The High Tide Club

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Brooke tells me Ruth was your paternal grandmother?” Marie asked.

  Lizzie shrugged. “She pretty much raised me, off and on. My mom split when I was just a kid, and my dad, well, he wasn’t really what you’d call dad material. They weren’t even technically married, it turns out. Grandma said my dad was super smart in school, but then he got drafted and went to Vietnam, and he was pretty messed up when he got back. He drifts around, always has some crazy scheme he’s working on. Grandma left him some money in her will, so I guess that’s what he lives on.”

  Brooke glanced at her guest in the rearview mirror. “It’s none of my business, but when I contacted you, the first thing you told me was that you’re broke. I guess I’m wondering why your grandmother didn’t leave you any money.”

  “The broke part was just in case you were a scammer. Anyway, I didn’t say she didn’t leave me any money,” Lizzie said, her smile tight. “Grandma didn’t want me to end up like my dad—you know, just a stoner. Most of Grandpa’s fortune she left to the American Civil Liberties Union, Planned Parenthood, and Greenpeace, which she told me she intended to do, so no surprise there.”

  Marie turned around in her seat to face Lizzie. “Didn’t you resent that?”

  “Not really. It was something she talked about a lot. She paid for me to go to a good college, said she was investing in me having a career so that I could make my own way without having to depend on some man to support me. She left me enough to buy a house—which, if you know anything about California real estate prices, was a pretty good chunk of change. I started out working at newspapers, but that’s no longer sustainable. So I freelance, and I do okay.”

  “Why wasn’t newspaper reporting ‘sustainable’?” Marie asked.

  “It was for a few years, right up until they fired me,” Lizzie said. “I might’ve survived the downsizing, but they wouldn’t accept Dweezil as my emotional support animal.”

  “You mean you took your cat to work with you?” Brooke asked. She was beginning to wonder if maybe Lizzie had inherited some of her father’s instability.

  “Of course,” Lizzie said. “But one day she ate my editor’s desk plant and coughed it up on the linoleum floor of the break room. The publisher stepped on it, slid to the floor, and broke a hip. So they banished Dweez from the newsroom, which was entirely their loss, I assure you. Without her, my anxiety level soared. So when cuts were made, I was one of the first to go.”

  Brooke wasn’t sure she wanted to hear how Lizzie’s anxieties manifested themselves, so she decided to change the subject. “Your grandma sounds like somebody I would have loved to have known,” Brooke said. “I guess it makes sense that she and Josephine were such good friends.”

  Now it was Lizzie’s turn to ask the questions. “What was Millie like, Marie?”

  “Mama was pure sweetness. Quietly religious, in her own way. She played the piano beautifully, and she was devoted to her home and her family. I know she and Josephine were in nursery school together, and later they met Ruth in boarding school, and they all went to the same college together, but I think she dropped out after her sophomore year. Her family had financial issues, the war had started, and she got married not long after that.”

  “I wish Granny had lived long enough for me to have really known her,” Brooke said. “I just have these tiny fragments of memories—like, I remember her perfume. It smelled sort of like lilies. And I remember her hands. She had long, slender fingers, and I’d sit on her lap and she’d let me play with her rings.”

  “By the time you came along, she’d already started to show signs of early dementia,” Marie said sadly. “She’d get frustrated and was so easily agitated. Holding you seemed to calm her down.”

  “It’s funny to think about Granny and Ruth and Josephine being best friends,” Brooke mused. “From what I can tell, listening to you two, they all had such different personalities.”

  “I have a couple of old pictures of the three of them together that I found in one of my grandmother’s photo albums,” Lizzie said.

  Marie’s face lit up. “You do? Oh, I’d love to see those.”

  “Me too,” Brooke said.

  “They’re in my suitcase,” Lizzie said. “I made copies for you.”

  “That’s so thoughtful,” Marie said. “I don’t have many family photos at all. Mama was never much of a saver,” she said wistfully. “I think she didn’t see the point of it.”

  “Grandma was the opposite,” Lizzie said. “She saved everything. Newspapers, old letters, play programs, diaries. And scrapbooks! I have an entire trunkful of her scrapbooks. I’ve always thought someday I’d get a book out of that stuff. Maybe even more than one.”

