“I know how to keep my mouth shut. Just as we discussed, I stuck to the story we agreed on. That’s something else Lonnie doesn’t know. You’re the smart one, Miz Hannah. Not her. I’m feeling better and better about hiring you to straighten things out.”
The compliment, and my concerns about fingerprint experts, were superseded by what I’d just heard. “She hinted I’m a prostitute?”
“No, it was an uglier word she used.”
“How much uglier?”
“A sight uglier, but it’s not a word I feel comfortable saying in front of a lady. That woman has a mouth on her.”
“She called me a whore? Actually said it?”
“Yes, ma’am; more in a general way, regarding your looks and the way you dress. Maybe ’cause of them three scotch glasses I was dumb enough to leave behind, I don’t know. But she wanted in the worst way for them po-lice to believe the governor died while having sport with you. My opinion on that matter, I’m not at liberty to share.”
“That blond bitch,” I whispered, and tightened my hands on the steering wheel.
“Pardon me, ma’am?”
“That witch,” I said, loud enough for him to hear. After another quarter mile, I again heard the clink of glass on glass. “I want to ask you something, Reggie. It’s been on my mind. Why did a man like Mr. Chatham marry a woman like her? She’s pretty enough, I suppose, in a fake, beauty queen sort of way, but, my lord, she’s mean. Even Kermit, who seems as nice as he can be, said as much.”
Since I had modified the grove manager’s opinion of the woman, it seemed only fair to reference him as a source.
After a long silence, Reggie replied, “Are you asking for yourself? Or your mama?”
It was true, my motives were mixed, but I said, “I’m asking you as my client. I won’t repeat a word without your consent.”
“Can’t, Miz Hannah. Sorry. That’s another one of those confidential matters I’m not at liberty to speak about. As to your mama, this much I can tell you: her and the governor, I’ve never seen two people in my life cursed by such strong love and bad timing.”
This was a revelation. “That’s hard to believe, Reggie. Not the timing part, but, if he really loved her, then—”
“Honey, that’s what I’m getting to. Why those two never married. Mostly, it was because the governor couldn’t bring himself to leave his wife and children. His first wife; the only one he ever had, far as I’m concerned. Now, there was a lady. A fine mother, too, but Miz Lilly—that was her name, Lilly—she had female issues. I don’t know the terms for such things, but, truth is, I doubt those two ever had the same feelings as the governor had for Loretta.”
“He didn’t love his wife?”
“Very much. But it weren’t the fever kind of love. You know the difference? That kind of love, there ain’t no understanding even when it happens.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, but, in my heart, I did understand, and the admission was painful.
Reggie took me at my word. “That’s ’cause you never experienced it. Don’t take offense. Few men and women do. Lord knows, I never had such luck.” The man sniffed, already a little drunk, and there was more liquor waiting in his belly.
I said, “Why don’t you pass me a bottle of water, and grab one for yourself? Drink it down. They say if you wait until you’re thirsty, it’s too late.”
A bottle of Evian appeared near my ear. “You don’t mind, I’ll set my thirst aside for later. Where was I? Oh—talkin’ about fever love.”
“No, you were explaining why he married a woman who’s got a mean streak and half his age.”
“That’s what I’m getting to, but there’s more you’ve got to understand. The governor was all man when it come to women, but he was faithful . . . mostly. Particularly when he was a young man. Then Miz Lilly’s female issues come along and temptation got the best of him. Otherwise, I truly don’t believe he’d have ever strayed. You know your own self, he was a deacon at Foursquare Gospel. Never missed a Sunday, unless he had duties in Tallahassee.”
Strange, how tense I suddenly felt, no longer concerned with Lonnie Chatham’s petty insults.
I said, “We were members for as long as I can remember.”
“Yes, you were churchgoing people. All you Smiths—the good ones anyway.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, giving him a look in the mirror. “Then Loretta switched to the Church of God on Pine Island. I liked the preacher but preferred Chapel-By-The-Sea. By then, I had my own boat.”
