Southern Double Cross Read online

  Southern Double Cross is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Alibi Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2020 by Caroline Fardig

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Alibi, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  ALIBI is a registered trademark and the ALIBI colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9781984800305

  Cover illustration: Art Parts

  randomhousebooks.com

  v5.4

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Caroline Fardig

  About the Author

  Recipes

  Cast of Characters

  Quinn Bellandini

  Delilah Bellandini, Quinn’s sister

  Tucker Heyward, Quinn’s boyfriend

  “Papa” Sal Bellandini, Quinn and Delilah’s grandfather

  Uncle Frank Bellandini, Quinn and Delilah’s deceased great-uncle

  Pepper Fox, Quinn’s friend and fellow bandmate

  Callie Drayton: Quinn’s friend and fellow bandmate

  Rhetta Turner: Quinn’s friend and fellow bandmate

  Rufus King, Detective

  Steve Flynn, Detective

  Parker Fox, Pepper’s brother

  Lance Potter, friend of Delilah and Quinn

  Charlotte and Jed Heyward, Tucker’s parents

  Lela Heyward, Tucker’s aunt

  Savannah’s elite:

  Magnolia and Duke Stiles

  Lucille and Sloane Davis

  Finn Cooper

  Liz Singleton

  Clara McLeod

  Imogene Anderson

  Evangeline Stewart

  Savannah Buckley

  Stella Thompson

  Viola Langston

  Jen Blake, owner of Blake Catering

  Employees: Elise Walters, Sofia Flores, Joe Jones, Mike Smith, Tom Brown

  Mason Waring, owner of Tres Chouette

  Employees: Fozia Qureshi, Heather Dunham, James Fong, Mac Leonard

  Chapter 1

  “Would you mind terribly to take this bouquet of flowers and set it on the registration table?” I asked one of the waitstaff, who was walking that way. I had a million little things to do and not enough time to do them.

  The man stopped and stared at me for a moment. “That is not my job. And I don’t know you.”

  I gave him a pleasant smile. “My name is Quinn Bellandini, and I’m a member of the committee in charge of this event. Would you mind helping me out? I’d very much appreciate your help with the flowers, and you seem to be headed in that direction anyway.”

  His face twisted into a scowl. “You’re not my boss.”

  Keeping my smile in place, I said, “I’ve got the checkbook to pay your boss.”

  He rolled his eyes and grabbed the flowers out of my hands. “Fine. Whatever.” He stalked over to the registration table and slammed the bouquet of flowers down onto it.

  I winced. The unpleasant exchange I’d had with the waiter had wasted the time I saved by not walking over there myself. Why couldn’t people just be nice and help one another out? Wasn’t that what a fundraiser was all about? So far, this guy had been the only person here who hadn’t been more than happy to pitch in to put today’s fundraiser for the Chatham Crescent Women and Children’s Shelter together.

  My best helper had been my boyfriend, Tucker Heyward. He’d been my rock, doing anything and everything I needed to make sure this event ran smoothly. Since it was my job to fill the fundraising group’s Instagram page with shots of the afternoon, one of the many tasks I had him on was photo duty. He was a much better photographer than I was, anyway. He’d run off to capture some shots of the old plantation we were using as the venue for today.

  The antebellum plantation mansion was massive, having two wings connected by a cavernous foyer with a sweeping staircase. My committee was under strict instructions from the owners, Duke and Magnolia Stiles, not to let anyone, especially “the help,” wander around their home. The catering staff was allowed to use the kitchen, but other than that, no one was permitted inside.

  Our lovely city of Savannah was temperate and perfect in April, in my opinion the ideal time for an outdoor party. Warm enough to wear a pretty spring dress without a sweater, no pesky bugs to worry about just yet, and not so hot and humid that the food would melt or spoil.

  My attention was drawn to two ladies facing off against each other on the mansion’s terrace, arguing and gesturing with their hands. I rolled my eyes and chuckled to myself. Magnolia Stiles and Lucille Davis were at it again. They were both on the fundraising event committee with me, which had made the planning of today’s event difficult from the start. They’d butted heads over everything from the food to the venue and even to the color of the napkins. These Southern belles had known each other for fifty years and knew exactly what buttons to push to get each other’s noses out of joint. Wondering if they were arguing over an actual problem that needed fixing before the guests arrived, I wandered closer so I could hear their heated conversation.

  Lucille’s voice dripped with disdain as she gestured toward the pool house. It was a wonder she could even lift her hand with as many carats of diamonds as she was wearing. “Really, Mags, you couldn’t have had the pool house repainted before the event? The last coat you had put on there is starting to chip away. I can see the hideous shade of green from years ago peeking out. Not a good look.”

