The High Tide Club

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Because I know stuff about him. Stuff he doesn’t want anybody else to know. He tried to kill me once, and he’ll try it again unless you help me.”

  Oh God. C. D.’s paranoia was in full flower. She eyed the holster on his hip. If challenged, would he become violent or unhinged?

  “You’re saying Gabe actually tried to kill you? When was this?”

  “Last week. I don’t know the day. I been running and hiding, and I lost track of time.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I been calling him a lot to, you know, try to get him to speed up this inheritance thing. Or just float me a loan, you know, until the court or whoever decides that I’m Josephine’s son and I’m her heir. I guess it pissed him off, because last week when I called, he said I was full of shit, just some damn drifter who was trying to cash in on a sick old lady. He said he’d done some research and found out some bad stuff about me.”

  “Like what?” Brooke asked.

  “I ain’t a damn saint. Never said I was. Maybe I wrote some bad checks when I was between jobs, and maybe I got in some bar fights and got locked up for public drunkenness for pissin’ on somebody’s tires.”

  “Okay,” Brooke said soothingly. “Those kinds of things happen. Totally understandable.”

  “Ticked me off, you know? Some damn lawyer digging up dirt on me. So I decided I’d see what kind of dirt I could dig up on him.”

  “Is that when you went to the library in St. Ann’s?”

  “You know about that?” C. D. asked. “They keep records of who all looks up that stuff? Them librarians said they didn’t do that.”

  “I have a confession to make,” Brooke said, coloring slightly. “We—that is, Lizzie and Felicia and I—were worried when you just disappeared. So we went over to your cottage, and we found the key where you’d hidden it, and we went in. I’m sorry, C. D., but really, we were worried that you might be sick or something.”

  “Snooping. Spying on me,” C. D. said accusingly. “Big Brother always watching.”

  “We found some of those papers you printed out from the library, the old newspaper photos and clippings. I was in the library yesterday, taking my son to story hour. I asked the librarians if they knew you, and they told me you’d been doing a lot of your own research and that they’d helped you figure out how to use the computers and access databases.”

  “You know they charge you for stuff?” C. D. said, indignant. “I mean, that library is paid for with my tax dollars. And hell, I’m a senior citizen and a Vietnam vet. But yeah, that’s where I was doing my research. After that crook Gabe dug up his dirt, I figured two could play that game. So I got them library ladies to show me how to look at the clerk’s records in Savannah and up there at Sea Island, where he’s got that fancy house of his.”

  Brooke pulled out her phone and pointed at the text message he’d sent her. “Is that where you found this?”

  “And there’s a bunch more like that too,” C. D. said smugly. “He’s plastered bad paper all over Savannah. And that place of his up at Sea Island, it’s got all kinds of liens on it.” He tapped the file folder. “I’m not just talking about tax liens, either. Roofers, electricians, landscapers. Hell, the guy that cleans his swimming pool has a lien on that house.”

  “Are you sure you’ve got the right address and the right Gabe Wynant?” Brooke asked. “I’ve known Gabe for years. We worked in the same law firm. He’s a wealthy man with a thriving legal practice. I’ve been to his house downtown on West Jones Street several times. It’s probably worth $2 or $3 million. The same for the Sea Island house. Gabe is one of the most respected attorneys in Savannah.”

  “He’s a damn crook is what he is. Look at all them small businesses he stiffed.”

  Brooke said. “Look, C. D., Savannah’s still a small, gossipy Southern town. If Gabe were in some kind of financial trouble, there would be rumors, and I’d have heard something.”

  “How long you been living down here?” C. D. asked.

  “Three years,” she admitted. “I guess I have kind of cut myself off from the rumor mills.”

  “You know the guy in the $2,000 suit and Rolex watch that drives a Mercedes and a Porsche,” C. D. said. He took off his cap and bent his head down. “Look here.”

  There was a knot the size of a hen’s egg on the back of C. D.’s skull with an angry, jagged red scar running through it. “This is the guy I know.”

  “Oh my God. Gabe did this to you? When? How?”