  “What kind of a book?” Brooke asked, intrigued.

  “Well, there’s that unsolved murder on the island, of course,” Lizzie said.

  Brooke stared at her passenger in the rearview mirror. “You don’t mean Talisa.”

  “Of course I do,” Lizzie said. “Hasn’t Josephine mentioned Russell Strickland to you?”

  “Noooo,” Brooke said. She looked over at her mother. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “Never heard it before,” Marie said.

  Lizzie sucked loudly on her mojito. “It was a huge mystery at the time. Let’s see … 1941? Think that’s right. I say it’s a murder, but actually, nobody really knows what happened to the guy. One minute he was there, at a big fancy party at Shellhaven, and the next morning, he was gone. Poof! Never seen or heard from again.”

  “For real?” Brooke asked.

  “Absolutely. It was in all the newspapers back in the day. There was even a piece in The Saturday Evening Post. I found all the clippings in Grandma’s scrapbooks.”

  “Who was this Russell Strickland?” Brooke asked. “Why was he on Talisa? How did he know Josephine?”

  Lizzie took the last sip of her mojito. “He was from a wealthy family in Boston. According to the newspapers, he came down to Talisa because Josephine’s family was throwing an engagement party for him and his fiancée.”

  “Who was his fiancée?” Marie asked.

  Lizzie stared at her intently. “Her name was Mildred Everhart.”

  26

  October 1941

  Ruth gingerly touched one of the angry bruises on Millie’s exposed upper thigh. “Did he…?”

  Millie reached again for the whiskey bottle and gulped. “Not this time. He was about to, but Gardiner followed us out into the garden. He saw what was happening and made Russell stop.” She blinked back more tears. “Gardiner said he’d kill Russell if he didn’t get off the island. And then he took me back to the house.”

  “You said he didn’t do it this time,” Josephine broke in. “Does that mean he’d…” She lowered her voice. “Has he forced himself on you before?”

  Even in the moonlight, they could see Millie blush deeply. She looked away. “He only does it when he’s drunk.”

  “When isn’t he drunk?” Ruth demanded, her fists balled up as though she were about to launch a counterattack on her friend’s fiancé. “You can’t marry him, Millie. We won’t let you, will we, girls?”

  She looked to Josephine and Varina for an answer.

  “No!” Josephine said.

  Varina shook her head mutely, her eyes wide. She snuck another sip from the bottle of Jim Beam and this time immediately began coughing and wheezing.

  “It burns!” she sputtered.

  “Here, Varina,” Millie said, handing the younger girl the cup of champagne. “This tastes much nicer.”

  Varina hesitated, then took the cup.

  “Just a sip at first,” Ruth suggested.

  Varina took a cautious drink. “It tickles,” she reported, giggling.

  “Exactly,” Ruth said. “That’s the whole point of champagne. It’s tickly and bubbly, and it makes you feel giddy.”

  “Even when you shouldn’t,” Millie added.

  Varina smiled and took another sip, and then a few mor
e. “Oooh,” she said, looking up at the sky. “I’m dizzy!” She flopped backward onto the blanket. “Why you gotta marry that man?” she asked, poking Millie in the arm. “He hurt you bad, didn’t he?”

  Millie sighed. “You wouldn’t understand, Varina. You have a father and three brothers to help take care of you. My father is dead, and Mother and I don’t have any money. We have to depend on my grandmother to support us, and she’s so mean about it.”

  Varina looked at Josephine and Ruth. “Your friends have money. Maybe they can share so you don’t have to get married.”

  “She’s right,” Ruth said. “I bet if I told my father how awful Russell is, he’d help you.”

  “My papa would give you money too. Russell Strickland is not the only man in the world,” Josephine declared.

  “He’s the only man in my world,” Millie replied. She held out her left hand and waggled the finger upon which perched a perfect five-carat diamond solitaire. “My family is broke, girls, and that’s no joke.” She giggled at her rhyme.

  “My mother says your granny is richer than God,” Ruth scoffed.

