” He turned and headed toward the driver’s door of his car.
Delilah stared after him. “That’s it? You’re just leaving now?”
He shrugged. “You clearly don’t want my help.” Without another word, he got in his car and drove off, leaving us flabbergasted.
As we headed back to the B&B to prepare for check-in, I asked, “So do we believe Luther Barclay or not? Was he lying to get us off his back and at the same time upholding the rules of ‘snitches get stitches’?”
Delilah mulled it over for a moment. “I don’t know. I’m inclined to believe him, especially about the shed. He seemed to genuinely not have a clue about it. And his statement about Zack Robinson coming back one night to talk to Esther jibes with what Tim told us.”
Tucker said, “Except in Luther’s story, Zack leaves before he finds Esther. Tim says he saw the two of them together.”
She shrugged. “There’s nothing that says he didn’t try again later. I think what we know for sure is that Zack went against his boss’s orders and came back around to see Esther.” She consulted her list. “After check-in, we can go visit the Sinclair parents. I think it’s been long enough we can contact them and see what they have to say.”
We parked in front of Tucker’s house, and he headed inside to catch up on some work calls he’d missed while we were out today. Delilah and I jogged across the street toward the B&B.
She said, “Something’s gotta give. We’re putting in the work, but we’re not gaining any ground.”
“I’m sure we’re on the right track, though. We haven’t talked to the right person yet, but we will.”
“Maybe I should see if Uncle Frank will give us another hint.”
“Mmm.”
She evidently didn’t appreciate my noncommittal response. “You need to be more open-minded about the spirit world.”
“You need to quit believing a nonexistent ghost is going to drop someone with all the answers into our lap.”
“Hello, girls.”
Our mom was standing in the foyer with Papa Sal.
D turned to me and wiggled her eyebrows. “You were saying?”
Chapter 30
“Mom, why didn’t you return any of our calls?” I said, rushing to embrace her. As peeved at her as I was, I was still happy to find out she was okay. At least physically.
Mom began shuddering against me. I looked over her head at Papa Sal, who had a mix of worry and irritation on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I came to say…goodbye.” She let out a racking sob.
I cast a glance behind me at Delilah, who seemed unmoved by our mother’s show of emotion.
She said, “Going on a trip, Mom?”
Mom stepped back from me. Her tear-streaked face crumpled as she whispered, “I’m going to jail.”
My jaw dropped. “What did you do?”
Papa Sal held up a hand. “The situation isn’t as dire as Dixie is making it out to be. Tell them straight, honey.”
Mom sniffled. “I have to go in for questioning.”
Delilah snorted. “Big deal. Quinn got questioned by the cops this morning.”
“What?” Papa Sal said sharply.
Sending my sister a glare, I said, “It wasn’t questioning. I was already at the police station talking to Lela, and Rufus pulled me aside to talk. I evidently struck a nerve with Coralee Marshall, and she—”
“She’s dead! That’s what this is all about!” Mom cried.
I shook my head to clear it. “What? No, she’s not. I talked to her two days ago.”
Hiccuping, she replied, “No. It happened this morning. She…committed suicide.”
“What? That’s crazy…I…” My head started spinning. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the news.
“But what’s worse is, I’m going to be questioned about it!”
Delilah asked, “About a suicide? And not for nothing, but I don’t think you being questioned by the police is worse than someone dying, Mom.”
Mom blew her nose noisily into a crumpled tissue. “She named me in her suicide note, for crying out loud!”
“Why? Have you even spoken to her in thirty years?”
Mom didn’t reply.
“How do you know she named you in her suicide note? Have you already talked to the police about it?”
“Not exactly. They called me, but all they would say was that they wanted to bring me in to answer some questions regarding Coralee. I didn’t want Paul to know about all this, so I told the police to pick me up here.”
D rolled her eyes. “So if you haven’t talked to the police yet, then how did you find out about being named in the note? I would think that kind of bombshell is something they’d want to spring on you during their in-person questioning.”
I was glad Delilah was taking the lead on the task of pulling information out of Mom. I was still too shell-shocked from the news of Coralee’s death to do much more than listen.
