Southern Harm

by Caroline Fardig

  I took a deep breath and pushed them back a bit to give myself some space. “I’m fine, but we won’t get to speak to Mom and Dad until tomorrow. They’re going to hold them until then.”

  Papa Sal’s face fell.

  I hurried over to where he sat and took his hands. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I suggest you go home and get some rest. The detectives wouldn’t tell me much, but for now we can’t do anything for Mom and Dad here.”

  He nodded and let me assist him to his feet. My feelings toward the situation were bad enough, but watching him go through this was worse.

  We dropped Papa Sal at the B&B. Once he was in his room, Delilah, Tucker, and I threw down some food while I told them about my conversation with the detectives.

  Delilah shook her head. “You didn’t really say all that.”

  “I most certainly did.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t been possessed or something?”

  I frowned. “A lot has happened to me lately. Maybe I’m too tired to fully employ the filter between my brain and my mouth.”

  “But your brain didn’t even think those things before.”

  Tucker put his hand over mine. “I think you’re stressed, so you get a pass. Plus, your version of rude is the way most people behave on a good day.”

  Delilah gave me a devilish grin. “Or you’re turning into me.” She cackled ominously.

  “Regardless, I need to watch it.” I got up to put my plate in the dishwasher. “I think we should focus on Coralee. When I spoke to her before, I felt like she was holding something back. Now I know it.”

  Delilah replied indelicately, “Well, we can’t ask her now.”

  “We can ask her bestie, though. Can you get us another meeting with Portia?”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult. In fact, she called me while you were being interrogated to ask if we’d donate some of your famous scones for the wake she’s hosting on Saturday.”

  My jaw dropped. “I’m not lifting a finger for anything related to Coralee Marshall.”

  “Settle down, sassy. The suicide note isn’t public knowledge, so Portia doesn’t know about Mom and Dad’s involvement, and I think it’s best to keep it that way. Besides, this is a favor to Portia, not Coralee.”

  “D, we barely have time in the next two days to do our jobs. I’m not wasting precious moments slaving in the kitchen when I could be helping Mom and Dad and Aunt Lela. Portia can make her own ding-dang scones.”

  “She’s putting together an entire meal already.”

  “Then she can buy some scones. She certainly has the money.”

  Tucker cut in, “You know, helping with Coralee’s wake could be our opportunity to get close to some people who knew her.”

  I gasped. “Tucker Heyward, I’m surprised at you. I might have zero respect for the woman right now, but I don’t think it would be proper to question people at her wake.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “I didn’t mean we should accost people while they’re grieving. I’m saying we discreetly observe who’s there and make a list of people to track down later.”

  “Oh. That’s not so bad, I guess.”

  “And if those detectives are worth their salt, they’ll put in an appearance to do the same. We’ll be sure to keep a low profile. You don’t want them to catch you ‘harassing’ anyone there.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I turned to Delilah. “Tell Portia I’ll make her dumb scones. And that we’ll help in the kitchen during the wake.”

  “Will do,” she replied, looking everywhere but at me.

  I put my hands on my hips. “You already agreed to it, didn’t you?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Busted.”

  * * *

  —

  Delilah got in touch with Portia and managed to invite us over to her house to help her plan the wake. I thought it was a waste of precious time, but Delilah and Tucker both agreed we could learn plenty from Coralee’s closest friend.

  It was getting late in the evening, and we wouldn’t have time to call on anyone else if we didn’t get this show on the road. I was fidgety with nervous energy, and Tucker had to tell me at least twice to calm down while we waited in the foyer for Delilah to finish whatever she was doing upstairs.

  After a few minutes, she came down the steps looking like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. “I just had a very interesting conversation with Uncle Frank.”

  “What did he have to say?” Tucker asked, genuinely interested. To my dismay, Tucker was also a firm believer in the existence of Uncle Frank’s ghost.

  “He said we should watch out for false clues.”

  I frowned. “Right. Because we would never think of that on our own.”

  D glared at me. “I’m sure it’s some kind of riddle, just like the last one.”

  “The one about the song tomorrow? That wasn’t helpful.”

  Tucker asked, “Huh?”

  D explained, “Uncle Frank’s first clue to help us with the case was, ‘If you want to drive away sorrow, come and hear this song tomorrow.’ ”

  “From the song ‘Dixie’?”

  Delilah stared at him, agape. “Those are song lyrics from the old folk song ‘Dixie’? He was talking about Mom!”

  “What about her?” I asked.

  “That was his answer when I asked him if he could point us to someone with some answers. He was trying to tell us that Mom has answers.”

  “Yeah, we know that. She’s been dodging us because she has answers to our questions that she doesn’t want to admit to us. I thought we’d already had this conversation.”

  “Not with this context!”

  “D, if we’re supposed to be watching out for false clues, I think we just found one. Facts you already know don’t count as clues.”

  She breezed past me on her way to the door. “Scoff all you want. But deep down, you know Uncle Frank was the one who saved your sorry butt last time.”

