I faked a smile, but my tone was frosty. “Well, I’m so happy to be able to provide you with amusement again, Tucker. Please excuse me. I have to go.” I grabbed my guitar and stalked into the house.
* * *
—
Armed with a plate of leftover macarons as a peace offering, I walked the couple of blocks to Green. It was a little after ten o’clock, and since Green closed at nine, I figured the employees would be mostly gone, except Drew. He was always the last one out. I certainly didn’t want to admit to my mistakes in front of an audience.
This part of town wasn’t too busy this time of night, since it was largely residential, but a slight chill crept up my spine as I got the eerie feeling I was being watched. Savannah was a safe place, but there was still enough crime to keep the police busy. I shrugged off my worry, thinking if I told anyone (especially my sister or my grandfather) that I’d had that kind of feeling, they would have immediately attributed it to the large population of ghosts that supposedly haunted our old town. I personally didn’t buy into it. However, ghost stories were great for tourism, so I played along when our guests brought it up.
The backyard gate behind Green was unlocked, and the rear door was again standing open, just like it had been this morning.
I rapped my knuckles on the doorframe and called out, “Drew? It’s Quinn. Are you here?”
Hearing no response, I felt a bit of déjà vu as I let myself into the restaurant, entering the kitchen that was much less immaculate than it had been earlier in the day. I was appalled to find food strewn along the preparation surfaces. Chef Jason would have the head of whoever had done this. I hoped it wasn’t Drew. No, that was a silly thought. Drew would never have left his own kitchen in such a state.
As I walked farther into it, I called, “Drew?” After more silence, I added, “Anyone here?”
I walked toward the center island, picking my way across a floor peppered with cut vegetables and splattered with red sauce. It looked like someone had had a humdinger of a food fight in here. When I rounded the corner of the island and looked down, I sucked in a gasp of air. The plate of macarons slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor at my feet.
That was not red sauce.
Jason Green was lying on the floor, a large silver knife stuck in his back and his normally pristine white chef’s coat covered in blood, his lifeless eyes staring dead ahead.
Chapter 4
Rooted to the spot, I sucked in another gulp of air. Then another. And then my body decided to take over for me. I began hyperventilating. My only coherent thought was that I had to get out of here. Backing away, I slipped on a leaf of lettuce and landed hard on my backside. Luckily, getting a little wind knocked out of me brought my hyperventilating down to a reasonable level, enough that I could turn over and crawl away, trying my best not to set my hands down in any of Jason’s blood.
I shuddered. I had seen Jason alive and well only this morning, and now…I shuddered again, but then a more horrible thought popped into my head. Someone had killed him—and not terribly long ago. What if whoever had hurt Jason was still lurking here somewhere? Finding a surge of adrenaline, I scrambled up and bolted out the door, through the garden, and out the back gate. I didn’t stop running until I got to the end of the block, under a particularly bright streetlamp.
I leaned down and put my hands on my knees, struggling to catch my breath. My lungs were not happy with the torture I’d put them through in the last few minutes. But my state of being paled in comparison to Jason’s. A stronger person wouldn’t have just left him there alone, but I was nearly out of my mind. I focused all my energy on composing myself and called 911.
I gave the dispatcher my personal information and reported what I’d seen. The dispatcher told me to wait where I was; the police were on their way. My hands still shaking, I dialed Delilah’s number. Right now I needed my big sister.
She answered, “Hey, Quinn. Thanks again for those tickets. The play was amazing. You would have hated it.”
Upon hearing my sister’s voice, I began to whimper.
“Quinn?” she asked worriedly. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“On Charlton. Between…home and…and Green.” My voice broke.
“Don’t move. I just walked into the house. I’ll be there in two shakes.”
I looked down Charlton, and within moments I could see Delilah sprinting full speed down the street. Rushing up to me, she grabbed my shoulders. “What happened?”
Tears began streaming from my eyes. I choked out between sobs, “Jason…Green…knife…So much blood…”
Delilah took charge in her normal big sister fashion, checking me all over. Her focus came to rest on the backside of my jeans, which I hadn’t noticed before were smeared with blood and vegetables from where I’d fallen.
Eyes wide, she asked, “Quinn, did Jason hurt you?”
“N-n-no. Not me. It’s Jason. He’s…dead!”
She gaped at me.
I had finally gained some control over myself by that point. “He’s been murdered. Stabbed. I found him in the kitchen at Green when I went to see Drew.”
Delilah put her arms around me and squeezed tight. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, sissy. But I’m here for you now. Have you called the police?”
I nodded just as we heard sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer by the second.
Her face grim, she continued, “Okay, so you have your story straight in your head, right? With you being the one to find the body, the worst thing you can do right now is appear unbalanced to the police.”
Delilah had been in her fair share of trouble as a teen, sometimes with the law, so she was exceptionally good at staying strong under pressure. I remember Papa Sal having to go pick her up at the police station once. Grandmama Hattie had had a full nuclear meltdown over that incident. It had only been some minor shoplifting, but based on our grandmother’s reaction, you would have thought Delilah had killed someone.
