Southern Harm
Page 27
I glared down at Portia. “You can send us a bill.”
Delilah jeered, “Yeah. From prison!”
The glorious sound of heavy footfalls on the floor above got our attention. When we heard shouts of “Savannah Police!” my sister and I breathed sighs of relief. Portia, on the other hand, began hyperventilating.
Within seconds, two uniformed officers, Rufus, Flynn, and two EMTs filled the room. While the policemen worked to free Delilah and the EMTs worked on Portia, Rufus and Flynn took me aside.
Flynn whistled, his mouth pulling up in one corner. “Miss Bellandini, did you cause all this damage and manage to subdue your sister’s captor?”
Even though I was covered in wine and bits of glass, I stood tall as I said, “Yes. And before I did that, I recorded Portia Sheridan confessing to killing two people.”
Rufus was unable to keep the smile from his face, too. He shrugged and said to Flynn, “Well, I guess our job is done. Want to call it a day?”
Flynn shook his head. “No way. I want to hear every detail of this story from beginning to end.”
I sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
* * *
—
After being checked over by the EMTs and then getting sequestered while Delilah gave her statement, I had a marathon of an inquisition at the police station compliments of Rufus and Flynn. Hours later, I finally got to see my sister. In the hallway outside the interrogation rooms, we clung to each other, tears of joy flowing freely. As soon as the paperwork was filed, our mom and dad—plus Aunt Lela—would be free to go.
In the lobby of the police station, the happiest of reunions took place. Then, the seven of us—Delilah, Tucker, Mom, Dad, Papa Sal, Aunt Lela, and I—moved the party to Tucker’s house. We ordered pizza and simply enjoyed one another’s company.
Inevitably, the topic turned to Esther Sinclair, and of course my sister was the one who steered it there.
She said, “Mom and Dad. Dad, I guess, especially. Would you please fill us in on what you’ve been hiding all this time regarding Esther’s death? I think we’ve all earned the right to know.”
Our mom—who had yet to call her boyfriend, Paul, to let him know she was out of jail—and our dad, who were to my surprise cuddled up next to each other on Tucker’s couch, shared a glance.
Dad said, “D…Quinnie…I’m sorry about how I treated you, but please know that I did it to protect you. After I heard about you finding Esther’s body, I started thinking back about that night and formed some theories of my own. I was convinced Portia and Coralee were mixed up in it somehow. So…” He cleared his throat. “I went to Portia and…” Cheeks flushing, he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I asked her for some money in exchange for me keeping quiet about certain events that occurred that night.”
Delilah shot me a look and then rolled her eyes. Neither of us were surprised, just simply embarrassed. Tucker, who’d had his arm firmly tucked around my shoulders since we got here, gave me a slight squeeze.
Papa Sal’s jaw dropped. “You shook her down? That’s blackmail, Jack.” Papa Sal had never cared much for Dad, and this definitely didn’t help matters.
Dad wiped a hand down his face. “I know. My business hasn’t been doing great lately, so—”
Delilah said, “Just get back to the blackmail story, Dad.”
“Okay. She asked for a couple of days to get the money together. In the meantime, you girls started going around asking questions. She came back to me with a counteroffer, which was that she wasn’t giving me a red cent, plus if I breathed a word of what I knew to anyone, she said she’d hurt you girls.” He turned to me. “Quinnie, I tried to get you to give it up. You wouldn’t listen to reason. So…I ran down here so I could watch over you.”
Papa Sal griped, “A lot of good that did, seeing as how you promptly got yourself arrested for murder and thrown in jail.”
Dad hung his head. “I know. I thought my only option was to clam up and hope no one uncovered anything about Portia. The police never mentioned her name in all their questioning of me. But my girls figured it out.” He looked from Delilah to me, pride shining in his eyes. “I underestimated you two. I’m sorry for that.”
I said, “I’m dying to know—how did you figure out Portia killed Esther?”