  Again, I agreed to disagree, silently following Delilah and Tucker to his truck to head to Portia’s house.

  * * *

  —

  Portia greeted us at the door, her eyes watery and makeup long gone. She wore a fuzzy sweater and leggings, which I knew were every bit as expensive as her dressy ensembles. Welcoming us in, she sat us down in her gourmet kitchen this time. She had a pot of coffee and a tray of professionally decorated Christmas cookies waiting on the table for us.

  As she poured coffee for us, she said earnestly, “Thank you for agreeing to help. With Christmas in a few days, people are too busy to rearrange their schedules to lend a hand, and my go-to caterers are already spoken for. I’m pulling together what I can from several places around town and hoping for the best. Coralee deserves much more than a slapdash affair, but I’m afraid that’s all I can do for her.” Her last word broke on a sob, and Delilah leaned over to put her arm around Portia’s shoulders.

  “We’ll do what we can to help you, Portia. I know it’s particularly hard on you to have lost your friend like this.”

  I’d been so busy being offended about Coralee’s note that I hadn’t stopped to think how her death would affect others in this town. I’d considered the impact her loss would make on community philanthropy, but I hadn’t considered her friends. Regardless of my feelings toward her, there were many who loved her dearly, especially Portia, who’d been her friend for decades.

  Portia dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I still can’t believe it. I should have done something. I worried about her, but…”

  Delilah shot a glance at Tucker and me. Gently, she asked Portia, “Had she tried to end her life before?”

  She shook her head. “No, but she’d…I probably shouldn’t be discussing her personal business, but…I need to talk to someone.” She looked at us. “You won’t rep
eat this, will you?”

  We shook our heads. I definitely wouldn’t gossip about it, but if I needed to repeat it to the police, I wouldn’t hesitate.

  “Coralee slipped a disk in her back a few years ago, but she wasn’t going to let anything slow her down from her charity work. You can imagine how that turned out. Surgery became a must, and during her recovery, she developed a dependence on prescription medication. She pushed herself to get back to her work too quickly and covered the resulting pain with pills. Her husband, Dave, and I tried so hard to get her the help she needed, but she kept pushing further away from both of us. She and I haven’t been as close in the last year, and I regret that deeply. We’ve only spoken a couple of times. The last time I saw her was this past summer.”

  I sipped my coffee, wondering how to segue from this into the questions that needed asking.

  Delilah drew the conversation around to the wake. “I think the wake is a perfect way to honor your friend, no matter how strained your relationship had become.”

  Portia smiled, and the two of them put their heads together and delved into the nitty-gritty planning of the event. Several minutes later we heard a door close, then Brock ambled into the kitchen, tie askew and suit jacket slung over his shoulder.

  “Oh, I wasn’t aware we had company.” He put on his politician smile and came over to the table. “Tucker. Nice to see you.”

  The two of them shook hands, and then Brock greeted Delilah and me also. He gave his wife a kiss and poured himself a cup of coffee before dropping tiredly into a chair at the table.

  Portia said, “They’re here to help with the wake.”

  Brock breathed out a relieved sigh. “I can’t thank y’all enough.” He took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “My poor dear has been running herself ragged trying to do it all on her own. I’ve been in and out of meetings all day and haven’t been a lick of help.”

  She smiled at him. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

  We went back to dissecting the details of the wake, but my head wasn’t in it. Here I had two of the people who’d been closest to Esther around the time of her death, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out a way to question them without coming off as crass and uncaring. I wondered if bringing up the fact that my parents were being questioned about Esther’s death would elicit sympathy or rage from them.

  I must have been exuding some kind of vibe, because I felt Delilah kick me under the table. Pulling myself together, I worked to squash the anxiety and focus first on the task at hand. I was able to offer a few suggestions and opinions.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, Portia sat back in her chair. “Whew. What a load off my mind. With a couple of phone calls, I think we’ll have this pulled together.” She turned a watery smile on us. “I couldn’t have done it without the three of y’all. Thank you.”

  Delilah replied, “It was our pleasure.”

  Portia opened the tablet sitting in front of her and brought up an Internet browser. “One more little thing—we’ll need to rent some plates and table linens and such. There are several patterns to choose from.”

  Brock said to Tucker, “I think our services are no longer required. I’d like to pick your brain about restoring the old fireplace in my study, if you’ve got a minute.”

  Tucker nodded. “I’ve got all the time you need.”

  Ooh. If Tucker and Brock started talking about a less emotional topic, Tucker might be able to drive the conversation toward Coralee and Esther without a lot of difficulty. Under the table, I took my phone out of my pocket as stealthily as I could and sent a quick text to Tucker, hoping he wouldn’t be obvious and get his phone out to read it right here. I saw his smart watch come to life and heard his phone vibrate in his pocket, both notifying him he had a text message, but he didn’t make a move to look at either of them.

  As the two men left the table, Portia and Delilah began studying the patterns of dishes available and discussing whether or not it would be advisable to use any with holiday themes.