Speaking of killing someone, Delilah was right—I needed to have my head clear. In the novels I’d read, the police always looked critically at the poor sap who found the body. And this time, that poor sap was me.
I blew out a breath. “I’m okay. I can do this.”
She smiled at me. “I know you can.”
A police car pulled up to the curb in front of Green, and two officers hopped out. They disappeared around the side of the building.
I frowned, tears threatening again. “I guess I’d better go over there.”
Delilah rubbed my shoulders. “You can do it. I won’t leave your side.”
The two of us walked down the sidewalk to stand in front of the restaurant. Another police car arrived, and this time, the uniformed officers came toward me instead of heading to the restaurant.
The older one said, “Is one of you Quinn Bellandini?”
I sighed. “I am.”
He glanced at Delilah. “And you are?”
“Her sister, Delilah Bellandini.”
“Did you go inside the restaurant, Miss Bellandini?” he asked her.
“No. I just got here. I came over to make sure Quinn was safe out here by herself at this time of night.”
The officer nodded. “We’ll need you to clear this side of the street.” He turned to me. “Miss Bellandini, I’m Officer Morrel and this is Officer Carter. We’ll need to get your statement.”
I looked at my sister, eyes wide with fear.
She gave my hands a squeeze. “It’s okay. I’ll be here when you get finished.”
“Okay,” I whispered, watching her walk away.
While Officer Morrel got a notebook out of his pocket and started scribbling in it, Officer Carter began rolling out yellow crime scene tape and “creating a perimeter,” as he’d said into the radio attached to his shoulder. Other em
ergency vehicles began to appear one by one, including more police cars, an ambulance, and the coroner’s van. My stomach lurched at the thought of having to watch Jason being taken out of his restaurant in a body bag.
“Miss Bellandini,” Officer Morrel said sharply, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I asked you what time you got here.”
Rubbing my forehead, I replied, “Sorry. It was just after ten.”
“Walk me through what happened.”
I did as he asked, spelling out every detail of my trek from home to Green, finding the kitchen in a shambles, and then finding Jason. I also had to admit to Officer Morrel that I’d abandoned Jason and fled like a coward, but he didn’t seem terribly bothered by that. He wrote down everything I said.
“Okay. And did you see anyone else around here? Either before you entered the restaurant or after you left?”
“No, I didn’t. But…” I’d had that weird feeling I was being watched, but did that count as “seeing” someone? I hardly thought so.
“Miss Bellandini? You were saying?”
I shook my head. “It was nothing.”
“Sometimes something you think is nothing is exactly what we need to crack the case.”
Sighing, I said, “On the way here, I felt like someone was watching me. I didn’t see anyone around. It was just a feeling. I feel silly for even admitting it.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all,” he said kindly. “Now, there’ll be a lot of waiting around for you to do tonight, because everyone and his brother is going to want to talk to you. You’ll have to repeat this story ’til you’re blue in the face. Keep your chin up. If you need anything, you come to me.”
I was admittedly a bit scared of Officer Morrel at the beginning, having no prior experience with talking to police. He seemed nice, though.
“Thank you, Officer.”
His expression turned serious. “I have to ask you—where were you tonight prior to coming over here? From, say, nine until ten?”
I felt my stomach grow icy inside. I’d been alone. “I was at my home.”
“Was anyone else there with you?”
“No,” I breathed, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill down my cheeks. He wasn’t outright saying it, but he basically wanted to know if I’d killed Jason.
Officer Morrel’s eyes bored into me. “So you’re saying no one can attest to where you were for the time right before you found Jason Green dead?”
The ice in my stomach was replaced with bile. With everything that had happened in the past several minutes, I’d succeeded in forgetting a particularly uncomfortable conversation I’d had earlier.
Grimacing, I replied, “No, there is one person who can. Tucker Heyward. My neighbor. He was across the street listening while I was practicing guitar on my porch. I spoke with him just before I left home.”
The officer nodded. “We’ll speak to Mr. Heyward and corroborate that.”
Great. My alibi hung on Tucker Heyward of all people. So much for not being scared.
Chapter 5
Officer Morrel was right about one thing—I was going to do a lot of waiting tonight. After speaking to him, I hung around on the sidewalk, watching as hordes of law enforcement and emergency personnel poured into the restaurant. After a while, a female crime scene investigator came and got me and led me into a big box truck. I was gobsmacked when she informed me that I had to remove my clothes in front of her and turn them over to her because they were evidence. My face ten shades of red, I obeyed. Then she insisted on taking my shoes, too. Biting my tongue, I handed them over as well. She gave me a shirt that had SAVANNAH-CHATHAM METRO POLICE on it, a pair of ugly sweatpants, and an even uglier pair of canvas prison shoes to change into. She also scanned my fingerprints into a little machine. I felt like a common criminal.
After that shameful embarrassment, I was told to wait for Detective King, who would have more questions for me. A good twenty minutes later, Officer Morrel escorted me inside the front door of Green, where I recognized one of the two men sitting at one of the tables.
