The High Tide Club

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Lord Jesus,” Louette muttered. “Now I got to get that dining room straightened out. Got to get me a grocery list together, probably need to bake some rolls and pies…”

  The kitchen door swung open just then, and Gabe Wynant stuck his head inside. “Her Majesty has retreated to her bedchamber for a nap,” he announced with a grin. “And we’re dismissed.”

  * * *

  When they got back to St. Ann’s, Gabe followed Brooke to the restaurant where she’d promised him lunch, parking beside her in the nearly full lot outside Screen Door Seafood.

  “Really?” Gabe nodded toward the restaurant behind him. “This is your idea of an awesome place to dine?”

  In its past life, the building had been a wholesale seafood processing plant, and a pair of shrimp boats were still tied up to a wharf that ran along the riverfront. The low-slung rusting corrugated steel building was perched on wooden pilings, with large rollup doors on the side facing the street. These had once provided access to refrigerated tractor-trailer rigs. Now the doors were rolled up, with metal-cased windows revealing tables crowded with happy diners.

  “Trust me,” Brooke said. “You’re gonna love it.”

  * * *

  “Miss Brooke!” The young black man’s face lit up with a wide smile, revealing a row of gleaming gold-capped front teeth. He flung muscular arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly.

  “Table for one like usual?” he asked, but before she could answer, he spotted Gabe and released her.

  “Hey there! I bet you’re Miss Brooke’s daddy.” He grabbed Gabe’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “How you doin’? I’m Myles. I wanna tell you, this daughter of yours is a great lawyer. Really. She helped my mama so much. Took care of business. She’s a great lawyer, sir, and I know you’re real proud of her.”

  Gabe’s face turned crimson.

  “Uh, Myles, this is actually my friend and associate, Gabe. He’s a lawyer too.”

  “Oh. Me and my big mouth.” Myles slapped his forehead, then shook Gabe’s hand again. “Wow, man, I’m sorry. I just … well, I know Miss Brooke don’t have no husband, so I figured, you know, white-haired dude … hey, man, no offense.”

  “None taken,” Gabe said quickly. “Although, for the record, her actual father is at least twenty years older than I am. And not nearly as good looking.”

  “Heh-heh.” Myles grabbed two menus and flagged down a passing waitress. “Hey, Addie, take Miss Brooke to that two-top by the window and treat ’em real special, you hear?”

  * * *

  “That was awkward,” Brooke said after they were seated at a prime table overlooking the river.

  “Brutal,” Gabe agreed.

  Their waitress reappeared at their table with a frosty pitcher of frozen margaritas, two oversized goblets, and a complementary basket of hush puppies. “From Myles,” she said. “On the house.”

  Brooke glanced at the host stand, and Myles waved and flashed her a thumbs-up, which she returned.

  “Your buddy Myles is certainly a big fan,” Gabe said. “How’d you meet him?”

  She took a gulp of the margarita, then fanned her face. “Sorry. Brain freeze. Gimme a minute.”

  He waited.

  “Myles’s mom, Lillian, works in the county clerk’s office, which is where I spend a lot of time. Anyway, Lillian hired some crooked contractor to put a new roof on her house. The guy ripped the old roof off, then demanded payment in full before he’d finish the job. She paid, and of course, he cashed the check and never came back. Even left his ladder, the dumbass. Lillian hired me, and I went after him in small claims court. She got her roof and even some damages. So now I’m a superhero in the eyes of the extended King family.”

  “Did you get paid?” Gabe asked.

  “A little. Enough.” She gestured at the pitcher of margaritas. “This happens every time I’m in here. You wait. We’ll be getting dessert too, whether we want it or not. Also, Myles and his brother show up faithfully, every week, to take care of my yard. But best of all, there’s Lillian. She knows all the judges and where all the bodies are buried in this county. She takes care of my filings. You can’t buy that kind of loyalty. Right?”

  * * *

  They placed their orders—fried seafood platter for Gabe and for Brooke, broiled, stuffed flounder. And a craft brew for Gabe, who confessed he wasn’t much of a margarita drinker.