  “Last week. I called him up and told him I wanted to talk to him about getting an advance on my money, and he just laughed. Said I wasn’t getting a dime. So I texted him the same photo I sent you, of those bad check charges, and all of a sudden, his calendar got freed up in a hurry. He said he couldn’t get down here until early evening. I was supposed to meet him at seven, but it was closer to eight. He said he’d got tied up in traffic, which I think now was just a lie.

  “Anyway, I sat in the boat, had some beers, waiting. Hell, I been waiting my whole life, what’s a couple of more hours? He showed up, and it was dark, but I wasn’t too worried, because the boat’s got running lights, and anyway, I could cross that river blindfolded if I had to.

  “He come on the boat, acting kind of nervous, and I offered him one of my beers. We talked a little bit about me getting my money, and he was acting like he actually had the money on him, but he wanted to talk more once we got to the island. I was just about out of the no-wake zone, had my back to him, when out of nowhere, he took that full beer bottle and bashed me on the back of my head. Before I knew it, he’d flung me off the side of my boat.”

  “You could have been killed,” Brooke said.

  “He thought he had killed me,” C. D. said. “I don’t know how, but I never even blacked out. I swam under water until I thought my lungs would explode. He took off and headed back toward the city dock. Me, I managed to make it over to the creek bank. I was bleeding and had a hell of a headache, I’ll tell you that. Lucky for me, the tide was coming in. I swam to a dock a little ways away. Climbed up, walked back to town, and got ahold of Ramona. She took me to the emergency room, and they stitched me up. I stayed at her place that night, then I got her to bring me back over to the island. Just wanted to sleep in my own bed and figure out what my next move was, you know?”

  “But you didn’t stay there,” Brooke said. “Louette and Shug checked. We checked. It looked like you’d packed up and left in a hurry.”

  “I got to the cottage that night, and the lights were on. I could see him, through the window, going through my stuff.”

  “Who?”

  “Wynant. He was real careful not to mess stuff up, but I seen him take those papers, the ones that showed all the bad check charges and liens. I watched him, and after he’d gone, I went in, and like you said, I packed up some stuff, got some food, and got the hell out of dodge. Come over here and let myself into the lighthouse, and I been staying here ever since.”

  “I’m glad you reached out to me, but why now? And why hide out at all? Why not go to the sheriff? That’s attempted murder, C. D.”

  “The sheriff? The same one who locked me up for pissin’ on his deputy’s tires? You think he’s gonna believe me over the lawyer with the suits and the watch and the Porsche?”

  “But you could show him those same papers you showed me; it’s pretty incriminating evidence, C. D. He seems like a reasonable guy to me.”

  “That’s because you’re a cute young lawyer lady, not a crusty old bastard like me,” C. D. said. He rooted around in his cooler and brought out a sandwich. “Want one? Well, this is my last one, but I got some chips you can have if you’re hungry.”

  “No,” she said weakly, fighting another wave of nausea. “God, no.”

  Her phone, tucked into the pocket of her jeans, pinged softly, startling her, because her cell phone reception on the island was usually so spotty. She reached for it and saw she had an incoming text from Farrah.

  G was here. T
old him I don’t know where u r, but seemed suspicious. FYI.

  “Who’s that?” C. D. asked, instantly wary.

  “It’s from my babysitter. C. D., does your phone have cell service up here?”

  “Yeah, best reception on the island usually, ’cause we’re up so high, but it ain’t got no juice now, and I left the charger at my place.”

  Her own phone indicated she had only one bar, and her battery was running down, but she tapped Farrah’s number, praying the call would go through.

  “Who you calling?” he demanded.

  “My babysitter. I need to tell her to pick up my son from day care, okay?”

  “Hey,” Farrah said, her words rushing together. “Brooke, I’m sorry. I was telling Gabe you had an appointment, and just then, Brittni pulled up outside and honked her horn. I went out to talk to her. I swear, I was only gone a minute. But I had all those printouts on top of my desk. I think maybe he saw them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but he left in a big hurry,” Farrah said. “I tried to call you for like, half an hour, but then I remembered you don’t have cell service over there, so I tried a text.”

  C. D. was staring at her intently, his hand resting lightly on the gun on his hip.

  “Okay,” Brooke said cautiously. “That’s fine.”

