After breakfast, Delilah and I packed up ourselves and our scones and drove to the Sheridan home. Papa Sal went to the station to visit our mom, and Tucker went to see his aunt this morning and would meet us there. After learning what we had from Shawna last night, I was rather apprehensive about going into this lion’s den, so to speak. The Sheridans had played the part of the perfect couple, but we now knew that Portia had been lying, at least about how much contact she’d had with Coralee lately. And who knew what all Brock had lied about. In my mind, any lying that had anything to do with a murder—even a thirty-three-year-old one—was a big red flag. Not to mention all the covering up Coralee had done, which either someone put her up to or she did to shield someone she cared about. These people were guilty of something. We just had to figure out what.
The street was jam-packed this morning, so we had to park a few blocks down from their house and lug our bins of scones all the way to their front door. Brock met us on the sidewalk and relieved Delilah and me of our loads. He led us into the kitchen, which was bustling with activity already, an hour before the party—I mean, wake—was supposed to start, with food and serving items being delivered by the truckload. Honestly, the place had such a festive feel (Portia hadn’t taken down even a single Christmas decoration), I couldn’t imagine a gaggle of grief-stricken people coming in here later.
Portia snapped orders at everyone, including Delilah and me, and Tucker when he arrived later. The hour flew by as we helped set out food, dinnerware, glasses, napkins, and assorted other party accouterments—including a fully stocked bar, which in my opinion was a terrible idea given the circumstances. The spread took up every surface in the kitchen and spilled over into the sunroom. Once everything was ready, I noticed that the workers who’d delivered and helped set out the food had disappeared. But then when Portia began giving Delilah, Tucker, and me directions for what would have to be done during the party to keep the food and drinks flowing, I realized we were the staff. I’d had the sneaking suspicion from the start that she thought of us as nothing more than help she didn’t have to pay, but we didn’t balk, given the fact that we had our own agenda regarding this wake.
People started showing up, and by “people” I meant Savannah’s elite, dripping with jewels and dressed in their Sunday best. Coiffed to the nines, artfully made up, and smelling like roses, these ladies had to have used gallons of hair products and toiletries and pounds of makeup between them. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I found I did look a lot more like the help than a guest. Portia had the right idea all along.
After a couple of hours of tidying the buffet and picking up discarded plates, cups, and napkins, I’d about had enough. Delilah and I had been much too busy even to observe people’s interactions, let alone try to speak to anyone. Tucker kept getting waylaid by his parents and their friends, so he was no help.
Finally there was a bit of a lull, and Delilah sidled up to me. She chin-nodded at a middle-aged man holding court over some other men near the bar. His story must have been riveting as well as hilarious, because the five men surrounding him alternated between giving him their undivided attention and laughing heartily and slapping one another on the back.
“That’s Dave Marshall, Coralee’s widower.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The man who’s the life of the party over there?”
“The very same. I think Violet’s assessment of him not being too torn up about his wife’s death is pretty accurate. We should talk to him.”
I cringed. “I still think that’s an awful thing to do to him, given the circumstances.”
“I’m not saying we interrogate him. We’ll just…start up a conversation. I heard him talking about his golf game a few minutes ago, so I’m sure we can improvise something about links or pars or…or…clubs or something.”
As she was spouting golf words, my gaze happened to land across the room on none other than Detective Flynn, which meant Rufus couldn’t be too far away. Tucker had been right—I’d need to lie low, at least while they were here. Before I could slip away, Flynn spotted me and started walking toward us.
To Delilah, I murmured, “You’re going to have to take this one on your own. Detective Flynn is headed this way. I’ll keep him busy while you talk to Dave Marshall.”
Delilah slipped away as Flynn swaggered up to me.
“Miss Bellandini. Why am I not surprised you’re here?” he asked, his eyes boring into me.
I held up my hands. “I’m here to help out a new friend, Portia Sheridan. She’s Delilah’s friend, really. But she asked us to bake some of our famous scones and keep the kitchen running, since that’s what we do on a daily basis. She didn’t want a bunch of waitstaff here with the mourners. It’s much more intimate this way. Friends only.”
He let out a snort. “You weren’t friends with Coralee Marshall.”
“I was an acquaintance of hers. We worked on several charity—”
“Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m referring to.”
“Fine. I may not be her biggest fan, but what I’m doing right now is helping Portia while she grieves the loss of her friend. How I feel doesn’t matter.”
Flynn stared hard at me. “Blow smoke all you want. I’m not buying it. I know exactly why you’re here.”
He wasn’t necessarily wrong, but it was the truth that I hadn’t done any snooping this morning. I hadn’t had the time. Granted, I’d sent my sister off to do it, but technically I hadn’t harassed anyone.
Rufus appeared in the doorway and saw us speaking, so he ambled over. “Hello, Quinn. I’d like to say I didn’t expect to see you here, but we both know that wouldn’t be true.”
Flynn smirked at me. “Funny, that’s exactly what we were talking about.”
