Southern Harm

by Caroline Fardig

  Sucking in a gasp, I happened to glimpse Tucker’s parents out of the corner of my eye. They both stared at me in shock and disappointment. Utterly mortified, I had to get out of there. I burst out the nearest exit, a set of French doors that led to the backyard. I dropped into a wicker rocking chair and put my head in my hands.

  “You look like someone shot your cat.”

  I jumped, but then let out a breath of relief. “Hi, Aunt Lela. I didn’t realize you were here tonight.”

  “Charlotte invited me.” She lifted her glass, which held three fingers of some sort of amber liquid. “Couldn’t pass up an open bar and her annual mountain of hoity-toity desserts.”

  I winced. “Well…the mountain of desserts is not so hoity-toity anymore. I saw to that.”

  Lela chuckled. “What’d you do, set it on fire?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed so hard she sloshed some of her drink onto the flagstone patio. “I bet Charlotte and Jed crapped their pants over that.”

  “Pretty much.” I shook my head. “I don’t think Tucker’s parents will ever like me. The harder I try, the worse it gets.”

  She snorted. “Join the club, sister.”

  She offered me the rest of her drink, but I declined. Hard liquor and misery didn’t mix well for me. I still had to get out of here, preferably without causing another scene.

  The French doors opened, and Tucker appeared, trying but failing to wipe the huge grin from his face. Carrying a plate with an enormous slice of buche de Noel, he approached and handed it to me wordlessly. His face was red from the struggle of holding in his laughter.

  Aunt Lela joked, “Is that all that’s left of the desserts?”

  Tucker couldn’t hold it in anymore. He leaned back his head and howled. “Best Christmas party ever.”

  “I disagree,” I grumbled, shoving a too-large forkful of cake into my mouth. Admittedly, the scrumptious cake did make me feel better.

  Sinking into the chair next to mine, Tucker said, “I’m teasing you, Quinn. There’s very little damage to the dessert table. A few waterlogged cookies and pies had to be thrown out, but trust me, my mother has enough food in there to feed two armies. It’s already cleaned up, and you’d never know anything happened.”

  I set the plate on my lap. “I’ll know, Tucker. Your parents already hate me for…” I couldn’t verbalize the rest of my sentence.

  “Accusing my father of murder?” Tucker said, amused smile firmly back in place. “Water under the bridge.”

  A couple of months ago, when I’d had the monumentally ridiculous idea of trying to investigate a murder, I’d made the mistake of insinuating that Dr. Jed Heyward might have had a reason to kill someone. Naturally, he took offense and told me to stay away from his family, especially his son, or else. I apologized a couple of times, and he had backed off on his ultimatum, but the Heywards still hadn’t welcomed me with open arms.

  “I don’t think it is. Tonight is only the third time we’ve spoken since…the incident…and now they’re never going to like me. They probably think I was trying to burn their house down.”

  Aunt Lela shrugged. “So what? They don’t like me, either. No skin off my nose.”

  “But…” I gestured at Tucker, at a loss for words.

  He grabbed my hand. “You’re dating me, not my parents. Quit worrying about what they think.” Letting go of my hand, he added, “Less talking; more eating. If I stay any longer, my mother will dream up a whole list of chores for me to do.”

  I dug into my cake, relieved that my wretched faux pas hadn’t tainted Tucker’s opinion of me, which was what truly mattered. In a matter of minutes, I’d polished off the slice of cake, well on my way to a comfortable sugar coma. Tucker and I stood to leave.

  He regarded his aunt with a concerned eye. “Do you need a ride, Aunt Lela?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt.” Based on the slight slur to her words, driving her home was a no-brainer.

  I held out my hands to help her up from the low Adirondack chair, but stopped short when Tucker’s dad appeared at the door, red-faced.

  “There she is,” he muttered, pointing to his sister.

  Two police officers stepped out onto the patio.

  One of them said, “Lela Heyward?”

  “Yes,” she replied, eyes wide.

  “Ms. Heyward, you’re under arrest for the murder of Esther Sinclair.”

  Chapter 7

  The other officer said, “We’ll be taking you to the police station for further questioning.”

  Tucker stepped between his aunt and the officers. “Wait a minute. She’s already been investigated and questioned. The detectives never said anything about charging her. What changed?”

  “Sir, we’re not at liberty to discuss the case. If you have questions, you’ll have to speak to the detectives assigned to it.”

  “Oh, you bet I will,” he fumed, fists clenched at his sides.

  The officers approached him, but he didn’t seem to want to budge. I took hold of his arm and gave him a pointed look. When I felt him relax a bit, I pulled him to the side. There was no reason to get himself arrested tonight as well. The officers helped Aunt Lela up from the chair, quite kindly and gently considering the fact that they’d been sent here to apprehend her and drag her to jail. Tucker, Dr. Heyward, and I watched silently as the officers read Aunt Lela her rights.

  But when they placed a set of handcuffs on her wrists, Tucker had something to say. “Are you kidding me? Do you actually think she’s a safety or flight risk? She’s sixty-five years old and half drunk. It’s not like she could outrun you guys.”