  “Huh? You seem kinda weird. Is something wrong? Where exactly are you?”

  “Yes,” Brooke said pleasantly. “I think that’s a great idea. You and Jaxson can pick up Henry. Take him to that place the two of you used to go last summer, with the great view, okay?”

  “Huh? Are you talking in code?”

  “Come on, wrap it up,” C. D. said.

  “Yes. Okay, gotta run,” Brooke said. “Also, maybe pick me up a bottle of Captain Morgan?”

  “What the hell, Brooke?” Farrah said, just as Brooke was disconnecting.

  C. D. sighed his annoyance. “Look, I called you because I need help.” He looked her square in the face, his voice pleading. “I need you to go to the sheriff with me and tell him I’m telling the truth. Don’t let that lawyer get away with what he done to me. Don’t let him cheat me out of what I’m due from Josephine.”

  “All right,” Brooke said finally, tucking her phone away. “I’ll see what I can do.” She stood, but the room seemed to swim beneath her feet again. She swayed slightly, then slumped against the glass.

  “Hey, you don’t look too good,” C. D. said. He took her arm and tried to steady her. They heard a car coming, and he was on instant alert. He picked up the binoculars resting on top of the fruit crate and looked.

  “Shit. That’s Wynant.”

  64

  C. D. whirled around to confront Brooke. “You lied, damn it. You led him right to me!”

  The truck was the ancient turquoise one that belonged to Josephine. She’d noticed it earlier, at the dock, parked with the other vehicles under the shade of a twisted cedar tree. She watched as it pulled up to the grassy area at the foot of the lighthouse. Gabe hopped out and looked around. He darted toward the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, trying the locked door and peering in the window, before staring up at the lighthouse. C. D. ducked down onto the floor, and Brooke reflexively followed suit.

  “I didn’t tell him anything. I swear I didn’t,” Brooke said. She didn’t know whether Gabe’s arrival was a rescue mission or not.

  “How did he know we were here?” C. D. grabbed the front of Brooke’s shirt. “Was that him you just called? I should have known you’re in cahoots with him. Lemme see that phone.” He took her phone, and stared down at the screen.

  Brooke wrenched away from the old man. “Think about it, C. D. I had no way of knowing you were here at the lighthouse. And I have no idea what Gabe is doing here.”

  C. D. duck-walked away from the window, then stood, his fingers resting nervously on the holster on his hip again. “If you’re lying to me…”

  “I’m not.”

  They heard the door open below.

  C. D. cursed softly. “Forgot to lock the damn door.” He stood looking down the stairwell. “Wynant, I seen you down there. You need to not come up here. I already told Brooke what you’ve been up to. You’re done, asshole.”

  “Brooke?” Gabe yelled. “Are you up there with him? Are you okay? Has he hurt you?”

  “I ain’t ever hurt a woman in my life,” C. D. called. “You’re the one that bashed me in the head, threw me into the creek, and left me for dead. But the joke’s on you. I’m alive, and I’m fixing to tell the sheriff everything I know.”

  Gabe’s footfalls echoed off the brick walls. They heard his labored breathing, and then he stopped.

  “Brooke, whatever he’s told you is bullshit. He’s been trying to blackmail me. It’s true, I had some money problems right after Sunny died. I was out of my head with grief, I had no idea about the kind of money she’d been spending. But that’s all it was.”

  Could that explain the source of Gabe’s financial distress? Had C. D. overreacted?

  “Yeah, right!” C. D. hollered. “How do you explain what happened on the boat the other night? How’d I get that gash on the back of my head?”

  More footsteps, and Gabe stopped again. “He’s been trying to blackmail me. Calling me repeatedly. I agreed to meet with him, but once we got on the boat, he started threatening me, waving that gun of his around. He’d been drinking. When I refused to give him any money, he shot at me! He missed, and that’s when I hit him with the beer bottle and took off for the dock. He could have killed me.”

  Brooke glanced over at C. D. He’d admitted to taking potshots at park service rangers, so why wouldn’t he have shot at a lawyer he suspected of defrauding him?