“Quinn, come on,” Rufus said. “Please tell me you’re not accosting people at a wake, of all places.”
“I have done no such thing.” Not yet, anyway. “But one might think that’s what you’re doing.”
Flynn feigned shock. “Who, us? We’re merely paying our respects.”
I pasted on a smile. “I’m sure you are.”
Rufus lowered his voice. “We’re serious. Leave these folks alone. I shouldn’t have to tell you it’s bad manners to bother people who are grieving.”
His words struck a chord with me. Where were my manners? I felt like this case had come along and pushed everything in my life aside, including the politeness my Grandmama Hattie had worked so diligently to instill in me. Then again, wasn’t the freedom of three innocent people more important than a few hurt feelings?
I said frostily, “We wouldn’t be having this discussion if you looked at the facts a little more objectively and quit listening to the rantings of crazy people.”
Flynn hissed, “We have actual evidence. What do you have?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone I never imagined would show up here. He was heading out the back door alone, toward the patio, drink in hand. I knew my expression would give something away to the detectives, so I faked a sneeze.
“Achoo!” I buried my face in the palm of my hand.
“Bless you,” Rufus said.
After composing myself, I sniffed and replied, “Please excuse me while I go find a tissue.”
Flynn stepped in front of me and stared me down. “Remember what we said.”
“I will.”
I quickly nipped into the guest bathroom and washed my hands, giddy over the prospect of getting to speak to Dennis Griffin alone outside. I wanted to cross him off the list for good and concentrate on Brock. I waited a moment, hoping the detectives had gotten bored and left. Slipping out of the guest bath, I cut down a back hallway and found a door that led to the side yard. The gate was open to the backyard, thank goodness, so I marched through like I owned the place. Dennis Griffin sat on the side of a wrought-iron c
haise lounge, gazing out across the covered pool.
Chapter 42
“Hi, there,” I said, going over to sit in the chair next to Dennis.
As if in a daze, he looked up at me. “Hello.” After a moment, his eyes focused on me and recognition hit him. “I know you.”
“We met at your bar a few days ago.”
“Right.” He stood. “I should be getting back inside.”
I jumped up and put a hand on his arm. It was now or never. “Look, Dennis. I wasn’t particularly truthful with you before. The reason why my sister and I sought you out is that we need some information possibly only you can give us. My mom and dad are Dixie Bellandini and Jack Anderson.”
He nodded. “I remember them. They were some of Esther’s friends. And you must be the Quinn Bellandini who found Esther’s remains.”
“I am. Look, the police arrested my boyfriend’s aunt for her murder.”
“The next-door neighbor who torched her car?”
“Yes. Lela Heyward. But she didn’t kill Esther. Anyway, my boyfriend and my sister and I have been beating the bushes, trying to find some reasonable doubt for her. Thanks to Coralee Marshall, some new information has come to light. Now my parents are in jail, and they’re being looked at pretty hard for Esther’s murder. The whole thing is a giant mess.”
“I’m sorry to hear all that, but I don’t know what I can do for you.”
“I need the truth about what happened the last week of her life.”
He shook his head sadly. “I don’t…I…”
“The two of you were in a relationship and were planning to leave town together.”
Dennis’s face turned ashen. “How did you…”
“I told you I’ve spoken to a lot of people this week. It took a while, but we pieced it together.”
“Do the police know?”
“No. We wanted to speak to you first.”
He shrunk away from me. “And what if I…what if I don’t want to tell you anything?”
I shrugged. “Then I tell the police what I think I know about you, minus the accuracy I’d get from your side of the story.”
“Are you threatening me?”
My manners were so out the window at this point, I decided to go with it. “If that’s what it takes. Honestly, I don’t think you had anything to do with Esther’s death. My sister, however, thinks you’ve got something to hide—aside from you being romantically involved with one of your students.”
He sank down on the chaise and put his head in his hands. “I didn’t kill Esther. I loved Esther.”
“And because of that, I’m sure you want the correct killer to be brought to justice for ending her life.”
“I do. What do you want to know?”
I sat as well and softened my tone, hoping not to come off so brazen. “When did the two of you start seeing each other?”
“In February. We’d hate-flirted all year. But then one day after school, something between us…clicked. I fell for her, hard. Esther…she didn’t feel the same…at least not at first. She wouldn’t break up with her boyfriend even though she was seeing me. I don’t think she ever quit flirting with other guys—that’s just the way she was. Her vivaciousness was something I loved about her, even though it sometimes made me jealous.”
I had a flash of unease. “How jealous?”
He lifted a hand. “I know where this is going. Not jealous enough to hurt anyone. Especially my sweet Esther.” His voice cracked as he uttered her name.
I pressed. “Did she talk to you about her boyfriend, Brock Sheridan? Did she ever mention him getting jealous or catching on that she was seeing you behind his back?”
“Brock the Jock wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I don’t think he had a clue until she broke up with him. And of course my identity had to remain a secret. She merely told him she’d found someone new.”
