Beth couldn’t get home soon enough. She fast-walked, carrying Lola most of the way, with every conceivable excuse for the abandoned site running through her mind. Maybe someone died and they were taking the day off out of respect for the family of the deceased. Probably not. Maybe there was a terrible traffic jam on the Cooper River Bridge and they were just stuck, waiting there for a wreck to be cleared away. Maybe. Maybe the foreman had a heart attack and canceled work for the day. Slight chance of something like that, she told herself, but not very likely.
By the time she got back to the house, she was dripping in perspiration from the threat of panic, humidity, and the rising heat.
“I’m going to put this all out of my mind until I’ve had a shower and dressed for the day,” she said to Lola, and filled Lola’s dish with cool water.
Lola’s ears were flat against her head as she could sense Beth’s distress. Nonetheless, she lapped up an impressive amount of water and followed Beth wherever she went, sitting quietly outside the bathroom door while Beth tried to shampoo and scrub away all her trepidations and watch them disappear down the drain.
As she dressed, she decided to gather up her notes and pay a visit to Barbara Farlie, now that she had a new idea for a piece simmering away. Dropping in on Barbara was a good distraction from the Max dilemma until she could gather more information. It was still early in the day and she felt sure that when she got back to the business district she would see all the workmen hammering away.
She parked her car in the parking lot of Station 22 Restaurant and walked across the street. In less than the hour it had taken her to go home, shower, and dress, the police had cordoned off Max’s entire site with endless banners of yellow tape. Beth became dizzy and nauseated from the stunning surprise of that and for a second she thought she might actually pass out cold, but she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and hurried over to one of several police officers who were milling around.
“What’s happened here?” she said. “What in the world?”
“Crime scene.”
“What kind of crime?”
“Sorry, miss. We can’t discuss it. There’s an investigation under way.”
“But I have a lot of money invested in this…”
“Oh yeah? I’d call a lawyer if I were you.”
“A lawyer? Why?”
“Sorry, honey. I can’t discuss it. As I said—”
But before he could finish his sentence, Beth had spun around and was rushing back to her car as fast as she could. Did he call her honey? She didn’t even care.
Her head was throbbing and her eyes were burning with tears again.
“Oh dear God! What should I do? Please! God! Tell me what to do!”
As soon as she got home, she called Cecily, voice catching and hands trembling. Obviously she had to call Woody, but she didn’t know what to say to him yet. Cecily would help her figure it out. She answered on the third ring.
“Cecily? Oh God! Cecily?”
“Beth? Is that you? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Cecily! I am…I’m in so much trouble! So much terrible trouble!”
“Girl? Are you pregnant? Beth? Are you pregnant?”
“No! No! God! That would be nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! I wish that was all it was!”
“What then?”
“I can’t…it’s so…”
“I’ll be right there! Don’t go anywhere! Don’t do anything until I get there! I’m at Staples and I will be there in ten minutes. Do not worry, okay?”
“Worry? You have no idea!”
“We will get this all figured out in no time!”
“No! We won’t!”
“Yes! Yes we will! Just go sit on the porch and put that little dog in your lap. No, turn on HGTV and see what those crazy real estate people are up to! You know? Watch Property Virgins!”
“Real estate? Property Virgins? That’s the last thing on this earth I ever want to hear about again! Cecily! You don’t understand! I might wind up in jail!”
Beth was crying hysterically, gasping for breath, and sniffing loudly. It was all Cecily could do to understand what she was wailing about. But she was certain that indeed something awful had happened to Beth, and before Cecily could figure it out, she was almost on the causeway. Jail? Jail? What in the world could she have possibly gotten herself into? She hadn’t even been on the island that long! Then she remembered Max. Very quickly, she put two and two together. He was the guy Beth thought she was in love with and was going to marry! Oh! The poor girl! Sure enough, as she turned right on Middle Street, there was the scene of the crime.
She followed the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit for a few blocks but then realized that every single last officer the island employed, probably including the dogcatcher, was at the site, and who was going to chase her down and give her a ticket? Cecily put her foot on the gas, and inside of two minutes she pulled into Beth’s yard.
Suddenly the house looked old and everything about it was wrong. The shutters were hanging crooked on their hinges, the back steps sagged, and the roof looked dull. Even the landscaping seemed to be drooping.
“This must be very bad,” Cecily said, getting out of her car. “Very, very bad.”
She raced up the steps and burst into the house calling Beth’s name. There was no answer. At last, after searching downstairs, she saw her through a window, holding on to a banister on the porch for support. Cecily could see Beth’s shoulders convulsing and that she was sobbing. She grabbed a box of tissues and went to her. She threw one arm around Beth’s waist and offered her the tissues.
“I’m a dead woman,” Beth wailed, taking two and wiping her eyes. “You don’t know!”
“No you’re not. Now, blow your nose and let’s go inside where the nonexistent-during-the-day neighbors can’t hear us. You’ll sit and figure out how to tell me the whole story while I make us some tea and listen.”
