Savannah Sleuth

by Alan Chaput

  Trey gritted his teeth. It wasn’t the first time the subject had been broached, nor was it likely to be the last. Trey had considered bringing it up himself a couple of years ago, but decided to wait until Hayley was older.

  Trey thought of his only heir, his daughter Hayley. Could she mature to the point of being responsible for a city, including executions when necessary? Would he want her to take on that burden? Would the Cotton Coalition be weaker or stronger with women represented? Without a strong, decisive Coalition, would Savannah’s economy deteriorate? The Coalition had been successful for centuries under the existing rules. Maybe the forefathers’ males-only wisdom shouldn’t be challenged.

  But this was about Alton, his supporter and confidant. Trey focused his attention on his friend, who had put forth a dying request.

  “Have you discussed this with any of the other directors?”

  “No.” Alton’s bald head gleamed in the light from the chandelier. “You’re the first.”

  “Each time someone has proposed accepting female heirs in the past, the directors have quickly and soundly rejected the idea.” Trey took a deep breath. “What makes you think they would accept it now?”

  “Trey, listen to me.” Alton cocked his head. “The reason the Coalition has a rule change provision is because our founders understood that sooner or later some, if not all, of our rules would have to be changed in order for the Coalition to remain effective. It’s time we bring women into this organization. Well past time. Surely you understand that.”

  Trey leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. Alton was right, times had changed. Plus, he owed Alton. And as Hayley’s father, he owed her as well. Hayley certainly had the brains to do the job. The raw material was there and he could coach the substance into her. But membership would change her. And the work would make her hard. Did he want that? If the succession rule changed, membership would become her birthright. She’d at least have a choice to join or not when the time came.

  The more he thought about it, the more a rule change made sense. He wished it could be simple to implement, but he knew it was, at best, a long shot. A shot worth taking for his friend and for Hayley. “We’d need a quorum. Four of the five. You and I would be two. We’d need two more. Any ideas?”

  An awkward silence ensued. As usual, Alton’s face gave no clue as to what he was thinking.

  “I don’t know, Alton.” Trey swirled wine in his glass and took a drink “Who do you think we could draw in?”

  “Hempfield is a long shot,” Alton said “That leaves Simpson and Potter. Potter owes me. I’ll see if I can bring him on board. Do you mind plying Simpson with your considerable skills?”

  Beau Simpson was young, progressive and logical. He and Trey saw eye to eye on most Coalition matters. Simpson might be willing to consider a rule change. “Sure,” Trey replied. “Last year I represented him in a wrongful death case. We spent weeks together preparing. He owes me because the prosecutor had convincingly strong arguments and I had to call in some favors.”

  * * *

  Shortly after Patricia returned home from Beau’s office, her cell phone rang. She checked caller ID. Beau. Has he come to his senses? She answered the call.

  “Patricia, I’m sorry we quarreled. My personal life is so emotional and, well, never mind. I, ah, I have some terribly bad news.”

  Patricia tensed. “Yes?”

  “Your mother passed away moments ago.”

  Patricia’s knees failed her as she dropped into a chair. Vivid emotions tangled like seaweed. This couldn’t be. She gasped for air that wouldn’t come. Not Mama. I just talked with her. Not gone. Not my mama. No! Patricia’s heart boomed in the sudden emptiness inside her. Mama can’t be gone. Mama has always been there for me. Always. Patricia stared at the carpet, seeing nothing but Mama’s sweet, endearing face.

  “Patricia, are you okay?” Beau asked, his tone elevated with concern.

  She struggled to find words, and a voice to convey them. “She ... she was in perfect health. This can’t be.”

  “Patricia, her passing surprised us all. I’ve attended to her for years and, for her age, she was the picture of health.”

  “What happened?”

  “Heart attack. She was on her way home from tennis. Plantation security found her in her car slumped over her steering wheel. Apparently, she went quickly.”

  Patricia’s emotions clotted into panic. She grabbed her purse. “Which hospital? I’ll come right over.”