Mom wiped her eyes. “Violet Huggins called me. Her cousin is Coralee’s housekeeper, who found Coralee and the note this morning when she got to work. She called Violet and spilled her guts this afternoon. When Violet heard my name, she called to warn me. By the way, she told me she’d had a nice time talking to you yesterday, Quinnie.” Her lower lip beginning to tremble, she added, “I guess that means you’re still poking around i
n Esther’s case. I did my best to protect you from this. But now I’m afraid you’re going to find out a lot more than you bargained for, and you’re not going to like it.”
“You tried to protect us? How? What are you even talking about?” Delilah demanded.
A knock at the door halted our conversation.
Mom whimpered. “They’re coming to take me away!”
Papa Sal shuffled to the door, muttering to himself. A friendly uniformed officer introduced herself and very kindly asked Mom to accompany her to the police station. No handcuffs, and Mom got to ride in the front seat. It seemed like a very routine event. However, her warning played in my head as if on a loop: You’re going to find out a lot more than you bargained for, and you’re not going to like it. The more I thought about it, the more apprehensive I became.
Closing the door, Papa Sal said, “Girls, what in the blue blazes is going on?”
Delilah frowned. “With Mom, you never know.”
* * *
—
Papa Sal took the truck and went to the police station to be there when Mom was finished, and promised to call us if anything went awry. For as much as he tried to downplay it, he was worried sick about his only daughter. I handled check-in, because I couldn’t handle much else. Delilah texted Tucker to let him know what had transpired, then she surprised me by saying she was going to go call Dad to see if there was anything he could do to help.
I sat alone at the check-in desk, trying not to let my mind overthink the situation. Tucker came through the door and wordlessly enveloped me in a warm hug. Safe in his strong arms, I struggled not to break down.
I held it together until he asked, “What can I do for you? Name it.”
Tears spilled onto my cheeks. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I wish I understood what’s going on.”
“I can take you to the station if that will help.”
“I can’t leave until everyone has checked in.”
He leaned against the desk. “Then I’ll stand here and keep you company.”
I smiled slightly. “Thanks.”
Delilah came clomping down the stairs a few minutes later. “Dad isn’t answering. But I did call Mom’s cousin Deacon. He agreed to hightail it to the station and be her counsel so she doesn’t say anything stupid. Pro bono for family.”
“At least that’s good news.”
“Right. And now for even worse news. I called Violet Huggins to get the part of the story Mom either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell us. She informed me that not only was Mom named in the suicide note, but Dad was also.”
“What?” I cried, gripping Tucker’s arm to steady myself.
My sister’s face was grim. “Coralee wrote that she didn’t want to die without doing what she could to get justice for Esther. She said Mom and Dad are to blame for Esther’s death. Mom was jealous of Esther, and she convinced Dad to help her carry out her evil plan.”
“No, that’s…that’s not possible,” I choked out.
Tucker put his arm around me and held tight.
Delilah closed her eyes. “And as long as you’re sitting down, I guess you should know that the note goes on to say that the only reason why you’re investigating this mess is to find out what people know about our parents’ involvement so you can manipulate the situation and muddy the waters enough to keep them out of jail.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “How could she say that about me…and accuse our parents of murder?”
“According to Violet, Coralee was a sexually frustrated, pill-popping alcoholic with a mean streak. Who knows why she did anything she did?”
“But…but her charity work…If she was so full of venom, what was that all about?”
“I don’t know. Penance to make up for the hot mess she was inside? We have bigger things to worry about right now than Coralee’s demons. The police aren’t going to let this thing about our parents slide. They’re going to investigate them. This polite questioning is only the tip of the iceberg. We need to ramp up our investigation, because we have three people to exonerate now.”
Chapter 31
“What do we do, D?” I wailed. “We’re doing everything we possibly can already. What more—” I abruptly cut myself off and pasted on my best hostess smile as our door opened and a middle-aged couple walked in. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Bellandini’s B&B. Are you the Garners?”
While I checked the Garners in and showed them to their room, my sister and my boyfriend went into the parlor to confer quietly. My mind was elsewhere as I completed my task on autopilot, regurgitating the same speech I gave at least once a day, every day.
When I came back downstairs, Delilah handed me a jacket. “We’re going to see the Sinclairs.”