Beth seemed rooted to the porch, unable to budge her feet.
“Come on now. Once you tell me everything it won’t seem so bad.”
“No, it’s truly terrible. Telling it won’t make it better.”
“Come on, Beth. Every problem has a solution just like there’s a lid for every pot. Let’s go.”
Beth moved so slowly and with such profound sadness, as though she were taking that final walk to the gallows, but she finally made it to the kitchen table, where she sank into a chair.
They were quiet for a few minutes until they could hear the heat coming up under the kettle. The water sizzled a little as droplets rose and splashed against the hot sides of the stainless steel. Cecily took out two mugs, the sugar bowl, the cream pitcher, and a lemon, put them all on the table, and sat.
“I don’t know if you want lemon or milk, so we have both. Talk to me.”
“Cecily? I don’t know where to start.”
But she did start, and soon, after three cups of tea each, Cecily knew as much as Beth did. The clock struck noon.
“That’s it?”
“Yep. That’s the whole sordid tale.”
“Well, I must say, I am in awe of your cojones.”
“Oh, thanks a lot. Do you understand that my mother is going to kill me?”
“Yes. She will. She’s going to beat you bloody up one side and black and blue down the other. Unless we figure this out. Look, first, you have to call Woody. He has a right to know everything that you know, don’t you think?”
“Yes. I know he does, but I can’t face him. I can’t face anyone. Not right now.”
“Who am I? Nobody?”
“Of course not, please Cecily. I called you because you’re the only one I trust not to go crazy and start yelling at me like an animal!”
Cecily reached across the table and put her hand over Beth’s.
“You called me because you know in your heart that I am your true friend. No matter what. We’ve got the Livvie-Susan bond.”
“Thanks be to God for that. Yes. Yes, you are my
friend, and you know what? Besides Woody, you are my only friend.”
Beth began to weep again. This time her tears were so large and fast and in such profusion that they ran together, splashing the table as they fell, forming tiny pools.
Cecily could actually feel Beth’s suffering all through her own body, and not knowing what else to do, she got up and stood behind Beth, rubbing her back in circles with her hand, saying, It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay. She recognized that Beth’s sobbing and the depth of her despair weren’t normal even given the gravity of the situation. She had never seen anyone cry so hard. It seemed as though Beth was releasing a veritable lake of tears she had been holding back her whole life, letting them go all at once. The sounds of Beth’s wounded heart continued to break Cecily’s heart as well. She imagined her disappointment in Max was somehow tied into her disappointment over losing her father, and maybe some part of her felt she had lost her mother too when she married Simon. But mostly it seemed apparent to Cecily that no one had ever given this child a chance to grieve with someone sympathetic to listen. And she was still a child in many ways. So trusting. So naïve. So desperate to be the center of someone’s world to the point that even a creep like Max could get the job by just showing up. He was no better than Rasputin.
Finally, after a while, Beth seemed to be slowing down, having worn herself out. Cecily walked back around the table to take her seat again, but as she passed the door, she saw a car pull up into the yard, blocking her own. It was a sedan.
“Hey, Beth? You know anybody who drives a black Plymouth?”
“No.”
Two men in dark suits and sunglasses got out of their car and looked up at the house. They could’ve been the Blues Brothers, but they weren’t.
“Well, we’ve got company. Go wash your face. Right now, Beth.”
Beth jumped up and took a quick look out of the window over the sink.
“Maybe they have the wrong house.”
“I doubt it, now scoot!”
Beth didn’t have time to go upstairs, wash her face, and put on some makeup that would disguise her distress. If there was one thing she had inherited besides her blue eyes, it was the kind of complexion that got blotchy and swollen when she cried. For years she had struggled to save her tears for great calamities such as death, fear of death, and now she could add fear of prison to her list. Not to mention being completely ostracized by her family. Forever. And that was the paradox. Now that she needed her family more than she ever had, they were going to disown her. She was about to lose everything.
She slipped into the bathroom Woody had used and held a cold wet washcloth to her face, especially on her eyes. When she heard Cecily call out for her, she flushed the toilet to buy her another minute and finally reappeared in the kitchen, where the two men waited by the door.
“Are you Elizabeth Hayes?”
“Yes.” Beth’s voice was hushed because in that split second she realized they could be there to tell her anything. That her mother was dead, that Aunt Maggie, Simon, and Uncle Grant had been killed in a car crash or an earthquake. That Uncle Henry had run into a bear…
“I’m Agent Colson from the FBI and this is my partner, Agent Feron.” They offered her their identification and it all seemed legitimate to Beth. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”
They could have been showing her false identification and Beth would not have known it. Their presence was so intimidating, Beth was terrified.
“Sure,” Beth said, shaken. “Would you like a cold drink? Tea? Ice water?”
Lola, who was cowering behind Beth, began to growl and bark, although it wasn’t very threatening.
“Does the dog bite?” Feron said.
“Oh heavens no! I’m sorry. Lola! Get in your crate! She’s just protecting me.”
