“Oh. Big news. Huge news. He pooped in the potty.”
“Major breakthrough,” Brooke said, laughing. “I’ll call you later.”
* * *
Gabe Wynant was just emerging from his bedroom, dressed, with his briefcase tucked under his arm. “Oh, good,” he said, seeing Brooke approach. “You’re up. I was going to see if somebody could give us a ride to the ferry…” He left the sentence unfinished, noticing her pained expression. “What’s wrong?” He clutched her arm.
“Josephine’s dead,” she said.
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “Heart attack?”
“Maybe, but maybe not. Louette found her lying on the bathroom floor. It looks like she fell and hit her head on the tile.”
He glanced up and down the corridor at the closed doors. “Have you told the others?”
“No, I just got off the phone with the sheriff’s office. He’ll be over with the coroner as soon as he can. I was just about to start the process of letting the others know. My mom’s still sleeping. But I’m glad you’re the first. I guess we need to talk about what comes next, right?”
“Yeah,” he said with a long sigh. “But first, coffee. And maybe some aspirin.”
* * *
When they’d reached the first floor, Gabe turned away from the kitchen and toward the library. Brooke intercepted him before he opened the door.
“Gabe, the sheriff said not to let anybody near the body, or to touch anything.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and nodded. “I promise not to touch anything, but as her attorney, I think I need to see her body.”
Brooke used the hem of her shirt to turn the doorknob. Inside, the room was already hot, despite the early hour and the fan whirring in the open window. “She’s in there,” she said, pointing to the open bathroom door. Unwilling to see her client’s body again, she posted herself beside Josephine’s recliner. The knitted afghan was carefully folded across the back of the chair, but the covers of the nearby bed were rumpled. Josephine’s favorite sneakers, with the laces removed, were neatly lined up at the foot of the bed, and the wig was on the nightstand.
She looked up when she heard Gabe’s cell phone shutter clicking off multiple frames. When he emerged from the bathroom, his face was pale under his ruddy tan. “Coffee,” he said.
* * *
Gabe helped himself to a mug of coffee, then poured more for his associate. “This has been a hell of a twenty-four hours,” he said, draining half the cup.
“What comes next?” Brooke asked.
“Assuming the authorities don’t think foul play is involved, I suppose the body will be removed to the funeral home at St. Ann’s.”
“Will there be an autopsy?” Brooke cringed as soon as she’d said the word.
“Up to the sheriff and the coroner. I mean, she was old and terminally ill. And as far as we know, nobody would have a motive to want her dead, right?”
“Not that I know of,” Brooke said.
“If that’s the case, they’ll start the work to issue a death certificate. After that is when the fun begins.”
“What’s that mean?” Brooke asked. “You drew up a new will and executed it yesterday before I got here. Right?”
He set the coffee mug on the table and massaged his temples with both hands. “Not quite. I did draw up the will. Josephine read and approved it, but we needed two witnesses. Louette was supposed to fetch a couple of folks from Oyster Bluff, but then there was the trouble with the boat, and Josephine was excited about seeing your mother and Lizzie, and the will got pushed onto the back burner.”
“Oh no,” Brooke moaned. “I thought everything was signed and sealed.”
“Christ!” He stared down at the table. “This is going to be a hell of a mess, and it’s totally my fault. I knew I should have pressed her to get those witnesses over here yesterday, but Josephine was adamant about greeting her guests first.”
“Not blaming you at all, but couldn’t you have gotten Louette and maybe C. D. as witnesses?”
“No. She’d left them small bequests, so they had the same conflict as you.”
“Which means that Josephine died intestate.”
“As far as I know, yes.”
Brooke gestured upward with her chin. “So this means we tell everybody—Varina and Felicia, Lizzie, Mom, and of course, Louette and Shug—that they don’t inherit?” She stood and began rifling cupboards, banging the warped wooden doors as she searched.
“What are you looking for?” Gabe asked.