I’d never heard him referred to as “Brock the Jock” before. I wondered briefly if it was one of the teachers’ nicknames for him. Given his penchant for violence, I couldn’t imagine any of the students calling him that and getting away with it.
“What about the night of graduation? She introduced you to her parents, and she had written them a note and moved her belongings out of her room. She seemed all set to run away with you.”
He nodded. “Her bags were in my car. We were ready to leave this town behind and spend the rest of our lives together. All we had to do…” Overcome by emotion, he sucked in a shuddering breath. “All we had to do was drive away the next morning. I wanted to leave straight from the graduation ceremony, but she wanted to spend one last evening with her friends.”
I said quietly, “Had you always thought she left without you?”
With glassy eyes, Dennis looked at me. “I did. I thought she’d changed her mind about wanting to be with me. I threw out her stuff…although it did strike me as odd that she would have left without her bags. But I reasoned that she’d packed light in the first place and could have gone back and gotten more clothes and things from home. I was a mess. I was too hurt to wonder if there’d been any foul play or an accident or anything. Like I said, she’d always flirted with every male she met. In the back of my mind, I…I always worried she’d be unfaithful. After all, she left Brock for me. What’s to say she wouldn’t leave me when someone better came along?”
“I imagine learning about her death hit you pretty hard.”
“It did. Even after all these years.”
“Did she ever confide in you that anyone was treating her badly or was upset by something she’d done? Did she ever worry that someone would intentionally cause her harm?”
Dennis thought for a moment, then said diplomatically, “Well…when a student is as popular as Esther was, there’s always a degree of jealousy and hurt feelings on the part of the other students. And Esther wasn’t always sweetness and light to those who didn’t belong to her social class.”
That much we knew. “Aside from the day-to-day nonsense, were there any incidents she told you about?”
“Her parents were borderline abusive. She told me some things…I offered, as her teacher, to speak with a social worker on her behalf, but she made me promise not to. She said things would only get worse if her parents got a visit from social services. That was part of the reason she wanted to leave town. Her parents would never stand for us being together if she still lived under their roof.”
“So…do you think her parents would have become more than borderline abusive if the found out…you know, everything?”
His face clouded over. “I imagine so.”
As strongly as I felt about Brock, and as much as I’d grumbled about adding another possible suspect or two to our roster, I had to admit I was suspicious of Ada and Bert Sinclair to a degree. My main sticking point with them was my father’s watch—I didn’t see how either of them could have gotten their hands on it, or why they would have wanted to implicate him in their daughter’s murder in the first place. They probably didn’t even know him.
“We’d heard she was spending a great deal of time with you after she broke things off with Brock. Was it that she had more time on her hands or…?”
“Somewhat, I suppose. The two of them hadn’t spent as much time together outside of school since I’d come into the picture, even though they were joined at the hip during the day. When she wasn’t with me, she hung out with her girlfriends or was at work or at church. But shortly before graduation…” He knit his brows together as he thought about it. “Shortly before graduation she had a row with her friends. The Magnolias, as they were called, had ganged up on her. They were mad because they thought one of their boyfriends was stepping out with her.” He shrugged. “Esther knew exactly who the boyfriend was cheating with, but she’d promised not to tell anyone. The Magnolias wouldn’t speak to her for several days
, but they managed to work things out before graduation.”
A shiver ran down my spine as a thought began forming in my head. “Um…whose boyfriend was thought to be cheating with Esther? Portia’s or Coralee’s?”
“Portia’s.” His eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That’d be your father, correct?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
Esther’s cousin Polly had told us about Portia being upset that my dad was seeing someone behind her back—which of course ended up being my mother. But how would the situation have changed once Portia got it in her head that he was stepping out with one of her best friends?
“Something wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head quickly. “No. No. Nothing wrong. Well, I should probably let you get back to…whatever it is that…Um…” I leaped up from my chair and started for the door.
Dennis hurried to catch up and grabbed my arm. “Wait. Does this mean you won’t go to the police about me now that I’ve told you everything I know?”
He’d given me no reason to doubt his story, and he’d laid a doozy of a bombshell on me—a possible bombshell, rather, and one that was not going to be popular with my sister. Either way, I didn’t want to be at this house for a moment more than I had to, and I didn’t want my sister or boyfriend here, either.
“I believe you that you didn’t kill Esther. It’s obvious that you cared for her, and as several of your students have attested to, you don’t seem the type that would hurt anyone. Especially the woman carrying your baby.”
He blinked several times. I thought he was going to faint on me, but then he said, “Did you say my…baby?”
Oh, sugar. How did he not know? “I…”
“Esther was pregnant?”
“Yes. I thought you…” My heart sank. What a way to find out you were once upon a time going to be a father.
Tears formed in his eyes. “Who told you? Who knew?”
“My mom…and a girl from Esther’s work…and…the landscaper from next door…” This was sounding worse, not better. I felt so terrible for having blurted it out, although I’d alluded to it earlier, albeit vaguely. I assumed he knew since he agreed with what I’d said.
Southern Harm Page 25