  “So,” Gabe said after the waitress had gone, “you have a child. I had no idea. At all.”

  “Henry. He’ll be three in July. Want to see?”

  “Of course.”

  She took out her iPhone and scrolled through the photo library, holding it out for Gabe to see. “This is his preschool photo. Here he is at the park, with my mom. That’s us, eating ice cream in the backyard…”

  “Good-looking little guy,” Gabe said, picking up a hush puppy from the basket the waitress had left on their table. He chewed and processed the images and the information. “He really is a miniature version of you.”

  “I think he looks more like his father, especially when he’s mad at me.”

  “And the father?” Gabe said, taking the opening. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  She downed a third of her margarita, then dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I don’t mind your asking,” Brooke said calmly. “But I would prefer that you keep this just between us. I know how people gossip in Savannah.”

  “You think I don’t know gossip?” Gabe said bitterly. “All those years with Sunny? Arriving late or not at all to dinners with friends? Making excuses for when she was passed out cold in the middle of the day. I knew what people were saying.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brooke said. “If it matters, I think you were a good and loyal husband all those years.”

  “Thanks.” Gabe smiled. “It matters.”

  “His name is Pete.” She blurted it out.

  “Huh?”

  “Henry’s father. My baby daddy. His name is Pete. We first met the summer before I started law school. We had sort of a thing, I guess you’d call it.”

  “This guy Pete? He’s why you left Harris?”

  “No. I ran off because I wasn’t ready to be married, to anybody. I’d been having doubts, but once that wedding freight train got rolling, I didn’t have the balls to derail it.”

  “Probably for the best, then,” Gabe said.

  “Tell that to my dad,” Brooke said.

  “You mean your actual dad?”

  They laughed in unison, and with perfect timing, their food arrived.

  * * *

  When he’d worked his way down to everything but the lemon-and-parsley garnish and the shrimp tails, Gabe groaned and pushed back from the table. “You were right about this place,” he told Brooke. “Don’t know when I’ve had seafood this fresh.”

  “Glad you liked it,” Brooke said. She’d finished most of her salad and the flounder.

  “You were telling me about Henry’s father. Pete? When did he come back into the picture?”

  “Pete’s a wildlife biologist. He was working down here on the coast, over at Cumberland Island, doing some research. And when I left Savannah, I came down here, because I didn’t have anyplace else to go.”

  “And that’s when you got together with this Pete?”

  “Not at first,” Brooke said, blushing. “We were just friends.”

  “Until you weren’t.”

  “Something like that. I suppose it was probably inevitable. One night, he announced he’d gotten a grant to do research on elk migration patterns. In Alaska. And he wanted me to go with him.”

  Gabe cocked one eyebrow. “To Alaska?”

  “Yeah. Big shock. At which point, things got, um, real serious real fast. I did give it some thought, but in the cold light of morning, the whole idea seemed impossible. So I took him to the airport and kissed him goodbye, and six weeks later, I realized I was pregnant.”

  “And what? He dumped you?”

  “He doesn’
t know,” Brooke said.

  Gabe set his beer down carefully on the tabletop and gave her a quizzical look.

  “I had my reasons for not telling him,” Brooke said. “But according to my mom, he has a right to know that he has a son.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I’m … conflicted,” she admitted. “Things are complicated between Pete and me. And the more time that goes by, the harder it is for me to reach out and tell him. I don’t want anything from him. I don’t expect anything.”

  “But maybe you’re afraid Pete will want to have some part in raising your son? Maybe even attempt to take him from you?” Gabe asked.

  “There’s that. Henry’s all I have.”

  “I think it suits you. Motherhood, I mean. Are you happy down here, Brooke?”

  “Happy?” With her fingertip, she drew circles in the tabletop water rings.

  “I guess that’s relative. St. Ann’s is a small town, and the lawyers here are a pretty clannish bunch. They didn’t actually throw me a welcoming parade. So I take whatever cases I can get. As for the rest of it, I’ve been lucky. I’ve got good childcare, including Farrah, who helps out in the office and babysits when I need her. And my mom comes down as often as she can. She’s here right now, watching Henry, and she’ll stay until after this weird meet and greet with Josephine on Friday.”