“Rufus?” I said, stunned to see one of my old buddies from elementary school.
I hadn’t seen Rufus King since he’d moved to Charleston when we were ten. The two of us had bonded in kindergarten when both of us had brought our grandfathers instead of our absentee fathers to our school’s “Donuts with Dad” event. It turned out our grandfathers had known each other for years, and the four of us had such a good time together, Rufus and I totally forgot about being the only kids in our class whose dads hadn’t shown up.
He looked up from making notes in a file and smiled. “I knew there could only be one Quinn Bellandini in Savannah.”
He got up to greet me, and as I went for a hug, he stuck his hand out to give me only a professional handshake. After all, grown-up detective Rufus couldn’t hug the person he was about to interrogate. Especially in front of the other man sitting there, who was glaring at me with a hard frown stuck on his face.
When the other man didn’t introduce himself, Rufus said, “Miss Bellandini, this is my partner, Detective Steve Flynn.”
Detective Flynn didn’t make a move to shake my hand. He merely gave me a curt nod and gestured to an empty seat at the table. “Sit.”
Well, I’d had a fleeting moment of calm, thinking it might not be so bad to tell my sad story to my old friend Rufus. But with Detective Angrypants staring me down, my nerves frazzled again.
Rufus said, “Wow. It’s been, what, twenty years? You’ve changed.”
I was a painfully late bloomer, having been quite unattractive until I hit about eighteen. Just my luck that I started looking halfway decent after high school, when it didn’t really matter so much anymore.
I managed a smile. Rufus was doing what he could to keep the mood light, which I was thankful for. “You haven’t. Except for the real badge and beard, of course.”
As long as I’d known him, Rufus had always wanted to be a cop—with a beard. He used to draw facial hair on with a marker and run around wearing a toy badge. Now he could grow actual facial hair, which he’d sculpted into a short, precise chin-strap style. I thought it suited him perfectly.
Rufus chuckled. “Yes, I guess my career choice shouldn’t surprise you one bit.”
Detective Flynn cut in, “Let’s save the friendly banter for later. This is going to be a long night.” This guy was all business. He reminded me of the middle-aged hard-boiled detective in the last mystery novel I’d read, although I didn’t feel like there was a possibility that he’d somehow magically fall in love with the witness, which in this case was me.
Rufus sighed, and his face grew serious. “Quinn, I hate knowing what you’ve had to go through tonight. It’s not easy for us, and we see it all the time. We’ll take this slow, and if you need to stop at any time, you let us know. We have Officer Morrel’s notes from when you spoke to him, but we have more questions. We’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as we can.”
I nodded.
He shuffled through some papers, then got out a fresh legal pad and a voice recorder. He began recording and rattled off a bunch of numbers and information—the only part of it I understood was today’s date, Jason’s name, and Green’s address. Then he turned to me. “Miss Bellandini, can you state your name for the record?”
I steadied my voice and said, “Quinn Louise Bellandini.”
“And what were you doing at Green this evening?”
“I came over to speak with Drew Green.”
“Why so late?”
I scrunched up my nose. I had a feeling my embarrassing ticket story was going to come out sooner or later. At least I had a friendly face to tell it to. Well, one friendly face. I turned away from Detective Flynn’s steely gaze and focused on Rufus. “Kind of a long story. He’d given me some theater tickets, which I e
nded up giving to my sister and her friend. I’d told Drew I was going to use them, but that was a lie. I wanted to come clean.”
Rufus regarded me with no expression. “Why the lie?”
Sighing, I said, “Because…I thought he was asking me on a date, so I agreed to go, even though I hate theater. Unfortunately, I misunderstood—he was giving me the tickets, not asking me out. I’d already told him I was excited to go, so it would have been impolite, not to mention confusing, to refuse the tickets after I’d realized my mistake. So I took them and told him I’d use them. But then I felt bad, and thought it would be better to ’fess up about passing the tickets off.” I gave him a rueful smile. “Pretty pathetic story, huh?”
The corner of Rufus’s mouth turned up. “Oh, I think we’ve all told a few white lies when it comes to relationships.”
Detective Flynn got out of his chair and stood over me menacingly. “If you didn’t go to the play, then where were you this evening?” he demanded.
I swallowed. Even though I knew I had nothing to hide, Detective Flynn made me feel like I’d somehow done something wrong. “I…um…was at home, alone, although my neighbor can vouch for me. Evidently I was serenading him with my guitar playing and didn’t realize it.”
He nodded, his stern expression unchanging. “We’ve sent an officer out to verify your alibi.”
As I formed a mental picture of a cop knocking on Tucker Heyward’s door, asking him to verify my whereabouts tonight, I got a sinking feeling. On top of already thinking I was a weirdo ever since we were teenagers, then no doubt thinking I was a blind, crazy lady this morning, now Tucker was going to assume I was some kind of delinquent. Diddly darn it! Could my life be any more embarrassing right now?
Southern Discomfort Page 3
