Southern Discomfort

by Caroline Fardig

  I stopped in front of the Sunshine Bakery. Tuttle was sitting at a table next to one of the front windows, hunched over a plate of baked goods.

  This was real. I was actually going to speak with a possible murder suspect. Gathering my courage, I took a deep breath as I pushed open the door to the small bakery. Since it was counter service, at least I could wander around the seating area without being bothered by a worker insisting on seating me at a table. Running through ideas of how I might open my conversation, I slowly walked toward Tuttle.

  Brian Tuttle was a little man, scrawny and beady-eyed, shoveling desserts into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week. I’d always thought culinary reviewers were highfalutin foodies who savored their food morsel by morsel so as to taste every note and nuance of whatever they were eating. This guy was inhaling his food. There was no way he was savoring anything at that pace.

  As I got even with his table, I purposely fumbled my phone, allowing it to land on the floor with a thud. Not the best idea where my phone was concerned, but I had a pretty solid case, so I wasn’t terribly worried.

  I bent to pick it up, and as I stood, I caught his eye. “Are you…Brian Tuttle? The food critic?”

  He gave his crumb-filled goatee a swipe with a crumpled paper napkin. “I am. Always nice to meet a fan.”

  A fan? Someone was full of himself.

  “Um, yes. I…enjoy it when you live tweet the meals for your upcoming reviews.”

  Tuttle looked at me slyly, a grin playing on his chocolate-smeared lips. “Did you find out where I was and come over here to talk to me? Not that I mind. Have a seat, pretty lady.”

  My cheeks flushed. He realized what I’d done, but was off by a mile on my motives. But that was okay—it was something I could work with. I seated myself. “Thank you. I…um, thought your review of Green was spot on.”

  He let out a bark of laughter, and with it, a bit of the gooey chocolate chip cookie he was eating came flying from his mouth, landing between us on the table. I shuddered involuntarily.

  Tuttle said, “Well, since Jason Green kicked it, at least no one will have to eat there ever again.”

  I had to bite my tongue to ensure I didn’t snap back a reprimand for his crass, unfeeling statement. He had crossed a line. But I was here to do a job.

  He continued, “I heard they’re thinking of shutting the place down. It’s just as well. I can’t imagine they were making much money. They had way too many staff on duty for as few customers as they had. Although it irks me to receive poor service because a restaurant is understaffed, it’s almost worse when the servers are bored. They hover.”

  “Right. I heard about Jason’s…um…accident.”

  Tuttle snorted. “Accident, my foot. Someone had enough of his nonsense and gave him what he deserved.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “He deserved a kni—” Oops. I almost gave up some secret information there. Drew and I had been talking about it so matter-of-factly this morning that I’d forgotten I had to watch what I said. I cleared my throat. “To die for being a loudmouth?”

  “Oh, please. He was more than just a loudmouth. He assaulted me, you know.”

  I’d heard it was a fair fight, but I again reined in my personal feelings. “Wow. I guess you weren’t his biggest fan, then.”

  “Not hardly. But enough about that idiot.” He leered at me. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  I froze. I hadn’t thought that part through—whether I’d give my real name or not while we were speaking with the possibly seedy characters on our suspect list. I especially didn’t want Tuttle knowing I had any connection to the B&B. He wasn’t a travel reviewer, but there were two of them at his office who I assumed could be swayed by his opinion. I wasn’t taking any chances.

  In a moment of panic, I looked down at the table and noticed a bright pink gerbera daisy between us. “Daisy,” I blurted.

  “Daisy…?” he prompted.

  The only last names rattling around in my addled head were Duke and Duck—neither of which would work. I broke out in a cold sweat. Why hadn’t I come up with some kind of alias beforehand?

  “What’s your last name, sugar?”

  I stuttered, “Du…Duk…” Finally my brain caught up. “Duquesne. Daisy Duquesne.”

