“Well, if it really means that much, I’ll do it for you, but not for her. This seems like a lot of fuss,” Marie complained. “I don’t mean to second-guess you, Brooke, but how do you even know Josephine really and truly means to leave the island to a bunch of strangers? It’s just so unbelievably odd. Are you sure this isn’t some ploy, just to get attention or sympathy?”
“It had better not be,” Brooke said.
23
Gabe Wynant was dressed for his Wednesday morning meeting with Josephine Warrick in what was apparently his idea of island casual—white button-down oxford cloth shirt (sans necktie), pressed khakis, and navy-blue blazer, accessorized by Topsiders (sans socks) and a briefcase. Brooke didn’t have the heart to tell him that Shellhaven didn’t have air-conditioning.
“Who’s this?” C. D. asked Brooke as the two boarded the boat.
“Gabe Wynant,” the visitor said, extending a hand in greeting.
C. D. reluctantly shook hands. “C. D. Anthony. You got a business card?”
Being the Southern gentleman he was, Gabe produced a thick velum card and handed it to the boatman.
“Another lawyer?” He raised one bushy eyebrow.
“How are you today, C. D.?” Brooke asked.
“Same as ever. Bursitis, arthritis, and gastritis. Them VA doctors are all a bunch of quacks, if you ask me.”
Gabe started to offer his condolences, but Brooke gave him a warning shake of her head to telegraph Do not engage.
* * *
“I haven’t been over to Talisa probably since the eighties, when it was included on one of the Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation’s rambles,” Gabe said as they puttered slowly through the marina’s no-wake zone. “At the time, the house wasn’t open for tours. I’ve always been fascinated with the place.”
“It’s pretty much a living time capsule,” Brooke said. “Josephine has tried to keep everything the same as it was at the time of her husband’s death.”
“When did he die?”
“Sometime in the sixties, I think.” She glanced at C. D., whose back was turned to them. “The house and grounds are in pretty sad shape. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the manpower to keep up with all the needed maintenance. Even in its current condition, you can tell it was once pretty magnificent.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it. And, of course, to working with the lady of the house,” Gabe said.
“You might change your mind about that once you actually meet her,” C. D. said. He’d turned around and was facing them now, ready to insert himself into their conversation.
Brooke frowned and shot her colleague the Do not engage look again, which Gabe cheerfully ignored.
“Why’s that?”
“Just sayin’. She’s a tough old bird. Stingy as hell.”
“Why do you stay?” Gabe asked. “I mean, if she’s as bad as you say.”
“I’m seventy-six years old. I got a bad leg and some might say a bad attitude. I ask you, who else is gonna hire me and give me a place to live, sorry as it is?”
“Exactly,” Brooke said. She pointedly turned toward the bow of the boat, leaving her back to the boat’s captain and effectively ending the conversation.
* * *
When C. D. pulled the boat alongside the dock at Shellhaven, the same little boy was stationed at the end of the dock, waiting. “Hey, C. D.,” the boy called.
“Gimme a hand with the bowline, will ya, Lionel?” C. D. tossed him the bowline, and the kid knotted it around a cleat.
“You take me for a motorcycle ride?” Lionel asked eagerly.
“Maybe later,” C. D. said, nodding at his departing passengers.
It was Louette, and not her husband, who was waiting for them at the dock this time. She was driving a vehicle Brooke hadn’t seen before, a gleaming aqua-and-white four-door Chrysler with the exaggerated tailfins of a fifties muscle car.
Brooke gamely climbed into the backseat of the car and introduced Gabe Wynant. “Where’s Shug today?” she asked.
“He’s up on the roof, trying to patch another hole,” Louette said. “Silly me, I never did learn how to drive a stick shift, which is why I had to come fetch you in Nellybelle.” She gave the turquoise vinyl dashboard a fond pat.
“My dad had a Chrysler like this, only his was brown and cream,” Gabe said. “I can’t believe this thing still runs.”
“Shug likes to tinker with Miss Josephine’s cars when he has the time,” Louette explained. “This is one of his favorites.”
