“Oh,well, I would love to, but I’ve got such an early morning.”
“OK,well, I’ll see you for lunch on Tuesday,” she unlocked the doors to her Mercedes coupe with the click of a button.
“Oh, yeah,Tuesday!” I said under my breath, inserting my key into Old Betsy and giving the door a tug.
“Don’t forget!” she said, climbing into her plush car.
“I wouldn’t dare,” I said, straightening my cushion so I wouldn’t fall to the floorboard.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I needed to talk to my mother. Crazy, but true. Because in the middle of this madness lay a dream of Victoria Phillips. And swirling around it like a vulture was me. Even though she had ruined my dream, the thought of destroying hers ate away at me. I needed peace. I needed my mother.
“Hello, darling. I just love caller ID. What are you doing up and out this early?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Oh, a ladies’ store is having a sale and the owner is letting me come by early to look through things before the rush.”
I knew good and well she was talking about Jezebel’s, but I would let her maintain her anonymity.
“Mother, do you know what a wonderful lady I think you are?”
For a moment she did not respond. Then, totally serious: “Savannah, are you drunk?”
“You know I’m not drunk. I do not get drunk, and besides, it’s too early to be drunk. I know we clash every now and then over dumb things, but I really do love and appreciate you.” I almost felt like a knot was forming in my throat.
“Savannah, are you crying? Is someone holding a gun to your head? Are you about to be murdered? Where are you, darling?” I could see her making a mad dash up the street past the Francis McNary Antique Store.
“Mother! I’m fine. Really. I just needed you to know how I feel.” Sounding as if she were slightly winded, she managed,“Well, I love you too, darling. So if you’re not dying, are you needing something?”
“No! You act like I’ve never told you I loved you before in your life.”
“Well, you’ve never said it quite like this before.”
“OK, so let me say it like this, and don’t ruin the moment.”
“Well, thank you. Those are some of the kindest words I’ve ever heard,” she said, now tearing up herself.
“Don’t cry. Please, Mother.”
“OK. Thank you.”Then the sound of a horn blow pierced the receiver. There she was, standing on the sidewalk in front of an antique store in heels, cell phone attached to her ear and snot running down her nose, stopping to pant and blow. It was most Victoria.
“So, where are you? Do you want to come join me?”
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I just need you to listen for one moment and not ask me any questions. I need you to just trust me.”
“Savannah, I do trust you . You know that.”
“Mother, you just asked me if I was drunk!”
“Well, I knew you weren’t,” she said, trying to sound convincing.
“I have to go to Jackson, Mississippi—”
“Jackson, Mississippi? For what? Why in the world are you going to go to Jackson, Mississippi?”
“Mother, I told you, no questions. Trust, remember?”
“OK, right, no questions, just trust. No questions. All right, I think I’m ready.”
“I’m working on a story. But I need more facts on it before I can put it to print. I’ll be back as soon as I can tomorrow.”
“But what about—”
“Mother, no questions. Dad has given me all the money I need, and he knows no more than you, so please don’t hound him. OK?”
“OK. But I don’t like it. And that wasn’t a question. That was a statement,” she said all rushed so I wouldn’t interrupt her.
I decided to turn to my method of distraction. “Oh, and I really like my shoes, Mother. Thank you for getting them for me.”
“I knew you would like them. Kate Spade, she’s the in thing right now. I think you would love a lot of her things. She makes the best handbags you have ever seen. And her stuff is timeless, you know, not trendy. I hear she even makes luggage now. Oh, Savannah, that would have been great for your trip. Not that I think you should be taking this trip. Again, that was not a question.”
I figured Mother realized there was no one on the other end of her phone by the time I reached the airport. I checked in at the American Airlines counter and traveled with only one carry-on. The restaurant and small shopping area at the airport betrayed my mother’s touch. Her influence seemed to surpass reasonable jurisdiction. Here, twenty miles away from Savannah, I sat in a town square that she had created in the middle of the airport. She felt people should have the “Savannah experience,” as she called it, as soon as they stepped off the plane. So all of the small shops and stores were built on a square with real trees and small park benches.
Thomas said that when the square was initially finished,Vicky came by to make sure everything met with her approval. When she touched the ficus tree next to the women’s restroom,she let out a yell. The tree was artificial. Today, Savannah’s rumor mill has it that every tree, plant, bush, and phony flower ended up on the sidewalk in front of the designer’s house, accompanied by a note that read, “Whatever you sow, that will you reap. Enjoy! Victoria Phillips.”Then she hired Thomas and about six of his high-school buddies, paid them with food, and created the parklike setting travelers now sit in.
The passengers on my flight were rather sparse, and I had a row to myself. The relative peace gave me time to reflect on the week’s activities. But Emma kept coming to the front of my mind. If loss had the power to destroy someone’s life, then a multitude of issues were at stake in Emma’s. I mean, I had lost a thousand things through the years, but none of them—not even Grant—caused me to surrender myself to defeat.
