by Alan Chaput
Mama. Gone forever. Her touch. Her hugs. Her open-ended love. Gone. Patricia shivered. In the presence of death, life was but a vapor. She blessed herself, folded her hands, and whispered, “Dear Lord, help me. Help all of us through this.”
Trey covered her hands with his. His firm touch was reassuring. The distress faded. Somehow, they would get through this together.
She turned to him.
He gave her a reassuring look that stilled her further, and mouthed, “It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter 8
They returned home following the memorial service and reception. Patricia took a short nap and awoke feeling somewhat more at ease, Trey sitting at her bedside. Not wanting to rehash the service, she briefed Trey on Hayley’s decision to abandon college. He seemed to take the news in stride. He suggested, as she had, that they together speak with Hayley about the matter.
They found Hayley sitting at the kitchen table paging through a copy of Town & Country. Hayley looked up as they came in the room, a stern expression on her face.
Apprehension welled as Patricia pulled out a chair and sat across from Hayley. Trey sat between the two. His lips pinched together as he scrutinized his daughter.
Hayley closed the magazine and leaned back in the wrought-iron chair.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Trey asked in a soft voice.
“I think you know.”
His nod was nearly imperceptible. “I want to hear it directly from you.”
“I’m leaving school.”
“What do you hope to accomplish by that?” he asked in a quiet, calm voice.
“I hope to put my life in order.”
“Your life is messed up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In what way?” He stroked his chin.
“I’m not committed to my course work. I need to find a new focus. Something I truly believe in. And whatever that is, it’s not at college.”
Trey reached across the glass-topped table and touched Hayley’s hand. “Honey, it’s not in your best interests to leave college. Trust me, if you do something like this you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Why?”
“You said it. You’ll find a new focus. Then years from now, when that focus burns out, you’ll wonder why you didn’t complete college.”
“I can go to school anytime.”
“But how many years are you going to waste until you realize how important a college education is.”
Hayley clenched her free hand. She set her jaw and looked Trey directly in the eyes. “Does what I want to do mean anything to you?”
“Sure. That’s why we’re talking about this.”
She pulled her hand from his and placed it in her lap. “It’s my life. It’s my track. I’m the engineer of this train. I’m leaving college. End of discussion.”
Trey scoffed. “So at eighteen you know everything and you have no need for advice on an important matter like this?”
“If you have something to say other than ‘no,’ go ahead.”
Trey stood and walked to the window where he surveyed the backyard. Hayley walked to his side and looked out.
“We had a lot of fun out there,” he said with a rasp. “Maybe one day I’ll be out there with grandchildren.”
She gave him a hug. “Not so soon, Daddy. I have other things I want to do first.”
“That’s why we’re talking. I thought you wanted a career.”
“I do.”
He took her hand. “Honey, there will be times in your life when a close friend or someone you love unconditionally will ask for a favor. Their appeal to you might not be based on logic or fact or inside knowledge. Their request will rest solely on their relationship with you. And your response to their appeal will be strongly conditioned on your relationship with them. This is one of those times.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m asking you for a favor. I’m asking you to delay leaving college until the end of the semester. I’m asking for six weeks. Just six weeks. Can you give me that?”
Hayley stiffened and pulled her hand from his. “Daddy, I love you, and I don’t mean to disrespect you, but I need to think about my answer. Would you mind if I give you my decision tomorrow morning?”
“Of course.”
“So do you mind if I spend the night at the beach house?”
“That’s probably a good idea. But just one night. There’s a storm coming up the coast.”
Chapter 9
Hayley popped another aspirin against her hangover, adjusted the strap of her sports bra, and stepped out on the back porch. The ocean shimmered in the blinding morning sun.
She inhaled the tangy air. Palm fronds rustled in the offshore breeze as she stepped from the porch and walked toward the ocean. At the end of the path, she turned right and headed south down the empty beach—wide, open space of soft, warm sand where her bare feet and foggy mind could awaken. Paradise.
College or not? She wasn’t sure. She had a responsibility to develop whatever skills she had, no doubt about that. But which abilities and how? She hadn’t a clue. Confusion about something as important as this wasn’t good. She wanted it sorted out. She took a breath and started a slow jog to loosen up.
Was she really leaving college because of a lack of direction? She didn’t have to declare a major for another year. Emerald was a fine school. Why not shelve her indecision and stay in college? If nothing else, staying in school would abate the family drama for a while. She angled down toward the wet, firm part of the sand. Once there, she punched the button on her sports watch and sped up.
Was her rush to leave college something else? Could she be running away from the workload? Not really. The collegiate challenge invigorated her. Her grades evidenced that she excelled when pressed.
It was Atlanta she was running from. Month after month of miserable winter weather. Gray. Depressing. Brash people who seemed hardened by the weather. Entire days spent indoors. The dry air. Brown lawns. Barren tree limbs.