“Foursquare Gospel,” Reggie mused, “them folks could make a joyful noise. Many a time, I sat there in the heat of a summer morning, always a back pew, watching ol’ Harney sneaking looks at your mamma—I didn’t call him governor in those days ’cause he weren’t. Called him captain, ’cause he was. He’d hired me to work one of his shrimp boats, back when we was makin’ visits to the Yucatán. You sure was pretty, the way your mama dressed you in bows and ribbons.”
I spoke to keep myself from getting emotional. “I hated those starchy dresses.”
“And let everyone know, too! The way you tugged at your sleeves and couldn’t get comfortable. Many’s the time you caused me a smile. The governor, too. He was a man for noticing details.”
In my mind, I pictured Harney Chatham striding down the aisle with the collection plate, a confident man with shoulders and a smile, always in a suit with a bolo tie and boots.
“I was just a girl,” I said, “so it didn’t strike me as odd the way he’d sneak an envelope into the plate when he got to Loretta. They’d always just nod and smile, then he’d move along as if the money was from her.”
“She was poor, your mama, with no husband, and a child to support,” Reggie said as if I was unaware.
Rather than mention my mother’s disinterest in working, or her inability to hold a job, I let the remark pass. “Mr. Chatham was being charitable,” I said. “I realize that now. But, in all those years, I never once suspected the two of them were, well, close . . . And in church, of all places. Reggie, you’re the only one who knows how I finally found out. I’m not bitter—really, I’m not—but I don’t appreciate being treated like a fool.”
“This sure is some fine scotch,” he responded. “Why not have a taste instead of being so hard on how life is?”
“I’m not. I blame myself for being naïve.”
“Blame? When it comes to fever love, there’s blame enough to go around. But none of that makes a lick of sense when you’re old enough to look back. Harney said as much just a few days ago. Where’s the wrongness of falling in love?”
“Marriage vows address that issue,” I responded, but not in a sharp way. “If they don’t, I’m pretty sure the Bible does. But we’re off the subject. What’s this have to do with him marrying who he did?”
“I’m tryin’ to be gentle toward your feelings, honey.”
“There’s no need. If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s fine, too.”
“Strong love and bad timing,” Reggie said again, and let it hang there before getting to the point. “Did you know Miz Lilly went to Hope Hospice a week after your mama had her stroke?”
This was a shocking piece of information. I felt my stomach knot. “I had no idea.”
“That there’s your reason for why they didn’t marry. Four, going on five years ago, it was. He lost both his women ’bout the same time—your mama in a different way, of course. Part of her was missing after that thing in her brain broke. And them operations only made it worse. No offense; she comes and goes, your mama, and she’s still a fine woman. But it was never the same for those two.”
“That’s so sad,” I whispered.
“I’ve yet to hear the preacher who can explain such shitty-awful goings-on,” Reggie agreed. “The governor was a strong man, but the year that followed just about broke him. I know. Seven days a
week, I hauled him back and forth ’tween hospital beds—Miz Lilly’s and your mama’s. The two of us was always on guard against a slipup of some kind so you children wouldn’t suffer more hurt by learning the truth.”
“You must have come after hours,” I said. “I never saw you. Not once. And I visited Loretta every day.”
Reggie’s Tee-hee-hee chortle sounded almost normal. “That shows we was good at what we did. Many’s the time we sat parked in some shady spot, waiting for you to leave the hospital so as not to cause you more upset. The governor was kind that way when it came to young’uns and people he cared for.”
I didn’t trust myself to respond.
Reggie’s voice softened. “Lonnie Dupree—that’s her maiden name. She showed up about the same time, which is the thing I’m not at liberty to speak of. But I can tell you something the governor said the day after their wedding. He says, ‘Reggie, I might’ve been better off using my pistol than making the mistake I just made.’”
