“I guess. But I don’t know who his lawyer is. Valerie might.”
“Like she’s going to tell me,” I muttered.
Drew heard me. “Something go on between the two of you?”
I was not about to admit my epic surveillance failure to Drew. One, he’d probably be mad I was investigating his sister-in-law when he clearly thought she was innocent. Two, I didn’t want him to think his future rested in the hands of someone completely incompetent, although I sort of was.
“Let’s just say without you around, she has no reason to be nice to me.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Speaking of Valerie, did you know she was cheating on Jason as well?”
Drew nodded, casting his eyes down.
“Do you know who the guy is? He could have a reason to want to hurt Jason.”
“I doubt Val would be dating a cold-blooded killer.”
I didn’t think it was too much of a stretch. At least they’d have cold-bloodedness in common.
“Okay, then, do you know anything about a business partner of Jason’s? Maybe someone he was trying to bring on board to help him buy you guys out of Green? Sasha said they weren’t getting along, but she didn’t have a name for me.”
Drew thought for a moment. “Business partner…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I don’t know that, either. I’m not much help today.”
I hated to agree with him, but it was true. “Well, what about the name of the real estate agent Valerie was working with?”
“I can help you with that. Her name is Vivian Gibbons.”
“Great. I’ll speak with her today.”
“My initial hearing is today,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I put my hand on his arm. “I know. But Rufus said it’s not such a big deal, legally speaking. It sounds like kind of a formality.”
“Right. I’m sure it’s no big deal to Detective King that I’m going to be publicly accused of killing my own brother.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I thought the same thing. I know it’s going to be horrible for you, but at least it doesn’t change anything in regard to your case. I’m still working on getting you out of here before anything really bad happens.”
His face softened. “I know. And I appreciate it more than I can say.”
I smiled. “I’d love to stick around and chat, but it would do you more good for me to get to work on this investigation. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
“As much as I enjoy your company, maybe don’t come around unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re not out of the woods yet. And most importantly, be careful. I didn’t like the idea of you visiting those pirate guys.”
I laughed. “I never thought of them as pirates, but that’s essentially what they are. One of them even had the rotting-teeth thing down.”
“Well, try to steer clear of them from now on. I don’t need another thing to worry about in here.”
“Delilah’s got my back.” I stood to leave, adding, “Good luck today.”
Drew only nodded sadly in reply.
As I walked down the hallway toward the front doors, Detective Flynn wordlessly fell into step with me.
I gave him a puzzled glance. “May I help you?”
The detective smirked at me. “It would help me if you’d convince your friend to cop to the murder.”
“I feel like that would be a bad idea since he’s innocent.”
“I’m not convinced you know him quite as well as you think you do.”
“And you don’t know him at all.”
“I know his type.”
I shot him a dubious glance. “What type is that?”
“The type of guy who convinces women to do his dirty work for him. You’ve bought his story hook, line, and sinker, and now you’re out gallivanting around with a list of would-be suspects, trying to find some poor schmuck to take the fall for him.” He shook his head. “Stop wasting your time, Ms. Bellandini. And more importantly, stop putting yourself in danger.”
“Forgive me, Detective, for my directness, but why should I listen to someone who was so quick to assume I’m a delinquent before knowing anything about me? Your opinion holds no clout with me.”
He grinned at me. “That’s what I like about you. Even your put-downs are polite.”
Thankfully, I was at the front door. “Goodbye, Detective.”
“So long, Ms. Bellandini. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again when you get charged with harassment.”
* * *
—
I stewed all the way home about the horrid detective’s comments. What was even the point of his conversation? To glean some kind of information from me? I had no idea, and it hurt my head just to worry about it.
When I got back to the B&B, I helped Delilah finish our chores at warp speed, did a slapdash job at the day’s accounting and marketing, and threw together some easy oatmeal bars for the afternoon magic show.
I found Delilah in her room, changing into some nice clothes for our trip to the realtor’s office. I’d made an appointment for us to meet with Vivian Gibbons. Delilah had chosen a pretty wine-colored dress, and she’d even put on Grandmama Hattie’s pearls.
“Beautiful, sis.” I fingered the strand of pearls around her neck. “I’m sure Grandmama Hattie would love to know you’re wearing these.”
She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “I’ll have Uncle Frank get a message to her.”
I didn’t deign to respond. Instead, I changed the subject. “So the plan is realtor, magic show and check-in, and then finding a way to get into Abercorn Bistro to talk to Mark Potter and Ross Cline?” I’d filled my sister in on what I’d learned from Drew, and we’d formulated a schedule of sleuthing for the day while we were working together earlier.
“Abercorn Bistro is already done. Tucker knows a waitress there who owes him a favor, and he managed to get a reservation for dinner tonight.”
I stared at her. “Whoa, whoa. You let Tucker in on our investigation? D, seriously?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I told him nothing.”