“Aspirin. Let’s hope there’s an industrial-sized bottle somewhere in here.”
36
“Good morning, ladies,” Louette murmured, head down, eyes averted. She set a tray of fruit, coffee, and tea down on the sideboard. “Breakfast will be just a few minutes.”
Brooke looked around the table, wondering how she would break the news to the women that their hostess was dead. As a delaying tactic, she got up and began filling coffee cups.
“I’ll get your tea, Auntie Vee,” Felicia volunteered.
“I reckon Josephine is sleeping late this morning,” Varina said, chuckling. “We sure did have a late night.” She reached over and patted Lizzie’s hand. “How did you sleep last night, honey, after that long plane ride all the way from California?”
Lizzie yawned. “Not that great. The sun was shining right in my eyes. Plus, that mattress in my room felt like it was stuffed with corncobs or something.”
“Sorry about that,” Brooke said. She cleared her throat nervously, looking down the table at Gabe, who’d just joined the group in the dining room.
“Is something wrong?” Marie asked, studying her daughter’s face.
Brooke hesitated. Marie knew her all too well. She’d never been able to hide anything from her mother’s all-seeing gaze.
“I’m afraid so.”
Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward her, coffee cups suspended in midair.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Josephine is gone.”
“You mean she’s dead?” Felicia looked from Brooke to Gabe and then back at Brooke again.
“Yes.”
“Lord Jesus!” Varina exclaimed.
“How?” Lizzie frowned. “I know she was old and sick, but she seemed fine last night.”
“The Lord took her,” Varina said, tears streaming down her face. She clasped her hands over her chest.
“Exactly how did Josephine die? And when?” Felicia asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Lizzie echoed.
Marie said nothing, watching her daughter over the rim of her bone china coffee cup. The swinging door from the kitchen opened again, and Louette placed their breakfast on the table, a platter of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, a bowl of steaming grits, and a basket of biscuits, covered with a checked napkin. Through the open door, Brooke spied C. D. hunched over a plate of food at the kitchen table. He gave her a solemn nod, then kept eating.
But all eyes in the dining room were riveted on Brooke.
“We can’t be sure, but from the looks of it, Josephine got up sometime in the night to go to the bathroom, and she tripped, maybe over one of the dogs, and fell and hit her head,” Brooke said. “Louette found her there this morning, and that’s when she came and woke me up.”
“I thought she was just tired from being up so late last night,” Louette said, wiping the palms of her hands on the skirt of her polyester uniform. “But then I heard the dogs scratching at the door wanting to get out. So I went in to take them outside, and that’s when I found her…” She bit her lip and looked away, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Oh, Louette,” Marie said. “That must have been so upsetting for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Louette said. “I ain’t gonna forget that sight. Not ever.” She turned and quickly left the room.
Lizzie shrugged and reached for the food, sliding bacon and eggs onto her plate. She looked a
skance at the steaming bowl of grits with a melting pat of butter in the middle. “What’s this? Mashed potatoes? For breakfast?”
“It’s grits,” Felicia said, rolling her eyes. “Your first time in the South?” She took a biscuit from the basket, sliced it, paused, then reached for the butter dish. “So that’s it? Josephine is gone?” She glanced at her great-aunt. “I’m sorry, Auntie Vee.”
“She was my oldest friend in the world,” Varina said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue plucked from the sleeve of her blouse. She looked out the open dining room window, past the thick green screen of overgrown azalea branches. “Josephine, she was the last of the line. All the Bettendorfs, all of them, Miss Elsie, Mr. Samuel, Mr. Gardiner, and now, Josephine. All gone. I can’t believe it. And what’s going to happen to this house now? To Talisa?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Lizzie said, gesturing with her fork at Gabe. “Mr. Wynant? Can you enlighten us?”
“Surely that can wait,” Marie demurred. “This is hardly the time.”