“After only one night?”
“Could be, he knew from the start. Lonnie is the type who gets her way, and she’s got a beautiful body on her, I’ll give her that. The governor was a fool in that regard and she knew it. They had history together, those two. They went way back.”
“My god, how many affairs did he have?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Reggie replied. “She was just a local girl back then, a cheerleader at Florida State. The only dealings the governor might’ve had with a cheerleader, other than parades and such, would be to try and help her out of trouble, not trick her into bed. You ever hear that saying, Miz Hannah, about no good deed going unpunished?”
With his tone, the chauffeur was relaying a guarded message. I attempted eye contact in the mirror. “She had something on him. Forced him into marriage for his money. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I never said no such thing,” he replied, but in a way that confirmed it was true.
“That’s hard to believe. Mr. Chatham was a powerful man. Why would someone with his connections allow himself to be buffaloed?”
“You ain’t been listening, girl. The last few years whittled the governor down somethin’ terrible. His spirit, I’m saying. Miz Lilly died, which was rough enough, then there was your mama’s brain surgeries that didn’t bring her back—not as he’d hoped. When that witch Lonnie showed up, the governor didn’t have much fight left in him.”
“He gave up,” I said. “Gave up on Loretta. That’s terrible, but I guess I can understand. She was never the same after that first surgery. That poor, dear man.”
“Gave up on himself, more like it. It about kilt poor ol’ Harney to know his chance to marry your mama had passed him by.”
I fumbled with the window switch and let the winter air chill me. It didn’t help. Ahead was a Taco Bell and a Shell station. I chose the Shell station because the restrooms were outside.
The door marked Women was locked, so I used the men’s room. Otherwise, someone might have seen the tears streaming down my face.
SIX
My emotions were under control as we waited for traffic at the intersection for U.S. 41 and Burnt Store Road. “Lonnie was blackmailing him,” I said.
Reggie got as far as “Didn’t say that” before I interrupted, “Even if she wasn’t, just hear me out. Something happened today I didn’t tell you. It concerns her; something bad she did. I don’t know if it makes a difference, but I’m willing to trade information.”
“I’m not at liberty to trade anything,” Reggie replied, “How bad we talkin’ about?”
He was still in the backseat, where the lacquered tray was open, the bottle of scotch within reach.
“Depends on your morals,” I said, “but it’s probably too late. She was in the boathouse this afternoon with another man, just before we pulled up. They were naked, in there alone. Kermit saw them run off. All her crying, those accusations she made about the three whiskey glasses—the way she yelled at you—it was all an act. She knew darn well Mr. Chatham didn’t die in the cabin.”
“Say what?”
He slurred his words, so I repeated the details. “Kermit was in the river, swimming,” I said, “and he doesn’t strike me as the type of man to lie. He thinks Lonnie knows he saw them, but he’s not sure. Either way, she had to go along with our lie.”
“The new grove manager. Why would he trust you with a story that could mean his job?”
I said, “I’m still wondering about that myself. He doesn’t like Lonnie, so maybe he sees you or me as an ally after she inherits the property. The important thing is, Lonnie knew her husband’s body wasn’t in the cabin until after we arrived. She couldn’t admit that, of course, so she went to the police with her accusations, hoping they’d figure it out, or we’d confess. That’s the part I don’t understand. Why risk the police taking a closer look if she was having an affair the afternoon her husband died?”
Reggie sobered. “That there’s a street that travels both ways.”
“I’m aware of the irony,” I said. “Neither side can throw stones.”
“Oh, that Lonnie would throw any stone she gets her hands on. You got a name for the man she was with?”
From his tone, I could tell the chauffeur had some names in mind.
“Someone local. Kermit said it was better I didn’t know. He said something else. He told me Lonnie is dangerous.”