“So how did it come up in conversation this morning that you needed a way into Abercorn Bistro today, even though it’s always booked solid weeks in advance?”
She shrugged. “I told him you’d probably say yes to a date if he could get a res there.”
My mouth dropped open. “You did what? This reservation is for Tucker and me?”
“Yes. It seems to me that there’s nothing the man won’t do to win your affections. Go with it.”
I took her by the shoulders. “This is insanity! First and foremost, I am not the kind of woman who agrees to a date with a man solely based on the destination. Shouldn’t my own sister know that? Plus, why would Tucker even want to take me anywhere if I were indeed that shallow? And thirdly, have I not multiple times in the past few days begged you to quit trying to set me up with him? Am I not being clear enough? What’s it going to take to get you to quit your meddling?”
Not looking particularly sorry for her transgressions, Delilah said, “Were those rhetorical questions, or do you expect me to come up with answers for all of them?”
I let out a strangled cry and fled the room.
* * *
—
After taking a while to calm down, I managed to be civil to my sister on the drive over to the realtor’s office.
The office was in an old historic home downtown, one of the smaller ones, but every bit as grand as any. A pleasant receptionist met us in the lobby and showed us to a conference room. The plan was to pose as ourselves, but under the ruse that we were looking to expand and buy a restaurant or a second B&B in town. That way we could be one of the potential buyers looking at Green and maybe glean some insider information.
We’d only been seated a moment when Vivian Gibbons breezed into the room, the picture of a genteel Southern lady. She was dripping with expensive jewelry and had her hair coiffed just so. Her pale pink nails matched her designer suit.
She said, “Good morning, dears. I was tickled that I could fit you in this morning.”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Gibbons,” I replied.
“Oh, we’re all friends here. Call me Vivian.”
After Delilah and I introduced ourselves, Vivian sat down across from us and folded her hands on top of the gleaming wood table. Nothing about this lady screamed “murderer,” so I wondered if we were wasting our time here. Then again, we should leave no stone unturned.
She said, “I absolutely adore finding historic properties for Savannahian business owners. I believe we natives take better care of our aging gems than outsiders do.”
Delilah nodded. “We feel the same way. Do you have some properties we could take a look at?”
“Does Paula Deen have butter in her refrigerator?” She laughed heartily at her own joke and picked up a laptop that had been sitting on the table between us. She opened the computer and typed a few things, then turned it so we could see it. “This property is a gorgeous downtown home, perfect for converting into a B&B.”
Sakes alive, that house had an asking price of nearly two million dollars. I tried to keep my face impassive.
Delilah said, “Gorgeous, but maybe a little over our budget.”
Vivian smiled and clicked to the next property. “Not to worry. Here’s an absolute dollhouse on Taylor Street near Monterey Square.”
That one came in at just under seven hundred fifty thousand. “It’s lovely,” I said. “We’d also considered going a different direction and opening a café. Any hot restaurant properties on the market?”
“There are surprisingly few at the moment…” She typed something into her laptop and brought up a list of three properties. “And these are quite in need of a little TLC, I’m afraid.”
Delilah frowned. “Oh, that’s no good. We were hoping for something more move-in ready.” She squinted at the screen. “Those look like they’ve been deserted for a while. We’d prefer a place that has been in business lately and is still in good working order. Do you know of any that might be coming onto the market in the next month or so?”
“Well, there is one that could be up for sale very soon…but I don’t know if Quinn here would be interested.”
“Why not me?” I asked.
Vivian said quietly, “It’s Green, dear. I didn’t think you’d be interested in that property after…Bless your heart, it had to have been difficult for you to find that poor man the way you did.”
While we’d spoken to people on our list, I’d tried to put that night out of my mind and focus only on the task of proving Drew’s and my innocence. But every once in a while, something would trigger a memory for me. At this moment, the image of Jason with the knife in his back flashed in my mind and caused me to shudder.
Pushing it aside now, I replied, “It was difficult. But the building that houses Green is a great property, and what better tribute to Jason than to keep the place alive with a new restaurant?”
“I think that’s a divine idea. But I will warn you that you might have to wait in line or even get tangled in a bit of a bidding contest if you decide you want to make an offer on the property. I have people interested already.”
“Oh?” Delilah said. “Are they all considering opening a restaurant?”
“No, not a one of them, in fact. If you recall, before the Green brothers got hold of it, the street level of the building housed offices. The upper floors were of course already living quarters, but they put in that lovely kitchen themselves.”
“I remember,” I said. “So if not a restaurant, what are other buyers thinking of turning Green into?”
“The neighbors next door would like to buy it so they can expand their art gallery.”
“Oeuvre?”
I’d walked past the fancy gallery, Oeuvre, hundreds of times but had never gone inside. Even window-shopping there was too rich for my blood. Their setup was much like Green’s—business on the street level and apartment above. It would be important to speak to them, especially since they lived next door. It hadn’t occurred to me until now to ask them if they’d happened to see anyone coming or going from Green the night Jason was killed. The police had already interviewed all the neighbors, but it didn’t hurt to make another attempt.