“Why not?” Felicia said. “Josephine invited all of us here to discuss leaving her estate to us. She told us last night, told all of us, that she wanted to make amends. And it’s my understanding she intended for us to be her beneficiaries. Isn’t that right, Brooke?”
“That was her intent,” Brooke admitted.
“Then let’s get down to brass tacks,” Lizzie said. “No disrespect or anything, but I just met the old girl for the first time last night. So it would be totally insincere of me to pretend I’m grief-stricken. She was ninety-nine years old, and she was dying. But the rest of us are alive, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say, what’s next? When do we inherit?”
“Leave it to a Yankee,” Felicia muttered, shaking her head.
“I’m not a Yankee. I’m a Californian, although technically, Ruth, Josephine, and Millie were all Yankees.” Lizzie grabbed a biscuit from the basket and dipped it into the bowl of grits. She took a bite, chewed, and nodded. “Hmm. Not bad.” She added, “Are you saying you don’t care what happens to Josephine’s estate, Felicia?”
“Nooo,” Felicia said cautiously. “I mean, yes, I do care, but for God’s sake, have some tact. The woman’s body is barely even cold.”
Varina sniffed loudly.
“What about funeral plans, Brooke?” Marie asked. “Do we know anything about arrangements yet?”
“No. I’ve notified the sheriff’s office, and he and the coroner should be on the way over by now,” Brooke began.
“Coroner!” Lizzie and Felicia said in unison.
“It’s strictly procedural,” Gabe said. “Especially in a case like this, when the, uh, deceased has met with an accident.”
“So after that?” Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest.
“Assuming everything is, uh, as it should be, Mrs. Warrick will be taken to the funeral home in St. Ann’s, and a death certificate will be issued.”
“And then we start probate, or however you do things in Georgia, correct?” Lizzie asked. She jerked her head in Felicia’s direction. “I only ask because at some point, Dweezil and I need to get back to California. I’ve got stories to write and deadlines to meet. It would be good if we could get all the paperwork wrapped up ASAP.”
Gabe frowned and nodded meaningfully at Brooke.
“We have a problem,” Brooke said.
“What kind of problem?” Felicia demanded.
“It’s about the will,” Brooke said slowly.
“Oh, shit. Here we go,” Felicia said. “What? She changed her mind?”
“This is all my fault, so I think I’d better be the one to tell you,” Gabe said. “Mrs. Warrick had every intention of leaving her estate to be put into a trust and divided among you five women—Brooke, Marie, Lizzie, Varina, and Felicia. I drafted the will as she dictated it last week, and as you know, I brought it back here yesterday for her to review and approve. Which she did.”
“Thank God for that,” Felicia said.
“Unfortunately…”
“Oh, shit,” Lizzie said.
“Unfortunately, for the will to be legally binding, it had to be signed by Mrs. Warrick in the presence of two witnesses. And that, I regret to tell you, did not happen. I had every intention of sending for two witnesses first thing this morning, but as you now know, it would have been too late.”
“Run that by me again?” Lizzie said. “Are you saying we don’t inherit? Like, anything?”
“Yes,” Gabe said, looking defeated. “That is correct. For all intents and purposes, Mrs. Warrick died intestate.”
Felicia pounded the tabletop with the flat of her hand, sending coffee cups and plates bouncing and clattering. “I knew it! I knew this was just some bullshit white guilt trip.”
“All because of a frigging piece of paper you didn’t get signed?” Lizzie demanded. “We can fix that. Send for the witnesses now. Get Louette and that weird guy who drives the boat. Have them sign the will, backdate it, then slip them a couple of hundred bucks to keep their mouths shut, and it’s all good. The will is in effect, and everybody’s happy.”
Gabe shook his head. “It’s not that simple. For one thing, Mrs. Warrick left both Louette and C. D. bequests, which means they are ineligible to be witnesses. But more importantly, even if they hadn’t been named as beneficiaries, such an action would constitute fraud, and as an officer of the court, I cannot and will not be a party to that.”