“A lot of little things. A couple of weeks before graduation, Portia accused me of cheating on her. Which, admittedly, was true.” He smiled at Mom and reached over to take her hand. “But she didn’t know who I was seeing, and of course I didn’t dare tell her. She would have made your poor mom’s life a living hell.”
“Or killed her,” Delilah said, shuddering.
Dad frowned. “I knew Portia was hateful, but I never imagined she’d go that far. Anyway, we broke up, but Portia wouldn’t leave me alone. She kept showing up at my house, and my uncle kept letting her in when I was gone, which I assumed was when she stole my watch. She followed me around at school, too. If I even spoke to another girl during class, Portia would accost her afterward and demand to know if she was my new girlfriend. Well, one day I made the mistake of approaching Esther at lunch to tell her what I thought of her dumping my friend Brock.”
Delilah’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? Because you had so much room to talk about relationships?”
Mom gave her a reproachful look. “Let your daddy tell his story.”
Dad continued, “I knew I’d done the same thing to Portia, but I still felt the need to defend my friend. Before I got more than a sentence out, Portia swooped in and dragged me away from Esther. She accused me of stepping out with one of her best friends, which of course is a cardinal sin in high school. I denied it, because obviously it wasn’t true, but that seemed to set her off even more. She and Coralee shunned Esther after that. They would barely speak to her, until all of a sudden they decided they were friends again and insisted she go out with them on graduation night.”
Delilah said, “So Portia planned on killing Esther all along. She tried to tell me it was an accident, but I didn’t buy it. I’m betting over the last thirty-three years she told herself that lie so many times she started to believe it.”
My dad shrugged. “We may never know for sure.”
I asked, “Do we know if Brock is aware of what she did?”
Tucker said, “According to my dad, Brock’s camp has already made a statement saying he had no knowledge of any of his wife’s wrongdoing, past or present.”
Aunt Lela barked out a laugh. “I bet your dad’s all in a dither over his favorite politician getting raked across the coals. He should have picked someone else to have in his back pocket.”
Tucker tensed next to me, so I said, “Dad, would you like to continue?”
Dad nodded uneasily. “Um…sure. Anyway, Portia knew Brock had given me the keys to his family’s beach house for the night and assumed I was taking Esther there. I think part of the reason she invited Esther out was to sabotage our supposed plans. So after she killed Esther and she and Coralee disposed of her, they came out to the beach house. I heard a noise outside and went out to find the two of them soaking wet and fiddling around under the hood of my car. I chased them away and fixed the little bit of damage they’d done. All this time, I thought Portia was simply retaliating at me again over our breakup. Being a pest. But once I heard Esther had died that night, I realized the two of them had tried to sabotage my car for a reason—to strand me out on Tybee alone, or so they thought. They’d taken a dip in the ocean to wash off the dirt from burying Esther. When I initially went to Portia, I had only a strong suspicion she could be guilty. She of course confirmed it when she agreed to pay for my silence. But when the police told me my watch had been found in Esther’s makeshift grave, everything became crystal clear.”
D snapped her fingers. “I get it now. ‘Watch out for false clues.’ The watch was a false clue.�
� She pointed at me. “Uncle Frank was right again.”
I rolled my eyes, but said nothing.
Mom was busy being enthralled with Dad. She patted his knee. “You were willing to take a murder charge to keep our girls safe.”
He smiled at her. “And you. I figured if they didn’t let you go pretty soon I’d cop to all of it so you wouldn’t go down with me.”
“Oh, Jack…”
Delilah and Papa Sal got a little green watching their sweet exchange.
Tucker steered the conversation in a new direction. He retrieved his glass from the coffee table and held it high. “To Quinn and Delilah. Without their brains and bravery, nearly half of the people in this room would still be in jail tonight.”
Aunt Lela lifted her glass. “Hear, hear. I can’t thank you girls enough.”