  “Ain’t nobody richer than God,” Varina said solemnly.

  “We really are broke,” Millie insisted. “Grandmama has been living on the interest of the money Granddad left her, but now that’s gone, and she’s dipping into capital to keep the house going. You girls know Mama sold our house last year and moved in with Grandmama. I just can’t ask her to support me too.”

  “You could get a job,” Josephine pointed out. “You’re a smart girl, Millie. You always made the best grades in school.”

  “Doing what?” Millie scoffed. “I’ve never had a job in my life. I don’t know how to type. I don’t even have a college degree. Russell says there’s no need for me to finish school, since we’re getting married. And he’d never let me take a job, even if I could find one.”

  “You’re not going to marry him,” Ruth said fiercely. “We won’t let you.”

  “Ruth is right. I don’t care what we have to do, you are not going to marry Russell Strickland,” Josephine said.

  Millie picked up the champagne bottle and took another drink before handing the bottle to Ruth. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. It’s too depressing.” She paused, then unfastened her bra and stepped out of her panties.

  In the moonlight, the women could see the bruises on her thighs, hips, upper arms, and collarbone.

  “Come on, girls. Eat, drink, and be merry, for next month I’ll be married. This could be the last meeting of the High Tide Club!” She whooped loudly, then raced for the shore. Josephine shrugged and gestured at Varina.

  “Come on, Varina. We can’t let her swim all by herself.”

  Varina giggled and stood unsteadily. “Ooh. My daddy will tan my hide if he finds out I went swimming naked.” She hesitated, then took off her shoes and unfastened the strap of her overalls.

  “Come on in, girls,” Millie called, splashing in the waves. “And bring the champagne!”

  * * *

  Two hours later, dressed again, the four young women lolled on the blanket, gazing up at the stars.

  Varina held up the empty champagne bottle and sighed heavily. “Too bad. I sure do like the taste of that stuff.”

  Ruth propped herself up on an elbow and yawned. “Wonder what time it is?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m hungry.” Varina sat up and began rummaging through the picnic hamper. She held up a sandwich and greedily wolfed it down.

  “Do you think we should be getting back?” Millie asked. “It has to be after midnight.”

  “I don’t feel like going back yet,” Josephine declared. “It’s our last night together before everybody leaves the island. Let’s make it special.”

  “Yes!” Ruth agreed. “Why should we go back to the house? Let’s stay out all night.”

  “Whoopee!” Varina chortled. “I ain’t ever had a spend-the-night before.”

  Josephine glanced over at her young friend. “Girls, I believe Varina is officially tiddled.”

  “Tiddled?” Varina frowned.

  “Yep,” Ruth nodded. “Sloshed. Rip-roaring.”

  “What’s that?” Varina asked, grabbing another sandwich.

  “Sweetie,” Millie said, “I think you’re…”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Varina grimaced. “Uh-oh.” She stood and dashed toward the nearest dune, before bending over and being violently sick.

  “Drunk,” Josephine agreed.

  Varina made it back to the blanket, where she collapsed, holding her head between both her hands. “I don’t feel so good. My head is spinning.”

  Millie found a napkin in the basket and dabbed Varina’s face with it. “Sit up,” she said gently. “You’ll feel better.”

  * * *

  “It’s all my fault,” Millie said after Varina made two more trips to the sand dune. “I never should have given her that champagne. She’s too young to drink. I feel awful that she feels so awful.”

  Suddenly, they saw a flash of lightning on the water, followed by the low rumble of thunder in the distance. A moment later, fat, warm raindrops splashed onto the blanket.

  They all looked up at the sky, where black-tinged clouds drifted across the full moon.

  Josephine swatted at a mosquito feasting on her arm. “Storm coming, girls. I think we’d better go. And these darned skeeters are eating me alive.” She pointed at Varina, who was sitting with her head buried in her hands. “But we can’t take her home like this. Her father would never forgive me. He’s a teetotaling Church of God preacher.” She stood up and brushed the sand from her clothes.

  “Should we take her back to Shellhaven?” Millie asked.

  Josephine had a gleam in her eye. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  “I hope it’s better than combining bourbon and champagne,” Ruth said.