* * *
“The sheriff just called. He and the coroner should be docking in a few minutes,” Louette announced, returning to the dining room. “I said I’d send Shug to fetch them.” She circled the table with the coffeepot, hovering quietly in the background as the unhappy news sank in.
It was Lizzie who asked the question that had already occurred to everybody.
“If none of us inherits everything, who does? Josephine didn’t have any family, right?”
“Actually, she did,” Brooke said. “There are a couple of distant relatives. Second or third cousins, I believe?” She looked to Varina for verification.
“Those Underwood girls.” Varina frowned. “Josephine never did take to them.”
“She couldn’t stand those women,” Louette agreed. “She always blamed them for ruining that end of the island by selling their land to the state to make a park out of it.”
“Did either of you ever meet these cousins?” Gabe asked.
“Just the one time,” Varina said. “Those two … I forget their first names…”
“Dorcas and Delphine,” Louette put in. “But I don’t know their married names.”
“Ooh, yes,” Varina said. “Long time ago. Josephine wouldn’t even let ’em in the house. She stood right in that front doorway out there and told them they could get off her property and never come back. Then one of them started to say something about burying the hatchet and acting like family again, considering they were all cousins, and that’s when she told them they’d better not hold their breath waiting on her to leave them anything, because she’d leave it all to her dogs before she gave them a single red cent,” Varina said.
“But guess who’ll be having the last laugh now?” Lizzie said gloomily.
“Is that right, Mr. Wynant?” Varina asked, turning to Gabe. “Will everything really go to those Double D girls? Isn’t there anything you can do to stop that from happening?”
“That’s for a judge to decide, but yes, barring any other claims on the estate, and if these cousins truly are her only other living relatives, that’s a possibility.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Wynant, but what happens in the meantime?” Louette asked. “To the house and the island and to me and Shug and C. D.? And all the folks living at Oyster Bluff? She was going to give that land back to all of us, wasn’t she, Brooke?”
“Yes, that was her intent. I had all the paperwork drawn up, but again, it was never signed and witnessed.”
“So we’re all out of a job, and now we’re fixing to get kicked ou
t of our houses and off this island,” Louette said sadly. She turned and hurried back to the kitchen.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Brooke appealed to Gabe. “I know the law’s the law, but you and I also know how Josephine wanted her estate disposed of. This all seems so heartless.”
“I can petition the county to be named administrator of the estate,” Gabe conceded. “If approved, I would be able to keep the staff on here, to maintain the house and grounds. That might buy us some time.”
“Time to do what?” Lizzie asked, draining her coffee cup.
“I don’t know,” Brooke admitted. “Do some research. See if Josephine left an earlier will, anything that would keep her cousins—or ultimately the state—from taking over the island. It’s a long shot, but I can tell you this—Josephine Bettendorf Warrick had been living in this house full-time since the war was over. That’s nearly seventy years. And judging just from the papers she had me look through in the library, when I was trying to track you and Varina down, she was a world-class pack rat.”
“Can we do that? Legally?” Felicia asked.
“Maybe.” But Gabe sounded dubious.
37
“Sheriff’s here,” Louette said, gesturing to the man and the woman who stood in the front hallway at Shellhaven.
The man stepped forward and held out a hand to Gabe and then to Brooke. He was trim, probably midforties, with steel-framed glasses and dressed in a khaki uniform. When he removed his cap, his closely shaved head gleamed in the dim light.
“Good morning,” he said. “Howard Goolsby, Carter County. And this here,” he said, referring to his companion, a sturdily built middle-aged brunette dressed in civilian clothes, “is Kendra Younts, our county coroner.”
After the introductions were made, Goolsby wasted no time.
“Who found the body?”
“I did,” Louette said.
“And you are?”
“Louette Aycock. That was my husband, Shug, who just picked you up at the dock. We both work for Miss Josephine.”
“Can you show us?”
“Yes, sir,” Louette said. “Right down this hallway.”
The High Tide Club Page 23