“Yes. A handmade bath products shop with locations in Hilton Head and Charleston has also expressed an interest.”
Anyone who made soothing bath products for a living wasn’t likely to be so violent as to kill someone over a random piece of real estate. I mentally crossed them off our list.
Vivian continued, “I’ve also had inquiries from another couple. You may know them since they own practically the whole block across the street from you. Jed and Charlotte Heyward.”
Chapter 17
“Jed and Charlotte Heyward?” I breathed.
“Yes. They’d like to turn Green into another of their vacation rental properties,” Vivian replied.
I glanced at Delilah. Her forehead was furrowed in consternation. I knew what she was thinking—Tucker’s parents had just landed on our list of possible suspects. I couldn’t imagine she was too thrilled about sniffing around her old/new friend Tucker’s folks. And I had a date with the guy tonight—how was I going to sit across from him at dinner and not be thinking about how I was going to determine whether or not his own parents had resorted to murder in order to obtain another vacation rental for their empire? The idea of them being involved sounded ridiculous, even in my head. But sometimes people had ridiculous motives for hurting one another. It wasn’t fair to not investigate them simply because it would be awkward for Delilah and me.
We made some more chitchat with Vivian and got informational flyers on several properties, promising to get back with her when we were ready to go out and look at the locations in person.
Once we got in Delilah’s truck, she said, “That was a monumental waste of time.”
“I don’t think it was.”
She turned to me. “Seriously? We got zero suspects out of that meeting. Vivian Gibbons wouldn’t murder anyone—she might break a nail. I know the owners of Oeuvre personally. They’re huge supporters of our community theater—the nicest people you’d ever meet. The soap people are from out of town, so I can’t imagine one certain property here in Savannah would be so important they’d kill for it. And Jed and Charlotte Heyward being suspects is out of the question.”
“Why?”
“They’re Tucker’s parents!”
“So?”
“You must remember them from when they lived across the street.”
“I do. His dad was never home, and his mom was kind of…mean.”
“Nice deduction, Sherlock. Based on that, they must be murderers.”
“But you’re saying they can’t be murderers based on the fact that they’re your friend’s parents. By your logic, that’s equally nonfactual.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “Nerd.”
“Call me what you want. Their names are still going on the list.” Before I could get out my notebook, my phone rang. It was Papa Sal.
“Hello?” I said.
“Quinn, I need you and Delilah back here now. That plumber of yours did a shoddy job fixing the broken toilet, and now we have a real mess on our hands,” Papa Sal said, his tone borderline angry.
I gasped. “Oh, no. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
As I hung up, Delilah asked, “What’s wrong?”
“We may be in deep doo-doo when we get home. Literally and figuratively.”
* * *
—
As for the literal d
oo-doo, Papa Sal had exaggerated. When Delilah and I got back to the B&B and thundered upstairs, all we found on the bathroom floor was a manageable puddle of clean-looking water that had leaked out around the base of the commode. Once we got that cleaned up and I called a different plumber to come out, the figurative doo-doo hit the fan.
Papa Sal ushered us into his room and closed the door. “What is the matter with you girls? You keep sneaking away at all hours of the day. You blaze through your chores like you can’t wait to be finished and can’t be bothered to do a good job. I can understand you not working to your full potential, Quinnie, but Delilah…” He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Something more is going on here. Out with it.”
Delilah and I shared a glance. We’d agreed to tell Papa Sal the truth if pressed. He wouldn’t like it, but he would just have to accept our answer.
I said, “We’re sorry. We didn’t tell you what’s going on because we didn’t want to worry you.”
His face fell. “You girls know you can come to me with anything.”
Now I really felt bad. From the ashamed expression on her face, Delilah did, too.
I sighed. “You know how my friend Drew was arrested for his brother’s murder?”
He nodded.
“Drew is innocent, although the police have some circumstantial evidence that points to him. And to make matters worse, one of the detectives on the case—not Rufus—has a theory that I’m somehow involved, too.”
Papa Sal’s jaw dropped. He staggered back and sat down hard on his bed. This was exactly the reason we didn’t want to tell him in the first place. He was in his eighties, and not in the greatest of health.
I went on, “I’m not involved, and neither is Drew. But since the police think they have their man, they won’t continue their investigation of other suspects.” I shot a look at Delilah. This was the part that was going to get ugly.
She put her arm around my shoulders. “Papa Sal, Quinn and I are trying to find out who really killed Jason. Deacon said that Drew needs some reasonable doubt in order to win his case. He would normally hire a private investigator to dig up another viable suspect, but Drew has no money to do that. Quinn wants to help her friend, and I want to keep my sister from sharing a cell with him. We’ve been talking with people, trying to discover if anyone knows of someone with a good reason to want to kill Jason.”
Southern Discomfort Page 13