  “Well, Daisy Duquesne. Since you came here just to meet me, surely you have something you want to ask me. Go on. The world of culinary journalism is quite an interesting business, I’m sure especially to outsiders such as yourself.”

  What a pompous windbag. I forced a smile. “I wanted to ask—”

  “Mr. Tuttle, is there anything else I can get for you?” A nervous-looking woman had appeared next to our table.

  Tuttle gave her a disdainful look. “No, I’ve had quite enough of your poor excuse for patisserie.” He pronounced the last word with a bad French accent.

  The poor woman looked like she was going to cry. “Oh…okay. I…Thank you for coming here today.” Her voice broke, and she turned and hurried away. My heart ached for her.

  Tuttle chuckled under his breath. “The owner. She has no business running an eating establishment.”

  “Oh, so you have restaurant experience as a frame of reference?”

  “No, but I can spot incompetence a mile away.”

  So could I. “So then all you do is eat people’s food and write mean things about it?”

  Tuttle’s jaw went slack. “What? I thought…I thought you were a fan.”

  I laughed before I could stop myself. “You really think you have fans?”

  When I saw his face growing red with anger, I realized how badly I’d derailed and messed up this meeting. I’d let my emotions cloud the task at hand. Diddly darn it! Kicking myself, I watched as Tuttle jumped up from the table and stared down at me, seething.

  He spat, “Who are you? A reviewer from a competing website? A no-talent chef trying to get back at me for a bad review?”

  I stood also, facing him—looking down at him, actually. He really was a little man. I had nothing to lose now, so I might as well ask what I wanted to know and not try to sugarcoat it or take a roundabout approach.

  “I’m someone who wants to know if you killed Jason Green.”

  Had those words come out of my mouth? Well, that was one way not to sugarcoat it or take a roundabout approach.

  His buggy eyes bugging out farther, Tuttle took a step back. “If I what? Is this a joke?”

  “No, I’m serious,” I replied, gaining courage as I went. “In fact, I’m thinking of giving the police your name.”

  Tuttle’s face drained of color, and he staggered back. “I killed no one!”

  By this point, every customer in the tiny bakery had turned to gawk at us. I didn’t like the attention, but I had come this far and wasn’t leaving without the answer to my question. I probably wouldn’t get the chance to ask it again.

  I shrugged. “Prove it.”

  Tuttle was sweating now. He looked like he was ready to pass out. “How?”

  “Tell me where you were between nine and ten last night.”

  “Last night?” He looked around the room dazedly. “Last night I was at that play…It was awful…” Trying to jog his memory, he snapped his fingers a couple of times. “Um…Bitter Winter. That was it. Jane Moyer, Lowcountry Buzz’s theater critic, can vouch for me. I even stayed late because she and I were invited to go backstage after the performance. I was at the theater until well after ten.”

  Delilah knew enough people at the theater to find someone who could back up his story. I could verify that easily.

  “Okay. Thank you for your time, Mr. Tuttle.”

  Without a backward glance, I sailed out the door, not slowing my pace until I was well down the sidewalk.

  Chapter 10

  I stewed over tomorrow’s agenda of investig
ating while I got showered, dressed, and glammed up for my band’s gig later that night. I’d had beginner’s luck with Tuttle, but not everyone would be so puny as to let little old me intimidate them into telling me their darkest secrets. Unfortunately, no makeup in the world could cover up the exhaustion and anxiety written all over my face. Of course, my bandmates noticed it the moment I arrived backstage.

  Rhetta Turner put her arm around me and shook her head. “I cannot believe you wanted to perform tonight. You know we would have called off our gig in a heartbeat. We still can. Just say the word.”

  Callie Drayton nodded. “You are our first priority. Not some dumb performance.” She held up her drumsticks. “Chicks before sticks.”

  Pepper Fox gave her a strange look. “I think you got that phrase wrong, Cal.”

  “It fits the situation,” Callie replied defensively.