  “Falcon Memorial,” Beau said.

  She glanced at her wristwatch, a thoughtful graduation gift from her parents. More tears gathered. “I’ll be there by two o’clock.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Patricia?”

  She took a deep breath and shoved the stray strap of her summer dress back into place. “Not at the moment. Thank you for calling.”

  Now both Daddy and Mama were gone. Forever. Completely alone, Patricia buried her face in her hands and burst out crying.

  How would she tell Trey? A sound caught in her throat halfway between a breath and a sob. She grabbed her phone and punched in his speed dial. Hopefully she’d have the strength to tell him without becoming a babbling idiot. She loathed babbling, as did her mama.

  Trey answered with a business-like ‘hello’ that signaled she’d interrupted something important.

  She took a deep breath, then paused to find the courage to mouth the words she dreaded.

  “Patricia, is that you?”

  A feeble ‘yes’ was all she could force out.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Mama …” She couldn’t do it. She just could not say those words.

  “Is your mother okay?”

  “No, Trey.” Patricia gasped. “She’s ... she’s gone.”

  “Oh no. Hang up the phone, honey. Go lie down. I’ll be right home.”

  * * *

  Patricia chewed her lower lip. Light from the sun shone through the study’s casement windows and sparkled off the crystal chandelier. Usually, such beauty would have uplifted her, but sadness burdened her.

  The front door banged shut, followed by slow, heavy footfalls. Trey’s entrance clunked in the hallway. She glanced at her watch. He’d made it in five minutes. Bless his heart.

  Any moment now. Though her life was in shreds, she didn’t want Trey to worry. She stood, faced the door, and forced a smile. No. Smiling was wrong. She couldn’t pretend. Not about this.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned and looked out the window at the pink azaleas in full bloom. Mama ... gone. Unimaginable, but true. Tears of sheer grief trickled down her cheek. She wiped them away. But the grief remained.

  “Patsy.” He came up behind her and gave her a bear hug.

  Goodness gracious, how she loved that. She turned and pulled him to her, savoring his closeness.

  He kissed her neck.

  A shiver ran down her spine.

  He deepened the hug. So warm. So secure.

  More tears threatened.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered.

  No. She didn’t want to talk about it. A future without Mama was incomprehensible. Why did…? How could…? What would…? She pushed the questions aside. She wasn’t ready to talk.

  But delaying wouldn’t ease the disclosure. It had to be done. Now. She stepped back to face him and looked up, hoping to keep the rebuilding tears from spilling.

  Care filled his deep-set, dark eyes.

  Her throat tightened with dread.

  He reached out and touched her cheek. Stroked it. His touch was soft and ever so gentle, like his heart. His tenderness tugged at her. Tears poured out. She took a deep breath and put her palms on his muscular chest.

  He covered her hands with his, sharing his strength. His eyes pleaded.

  “Ma … Mama’s gone.” She convulsed. Sobs spewed. Hardly able to breathe, she gasped.

  Trey’s shadowed face furrowed. He clutched her tightly and
swayed with her. Exactly what she needed, and so like Trey. She snuggled against him.

  After a few moments, he stepped back, his eyes filled with so much concern her chest tightened. His lips pinched together. He brushed hair from her eyes and gave her another wordless embrace.

  Pierced with grief, her brain wouldn’t function. She wanted to thank him and show her appreciation for his love, but the pain of grief over Mama’s death mixed with sorrow was too encompassing. She didn’t have the words. The grief held her hostage.

  “She’s already in heaven,” Trey whispered in a kind, caressing voice. “She’s reunited with her husdand, parents and grandparents. She’s happy, Patsy.”

  “I know, honey. But her death still hurts terribly.”

  “She’s in a better place.”

  “She’s still gone.” Mama was so very important to the direction and tempo of Patricia’s world. A guide. A friend. A mentor. A companion. Patricia clenched her jaw, swallowed against the lump in her throat. The future would be like slogging through a tidal swamp in August. “What was wrong with Mama staying here with me?”

