Southern Harm

by Caroline Fardig

  “We promise,” my sister and I chorused in unison.

  Chapter 38

  After a tearful goodbye with our mother, Delilah and I found Tucker waiting for us in his truck. We filled him in on what we’d learned from our parents. He sat there reeling from digesting it all.

  He finally asked, “Did you go back and ask your dad about the couple of hours he was MIA that night?”

  Delilah frowned. “No. We didn’t think it would do any good. He won’t talk, and the only explanation is that he’s protecting someone. I can’t tell if it’s himself or someone else. I can’t imagine he’d risk his freedom for anyone, though. He’s not that kind of person.”

  That had bothered me as well. It was true that our dad was never the first in line to help in a given situation. Something had him spooked, though.

  I said, “What if Coralee got to him, too?”

  “Like she did with Mom?”

  Nodding, I said, “Yes. What if she made the same type of threat?”

  Tucker said, “But she’s dead, so she can’t carry through with it. Now he could talk without fear.”

  “Unless she’s not the only one doing the threatening…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Brock Sheridan was the one who orchestrated Mom and Dad being away from town, alone together, the night his ex-girlfriend was killed. Also he, being one of Dad’s close friends, would know exactly where to find one of Dad’s personal mementos, like a watch. Or in other words, incontrovertible physical evidence that could come in handy in the event Brock ever needed a scapegoat, like the time he decided to murder his ex-girlfriend.”

  Delilah’s jaw dropped. “And you were getting on me for reaching?”

  “Unless you want to believe our dad is either a murderer or an accomplice, then we have to assume someone he knew was diabolical enough to plan out Esther’s death in detail, days in advance. This wasn’t a last-minute job.”

  “I sincerely hope Brock Sheridan is not that diabolical.”

  “But might he be if he thought he was going to lose everything? What if he found out that Esther was pregnant and assumed the baby was his? Mom knew. That random coworker of Esther’s knew. Rather than lose his trust fund, it would be a lot easier to make the problem disappear. All that would have been left to do was to shift blame away from himself. Once you’ve killed someone, what’s a little evidence tampering? Brock was intent on getting out of this clean and by any means necessary. Even if it meant selling out a friend.”

  Delilah was quiet as she considered my theory. I knew she didn’t want it to be true but could think of no better explanation.

  Tucker said uneasily, “I’m afraid Quinn makes a good point. As a child of one of the Savannah elite, you’re well aware of a certain set of expectations you have to meet. If you screw up, it’s on you to fix it.”

  Delilah squinted at him. “I thought part of the perks of being ‘a child of one of the Savannah elite’ was the parental bailout.”

  “Not always. And definitely not in this case, when a pregnancy was involved. Brock seemed to think his father would stand firm on that.”

  Delilah asked, “How does Coralee fit into your scenario? Why was she the one running around threatening everyone instead of Brock himself?”

  “Deniability on Brock’s part, possibly. Maybe she didn’t care what people thought of her if she was planning to end it all, anyway. Her last act would be to cover for her best friend’s husband…by incriminating our parents instead.”

  “Then you’re saying Coralee knew who the real killer is?”

  “She’d have to, right? To go to all that trouble making our parents look guilty in order to cover for someone else…” I gasped. “And she would’ve had to know Dad’s watch would be found in Esther’s grave! She could have even been there!”

  Tucker shook his head. “I don’t think we can count that as a foregone conclusion.”

  I replied, “She at least had to know where our parents were that night, and that they were alone and would have no alibi for the time of the murder. Will you give me that?”

  “It might have been common knowledge that Brock lent your dad his parents’ beach house.”

  I frowned at my boyfriend. “I thought you were on my side.”

  He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m always on your side, but we have to look at this from every angle.”

  “There’s no denying there are a lot of coincidences regarding Esther’s murder, Brock, Coralee, and our parents. Can we at least agree on that?”

  Delilah and Tucker both nodded.

  “Then I’ll say another thing that’s not going to be very popular. If Coralee knew more than her fair share about the events surrounding Esther’s death, then so does your friend Portia. According to Portia, the two of them were together the whole night. What one knows, the other knows.”

  Delilah shook her head. “That’s also not a foregone conclusion. Plus, do you really think Portia would have wanted to start a relationship—much less marry—a guy who killed one of her best friends?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “But let’s not forget about Dennis Griffin, who had more motive than anyone. What if Coralee was covering for him?”

  “Why would she cover for him?”

  Delilah gave me a crafty smile. “I say later tonight we interrogate Dennis Griffin until we get it out of him.”

  I put my head in my hands. It was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  —

  We rolled up to Esther’s parents’ home. After we knocked, an elderly lady appeared, peering out skeptically at us from behind the screen door.

  “Yes?” she said, none too friendly.

  I gave her my best smile. “Hi, Mrs. Sinclair. I’m Quinn Bellandini, and this is my sister, Delilah. We’re Dixie Bellandini’s daughters. And this is—”

  The old woman scowled at Tucker. “I know who you are. You’re the murderer’s nephew. Get off my property.”