  Pepper snickered. “I’ll give you that. But they’re right, Quinn. You’ve been through a lot. If you need a break, give me the sign.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, you guys. I think the best thing for me is to put all the craziness out of my mind and concentrate on the music. I honestly think it will help.”

  “You got it, sister,” Pepper said, strapping on her bass. “Let’s do this.”

  The four of us walked out onto the tiny stage in the dingy bar, which was surprisingly half-full on a Tuesday night. Pepper, our lead singer/bass guitar player, waited patiently until Callie maneuvered her eight-months-pregnant body behind the drum set and sat down. Once we were all in place, Pepper gave the nod, and Callie started us off, exploding into our cover of “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll” by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts.

  The crowd seemed to love it, so we went into “Celebrity Skin” by Hole. My guitar playing had been a little off on our opener, and I hadn’t joined in the background vocals like I usually did. But by the time we got to the second song, one of my favorites, I was totally immersed in the music and singing along at the top of my lungs.

  Once we’d got the crowd’s attention with a couple of songs they knew, we switched to doing songs we’d written over the years. Pepper was the hardcore musician of the group. She had a real band she played with that scored decent venues rather than the dive bars our little band could get, but she refused to give up on Sister Wildfire. She got us our gigs, and she made sure we kept a regular practice and performance schedule. Callie had two kids and one on the way, Rhetta was manager of a bank branch, and of course I had the B&B, so it was easy for us to get sidetracked with life. Pepper had always kept us together, which we were grateful for.

  After our first set was over, Pepper slung her plum-colored hair out of her eyes and said, “Thank you! Sister Wildfire will be back after we take a quick break.”

  We exited the stage and huddled in the backstage area, which was really nothing more than a glorified storage closet.

  Pepper said, “Awesome set, ladies. One more to go. I think my mic is a little loud, but other than that, we’re sounding great. Our set list has a lot of pretty hard rocking songs on it tonight, so I think we should give Rhetta a solo so the crowd can appreciate her mad keyboard skills.”

  We all voiced our agreement.

  Callie had found an overturned mop bucket to sit on. Her blue eyes bright, she said, “Can we talk about what’s really important here? Tucker Heyward is in the crowd tonight.”

  As the three successful, grown-up women in front of me turned into giggling schoolgirls, oohing and aahing over the captain of the football team, my stomach did a flip-flop. Tucker was here? Why in the world would he come to this bar when there were several dozen closer to home? If he’d followed me here, we were going to need to have some words. And if he’d come here to make fun of my band like his group of friends had in high school, we were going to have even more words.

  Noticing my angst, Rhetta turned to me. “What’s the matter with you? You still got that chip on your shoulder where Tucker is concerned?”

  I sighed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. And it’s even worse now because he’s moved back into one of his parents’ rentals across the street from us.”

  Callie cocked her head to the side. “How exactly is having Tucker Heyward living only a few feet away a bad thing? He’s even hotter now than he was in high school.”

  “And even more infuriating,” I retorted. When they all stared at me, I added, “He just moved in over the weekend, and he’s already been coming over to the B&B and bothering me. He even listened in on a practice session of mine.”

  “Okay. And…?” Rhetta asked, clearly not getting the problem here.

  “And making fun of me, telling me he’d missed hearing my music.”

  Pepper squinted at me. “Tucker always liked our music. Remember, he would come to our gigs sometimes in high school?”

  “So he was in the crowd a couple of times when we played. Big deal. He was probably there for another reason.”

  Again, they all looked at me like I was crazy.

  I went on, “Plus, he was being all kinds of invasive, asking me questions about last night. He’s unfortunately my alibi for Jason Green’s time of death, so he’s lording that over me, too.”

  Callie’s eyes bulged out. “You were with Tucker Heyward last night? And you didn’t tell us?”

  “I wasn’t with him. Last night was when he was eavesdropping on my practice session from across the street.”