  “Sir,” the officer warned.

  I gripped Tucker’s arm tighter and whispered, “We’ll follow them to the station and get this worked out. It’s going to be fine.”

  He stood shaking as the police guided Aunt Lela toward the door.

  Dr. Heyward held out his hands. “Whoa, there. I don’t want you taking her out through our party.” He threw a disgusted glare at Aunt Lela and then leveled it at me. “We’ve had enough commotion for one night. Use the back gate.”

  I noticed a look pass between the officers, but they did as requested and headed for the back gate. Tucker and I were on their heels, not even bothering to say good night to his father. After how he’d treated his sister, I wasn’t sure I had anything nice to say to the man. I knew Tucker felt the same.

  We hurried down the block to his truck in silence. This situation felt all too familiar to me. I knew in my heart Aunt Lela would never have killed anyone, especially a teenage girl. I could understand a catfight with her ex-husband’s mistresses turning physical, but murder was at the far end of that spectrum.

  Tucker hopped into the driver’s seat and slammed the truck into gear. I barely had my door closed.

  “Tucker,” I said gently, laying a hand on his arm. “There’s no rush. They’ll have to process her in, and then they’ll question her. It’ll be a while before we’ll be able to speak to her or the detectives.”

  Blowing out a slow breath, he put the truck back into park. “I don’t know what I’ll do if this nightmare turns out to be true.” He turned toward me, tears glistening in his eyes.

  I reached over and wrapped my arms around him. “Aunt Lela didn’t kill anyone. This is a thirty-three-year-old murder we’re talking about. There’s very little evidence, and what they have has to be sketchy at best. Her lawyer will have the case thrown out in no time, and she’ll be released.”

  He murmured against my shoulder, “She has always had my back throughout my whole life. What if I can’t get her out of this mess?”

  My heart ached for him. I’d never seen Tucker this emotional. The man was a wreck.

  “Tucker, I’m sure everything is going to be fine. An arrest doesn’t have to mean a conviction, or even charges. They mi
ght hold her for a while and decide they don’t have what they need. Regardless, it’s Saturday night. Nothing can be filed in court until Monday, and that will only be the initial hearing. There’s time.”

  He pulled away and clenched his jaw. “Meanwhile, my aunt gets to rot in jail.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe her lawyer can talk them into bail or some kind of other arrangement.”

  “You think they’d grant bail to a murder suspect?”

  I put on the best smile I could muster. “It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  * * *

  —

  Once we got to the station, we waited and waited, most of the time with Tucker pacing angrily around the lobby. I wished we’d spent a few minutes to go home and change clothes. As pretty as this dress was, the scratchy underneath side of the sheer sleeves’ embroidery was beginning to chafe my arms.

  Aunt Lela’s lawyer, Bob Stiles, was with her as she was being questioned by the detectives. There was nothing we could do except worry over the outcome of the conversation.

  As Tucker continued to pace, I said, “Rufus and Detective Flynn are good guys. They’ll listen to reason.”

  He stopped to stare at me. “They wrote her arrest warrant.”

  “True, but Bob is in there working his magic. Maybe that’s why it’s taking so long. Because he’s talking them into looking at the case from another angle.”

  Frowning, he returned to pacing.

  An hour later, Bob Stiles emerged from the inner sanctum of the police station with a defeated expression on his face.

  Tucker rushed over to him. “What happened?”

  Bob grimaced. “She’s going to be held overnight, and they’re not budging on that. I’ve requested she be granted bail or at least be put on house arrest, but I don’t think they’re going to go for it.”

  Tucker swore under his breath. “What changed since yesterday? Why is she suddenly the prime suspect?”

  Sighing, Bob said, “They started interviewing the neighbors. Two of them said independently that they witnessed Lela setting fire to the victim’s car a few days before her disappearance.”

  Tucker and I shared a glance. Aunt Lela’s busybody neighbor, Mrs. McAlfrin, had mentioned the car fire. But she hadn’t pointed any fingers.

  “Is that enough to charge Lela with her murder, though?”

  “No, but…” Bob shook his head. “A pair of gardening gloves was found with the remains. There was blood on them that matched both the victim and Lela.”

  I sucked in a breath. Tucker went still next to me.

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but this isn’t looking good,” Bob said, worry etched on his face.

  Tucker’s voice was thick as he said, “Can we see her?”

  Bob nodded. “They left her in the interrogation room at my request. You can go on back. Down the hall and to the right. Third door on the left.”

  Tucker headed toward the door, but when I didn’t follow, he said, “Aren’t you coming?”

  I replied, “I think you should go see her alone. She doesn’t need me in there. She needs you right now.”

  Tucker nodded wordlessly and disappeared through the door. Bob waited in the lobby with me.

  After a long silence, I said, “Do you feel like there’s enough evidence for a trial?”