  From where I was standing, which was closer to the pool house than they were, I couldn’t see any peeling paint. Granted, the place wasn’t sparkling with a brand-spanking-new coat of paint, but it was far from an eyesore.

  Magnolia’s cheeks blazed red. “You try keeping this monstrous money pit maintained. I’ve been wanting to sell for ages, but Duke won’t hear of it. He was born here, and he’ll die here.” With a sneer, she added, “At least my home is large enough to provide a venue for an event of this size.”

  That comment was hardly fair. Lucille lived in an absolutely gorgeous home in Savannah’s historic district, and it was good-sized for a house in town. Its square foot
age and lot size could never compete with that of a sprawling old tobacco plantation. It was like comparing apples to oranges.

  Eavesdropping on their catfight wasn’t worth my time, so I started walking and made a sweep of the grounds. The caterers had the food well under control, and the smells from the kitchen had my mouth watering. The bartender had several drink stations set up and ready with plenty of ice and luscious-looking cocktails. The florist had finished her job and was pulling her van out of the driveway, having festooned the place within an inch of its life, including the pool, which had a dozen huge flower arrangements floating on its still surface. It was quite the floral wonderland around here. The band had completed a sound check and was warming up. Everything was in its place. That was, except Tucker’s tie.

  I approached him to straighten it, but when I got within arm’s reach, he surprised me by grabbing me and planting a kiss on my lips.

  “What was that for?” I asked, smiling up at him.

  He smiled back at me. His smile always warmed me to my core. “To take your mind off stressing over this party for two seconds.”

  “I’m not stressing,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as him.

  He gave me a pointed look.

  “Okay, so maybe I’m stressing a little,” I admitted.

  His face fell into a mock frown.

  “Okay, fine. I could stand to simmer down a little.”

  “A lot. You could stand to simmer down a lot, Quinn.”

  I sighed. “Point noted.”

  He dropped his arms from around my waist. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Would you mind running around to the front of the house to make sure the valet stand is fully staffed and ready for the influx of guests?”

  “I’d be happy to. While I’m gone, you take a break. You’ve got a long evening ahead of you.” He gave me a pat on the back and trotted off.

  I wanted nothing more than to take a break, but there was no time for that. The moment Tucker’s calming presence was gone, I slipped back into stress mode. I flitted around all over the party setup, double and triple (or maybe more—I’d lost count) checking everything one last time. As the first of the guests started arriving, I handed out donation envelopes and brochures detailing how the money we raised would benefit Chatham Crescent Women and Children’s Shelter, while Magnolia and Lucille welcomed everyone. The two ladies’ demeanors had turned on a dime since I’d last seen them. They were nothing but graciousness and good cheer.

  Once the guests had all arrived, I took yet another walk around the grounds. As I was fussing over a bouquet of flowers on the donation table, Clara McLeod, another of my fellow committee members, came over to speak to me.

  Clara took my hands in hers. “Everything is absolutely perfect, dear. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything else. Relax and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”

  I squeezed her hands. “Thank you, Clara. I just want everything to go off without a hitch.”

  Giving me a knowing smile, she said, “I’ve put together enough of these parties to know that we’ve got all our ducks in a row for today. Nothing will go wrong. Mark my words.” She waved over a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes and took two of them. She handed one to me and clinked her glass against mine. “To a spectacular party.”

  “Hear, hear,” I replied, taking a sip with her. The champagne was phenomenal, but I needed to keep my head, so one sip was enough for a lightweight like me.

  Tucker appeared next to us. “Toasting your success already?”

  Clara tittered out a laugh. “Yes, Tucker. We’ve already deemed the party a winner.”

  He beamed at me. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  She gave us a wink. “You two kids have fun.”

  As she wandered off, Tucker said, “Can I take this as a good sign that you’ve quit stressing?”

  I set down my champagne flute on the table. “Somewhat.”

  He began steering me toward the nearest food table. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

  My phone rang in my pocket. I’d managed to find a lovely dress with a hidden pocket in the skirt, perfect for stashing my phone. I had a feeling I was going to need it today. “One sec,” I said to Tucker, as I stopped to answer the call. It was from my friend Pepper Fox, who was part of the catering staff. “Hi, Pepper. Everything going well with the food?”