“A conniving, lying tramp, is what she is,” the chauffeur responded, yet with a fresh optimism that didn’t make sense. “She got caught screwin’ another man before the governor was dead—as far as she knows anyway. Ain’t that great! By god, that whore has met her equal in you, Miz Hannah.”
I flashed a warning look in the mirror. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, ma’am. That didn’t come out the way it sounded.”
“I hope not. Watch your language or I’ll put you in a cab. Now, tell me what she did to make Mr. Chatham marry her.”
Traffic had thinned; I started my turn, but Reggie leaned over the seat and urged, “Go straight, go straight!” meaning Burnt Store Road, which angled southwest along the coast toward Cape Coral.
I applied the brakes. “That’s not the shortest route.”
“Are you working for me or aren’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means I just made up my mind about something. I want to hire you properly, with a contract and all so you’ll keep what I’m about to show you a secret. If you’re working for me, I know it’ll stay confidential.”
“I already told you that, so let me do the driving, if you don’t mind.”
“No. Bigalow’s got a point. That woman’s dangerous, so it’s best more than one of us knows why the governor did what he did.” He leaned over the seat and pointed again. “Go straight—it ain’t far.”
As I asked, “Where?” my cell phone rang.
No caller ID, but I recognized a number I’d recently entered.
It was Kermit Bigalow.
• • •
The grove manager said, “Lonnie wants to terminate my contract. But that’s not why I called. Do you have a minute?”
“I’m in the car with Reggie.”
“Are you on speakerphone?”
I found the question unsettling until he pushed ahead, saying, “Doesn’t matter. With all that was going on, I just remembered something you said earlier. About your citrus grove, that some of the trees are more than a hundred years old. Is that true? I’d be surprised if it is.”
“I can understand the confusion,” I said, “but why would I lie about the age of a tree?”
“Not lie,” he said, “just mistaken. I should have worded it differently.” When he chuckled an apology, I pictured freckles on a tanned face. “Thing is, after Hurricane Charley, the Florida Ag Department mandated that every citrus
tree in this part of the state be destroyed. It had to do with the spread of a fungus disease. They didn’t notify you?”
I didn’t answer immediately. On both sides of the dark road, mobile homes slid by in grids, some still decorated with Christmas lights. Behind me, I sensed Reggie scoot closer, listening.
“That was fifteen years ago,” I said. “Are you asking me as a person or as a member of the citrus industry?”
“As a friend,” he said. “Nothing official, but it could be important. You can trust me, Hannah.”
I wasn’t so sure. I muffled the mouthpiece and whispered over my shoulder, “Are you following this?”
Reggie’s whiskey breath replied, “We gotta turn right in about three miles. There’s no signs, so use your brights.”
I returned to the phone. “My mother owns those trees. It’s not up to me who I trust or don’t. I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s your interest?”
“Staying employed and paying my bills,” Kermit chuckled. “My personal opinion is, ordering those old groves cut was the single biggest biological mistake this state has ever made. Stupidity or hubris, it’s hard to say, but I wish people would’ve had the nerve to tell those Ag Department cops to go to hell.”
Loretta had said worse than that when men in government trucks had showed up, handing out notices and giving orders.
I told him as much, and relaxed a bit. “My great-grandfather planted grapefruit and oranges, and a big tamarind on a parcel behind the house—this was back in the early nineteen hundreds. Some of them are still standing. The honeybell oranges came later, but I wouldn’t call it a grove. Over the years, my mother’s had to sell off acreage to pay the bills, mostly pasture, but not the citrus.”
“My folks had to do the same in California because of taxes. Are they sour oranges? That old rootstock is darn near impossible to find. About thirty years ago, everyone switched to Swingle or Carrizo because of virus.”
Those names were foreign to me.
“Aren’t all citrus trees from that period sour?” I asked. “We have sour tangerines, too, the last I checked. Mostly, I just pick the honeybells and Duncan grapefruit and ignore the others. Not even those lately, because of the citrus greening—”
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