Everyone else raised their glasses as well, chorusing in unison, “To Quinn and Delilah.”
Once everyone had toasted us, Mom fixed us with a stern look. “Yes, thank you, girls, for getting us all free in time for Christmas. But don’t ever risk your lives for us again, okay?”
Delilah and I smiled at each other. I knew my sister would never agree to that, especially if it meant giving up on adventure and intrigue. And even though I loved my quiet, mild-mannered existence at the B&B, I had to admit there was nothing like the high I felt in this moment. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if my sister and I had to put on our detective hats once again.
To my family
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Gina Wachtel for being a fantastic editor and for believing in my work. Thanks to the Alibi team for all their hard work to make this book happen. Thank you to Ethan Ellenberg, my agent. And of course thank you to my family for their love and support.
BY CAROLINE FARDIG
The Lizzie Hart Mysteries
It’s Just a Little Crush
That Old Black Magic
Bad Medicine
My Funny Valentine
Wedding Bell Blues
The Ellie Matthews Novels
Bitter Past
An Eye for an Eye
Java Jive
Death Before Decaf
Mug Shot
A Whole Latte Murder
Brew or Die
Murder Over Mochas
The Southern B&B Mysteries
Southern Discomfort
Southern Harm
PHOTO: JENNYLYNN PHOTOGRAPHY
CAROLINE FARDIG is the USA Today bestselling author of over a dozen mysteries. Fardig’s Bad Medicine was named one of the best books of 2015 by Suspense Magazine. She worked as a schoolteacher, church organist, insurance agent, funeral parlor associate, and stay-at-home mom before she realized that she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Born and raised in a small town in Indiana, Fardig still lives in that same town with an understanding husband, two sweet kids, two energetic dogs, and one malevolent cat.
carolinefardig.com
Facebook.com/carolinefardigbooks/
Twitter: @carolinefardig
Cinnamon Eggnog Scones
2¼ cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 stick (8 tablespoons) butter, cubed
1 large egg, beaten
1 cup eggnog
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
¾ cup cinnamon chips
Heavy whipping cream for brushing
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Mix flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add egg, eggnog, and vanilla extract and mix gently until almost combined. Add cinnamon chips and mix just until incorporated; don’t overmix.
Turn scone dough out onto floured cutting board. Halve dough and pat each portion into a 1-inch-thick round. Cut each round into 8 wedges. Transfer scones to a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving about 1 inch between them, and brush with cream.
Bake scones for 15 to 17 minutes, until risen and golden brown. Transfer to a rack to cool. Yields 16 petite scones.
Cranberry Pistachio Scones
2¼ cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 stick (8 tablespoons) butter, cubed
1 large egg, beaten
1 cup heavy (whipping) cream, plus more for brushing
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
½ cup dried cranberries
½ cup pistachios
½ cup white chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Mix flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add egg, cream, and vanilla extract and mix gently until almost combined. Add cranberries and pistachios and mix just until incorporated; don’t overmix.
Turn scone dough out onto floured cutting board. Halve dough and pat each portion into a 1-inch-thick round. Cut each round into 8 wedges. Transfer scones to a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving about 1 inch between them, and brush with cream.
Bake scones for 15 to 17 minutes, until risen and golden brown. Transfer to a rack to cool. Yields 16 petite scones.
Snowball Cookies
2 sticks (16 tablespoons) butter, softened
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons honey
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup pecan pieces
½ cup confectioners’ sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Put butter and honey in a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Beat on medium speed until well mixed. Add vanilla, flour, and pecans and beat on low just until incorporated.
Scoop 1½ inch balls of dough onto a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving about 1 inch between them.
Bake cookies for 12 minutes, until set and beginning to brown. Remove from oven and let cool slightly. Put confectioners’ sugar in a bowl and roll cookies until coated. Yields 3 dozen cookies.
Every great mystery needs an Alibi
eOriginal mystery and suspense Random House
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