She was miserable in Atlanta, and Savannah seemed so beautiful and personal and, most of the time, so very happy. Happiness or misery? Not much of a choice there. Others had abandoned college and done well. Why not her? Still, should she make life-changing decisions based on Atlanta’s misery index?
As she passed the rickety home that marked her first mile, she checked her watch. Seven minutes. Spot-on. Her heart rate and breathing seemed right. She sped up, challenging herself, striving for six and a half minutes for the second mile.
Staying in school made no sense. But did everything have to be sensible? Not necessarily. Though Atlanta was crummy in the winter, winter was over and spring was well on its way. Flowers. Grass. Robins. She supposed she ought to give Atlanta more time. Another six weeks wouldn’t hurt.
Plus, she chuckled to herself, there was always Shawn.
* * *
The nineteenth century Chatham County Courthouse, no longer an active courthouse, stood proudly at Savannah’s heart. Across the square in a converted historic home was the law office of Alton and Alton, founded in the late 1700s. Back then, as befitted a major port, the Alton practice focused on maritime law. Over the next 250 years, the practice grew into one of the top law firms in Georgia if not the Southeast.
Patricia sat in the elegant black marble and mahogany lobby, waiting patiently for her appointment with Isabel Alton, daughter of Lucius Alton and last family name bearer. Isabel, who had handled legal matters for Patricia’s mother for years, had summoned Patricia to discuss probating her mother’s considerable estate. Not a task Patricia was eager to do, but necessary nonetheless.
Isabel appeared precisely on time and greeted Patricia with an awkward hug. Unlike her diminutive father, she was a big-framed person, nearly six feet tall. Dark brows. Pronounced cheekbones framed a masculine face with no makeup. She wore a loose gray suit.
Radiating certitude, Isabel smiled. “Shall we?” She gestured down the hall.
“So,” Patricia said, anxious to get the business over.
Isabel’s face tightened. “I’m afraid I have some disturbing news.”
Patricia’s breath caught. “Disturbing?”
Isabel nodded. “Your mother died destitute.”
Patricia stiffened, then gripped the armrests. Heart thudding, she studied Isabel’s features, questioning what had been said. “Impossible. Mama had several million in interest-bearing government bonds and owned a great deal of valuable port property.”
Isabel nodded, her expression stern. “That she did, but it’s all gone.”
Patricia shook her head. “Gone? How do you know it’s gone?”
“I was assembling an inventory of her assets for you to use in probating her estate. When I contacted her bank, I was told all her money, a little over three million, had been withdrawn.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“That makes no sense. I have to ask Meredith.”
“It was Meredith who told me the news.”
“Meredith! My God, why didn’t she say anything to me?”
“Maybe she didn’t know until I asked her to look.”
“The bonds? Her property?”
“I don’t know about the bonds, but according to the County Assessor all her property has been sold.”
“When?” She cocked her head to one side. “She never mentioned that.”
“A number of transactions in the last three weeks. The property is no longer hers.”
“What about the proceeds from the property sales? Those properties were worth millions.”
“Gone.”
“There must be some mistake.” Patricia turned her palms up toward Isabel. “How could everything just disappear?”
“I’m her attorney, not her accountant. I don’t know where it went.”
Patricia wrung her hands. “Well, I guess I need to contact Mama’s accountant, Sonny Carothers.”
“Knowing how shocking this would be on top of your mother’s unexpected demise, I stepped over my bounds and tried to contact him for you.” Isabel shifted position in her chair and leaned forward. “For the last couple of days, I’ve tried. First thing this morning, I even went over there. His office is closed and his mailbox is full. Like your mama’s money, he appears to be gone as well.”
Patricia’s head pounded. Mama trusted Sonny completely. Was Sonny behind all this? Did he murder Mama? “What the hell is going on, Isabel?”
Isabel raised her eyebrows. “With the missing assets and your mother’s sudden death, we have to consider the two things are related. I have a fiduciary responsibility to your mother and her estate, so I’ve contacted the police. I had no choice. And the faster the police get on it, the better chance they have to figure it out.”
“My God. But it was a heart attack. Or so I thought. Are you saying she could have been murdered?”
“I’m just letting you know the direction the police are likely to go in an instance like this.”
Patricia massaged her forehead. “And what do you suggest I do?”
“I told the police that all contact with you has to go through me. So you do nothing.”
“I bet they were happy about that.”
Isabel shrugged. “It’s routine. They understand.”
Patricia began to tremble. Unable to calm herself, she bolted up. Paced. “I’m having a lot of trouble getting my head around this.”
“It’s just a possibility.” Isabel walked to Patricia and reassuringly took her hand.
Patricia’s head compressed. She sucked in air. Couldn’t get enough. A red veil tinted her vision. Only red. No shapes. Her ears rang. A piercing, mind-shattering screech. She shivered. She was so cold. So hollow. So numb. Her legs gave away and she dropped. Fell endlessly. No bottom. Only darkness.