  “Brooke?” Gabe shouted. “Talk to me. Are you okay? C. D., you just let her go. She’s not involved in this. Let her go, and you and I will settle our differences.”

  She felt C. D.’s fingers dig into the flesh of her upper arm. He released her for a moment, pulling his revolver from the holster.

  “I’m fine, Gabe!”

  “Shut up, damn you.” C. D. jerked her backward. “Don’t you know he’s a liar?” She flinched as his sour breath sounded hot and low in her ear. “Tell him to get out of here. Get out, and then I’ll let you go.”

  “He says if you go away, he’ll let me go,” Brooke called.

  “He’s lying!” Gabe yelled back. “If he means what he says, he’ll let you walk down these stairs and leave with me.”

  Gabe’s voice echoed in the stairwell. They heard his footsteps, sensed him coming closer.

  “Don’t you come up here!” C. D. yelled. His rheumy, red-rimmed eyes darted around the room. His hands shook badly as he tried to slot bullets into the pistol’s chamber. Brooke had the sense that he was coming unglued before her eyes, the raw nervous energy sizzling through every cell of his body.

  Agonizing seconds passed, each one marked with the sound of Gabe’s inexorable upward climb.

  Brooke’s eyes were riveted on the old man. Right now, he was focused on Gabe, but in his hyper-paranoid state, he might turn the gun on her at any moment. She mentally measured the distance to the stairs, tried to calibrate the trajectory of bullet to human bone and blood—hers, Gabe’s, C. D.’s. She had to do something to pause this nightmare, but she felt paralyzed. Finally, she inched away from him, pressing her back against the wall, trying to slide out of his sight line.

  In the next second, the footsteps accelerated. Gabe was running. He burst onto the stair landing, a black pistol aimed directly at C. D.’s head. Startled, the old man scrabbled backward, firing wildly, his bullets ricocheting off the ceiling. Gabe leveled the gun, his finger on the trigger.

  “No!” Brooke screamed, lunging toward Gabe, who fired.

  The gunshot roared, echoing and bouncing off the brick walls, louder than anything Brooke had ever before experienced. She screamed and watched in horror as C. D. dropped his gun and fell to the floor, howling in pain. He writhed on the floor, blood p
ooling from his shoulder.

  “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.” Gabe grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the stairwell.

  Brooke pulled away and knelt beside C. D., whose face was already ashen. “We can’t leave him like this.” She grabbed a T-shirt from the mound of C. D.’s clothing and clamped it against the shoulder wound, which burbled blood.

  “Leave him,” Gabe barked. “The bastard tried to kill me twice.”

  “No. He’ll bleed to death. He’s a crazy, sick old man. I can’t leave him like this.” Brooke looked up at Gabe. The warm, caring, courtly barrister had vanished, and in his place was this cold-eyed killer, ready to exact vengeance from anyone who crossed him.

  “He killed Josephine,” Gabe said calmly. “He would have killed you too if it hadn’t been for me. Why do you think he lured you up here? You’re what’s standing between him and Josephine’s money.”

  “No!” C. D. growled, trying in vain to sit up. “I never.”

  Brooke pressed down on the wound, and C. D. moaned. She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. He could have killed me before you got here. He wouldn’t hurt me. He’s bleeding badly. You’ve got to go for help, Gabe. I’ll stay here with C. D., but you’ve got to get help.”

  Gabe’s face as he stood over her was twisted with fury. “I tell you, he’s dangerous. And I’m not leaving you here with him. Let’s go,” he said abruptly, waving the gun at her.

  “No,” Brooke reached for another shirt to stanch the flow of blood.

  “Now, goddamn it!” Gabe slapped her hard with the flat of his hand, so hard her ears were ringing, so hard the band of his thick class ring cut a gash in her cheek. Stunned, she felt the warm trickle of blood down her face. He grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward the stairwell. He stepped off the landing and onto the next step, intent on bending her to his will.

  Brooke looked down, and suddenly the endless, dizzying nautilus shell staircase spun beneath her feet. “No!” she screamed as the panic seized her and swallowed her whole. “Leave me alone.” She fell to the floor and grasped the iron handrail with both hands.