  In hindsight, we did not think through bringing Tucker along with us for this particular interview. I made eye contact with him and jerked my head in the direction of his parked truck. He held up his hands wordlessly and beat a retreat down the street.

  I asked, “Do you remember our mother? She was a friend of your daughter’s.”

  Mrs. Sinclair nodded. “I do.” She muttered under her breath, “Hussy.”

  I felt a swell of rage radiate off my sister, so I placed a calming hand on her shoulder while I addressed Mrs. Sinclair. “Well, if you know our mother, then you know she would never have hurt Esther. We’re here because our mom is being held on suspicion that she had something to do with your daughter’s death.”

  “That’s preposterous. What are those detectives doing? They’ve already charged that chain-smoking heathen Lela. Case closed.”

  This time I was the one who had to pause to dial back my anger. Delilah jumped in. “Right. They should leave well enough alone, but they’re not. Is there anything you can tell us about the night Esther died that might help us clear our mother’s name? Or may we also speak to your husband?”

  Mrs. Sinclair frowned. “I don’t know what either of us can tell you. And Bert has fallen ill, God bless him. He’s resting now.”

  “Okay…well, can you tell us when you last saw your daughter?”

  “She came home with us after the ceremony to change clothes. We’d allowed her—against our better judgment—to stay out past curfew so she could attend several graduation parties, and then she was planning to spend the night at a friend’s house. I prayed for her safety, but it’s clear to me now that the devil already had her in his clutches.”

  “Um…right. We spoke to her friend Portia. She said after a few parties Esther—”

  “Said she felt sick and w
anted to come home. I know. Portia mentioned it when she came to pay her respects.”

  Delilah nodded. “But you don’t think Esther ever came home?”

  Mrs. Sinclair shrugged. “I don’t know. My husband and I are early risers, so we retire early at night. I—” She cleared her throat. “I now know that my children made it a habit of coming and going out their bedroom windows as they pleased. It seems that Esther’s sins and wayward ways cost her dearly in the end.”

  Delilah and I shared a wary glance.

  I asked, “And you never heard anything amiss that night?” I hated to come out and say it, but their daughter was buried mere yards away from them as they slept. That had to have been a terrible thing to realize.

  She cast her eyes down. “No, not that night. But early that next morning, just before sunup, we heard a tapping noise at one of the windows. We turned on the porch lights and Bert went outside, but he didn’t see anyone. May have scared whoever it was away.”

  “We realize you believe Lela killed your daughter, but if for some reason it wasn’t Lela…do you know of anyone who’d have wanted to hurt Esther? Was she…in any sort of trouble that you knew of?”

  “Other than the fact that she’d clearly turned her back on God and allowed the devil to get hold of her, no, I don’t know of any human who was out to get her.”

  “Ezra said her ex-boyfriend Brock came around once to give her some trouble, but he put a stop to it.”

  “I was not aware of that.”

  Mrs. Sinclair’s frown was deepening. I didn’t think she was going to answer many more of our questions, so I said, “We’d heard Esther left a note for you to let you know she was planning to leave town. Did she give you any specifics? Who she was going with or where she planned to go?”

  “What does that matter if she didn’t go anywhere?” Mrs. Sinclair asked, her eyes getting misty.

  I replied, “We wondered if she mentioned a boyfriend. Maybe named…Dennis Griffin?”

  She thought for a moment. “That name rings a bell, but she didn’t name anyone in her letter. Why should I know that name?”

  Delilah said, “You met him at graduation. He was one of her teachers.”

  Her face turned beet red. “How dare you even suggest that my teenage daughter would have been in a relationship with a grown man!”

  Probably figuring we only had one shot left, Delilah ripped off the Band-Aid. “Were you aware that she was pregnant at the time, also?”

  Snarling, she thundered, “You have no proof of that!”

  Well, we did now. Had Mrs. Sinclair not known about the pregnancy, her response would have been more along the lines of her earlier one to our question about Esther’s relationship with her teacher.

  Delilah caught her slipup, too. She pressed, “When did you find out about her pregnancy? And what were you planning to do about it?”

  “Get off my property before I call the police!” Mrs. Sinclair screeched, her chest heaving as she stared daggers at us.

  Getting the sinking feeling this was going to be the harassment call that got me in hot water, I said, “Sorry to bother you. Our deepest condolences about Esther,” and dragged my sister down the porch steps and to Tucker’s waiting truck.

  Delilah’s eyes sparkled as she spilled our story to Tucker. Once she’d brought him up to speed, she narrowed her eyes. “That old bag said her husband had ‘fallen ill’ and was ‘resting.’ Do you think that’s code for she iced him?”

  My jaw dropped. “What? Are you serious? What about the conversation we just had made you think that little old lady killed her husband?”

  “Because she killed her daughter.”

  Chapter 39

  I shook my head vehemently. “No. Oh, no. Absolutely not. We have two super valid suspects. We are not adding a third.”

  Delilah held up her hands. “Hear me out. This pregnancy is a big bone of contention, right? It’s very likely the key to all of this.”