  Now it was Brooke studying her old law partner and mentor. “Speaking of Josephine, are you going to tell me what that ‘confidential meeting’ was about?”

  “Nope. Sorry, but she was insistent.”

  “I really can’t figure her out. I mean, why hire me? I told her I have no experience with the legal work she needs done, but she’s adamant that I’m the only girl for the job.”

  “She has her reasons,” Gabe said. He looked down at his watch and then around the room. “I’d better get going if I’m going to make it back to Savannah.”

  As if on cue, Addie, their waitress, was back, with two towering slices of what looked like key lime pie. “From Myles,” she said.

  They turned to look, and Myles waved again.

  25

  Brooke and Marie Trappnell stood outside the baggage claim door at the Jacksonville airport. It had rained earlier, and now steam rose from the still-damp sidewalk and road. Brooke’s cell phone dinged.

  The automatic doors slid open, and a handful of passengers emerged: a young family with a baby in a stroller, a pair of suited businessmen, two college-aged girls dressed in tight white shorts and matching sorority jerseys, and the last, a tall, striking-looking woman with short, spiky, blue-streaked hair who had an animal crate tucked under one arm and was dragging a rolling suitcase.

  “That’s gotta be Lizzie,” Brooke told her mother.

  “And she brought a friend,” Marie added.

  Brooke stepped forward. “Lizzie?”

  “That’s me,” the woman said. “You must be Brooke. Here,” she said, thrusting the carrier at her. She gestured toward the Volvo parked at the curb. “I hope that’s yours. We’ve got to get Dweezil into some air-conditioning. She’s not used to this crazy humidity.”

  As if on cue, the animal inside the crate yowled loudly, reached a paw through the crate’s metal bars, and raked Brooke’s arm with her claws.

  “Dweezil! That wasn’t very nice,” Lizzie said, taking the crate back. She looked up at Brooke. “Let’s go. We’ve been up since midnight. I need a drink, and she needs a litter box.”

  Brooke looked down at the bleeding claw marks on her forearm. “Uh, sure.”

  * * *

  Marie turned around from the front seat and extended her hand toward their passenger. “Hi. I’m Marie. Brooke’s mom.”

  “I figured,” Lizzie said, taking her hand and shaking it briefly. “Same nose and all.”

  She opened the carrier, and an enormous fluffy gray cat exploded onto her lap, yowling indignantly. “And this is Dweezil.”

  “My goodness,” Marie said. “I’ve never seen a cat that large. She’s beautiful. And so unusual looking. What kind of cat is she?”

  “Maine coon cat,” Lizzie said, burying her nose in the cat’s fur. The cat purred happily and licked Lizzie’s face. “Three-time, All-West best-in-breed.” She looked out the window at the passing traffic. “About that drink?”

  Brooke followed the airport signs toward the interstate. “We’re about an hour or so away from St. Ann’s. Can you wait until we get to your hotel? I think there’s a bar in the lobby.”

  “They don’t have liquor stores in Florida?” Lizzie said pointedly.

  “Riiiight,” Brooke said. She flipped her turn signal and maneuvered the Volvo into the far-right lane. “I think there might be one at this next exit.”

  * * *

  They waited in the car while Lizzie went into the liquor store. Dweezil was perched on the backseat, her face turned expectantly toward the window. A moment later, her owner was back, clutching a large brown sack under one arm and holding a smaller package with a straw poking out the top. Lizzie opened the back door and set the large sack on the floor, then clipped a leash to the cat’s collar and tucked her under her arm.

  “This could take a while,” she warned. “Dweez doesn’t like to poop in new territory.”

  “You walk your cat?” Brooke asked.

  “Unless you want her to poop in your backseat, I do,” Lizzie said. She slammed the door and walked around to the side of the liquor store, where she gently set the cat down on the concrete.

  “Interesting woman,” Marie said, raising one eyebrow.