  “We’ll go to the old lighthouse. To the lighthouse keeper’s cottage.”

  “What about the lighthouse keeper?” Millie asked. “Won’t he object?”

  “He’s long gone. The government decommissioned the lighthouse a couple of years ago, and now the cottage is abandoned. Locked up tight.”

  “So how do we get in?”

  Josephine grinned impishly. “I’m not supposed to know, but Gardiner keeps a key under the floor mat of the roadster. I think he used the cottage for his secret assignations.”

  “Assignations?” Ruth said with a hoot. “If it’s such a secret, how do you happen to know about it?”

  “That’s easy. Like the good little girl detective I am, I followed him one night and peeped in the window.”

  “You didn’t!” Millie said, shocked. But a moment later, she asked. “Who was he with?”

  “Some silly little blond floozie that he met at a dance at the Cloister,” Josephine said dismissively. “You should have heard her carrying on when Gardiner took off his shirt.”

  “Jo!” Millie said, shocked to her core. “You didn’t actually watch!”

  “Of course not,” Josephine said. “There’s no electricity, and Gardiner blew out the candle before things got really good.” She rolled her eyes for comic effect. “But I sure could hear those old bedsprings squeaking.”

  “You’re awful,” Millie said, tossing the napkin at her best friend.

  “Awfully resourceful, you mean.” Josephine began gathering up the picnic hamper. Raindrops began to pelt them, and the wind picked up. “Ruth, Millie, I’ll get the blanket, and you girls had better help Varina to the car.”

  “We’re going for a car ride?” Varina asked, rousing herself. “Whoopee!”

  * * *

  “Hold the flashlight, Millie, so I can see.” Josephine handed the flashlight to her friend while she fumbled with the old-fashioned skeleton key.

  “Hurry up,” Ruth whispered, trying to crowd closer to the door. “We’re getting soaked!”

  “Ta-da!” Josephine turned the rusted knob, and the heavy wooden door swung slowly in
ward. She stepped inside, gestured for the others to follow, and they all heard something scurry across the wooden floor.

  “Rats!” Millie squealed. “I’m not staying here.”

  “Probably just a possum or a raccoon,” Josephine said, putting on a brave face.

  Varina made a show of holding her nose. “It stinks in here.”

  “Don’t be so prissy.” Josephine took the flashlight and swept it around the room.

  The beam revealed a single large room. A makeshift kitchen with a sink, a propane stove, and an ancient icebox stood against the front wall. The room was sparsely furnished with a wooden table and two chairs, a davenport with cotton stuffing erupting from its cushions, and a large brass bed haphazardly covered with a faded cotton quilt. The wooden floor had a thick coating of cobwebs, leaves, and long-dead insects.

  A small brick fireplace stood opposite the bed, and its hearth was littered with twigs, leaves, and bits of sofa stuffing, indicating that an animal had made a nest in the chimney.

  Josephine hurried over to the window above the sink and, with effort, managed to raise the sash. She did the same with three other windows, and a tattered curtain remnant at the kitchen window fluttered faintly in the breeze coming off the ocean.

  “See? Much better.”

  “Can you turn on the lights?” Millie asked, creeping closer.

  “I could, but it won’t do any good. There isn’t any electricity anymore,” Josephine said.

  “How about plumbing?” Ruth asked. “I really need to pee.”

  “Me too,” Millie echoed.

  Josephine turned on the kitchen faucet and after a moment, a thin stream of rusty water trickled into the sink. She pointed to an open doorway in the far corner of the room. “It should be okay. At least we have water. I think the bathroom’s over there.”

  Ruth hurried over and gave the toilet a test flush. “Hooray!” she called. “Good thing I can’t see what this commode looks like.”

  “I’m next,” Millie said.

  Varina sank down onto the bed and wrapped thin arms around her abdomen. “I don’t like this place,” she whispered. “It’s spooky.”

  “You don’t have to whisper,” Josephine pointed out. “It’s just us. And anyway, my papa owns this cottage, so it’s not like we’re really trespassing.” She sat down beside the younger girl and put a protective arm around her shoulder.