  “The food? It’s fine.” Her voice sounded strained. Laid-back Pepper’s voice never sounded strained. My body tensed. “But there’s been a minor disaster in the kitchen. My brother was transporting a tray of raspberry galettes out of the kitchen and ran smack into Magnolia Stiles as she came in the door. The galettes didn’t make it, and unfortunately neither did Mrs. Stiles’s new white dress…which evidently cost more than my car, according to her. She’s having a bit of a meltdown at the moment. She’s trying to fire the whole catering staff. Is there any way you can come in here and talk her down?”

  I groaned. Magnolia was such a drama queen. “I’ll be right there.”

  “What is it?” Tucker asked, a worried expression on his handsome face.

  I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes. “Magnolia Stiles is pitching a hissy fit and trying to fire the caterers. I have to go handle it.”

  As I was turning to leave, he caught me by the shoulders. “Wait. Consider it handled. I know a thing or two about how to diffuse cantankerous old Southern belles. I have a lifetime of practice, you know.” Winking at me, he grabbed a mint julep from the tray of a passing waiter and headed toward the house.

  While Tucker was doing my dirty work for me, I puttered around at the swag table, moving the overstuffed bags into perfectly neat rows. I also rearranged the stacks of brochures and assorted paraphernalia at the information table. However, my menial tasks couldn’t keep my mind off the soap opera I knew was unfolding in the kitchen. It seemed like Tucker had been gone forever. I hoped I hadn’t sent him into an impossible situation.

  Just when I was about to call to check on him, he ambled up to me with a triumphant grin on his face. “The fire in the kitchen has been successfully put out. I had old Mags eating out of my hands.”

  I threw my arms around him and gave him a big hug. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “I told you I have a way with cantankerous old Southern belles.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and murmured into my ear, “Oh, look. There’s another one.” He kept one arm around my waist as his parents approached, stepping away from my side only to give his mother a kiss on the cheek and his dad a firm handshake. “Mom, Dad, good to see you.”

  “Good afternoon, Dr. and Mrs. Heyward,” I said.

  Tucker’s dad gave me a lukewarm hello, but his mother merely nodded at me and took a sip of her drink. In the six months Tucker and I had been dating, his parents had never warmed up to me. But could anyone blame them after I all but accused them of murder last fall and then set the dessert table on fire at their annual Christmas party?

  “Great event, right? Quinn has been working day and night to put this fundraiser together,” Tucker said, trying to break the ice.

  Jed Heyward studied the mansion. “Son, you should offer your services to Duke Stiles. This old gal could use a facelift.”

  Tucker owned a contracting business specializing in historic home restoration. But he was much too professional and polite to accost someone at a party he’s hosting to tell him his beautiful home could use a touch-up.

  He said, “Sure. Another day, maybe. How’s that Cosmopolitan, Mom?”

  Charlotte Heyward held up her nearly empty cocktail glass. “The drinks are a mite weak for my taste. And the band is much too loud.”

  I put on the best smile I could muster. “Thank you for your candor, Mrs. Heyward. If y’all will please excuse me, I’ll go take care of those two problems for you rig
ht now.” Anything to get out of this excruciating conversation.

  I hurried away, intent on placing as much distance between myself and Tucker’s parents as I possibly could. I hadn’t tried the mixed drinks yet, so I located the bar stand on the opposite end of the yard. I taste-tested a Cosmo and found it to be plenty strong for my taste. A whole glass would have knocked me out. I wandered over toward the band and stood near them, listening while they played an entire song. I didn’t think they were too loud. They weren’t the best band I’d ever heard, but they were adequate.

  I had a feeling Mrs. Heyward’s complaining was simply an attempt to get under my skin, but I wanted to do my due diligence. I decided to find the other committee members to ask if they’d heard similar complaints. I walked all over the backyard looking for the four of them. Clara was nowhere to be seen, but I finally spotted Liz Singleton and Lucille Davis by the pool.

  “Hello, ladies,” I said.

  Lucille, although she let her cantankerous side run wild around Magnolia, was usually nice enough to me. Liz, easily the prettiest woman here by a mile (and she knew it), was only in her twenties and already a force to be reckoned with. She’d taken over the reins to her father’s commercial development firm fresh out of college and had managed to grow the already booming business in the short time she’d been CEO. She’d had her assistant do all her work for the fundraiser because she’d been in Charleston for weeks, overseeing the building of a high-end boutique hotel. If I were to guess, I’d say her dress had cost more than Pepper’s car as well.

  Lucille asked, “Everything running smoothly on your end?”

  Smiling, I replied, “A couple of slight hiccups, but all is well. Do you think the band is too loud?”