“There are others?” Gabe asked.
“Oh, sure. The barn is full of ’em. She don’t like to get rid of anything, especially if it had something to do with Mr. Preiss. Let’s see, there’s the Cadillac he bought her after they first got married. I guess it’s from the fifties, like this. And there’s her daddy’s old Packard. I don’t know how old that thing is. Shug can’t find parts for it no more. The oldest car, the roadster, is one that belonged to her brother, Gardiner, the one who was killed in the war.”
Gabe gestured at the cars parked nearby. “Is this some kind of junkyard?”
“Looks like it, don’t it? No, this is where island folks leave their cars when they’re going across to the mainland. We just leave the keys in ’em, in case somebody needs a ride somewhere,” Louette said.
“And nobody worries about car theft?” Gabe asked.
“Who’d steal any of this mess?” Louette scoffed. “Anyway, it’s an island. How far is somebody gonna get in a stolen car?”
“How’s Josephine feeling today?” Brooke asked.
“She says she feels fine, but I know she didn’t sleep much last night. I heard her get up two or three times in the night.”
“You’re sleeping in the house now?” Brooke was taken aback.
“Uh-huh. Miss Josephine fell and hurt herself Monday night. Said she tripped over one of the dogs. Somehow she managed to get up and get back in the bed. It’s a miracle she didn’t break a hip or crack her skull wide open. She fought me on it, but last night I fixed me a bed on the sofa in the living room, and that’s where I’m gonna be staying until…” Louette’s voice trailed off.
“Do you think Josephine needs round-the-clock nursing care?” Brooke asked.
“Maybe. But I know her, and she ain’t gonna do that. No, ma’am. She ain’t gonna want to spend the money on a nurse. It’s funny. She’s been telling me the doctor says this cancer will kill her, but she really ain’t ready to admit yet just how sick she is.”
Gabe turned around to Brooke. “Maybe that’s something I could discuss with her, if we’re redoing her will. She probably already has an advanced health care directive.”
“It’s worth a try,” Brooke said.
* * *
“Y’all go on inside, please, while I park Nellybelle out back,” Louette said when they’d reached the house. “She’s in the living room. Got herself all fixed up today, on account of having herself a ‘gentleman caller.’”
Gabe got out of the car and took a few steps backward to take in the house. The grass had been freshly cut, the formerly overgrown shrubbery nearest the house had been trimmed, and the flower beds weeded. He let out a low whistle under his breath. “So this is Shellhaven. Even with the decay, the photos don’t do it justice. It’s magnificent.”
“Just wait,” Brooke warned. “If you’re into shabby gentility, this is the place for you.”
She led the attorney through the foyer and down the hallway to the living room, where they found the lady of the house sitting in a high-backed chair angled in front of the fireplace, facing the sofa.
True to Louette’s word, Josephine seemed to have transformed herself into an old-style grande dame for today’s meeting. She was wearing a floor-length flowered silk caftan with a stunning double-strand pearl necklace and matching earrings, and a fluffy silver bouffant wig that sat slightly askew on her head. She wore bright pink lipstick and a thick application of face powder that failed to hide a bruise
on the right side of her face, but she still managed to look formidably regal. A box fan had been propped in front of one of the windows, its blades barely managing to stir the blanketlike heat in the room.
“Josephine,” Brooke said, “I want you to meet my former boss, Gabe Wynant.”
“Forgive me for not standing to greet you,” Josephine said, offering her hand to Gabe. “I took a tumble the other night and I haven’t quite regained my equilibrium.”
Gabe gently shook the old lady’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Warrick. Both to meet you and to see your beautiful home.”
“Not as beautiful as it once was, but we do our best,” their hostess said. She gestured toward the sofa, which had been liberated from its dust cover. “Please sit.”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, the way Southerners do at a first meeting, while Gabe discreetly unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt and slipped out of his blazer in deference to the heat.