  * * *

  Lizzie settled herself into the backseat with her cat on her lap. She reached into the paper sack and brought out a six-pack with one can missing. “Anybody want a mojito?” she asked. She took a sip from her own can. “No clue what’s in this, but it’s not half-bad.”

  “I’m good,” Brooke said.

  “No, thank you,” Marie added hastily.

  “So,” Lizzie said, after they were back on the road. “Tell me about this island we’re about to inherit. Got any idea what it’s worth?”

  “Um, well, the State of Georgia previously offered her $6 million,” Brooke said. “But Josephine doesn’t want to sell her portion of Talisa. Not under any condition. She’s going to fight the condemnation.”

  “But we could sell it after she’s dead, right?” Lizzie asked. “That is, I could sell my portion, right? I mean, no offense to you girls, but I live in California. What do I need with an island in Georgia?”

  “Actually, Josephine is adamant that the island shouldn’t ever be sold,” Brooke said. “That’s why she hired me. She wants to establish a trust to ensure that it’s left just as it is.”

  “In perpetuity,” Marie added.

  Lizzie took a long pull on her canned mojito. “Shit. But you’re a lawyer, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “If the state does force her to sell the island, who gets that money? When she’s gone? I mean, you told me she’s pushing the century mark and she doesn’t have any family. That just leaves us, right?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Brooke cautioned. “At this point, Josephine wants to meet with you, Marie, and Varina. After that, I can’t predict what will happen. She’s, um, eccentric, to say the least.”

  “Are you trying to say that if she doesn’t like me, she might write me out of her will?” Lizzie asked. She scratched the cat’s ears. “That won’t happen, will it, Dweez? Everybody loves your mommy. Right?”

  Brooke and Marie exchanged amused glances.

  “You’d asked about Talisa,” Brooke said. “It’s an amazing place. Mostly wild. There’s a state park on the north end of the island, but otherwise, Shellhaven, the home Josephine’s father built, and a small community called Oyster Bluff are the only houses on the island. The scenery is spectacular—and the beach, well, when you see it, I think you’ll begin to understand Josephine’s determination to keep things untouched. You really have to see the islan
d before you can begin to appreciate its beauty.”

  “Doubtful,” Lizzie said. “I’m a city girl. Dweezil and I don’t really do nature. Do we, Dweez?”

  The cat yowled loudly as if in agreement.

  “According to my research, there used to be a plantation on the island. Is anything left of it?” Lizzie asked.

  “No. Union troops burned it during the Civil War,” Brooke said. “I think there are some tabby ruins, but they’re on a part of the midsection of the island that’s largely gone wild.”

  “And the only way to get to the island is by boat? Is there, like, a ferry?”

  “There’s a small state-operated ferry that goes to the park on the north end, but Josephine keeps a boat at the dock on her end of the island, and that’s how we’ll get over there today,” Brooke said. “It’s only about a half-hour ride.”

  Lizzie glanced down at the cat stretched across her lap and frowned. “Dweez doesn’t really like water. Or boats.”

  “Maybe you can leave her in your room at the hotel,” Marie suggested.

  “No way,” Lizzie said flatly. “She goes where I go. But it’s not that big a problem. I brought some chill pills. She can have some of mine.”

  Marie smiled weakly. “Lizzie, tell me about your grandmother Ruth. I think it’s so interesting that she and Josephine and my mother were best friends.”

  Lizzie yawned. “Grandma was definitely a pistol. She dyed her hair flame red right up until her hairdresser died, and then I did it for her. She had great legs, and she loved to show them off every chance she got. And she was a real original thinker. My dad always said I was more like Grandma than him or my mom, which was true. Grandma was the one who turned me on to books and writing. My dad said Grandma was living her life through me. She never worked after she married my granddad, because, let’s face it, he was rich as sin, and women in her circle didn’t really have careers back then. If she’d been born in my mother’s generation, she probably would have been in Congress or maybe even president. Instead, she marched and protested and raised funds and raised hell for the liberal causes she cared about.”