  When Portia asked if we’d accompany her downstairs to her wine cellar to choose several wines to go with the food, I saw an opportunity and took it. “May I use your powder room, Portia?”

  “Of course. It’s in the front hallway, across from Brock’s study.”

  Perfect. I headed that way, but instead of using the restroom, I took the opportunity to eavesdrop on Tucker and Brock. They were talking interior restoration, but the good news was that Tucker had managed to respond to my text, saying he’d do his best to ask Brock some pointed questions.

  It was only a few moments before Brock himself was the one who steered the conversation in exactly the right direction.

  “How’s your aunt holding up?” he asked.

  “Not well, honestly. She’s innocent, you know.”

  “I’m inclined to agree.”

  Tucker hesitated for a beat. “Would there be anything you can do about it?”

  Brock sighed. “I wish I held that kind of power.”

  “You were close to the situation. Who’d your money be on?”

  “As the killer?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a significant pause. “I don’t know. I’ve thought for so many years that Esther had simply left, it’s hard to wrap my mind around the idea of an alternate scenario. In the back of my mind, I always assumed she ran off with the guy she left me for. I knew she was seeing someone behind my back for a while before we broke up. But I didn’t want anyone else to know it, so I fought to hold on to her. Pride is a terrible thing, you know? I was miserable, but that was preferable to losing face or losing my ‘cool’ factor.” He let out a chuckle. “The mind of an eighteen-year-old boy is a strange place. But knowing what we know now, I worry that maybe that new boyfriend of hers wasn’t as wonderful as she thought him to be. My money would be on him.”

  I whipped out my phone and texted to Tucker, Mention the baby!

  Tucker said, “Did she tell you who this guy was? Maybe we could find him and ask him some questions.”

  “She never said. She admitted to cheating on me, because she said she had to get it off her chest. But she asked me not to tell anyone, and I was only too happy to oblige. We agreed to tell everyone she broke things off so I could play up the sympathy angle. Now I wish I’d pressed her about telling me who the guy was. Maybe it was his plan all along to hurt her, and that was why he made her keep his identity a secret.”

  “Could be,” Tucker mused. “Do you know if Portia or Coralee knew about him? Did Esther ever introduce him to them?”

  “Trust me, I badgered those poor girls about it at the time. They had no idea she was seeing someone else. She never breathed a word of it to them. It was a big secret to keep from her best friends.”

  “Who does Portia think killed Esther?”

  “She thinks it has to be the other boyfriend.”

  “What about Coralee? Do you know what she thought?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. Portia tried to reach out to her after Esther’s remains were found, but Coralee didn’t want to talk to her.”

  In a softer voice, Tucker said, “Now, I hate to heap insult on old injury, but did Esther ever mention to you that she could have been pregnant? It’s a question…the police asked my aunt during her interrogation.”

  There was a long pause. Then Brock choked out, “Pregnant? No way. No. There’s no way. I always used protection. Always. My father beat that into my head. He told me a story about one of his old prep school buddies who got a girl pregnant—the boy’s father gave the girl his son’s entire trust fund as hush money. My dad always said he’d thought it was unfair until he had a son of his own and realized how having a child too soon could destroy someone’s future. He threatened to do the same to me if I ever got in that circumstance. So if Esther was pregnant,
it wasn’t mine.”

  That was at least mildly debatable, since birth control wasn’t foolproof. However, if there was indeed a baby, the odds were not in favor of Brock being the father.

  “Fair enough. And I didn’t mean to upset you with the question. I don’t know if the police were playing that angle to fish for information, or if they know something they’re not sharing with the public. Either way, my aunt knew nothing about it.”

  I heard the sound of a door closing from the direction of the kitchen, so I bounded into the powder room to flush the toilet and turn on the sink to complete the restroom break ruse. As I came out the door, the four of them converged in the foyer.

  Delilah said, “We’re finished, and I thought we’d better leave so everyone can get some rest. It’s going to be a tough weekend coming up.”

  Brock walked over and put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “It is, and we can’t thank you enough for the help.”

  “We’re happy to do anything we can,” I said, neglecting to add “for Portia” rather than the assumed “for Coralee.” I was still beside myself about the trouble she’d caused. I doubted I could rest tonight while my parents sat in jail.

  Chapter 34

  Once we were on the sidewalk, I pounced on Tucker. “What did Brock say? I was eavesdropping on part of your conversation, but I didn’t get it all.”

  “Well, he asked me how I’d go about restoring the crumbling mortar in the brick fireplace in his office. I told him he could—”

  I interrupted him impatiently. “Skip to the good part.”

  He grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but tease you a little. You’re really getting into this investigator stuff.”

  I gave him a mock frown as he opened the passenger doors and helped Delilah and me into the cab of his truck.

  Once he was settled into the driver’s seat, he said, “I flat-out asked him who he thought the killer was. He said his money was on the guy Esther dumped him for.”

  “I heard all that. What did he say at the end?”

  Delilah said, “Whoa. I heard none of this. Could you fill me in?”