  He loosened his tie. “There’s enough for a trial. On decades-old murder cases, it’s sometimes difficult to get a conviction to stick, which will work in our favor. Witnesses aren’t as reliable after so long, and there isn’t always a lot of physical evidence. The bloody glove is…not good. I’d be more optimistic if I thought I could get that piece of evidence thrown out. Or if I had any kind of proof that could implicate someone other than Lela.”

  “Will you be hiring a private investigator to try to find her some reasonable doubt?”

  “That’ll be up to Tucker.”

  “Why Tucker?”

  “Because he’s the one who retained me.”

  We descended into another uncomfortable silence as we waited. Tucker finally emerged through the door, his eyes red. I hurried over to embrace him. He clung to me. Tears pooled in my eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks. I couldn’t stand to see him upset, or the idea of leaving poor Aunt Lela here for the night.

  Bob gave Tucker a pat on the back. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

  Tucker couldn’t reply, so I said, “Thanks, Bob.”

  Bob nodded.

  Tucker released me, except my hand. We followed Bob out of the station and made the short drive home. He caught my hand again and held tight as he walked me to my door, still at a loss for words.

  “It’s going to be okay, Tucker. We’ll figure something out.”

  He nodded, pain written all over his face. His shoulders slumped; he let his hand slip from mine and headed across the street toward his house.

  Chapter 8

  Delilah was out when I’d returned home late last evening, so I couldn’t tell her what had happened. Her theater troupe’s production of A Christmas Carol was this weekend, so she was spending late nights at the theater. But the moment my alarm went off in the morning, I ran straight to her room.

  “D, wake up,” I said, hopping onto her bed next to her.

  She wrinkled her nose and threw an arm across her eyes. “Go away. No talkie before coffee.”

  I smiled. I was the early bird of the family. My sweet sister was a morning grump. “Post-performance cast party get a little rowdy?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “And was the performance as charming as the one I saw on opening night?”

  “Mmm hmm. Now, shh.”

  My smile faded as I remembered what I’d come in here to talk about. “I wanted to tell you about the Heywards’ party last night.”

  She groaned and snuggled farther under her comforter. “Was it absolutely magnificent, dahling?”

  “Not really. While we were there, Aunt Lela got arrested for Esther Sinclair’s murder.”

  Delilah sat bolt upright, her face a mask of horror. “What?”

  I nodded. “The police came and got her smack in the middle of the party. Dr. Heyward was furious, but only over the interruption to the party. Tucker is devastated. We followed along over to the station, and they let him see her after questioning her again. According to her lawyer, it’s not looking good.”

  “What…why?”

  “I hate to gossip…”

  “Tucker doesn’t keep secrets from me.”

  That was true. He wouldn’t keep any of the details from her. He and Delilah had been best friends growing up. After a misunderstanding, their friendship fell apart, but now they were as close as they’d ever been. If it hadn’t been for her urging (and meddling), he and I wouldn’t be together.

  “A couple of her neighbors said she’d set fire to Esther’s car earlier in the week. Then they found a pair of gloves with both Esther’s and Lela’s blood on them.”

  Delilah frowned. “That’s enough to convict her?”

  “It’s enough to hold her for now.”

  “Poor woman. I can’t imagine being thrown in jail, especially at her age.”

  Nodding, I said, “She’s tough, but maybe not this tough.”

  “So what’s being done?”

  “Her lawyer, Bob Stiles, is trying to get her granted bail or at least house arrest.”

  “I mean to exonerate her.”

  “Oh. Well, he’s hoping to find a way to get the glove evidence tossed out.”

  “I’m asking if there’s an investigator working to find evidence that can clear her name.”

  “Not at this time. Bob said it would be up to Tucker to decide whether or not to hire one.”

  “Tucker of all people shouldn’t have to hire an investigator.”

 
I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”

  “He already has two at his disposal.”

  “Huh?”

  She gestured between herself and me.

  My eyes widened as I finally understood her implication. “Oh. No.”

  “What do you mean no? You’re saying you won’t help your boyfriend free his poor old aunt from jail?”

  “I’m saying we’re horrendous investigators who cause more trouble than we’re worth. She’d do much better with someone else.”

  “The hell she would. We’re awesome. We solved a murder before the police.”

  “We stumbled onto a murderer before the police. And watch your language, please and thank you.”

  She rolled her eyes at me and reached for her phone on the nightstand. “I’m offering our services.”

  I grabbed at her phone, but missed. Undeterred, I hopped on top of her like when we were kids and pinned her arms. “No. I’m telling you I don’t want to run the risk of messing things up for Aunt Lela. How could I live with myself if our lack of experience caused us to make a mistake that ruined her chances at trial?”

  She stopped struggling to deliver a cutting rebuttal. “How could you live with yourself if you stood by and did nothing while Tucker’s aunt got sentenced to live out the rest of her life in a jail cell?”

  I stared down at my sister, pondering what was best for the situation. What was best would be to have Tucker hire a real investigator. But he was already racking up a ridiculous bill with having retained Bob Stiles, who didn’t come cheap.

  As I was taking my dear sweet time making up my mind, Delilah said, “Quinn?”

  “Yes?”