  “I suppose her work was done.” He stepped back from her and brushed a strand of graying hair from his eyes. “She did so very much for the community. The shelter for abused women and the residential maternity home for underprivileged unmarried women were her ideas and her money. Neither would have happened without her. And the no-kill animal shelter. And, well, the list goes on.”

  “Her work wasn’t finished. She had more planned.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to see those plans through for Henrietta.”

  She shook her head. No one could take Mama’s place.

  “We’ll get through this. With God’s help, peace will come.”

  Spiritual reassurance wasn’t what she wanted. Her forty-three-year-old joints ached. Emotionally bruised and exhausted, she just wanted the day to end. She hung her head and massaged her eyes. “We need to go to the hospital.”

  * * *

  Trey and Patricia, her palms sweaty and muscles taut with apprehension, paused in the hallway outside Mama’s ER room. She clenched her jaw. This will be terrible.

  “I can’t do it, Trey. I can’t have my last memory of her tainted.”

  “Patsy, I’ll carry this burden for you, but right now you’re in shock, and if you don’t see Henrietta with your own eyes it will be harder to accept. I know. It happened to me with my father.” He took her face in his hands, wiped her tears with his thumbs, and kissed her forehead.

  She knew he was right. Viewing her mother was necessary. Mama would call it proper protocol. Old-school people would call it closure. Either way it was her duty. Responsibility conquered her apprehension as her hand griped the doorknob. Patricia took a breath, and despite the tremor in her knees, pushed the door aside.

  Mama’s body reclined on the bed under a white blanket, like she was resting. In slow, numb steps, Patricia drifted to the bedside. She touched her mother’s disconcertingly cold forehead, thought of the lovely woman who used to inhabit the lifeless body, and made a cross on the strangely foreign skin. “Dear Lord, please shower Mama with Your love.”

  Mama is with Daddy again, and in the company of all those who preceded her. Patricia wiped her tears. She pulled a chair to the bedside and sat. Trey stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

  Her mother’s spirit was gone, gone forever. Just like Daddy’s. Nothing of importance remained. A chill went through Patricia.

  More tears flowed and blurred her vision. She brushed them aside and bowed her head. She had a huge void to fill. The structured life she knew so well had suddenly disintegrated.

  She thought of God’s words, the Bible. Scripture might ease her distress, might calm her. The Bible had provided solace before. She took the Bible from the bedside table and read Psalm 23. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not ...”

  When her voice faltered, Trey took the Bible and continued.

  Verse by verse the spiritual tide of the lovely Psalm enveloped her and eased her despair. Though her trauma wasn’t gone by the last verse, her distress had become manageable. Hope glimmered. Thank you, Lord.

  Patricia leaned closer to the bed and touched her mother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mama, for giving me life and for guiding me. Thank you, Mama, for loving me unconditionally. I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

  When the nurse came in, Patricia told her that Mama had requested cremation. Then Patricia inhaled a long breath, stood and turned from the bedside. Trey took her arm. At the door, she paused and looked back, knowing it would be the last time she would see Mama. When it was time, Patricia left with Trey at her side.

  Chapter 5

  Patricia couldn’t recall ever noticing the brick sidewall of the hospital before. The reclaimed brick seemed the very symbol of endurance, the soft hue calming. She had no idea how long she’d been seated in Trey’s idling car. Didn’t care to measure time. She needed comfort, solace, the very things her mother had always given her. Now, who would provide that soft lap, those warm arms, and the rocking chair healing?

  If Mama were here, what would she do?

  The church bells chimed three. Saint Gregory’s. Her church home. Meditation. That was what her mother would do.

  “I need to meditate, Trey.”

  Five minutes later, Trey pulled into the lot behind the church. Warm air washed over her as she stepped into the bright spring sunlight of the church plaza. The afternoon molten sun seemed close enough to touch. Wisps of clouds streaked the vivid blue sky as she approached the church with Trey at her side.