Maybe my defeat was different. Maybe I wanted to lose. But everyone should know how to lose with grace. How can you ever appreciate winning, truly appreciate winning, if you’ve never known what it’s like to lose? Even as whacked as my mother is, I have seen her face defeat gracefully. She has shaken hands with the winner of the annual Rose Day event, when her roses, though stunning before the tornado, looked a little haggard after. Then she shook the hand of Dolores Armstrong, Judge Hoddicks’s secretary, after Dolores won the annual Fried Chicken Cookoff. Now I will tell you, on that one Victoria got bamboozled. There is no way anyone can touch my mother’s chicken. But ever the pro that she is, she walked up to Dolores, hugged her, and even held up a piece of Dolores’s chicken for the picture in the paper.
But Emma . . . Emma had given up on life. She had let defeat swallow her whole. She had even allowed it to steal her own family from her. This beautiful woman had come to the unthinkable place where she saw beauty in nothing. All because of a loss.
There was a deeper lesson here, I knew. I would search for it later. For now, I would search for the story that would bring her and Katherine vindication.
The clock on the dashboard of the rented Jeep Liberty read 12:09. My notebook held the street address of both Mr. Cummingses. I scoured the map, searching for the location. I turned the key and the car started, eliminating my half-hope that I would be forced to spend the night in the airport, leave with nothing, and start work on something far less complicated.
Confrontation was nothing new to me. Twenty-four years of living with Vicky had freed me of trauma or trepidation at the prospect, and the Mr. Hicks and Emma episodes had recently sharpened my skills in this area. But I was about to confront people who lived by a different code. People who for some reason chose to select pageant winners based on something other than merit. The thing that gnawed at me was the fact that I had no idea what that something was.
Maybe it was just because of friendship. Maybe Mr. Cummings and the pageant director were so close that they would do anything for each other to make sure that the other was delivered the greatest results for his
efforts. No, real friends have character. You can’t be one without it. Maybe it was blackmail. No, that wouldn’t last for thirty years. If it did, one of them was really smart and the other remarkably stupid. No, it had to be greed. People do amazing things for money. Yes, it had to be money.
As I processed my thoughts, it became clear that my destination was wrong. When I turned onto the interstate, the Golden Arches greeted me. Once I had acquired the necessary Coke, I knew what I had to do. This couldn’t begin on Mr. Cummings’s doorstep. It had to begin behind the scenes of his life. If the fraud was about money, then we were headed for one more ride. I just hoped I would still be in the driver’s seat when we reached the destination. I pulled out my cell phone.
The voice on the other end sounded like it was chewing something.“Hello.”
“Hello. Judge Hoddicks, it’s Betty. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“No, honey. We’re just finishing up some pork chops. A big ol’ Saturday afternoon spread. Do you want to join us? All the kids are here too. I’m sure they would love to see you.” I heard him tell everyone it was me. A resounding group “hello” came through on my end of the phone.
“Actually, Judge, I’m in Jackson, Mississippi, and I need a huge favor.”
“You aren’t in jail down there, are you? I’ll have someone’s head if they’ve done anything to you. Where—”
“No! No! I’m fine. Actually I’m working on a story and wondered if you knew anyone who could let me into the courthouse today. I know most courthouses are closed on Saturday, but I need to do some research. I only have today and tomorrow to get everything accomplished. I might end up in the unemployment line before I even see a paycheck if I don’t.”
“Betty, you hold on. I have an old college buddy who’s a judge right there in Jackson. Hang on the line and I’ll call him real quick on my cell.”The hand-off went to Mrs. Hoddicks first, who said hello and then passed me around the table. By the time the judge returned, I had been fully updated on every cold, engagement, death, and baptism within the last six months of the entire Hoddicks family.
“Betty! His law clerk will meet you there. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m only about five minutes from downtown.”
“Well, the courthouse is right in the heart of their city. The clerk will meet you at the side door on the south side. He has been told to get you whatever information you need. If you have one ounce of frustration, honey, you just call me back. I’ll come down there myself and get you what you need. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I can’t thank you enough. And if this goes well, I’ll get you free coffee at Jake’s for the rest of your tenure.”
That made him cackle. “Well, that would be great! Jake will appreciate it.”
“He’ll appreciate you helping me even more. Thanks again.”
The Jackson County Courthouse looked imposing in the glow of the afternoon sun. I parked in front and walked around to the south side. Standing by the side door was a handsome young law clerk, probably about my age. He held out his dark hand and introduced himself.
“Gregory Taylor.”
“Hello. Savannah Phillips. Nice to meet you. Thank you for doing this.”
He did not seem at all perturbed at having been called in on the weekend.“Well, follow me, and we’ll try to find what you need.”
He opened the side door and led me down a dark hallway lined by frosted-glass doors. The hall deposited us into the lobby. The vastness of the courthouse was impressive and possessed a sense of awe and quiet reverence. The hallowed halls brought to mind the lives salvaged and lost inside. “I sure am sorry to take away your Saturday. I know how people in the law field enjoy a moment of reprieve.”