  “So he told you he missed your music and sat and listened to you practice last night, and then he saved your butt by vouching for you to the police. He’s been coming over to your place to see you, and now he shows up tonight.” Callie gasped. “He likes you!”

  I crossed my arms. “Well, I don’t like him.”

  Rhetta said, “Wait. Tucker’s back in town, and the first thing he does is look you up and come to one of our performances?” She shook her head. “I’d say Callie’s right, and you could do worse.”

  I frowned. “Regardless, I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

  Pepper held up her hands. “I think we’ve bothered Quinn enough. Let’s play some music.”

  Now that my brain knew Tucker was in the crowd, my fingers didn’t seem to want to do what they were supposed to do. I misfingered simple chords I’d known practically all my life, and on one particular guitar solo, I crashed and burned so hard Pepper had to cut in and improvise a bass solo to cover up my glaring mistake. My vocals were strained, and I even mixed up the words a couple of times. My head was not in it. Darn Tucker Heyward!

  I was already feeling bad enough about my current life situation, but after the pitiful performance I gave tonight, I was now bummed about my inability to tune out the world and focus on my music. I could always do that. Music was the one thing that made uptight Quinn fade away and fun Quinn take center stage.

  At the end of our performance, I was mortified and more than ready to go home. My friends had other ideas.

  “Have one drink with us, Quinn,” Rhetta said, her hand gripping mine like a vise as I tried to duck out the back door.

  “Oh, no thanks. I’m tired,” I replied.

  Callie let out a bark of laughter. “It’s only nine, old woman. Even I’m not tired, and I’m tired all the time.” She fluffed out her blond curls and smoothed the fabric of the dress stretched across her enormous baby belly. “Besides, we have a smokin’ hot man to flirt with.”

  “Callie Drayton, you have a wonderful husband and two delightful children waiting for you at home!” I exclaimed.

  She snorted. “Yes, and I’m carrying around another entire human being, so I deserve some fun. I’m not dead, Quinn. I can look. I’m just not gonna touch. I’ll leave that for you.”

  As she winked at me, I felt my face flame up. I didn’t want to touch Tucker Heyward. And I surely didn’t want to sit down and have to play nice with him. But when Callie took
my other hand and Pepper pushed me from behind, I knew I wasn’t getting out of this.

  Tucker stood as the four of us approached his table. “Wow, you ladies are amazing. I thought you were good back in the day, but now…I’m speechless.”

  “That’s a first,” I muttered under my breath.

  Callie elbowed me in the ribs. “It’s good to see you, Tucker. It’s been a long time.”

  “It has,” he replied, smiling wide as he glanced at her belly. “Motherhood suits you, Callie. You’re absolutely radiant.”

  “Oh, go on.” Good gravy. She was as giddy as a schoolgirl. Again.

  Tucker grabbed a couple more chairs and set them around his table. “Sit, please. Let me buy y’all a drink.” He pulled out the chair next to his. “Here, Quinn.”

  When I didn’t make a move to sit, Pepper gave me a forceful nudge from behind, sending me off-balance enough that I had to take a step toward the chair. It was too late to refuse, so I sat and allowed Tucker to push my chair in. My three friends met my glare with barely contained smiles of sheer glee.

  After we’d made our drink orders, Rhetta tossed her long micro braids over her shoulder and asked, “So, Tucker, what brings you back to town?”

  He shrugged. “To make a long, boring story short, I got divorced, decided I hated living up North, and moved back home. I had a contracting business in Boston, which I’m hoping to establish here.”

  Callie leaned toward him. “Contracting. How interesting. What’s your specialty?”

  It took all I had not to roll my eyes. Tucker Heyward was again holding court, a gaggle of adoring girls hanging on his every word. It was like I was back in high school again.

  He said, “Interior finishing is what I like best, especially restoring old woodwork. But I also do general contracting work, coordinating building houses from the ground up. Enough about me, though. Tell me about your lives.” He turned to grin at me. “I’ve been lucky enough to catch up with Quinn already.”