Lola scuttled into her crate and Beth latched the gate.
“Yeah, she’s ferocious,” Cecily said, and reached in the refrigerator, taking a bottle of water. Cecily was as cool and unruffled as she could be.
“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “Cold drink?”
“No, we’re fine, thank you. Is there somewhere we can talk to you for just a few minutes?”
“Y’all go on to the living room and I’ll make myself busy in here,” Cecily said.
Beth’s face was almost white, and after the men left the room as she pointed the way, Cecily pulled Beth back.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Remember Martha? Lying to a federal agent is a felony! Tell them everything you know, you hear me? I mean, everything!”
Beth bobbed her head, sighed for all the world, and said, “Can I have that bottle of water.”
Cecily gave her the bottle she was holding and Beth left to join the agents.
“Please, sit down,” she said to them, realizing they were waiting for her to invite them to do so. If nothing else, she had to say, FBI agents had manners.
They sat on two chairs opposite the sofa and took out small flip-top notepads and pens. Beth sat in the center of the sofa so that the three of them formed a triangle.
“What’s this about?” Beth asked.
“Can you tell us how well you know a fellow by the name of Max Mitchell?”
Beth inhaled and exhaled hard.
“Very well. Too well.”
“How so?”
“Meaning that I met him and wrote an article about him for our local paper.”
“We read the article. That’s what brought us here. To the island and to you.”
“Really? Anyway, we went out some, a lot in fact, and I invested a fortune in his business.”
The agents sat back, looking surprised. What did she mean by a fortune? She was just a young girl!
“How much is a fortune?”
Beth hesitated to say because she didn’t want her stupidity to wind up in the news before she had the chance to come clean about it with her family. But she also knew that if she lied she could wind up in a prison washing clothes with convicted murderers and drug addicts.
“Can this be confidential?”
“Sure, Miss Hayes.”
“I gave him one hundred thousand dollars.”
Agent Feron whistled under his breath and glanced at Agent Colson, whose eyes opened wide as he inhaled deeply. They both made notes.
“My father left some money to me,” she offered as an explanation.
“I see. Okay.” Feron cleared his throat. “Can you tell us when was the last time you saw Mr. Mitchell?”
“Yes. It was last Friday. I’m pretty sure of that.”
“And then he told you what? That he would see you again? When?”
“We were supposed to have dinner Sunday night but he was up in North Carolina—Wilmington or Wrightsville Beach, I’m not sure—and he couldn’t get back.”
“Did he say why?”
“Yes. That his next project was all bungled up with permits and so forth but we would have dinner on Monday night.”
“And did you have dinner?”
“No. He never showed up and he never returned my calls. Is Max all right? He’s not hurt, is he?”
“No. Not to our knowledge. Not at all.”
“Well, what’s happened? Why are you looking for him? This is serious, isn’t it?”
“You may as well hear it from us, Miss Hayes. Max Mitchell, who goes by many other names, is a notorious scam artist. We’ve been after him for almost two years. Because of that picture in your local paper, our office in Columbia was able to make a match. I wish I could tell you that you’ll get your money back but you probably won’t. If he’s still up to his old tricks, your money is long gone. Most likely it went to pay some of the bills on his last deal.”
If either agent had merely exhaled in Beth’s direction, she would have fallen off the sofa. She was literally dumbstruck.
The agents stood and took out their business cards, offering her one, which she took with shaking hands.
“If you see him or hear
from him, we’d appreciate a call.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks for your time,” they said. “We’re sorry to bring you such bad news.”
“I was in love with him. I’m such a fool.”
“No, Miss Hayes. I disagree. You’re not a fool. It’s guys like him who are the fools,” Agent Feron said. “First, he bamboozled you, and then he took you on a very expensive ride. Unless we find him first, you won’t be his last victim.”
“But why did he do this to me? I thought he really cared about me.” Her voice quivered, more tears began to well up in her eyes and spill over, sliding down her cheeks. “I thought he loved me,” she said in a whisper. “How could this be?”
The agents, thinking of their own daughters who happened to be about Beth’s age, looked at each other, their eyes filled with empathy for Beth. This could’ve happened to anyone.
“I’m sure he did care about you,” Agent Colson said.
“Yeah, he cared about you,” Feron said. “It’s just that he cares a lot more about himself.”
Beth mustered her strength, got up to walk them to the door just as Cecily was coming up the back steps and into the house.
“This is about Max, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes ma’am. Have you seen him?”
“No, never, but can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Just how old is this guy?”
“Why, he’s forty-five. Maybe forty-six. We think.”
Beth, who was standing by the door to the dining room, slid down the wall, and after weeks of making jokes and innuendo about fainting, she passed out cold. A minute or so later when she came to, Cecily was standing over her, fanning her with the newspaper, and Lola was making mewing sounds from her crate.
“Hey! Are you all right? Drink this.”
“Thanks.” Beth sipped some of the water from the bottle she had never opened. “What happened?”
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