  “I agree. Either Brock killed her to keep his trust fund intact or Griffin killed her because he didn’t want the baby.”

  “Or…” she drawled for effect. “Her God-fearing parents were so freaked out over her having a child out of wedlock that they took care of the problem. You heard Mrs. Sinclair—she firmly believes the devil had already turned her daughter to the dark side. Maybe this was the only way to ‘cure’ Esther.” Her eyes bulged. “Ooh! Maybe it was an exorcism gone wrong!”

  Tucker interjected, “I think it’s mainly Catholics who do exorcisms. The Sinclairs go to some kind of hard-core evangelical church.”

  I said, “D, I’m sorry, but I’m going to say it again—you’re reaching.”

  Tucker gave me an apologetic smile. “I think her idea has merit. Not the exorcism thing, but the ashamed parent thing.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not again. Are you two conspiring against me?”

  Delilah snapped, “This isn’t about you, Quinn.”

  “I didn’t say it was, Delilah,” I fired back petulantly.

  Tucker’s voice was soft as he said, “We need to keep open minds, here. If the police haven’t been able to properly solve this crime, then clearly there’s more going on than meets the eye. If it was a cut-and-dried answer, we wouldn’t be here right now, and the people we love wouldn’t be sitting in jail. For them, we need to keep it together now more than ever.”

  I hung my head. “You’re right. I’m sorry, D.”

  She grasped my shoulder. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “What’s next?” Tucker asked.

  Delilah thought for a moment. “How about another neighbor?” She picked up the file of notes she’d brought and riffled through them. “I tracked down Donnie Collier, who lived in the house on the next street over. His backyard abutted Lela’s, and Esther used to babysit his kids. He works at a car dealership south of town.”

  Tucker started his engine. “I could be in the market for a new vehicle in exchange for some information.”

  Donnie Collier didn’t just work at some cookie-cutter big name car dealership. He worked at a boutique automobile showroom where all the vehicles were housed indoors and would take years of my salary to purchase. With us rolling up in Tucker’s work truck—which he kept clean and tidy, and was only a few years old—it wasn’t likely we could pull off the interested customer angle.

  Delilah went for it without pretense once Donnie had been called to the front of the showroom at our request. “Hi, Mr. Collier. We’d like to speak to you about Esther Sinclair and Lela Heyward.” She made quick work of introductions and some backstory as Donnie got paler and paler. She ended with, “When was the last time you saw Esther?”

  He swallowed audibly. “A couple of days before she disappeared…or died, I guess. She came over and watched my kids while my wife and I went out to dinner.”

  “Did you notice her acting differently, or did she mention anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Not that I recall.” He darted his eyes around the room. “Maybe we should talk outside.” He ushered us out the door and around the corner of the building. Clearly this conversation was one he didn’t want anyone else to hear. And that was a good sign—for us.

  I asked, “Did she always come over on foot, since you lived so close, or was there an instance when someone picked her up once she was finished?”

  “I…don’t—” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his glistening brow. “You said you were looking for something to exonerate Lela, my old neighbor? I don’t know what I can tell you.”

  “Did you by any chance see or hear anything going on in Lela’s yard the night of Esther’s death?”

  He shook his head. “No. We had two huge trees in our backyard at the time. Between the trees and the privacy fence, we couldn’t see into Lela’s yard at all in the warmer months. In the winter, maybe. But on
that night it would have been impossible. I don’t remember hearing anything that would have made me get up to check on what was going on. In fact, I don’t ever recall there being any kind of nighttime ruckus in that neighborhood. Now, in the daytime, Lela and Beau used to have some knockdown, drag-out fights. I called the cops once, afraid for her. I hurried over to help, but when I got there it was Beau who needed the help.” He chuckled. “That Lela could hold her own.”

  I smiled. “She certainly can. Now, about Esther—did she ever mention a boyfriend to you or your wife or kids?”

  “I think I remember hearing her go on about the captain of the football team. She was a cheerleader, as I…as I recall.” He cleared his throat. Something was up with this guy. He got squirrelly every time the subject turned to Esther.

  Might as well go for the bombshell. “Did she mention she was pregnant?”

  His eyes bulged. “I never touched her.”

  Tucker stared at him. “We didn’t say you did.”

  Donnie started wiping the sweat from his forehead again. “I thought there was…uh…there was the implication…”

  Delilah said, “Why do you think we’re implying you had something going with Esther?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So you’ve said. Did someone accuse you of sniffing around her back in the day?”

  “No.”

  Tucker folded his arms across his chest and took a step toward Donnie so he could tower over him. “You sure about that?”

  Donnie sighed. “Okay, yes.” He held out his hands, an expression of horror overtaking his face. “I mean, yes, I was accused. I definitely had no feelings for her. I definitely never laid a finger on her. She was a child.”

  Tucker stood his ground. “Why were you accused of being a dirty old man if you were innocent on all counts?”

  Donnie rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you met her parents?”

  “Unfortunately,” Delilah muttered.