“I believe I knew your father,” Josephine said. “He was a lawyer too, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right. He was one of the founding partners of our law firm,” Gabe said.
“And your mother’s people?” she asked.
“Mama was a Poole. She grew up in Macon,” Gabe said.
“Macon? I don’t believe I know anybody from Macon.” It was clear that to Josephine Bettendorf Warrick, Macon might as well have been Mars.
“Gabe’s the senior partner at my old firm,” Brooke said, hoping to move the conversation along to business. “I’ve filled him in a little on your legal situation.”
“But I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me exactly what your wishes are in regard to this proposed trust and, of course, your estate planning,” Gabe said, sliding a yellow legal pad from his briefcase and balancing it on his knees.
“We’ll get to that,” Josephine said airily. “Where did you grow up and go to school, Gabe, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Don’t mind at all,” Gabe said. “I grew up in Ardsley Park, went to prep school at Benedictine, like most of the guys in my neighborhood. Went to University of Georgia, undergrad. Came home from school, messed around in Savannah for a year or so, and then my dad pointed out that it was pretty inevitable that I would go to law school. So I did.”
“And what law school did you attend?” Josephine said. “UGA?”
“No, ma’am. That’s where my dad went, but I was just ornery enough to want to go a different route, get a little farther away from home. I’m a proud Duke Blue Devil.”
Josephine looked impressed. “You know, I believe Richard Nixon went to law school at Duke University.”
“So I’ve heard,” Gabe said, grinning. “It was a little before my time.”
“Well, yes, you’re obviously much, much younger,” Josephine said. “More attractive too, I might add.”
“You’re too kind,” Gabe said.
Brooke felt her jaw drop slightly. The old lady was actually flirting with Gabe Wynant. Ninety-nine years old and batting her eyelashes like a Chi O at a KA mixer.
“I suppose you’ve been married a long time?” Josephine asked.
Brooke held her breath for a second.
“I was, yes. Unfortunately, my wife passed away nearly two years ago,” Gabe said.
“Oh, dear. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Josephine looked flustered.
“You couldn’t have known, so please don’t apologize,” Gabe said. “She, uh, had liver cancer, so I will say that it was mercifully quick.”
“I have cancer myself,” Josephine said. “The doctors tell me it’s terminal. I just hope my illness will be as mercifully short as your late wife’s.”
“I hope so too, ma’am,” Gabe said. He coughed politely. “Which is why, if you don’t mind, we ought to get down to talking about the disposition of your estate.”
“Yes, time is fleeting,” Josephine agreed. She looked out the open living room window at the expanse of green lawn flowing down toward the ocean, and she touched the pearls at her neck. “As fleeting as summer.”
“Josephine says she wants to leave the island and Shellhaven to three women,” Brooke put in quickly, hoping to get the old lady to focus on the task at hand with Gabe.
“I’ve been thinking about that. Since Varina is in her nineties and Marie is in her midseventies now, I think I’ll include Felicia and you, Brooke. Let’s make it five beneficiaries.”
Gabe’s eyebrows rose slightly, and Brooke took a deep breath. “That’s very generous of you, Josephine, but that makes it doubly important that I excuse myself so the two of you can talk.”
“What do you mean?” Josephine demanded. “I want you here too.”
“It’s like I explained to you the first day we met,” Brooke said patiently. “My participation in planning for your estate is a conflict of interest.”
“Be that way, then,” Josephine huffed. “I wanted to meet with Gabe privately anyway. Go on to the kitchen with you.”
Brooke exchanged a look with Gabe. He would use his considerable tact to settle her down. “I think I’ll go see what Louette is up to.”
24
Brooke pushed the kitchen door open and found Louette stirring a boiling pot on the stovetop with a long wooden spoon. The housekeeper wore a faded blue bandanna over her hair and a white butcher’s apron fastened around her waist.
“Can I get you something?” Louette asked, mopping her face with a dishtowel. Another box fan was propped in a large double window over the old-fashioned cast-iron sink, but it did little to cool the oven-like room.