  Her legs involuntarily stopped. Rhett. Again. At the end of the vine-covered building. Dressed in a white apron of all things, he was arguing with an older, hard-faced man in a chef’s coat. Rhett’s hunched, subordinate posture surprised Patricia. He seemed so sure of himself earlier.

  The older man’s fingers drummed his thighs. His features, bearing, and close-cropped hair shouted ex-military. He seemed as out of place in this quiet spiritual oasis as an alligator crossing a busy highway.

  Suddenly, Rhett swung his arm in a contemptuous sweep, turned and stalked away. Toward her.

  She and Trey moved to the edge of the sidewalk.

  Rhett, his black hair shimmering in the sunlight, approached in a determined stride, removed the apron, and threw it into a flowerbed.

  She wished she could discard her problems so easily.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Falcon,” he said in a deep timbre. Almost a growl.

  Trey stepped toward Rhett. Patricia stopped him mid-stride, then gestured to Rhett. “I know him. He’s okay.”

  “You sure.”

  She nodded.

  Trey stepped back.

  Rhett’s sweat-sheened face was grim. His tobacco eyes, wide and watery, projected hurt. The scar over his eye blazed bright red. She suspected that deeper scars lay within.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, masking her own emotions with concern.

  He stopped, looked off and then at her, studying her. She didn’t mind his scrutiny. She had nothing to hide. Seconds ticked by.

  He brought his right hand up, pointed his index finger toward his temple like a gun, and pulled the trigger. “I just lost my job!”

  As a man who didn’t own a decent pair of shoes, he clearly needed work to survive. And because he had injected himself into her life, she needed to find out more about him and what he was up to. Daddy seldom used clichés, but he loved to say, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Rhett might not be an enemy, but he sure as heck needed watching.

  Watching and help. Mama had never been one to sit idly by in time of need. The man was out of work. A craving to help him came. Certainty surged over her like a tidal wave. She would do something for him. No, she’d do it for him, her, and Mama.

  “We have some shrubs that need pruning and a whole garden that needs continuous love and care,” she said. “Would you be interested?”

  His body te
nsed. Confusion swept his eyes. He tapped his chin, then gave her an easy smile, sending creases to the corners of his eyes and exposing his dimples. “Thank you kindly, Mrs. Falcon. When would you like me to start?”

  The rest of the day was a blur. Trey handled telling Hayley. Patricia napped off and on in the study. She spoke with Isabel Alton, who handled legal affairs for Patricia’s mother, about funeral arrangements and asked if Henrietta had left any instructions. Isabel said there were no instructions and just a simple will.

  Patricia and Trey skipped dinner and spent the evening cuddled on the sofa. Around nine, Trey brushed his lips over her neck. A rush tingled her skin. He tucked one arm around her back, placed another under her knees, and lifted her. Lips trembling, she tucked her wet face into his neck.

  He carried her up the stairs to their bedroom, laid her on the duvet and, as her eyes fluttered open, kissed her forehead. A magical man. A man she loved so much it scared her.

  She curled up, turning her back to him, praying for the peace of sleep.

  Trey, his breathing slow and steady, eased against her back and draped his arm over her waist. So thoughtful. So giving. She loved him with all the heart that remained after Mama’s death.

  She lay in silence for a few minutes basking in his love but, though spent, she couldn’t fall asleep. She feared an endless, fathomless night.

  As if sensing her worry, Trey whispered, “I’ll take care of you, Patsy.”

  His thoughtfulness, closeness, and warmth finally calmed her tension. Mended what was broken. Soothed.

  “Thank you for your understanding and support,” she said.

  “I’m not much support during the day.”

  “You are.” She turned over, cuddled close and gave him a kiss. “You’re always here in my heart.”

  Her skin tingled when he started to caress her shoulder. A soothing warmth eased through her. She yielded to it, the man’s limitless compassion.

  Chapter 6