Patricia’s darkness dissolved into a ghostly gray fog. As the mist lifted from her unconsciousness, she slowly breathed in and opened her eyes. Too bright. She snapped her lids shut. The musky smell of old leather registered. She was lying on a couch. Her head pounded with a migraine.
Urges to make sense of this, to regain control, and to protect herself skittered about like crabs on the beach. Seeking answers, she forced her eyes open again just a tad. A wavering shape hovered.
“Patricia, are you back?” Isabel asked. “An ambulance is on the way.”
With Isabel’s kind face moving in and out of focus, Patricia took a deep breath and nodded, only to stir up the headache. “No, please cancel that. I’m fine. All I need is do …you have any Excedrin?”
“I’m not certain I can cancel a 911 call.”
“Excedrin?”
“I think so,” Isabel said. “Just relax while I fetch it.”
Moments later, Isabel returned with a glass of water and a familiar white pill.
Still in the searing grip of the migraine, Patricia downed the medicine with a gulp of chilled water. “What happened?”
“You fainted. Are you feeling better?”
The terrible news that precipitated the blackout surged back. Unfinished business. Nasty business that required a clear, focused mind. “I’ve got a monster headache, but I’ll live.” Patricia took another sip of water, then put the crystal glass on a coaster on the end table. “I think we were talking about next steps.”
“Are you sure you want to discuss this right now?” Isabel asked, concern etched in her face.
Patricia nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Let’s see what the police can do, but if they can’t or won’t move quickly to get to the bottom of what happened my father knows people who have tremendous resources,” Isabel said. “They could help get to the bottom of this. I’d be happy to discuss what I know with my father.”
“I hate to involve the Cotton Coalition in this.” Patricia went to stand and teetered as shifting dizziness forced her back down. “If you could hand me my purse, I need to contact Trey about this.”
* * *
Trey pulled the vibrating phone from its hip-mounted case and glanced at the screen. Patricia. She seldom called at work. Concern simmering, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear.
“Trey, honey, I’m sorry for interrupting you, but something bad has happened. Can you talk?”
A shudder ripped through him and his senses sharpened. His right foot pressed the floor button that closed the door to his office, ensuring utmost privacy. “Certainly.”
“It seems Mama’s assets have disappeared. What with her sudden, unexpected death and—”
“Let’s take this one step at a time.” Suppressing his alarm, Trey grabbed a pen and pulled a pad of paper closer. “Mama’s assets have disappeared?”
“Yes. Isabel, bless her heart, was preparing an inventory for me to use in probate and, well, Mama’s bank accounts are empty. And Isabel said that according to the County Assessor, all of Mama’s properties have been sold.”
Trey’s grip on the pen tightened as he jotted notes. “What about her bonds?”
“Isabel is checking with her broker, but he hasn’t returned her call yet.”
Trey took a deep breath. “Okay. She banked with Meredith, right?”
“Right.”
“And Sonny Carothers is her accountant?”
“Right.”
Trey jotted Sonny’s name below Meredith’s. “What does Sonny have to say about all of this?”
“Sonny’s missing and his mail is piling up at his office.”
Trey swore, then cleared his throat. “Have the police been notified?”
“Isabel contacted them, but—”
“I’ll get on it right away.”
“Mama’s death was so unexpected.”
The tremble in her voice worried Trey. Jaw clenched, he glanced at the silver frame with her photo.
He desperately wanted to protect her from mayhem and wanted to shield her from maliciousness. Struggling to keep his concerns from overwhelming him, he chose his next words carefully. “I’m going to have the Coalition look into this.”
“I didn’t want to have you do that.”
“Your mother was a prominent philanthropist. It’s entirely appropriate for the Coalition to look into it.”
“Okay.”
“Leave everything to me. But just to be on the safe side, keep your pistol handy.”
Chapter 10
The Married Women’s Bridge Club was coming for cards and lunch in a few hours. The caterers were in the kitchen setting up and the valets had just arrived. The timing wasn’t ideal, what with Mama’s death, Hayley’s college desertion, and the investigation into Mama’s missing assets and questionable death. But commitments were commitments. A lesson Hayley needed to learn.
Sheila, a petite widow who owned the corner floral shop, showed up shortly afterward and pulled Patricia into a hug. “How are you holding up?”
“Thank God for this luncheon. It’s keeping my mind off Mama’s death.”
Sheila gave her another hug, then set about arranging bouquets throughout the house.
Patricia’s cell phone rang. She checked the display. Alisa.
“Hi, Patricia,” Alisa said. “Sorry to bother you this morning. I’m sure you have your hands full with the luncheon. I just wanted to let you know that my brother called and told me someone has been searching your husband’s name in the county records.”