I felt ill on the ride over to the Sinclairs’ house. Partially because of the overall situation, and partially because I hadn’t been back near Aunt Lela’s house since I’d found Esther’s remains. It was all I could think about, and if I closed my eyes, it was all I could see.
We knocked on the Sinclairs’ front door and waited. As seconds turned to minutes, it became increasingly apparent that the Sinclairs weren’t home. It was coming up on dusk, and there were no lights on in the house.
Delilah peered across the street. “Those people are home.” She reached in her pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. “That’s Lucille and Chauncey Hester’s house. They’ve lived here forever. Let’s try them.”
We walked over and knocked on their door.
An old woman answered, her expression wary. “Who are you?”
Delilah introduced us and explained why we were here. Then she said, “You’ve lived here for over thirty years, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember back in May of 1986 when your neighbor Esther Sinclair graduated high school?”
Mrs. Hester shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”
“It was thought that Esther ran away that night. Do you recall that?”
She nodded. “I remember her poor folks being heartbroken.”
“Can you think of anything out of the ordinary happening the week or so prior to that? Did you maybe see something that struck you as odd or made you apprehensive?”
“I can’t say as I did.”
“What about Mr. Hester?”
“He definitely wouldn’t remember. He has Alzheimer’s.”
Delilah’s face fell. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“If that’s all you need—”
“Wait, one more thing. Do you know of anyone who would have been out to hurt Esther at the time? Did you ever know anyone to have been violent toward her?”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘violent.’ But her folks…land sakes. From when that poor girl was little, one of them was always berating her for one reason or another. She was a headstrong little thing. She sure gave them a run for their money.”
“Do you think they always blamed themselves for her leaving?”
“As a parent, I would have.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “The Sinclairs are what some might call narrow-minded. I’ve never socialized with them any more than was necessary. I made it a point to stay out of their business, so I don’t know terribly much about them.”
D smiled. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hester.” As we were walking back to Tucker’s truck, she huffed, “You two could have jumped in anytime.”
Tucker threw his arm around her shoulders. “You were doing a great job. We didn’t want to step on your toes.”
“Yeah, right. You can have the next one, then.”
“Who’s that?”
“Zack Robinson.”
* * *
—
We pulled up in front of an aging apartment building. This was the address associated with the landline I’d called, where I’d spoken
to a woman who swore Zack Robinson didn’t live there. I didn’t believe her for a second.
Tucker knocked on the door of 3-C, and we waited. I saw the curtains twitch in the nearby window. These people were definitely trying to avoid someone. My bet was a debt collector, and probably not the legal kind.
I stepped up and pounded on the door. In a voice more confident than I felt, I called, “We just want to talk to Zack and ask him a few questions. Nothing more.”
The voice of the woman I’d spoken to called back from the other side of the door, “Zack ain’t here.”
“When is he going to be back?”
“I said he ain’t here.”
I raised my voice. “And I asked when he’s going to come back. Come on. You’re a terrible liar. I know he lives here.”
Behind me, Delilah murmured to Tucker, “Did you bring out the sass in her? Because I’ve tried for thirty years with no luck whatsoever.”
He replied, “Sure, I’ll take the credit.”
I shushed them, waiting for the woman’s response.
She said, “Leave or I call the cops.”
Ooh. I couldn’t have yet another complaint lodged against me. My shoulders slumping, I took a step back from the door.
“What do you want?” a gruff voice barked from down the hall.
“Zack Robinson?” I asked.
His eyes went wide, and he turned and bolted for the stairs. I took off after him, but Tucker’s long legs outran mine and thundered down the stairs after Zack. By the time Delilah and I reached the bottom, Tucker had tackled Zack and had him pinned to the ground. Tucker towered over Zack and probably had a good fifty pounds on him. He hoisted Zack off the ground and sat him down on the steps.
“You sit there and talk to us, or I do that again,” Tucker said, not even out of breath.
Good gravy. I didn’t know my sweet, gentle boyfriend had that in him.
He’d partially knocked the wind out of Zack, who sat there wheezing and defeated.
I said, “We’re going to talk about Esther Sinclair. Why did you come around to her house after you got fired from the job next door? Did you have some kind of unfinished business with her?”
Southern Harm Page 18