“Sorry to intrude,” Brooke said, stationing herself in front of the fan. “Josephine had to talk to Gabe in private. What are you cooking?”
“Chicken soup,” Louette said. “Miss Josephine’s gotten real finicky, but I can usually get her to eat some if I fix it special. White meat only. A tiny bit of onion and celery and carrots.”
“Soup,” Brooke grimaced. “How can you even stand to turn on the stove in this heat?”
“My mama used to say air-conditioning wasn’t good for you. Gives folks head colds. She told us that to keep us from complaining, I know, but I guess I’m just used to it now. Wouldn’t know how to act if I did have it.”
Louette went to the refrigerator, a rust-spotted relic of a fifties-era Frigidaire, and brought out a heavy cut-glass pitcher of iced tea. She opened the icebox and brought out an aluminum tray. With one deft motion, she cracked the handle and dumped half the ice cubes into a tall glass. “Drink some iced tea, and that’ll cool you down.”
Brooke gratefully accepted the tea, resting the cold glass against a sweat-dampened temple. She placed her briefcase on the scarred red Formica countertop and produced the piece of notebook paper Farrah had prepared from her courthouse research.
“Hey, Louette. This is the list my assistant made of all the people who at one time owned property at Oyster Bluff. I’m wondering if you could take a look at the list and tell me who’s still living and where I can contact them.”
The housekeeper reached into the pocket of her apron, brought out a pair of reading glasses, and ran a finger down the list.
“Yeah, that’s Angela. She’s still living in the old home place. And that’s Jerome. He moved off a few years ago after his wife died, but I know his son works at the Family Dollar store on the mainland. I can get Jerome’s address from him.”
She tapped the list. “This here’s my sister Loreen, and she lives with my other sister Latrelle. They’re both widows.”
She kept reading names as Brooke made notes on each entry. “Did that help?” she asked when she’d reached the end. “How long do you think it’ll take, ’til she gives us our houses back?”
“For people like you, who still live on the island, it’s a fairly straightforward process,” Brooke said. “I’ll get the paperwork drawn up, and if Josephine signs off as she promised, it shouldn’t take long at all. Tracking down the other families is a different matter.”
“You don’t think she’ll change her mind?” Louette asked, putting her glasses back in her pocket. “About us getting our property back? Especially the church and the graveyard?”
“You know Josephine better than I do,” Brooke said, wanting to be honest. “But she seems sincere in her desire to make things right.”
“All I can do is pray,” Louette said with a heavy sigh. “The rest is up to Jesus.”
Brooke finished her iced tea and set it in the sink before bringing up another matter. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you about. What’s the story with C. D.?”
Louette laughed. “He’s an odd one, isn’t he?”
“How did he come to work for Josephine?”
“He just showed up one day, probably about a year ago. Knocked on the front door and asked if we had any work we needed doing. He claimed he knew about boats, so Miss Josephine hired him on.”
“Where does he live?”
“He’s got himself a little place fixed up in the old chauffeur’s cottage by the barn. There’s no real kitchen out there, just a hot plate, so he comes around and eats here sometimes.”
“I hate to make more work for you, Louette, but Josephine is going to have company arriving on Friday.”
“Friday? Miss Josephine didn’t say nothing about company coming.”
“I just firmed up the arrangements yesterday. It’ll be four women.”
“But that’s the day after tomorrow,” Louette said. “That means I got to get guest rooms ready and beds made up. Get some groceries in here … that’s more company than we’ve had since, well, I don’t rightly know when.”
“They’re not staying at Shellhaven. In fact, they’re not even staying on the island. Except maybe Varina and Felicia, who I guess will stay with one of the nieces and nephews. The other woman, Lizzie, I’ll get her a room on the mainland, and of course, my mother will be staying with me.”
“Am I allowed to know why these folks are coming over here?” Louette asked, returning to the stove. “Something to do with Miss Josephine’s will?”
“Something like that,” Brooke said. “I’m sure Josephine will tell you what she wants as far as food.”
The High Tide Club Page 15