He surrendered a beautiful smile.“Oh, it’s no big deal. I needed to come in and get some work done. You just gave me a reason to have to do it. So, what exactly do you need?”
“I need whatever information you have on Randolph Cummings III and Randolph Cummings IV.” At the mention of their names, Gregory stopped dead in his tracks.
“Do you know that Mr. Cummings, both of them, are two of the most respected and influential men in this city? If you are trying to dig up anything unseemly about them, you won’t find it here.” His drawl took the edge off his charming but matter-of-fact tone.
“I hope I don’t. But there is only one way to know. I need to see every certificate, every license, every death notice you have on record for this family.” Then I added my own southern charm for good measure.“And Judge Hoddicks said if I had any problems he would be more than glad to come up here and help me get whatever information I need.”
“Well, let’s not waste any time then,” Gregory replied politely. He led me to a door that took us to the basement.“Are there any lights down here?”
He flicked on the light. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing down here but thousands of boxes and a few rats. And the lights usually scare off the rats.”
I looked at him, grateful for lights. “How long have you been here?”
“I’ve clerked for Judge Tucker for two years now. I finished law school last year, but I worked for him every summer during those long years, so coming here full-time just seemed like a natural progression.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Well, this is it. Almost everything you want to know about anyone in the city: tax records, licenses, certificates, all right here.” He pointed to about a hundred separate rows of shelving that ran the full length of the courthouse and were stacked with boxes from floor to ceiling. “It looks like you’ll have everything you’ll need. Everything is filed alphabetically, so that will help.”
“Immensely.”
“There are some cubicles over there in the corner,” he said, motioning to four small work stations that lined the front wall. “I’ll be in my office, and you can buzz me at #22 if you need anything.”
“You can’t bring your work down here?”
He laughed,“No, but I’m just a phone call away. I promise.”
“I hope you were planning on working late, because I don’t know if I’ll be through before morning,” I said, heading to one of the cubicles to unload my stuff.
“Honestly, I’m in no hurry. If it’s morning, I’ll just be that much further ahead. If you get hungry later, call me and I’ll order us some pizza. And if you can’t find something and need my help, just let me know.”
“I’ll forget to call, I’m sure. How about we just decide now on six o’clock? I’ll buy if you’ll order.”
“That would be fine by me.”
“Thanks, Gregory. I really appreciate your help. I know this is no one’s idea of a good time on a Saturday.”
“Obviously, you and I have different measures of that. Working until sunrise has always been my idea of a good time.”
As he disappeared up the stairway, the masses of cardboard boxes brought me back to reality. Having no idea what I was looking for or what I was doing here, the only thing I was sure of was that if one rat trespassed on my territory, Gregory was going to find his hiney firmly planted in the cubicle in front of me.
As I worked my way down the aisle marked CU, I found a box that read “CUMMINGS, Randolph II, III & IV.” These people had so much stuff, the three of them were worthy of their own box. The box was bulging. I slid it off the shelf with a thud and scooted it across the floor with both hands until it rested beside my work area. Then I grabbed my cell, called the hotel, and asked them to cancel my reservation. I wouldn’t be needing a bed tonight, just caffeine. I would definitely need caffeine.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Cummingses’ box was sectioned off in three different places, by II, III, and IV. Each Cummings had his own section of business ventures and licenses and records, with IV being smaller than the first two. Mr. Cummings II’s file began with the title deed to what was apparently his first home. It was followed by a marriage certificate, only one that I found, and then nume
rous business licenses.
“Well, at least he’s the husband of only one wife. That’s a nice place to start.” Someone was going to have to talk to me or I would go crazy down here. Mr. II had his own law firm, which was now Cummings & Cummings Attorneys at Law. The formal corporation name change was enclosed. His son had been added in 1962, and he held a partnership in a local grocery store and owned a Burger King franchise and numerous other business ventures that seemed to be locally operated companies right here in Jackson. The file ended with the death certificate of one Cora Lee Cummings on September 14, 1985, at the age of seventy-five, followed by Randolph Cummings Jr. on October 19, 1991, at the age of eighty-nine.
The file of Randolph Cummings III, like his father’s, began with a marriage certificate. On June 20, 1956, at the age of twenty-three, he married Patricia “Patty” Gwendolyn Stryker, who was only seventeen.“That’s just sick. She was only a baby, snatched up by some worldly-wise attorney.”
The IIIs purchased their first home only two weeks after their marriage, the address of which matched the one I’d written down. Mr. III joined his father’s law firm in 1962. He then purchased a local theater, an arcade, a pizzeria, and a coffee shop. Dare Jake know he and this man had anything in common! As I rummaged through the rest of his papers, most documenting his numerous real-estate investments, absolutely nothing seemed to suggest he would care at all who in the world won a beauty pageant.
Heading to Mr. IV’s folder, a tiny file in the back caught my attention. It was marked “Patricia Cummings.” Her folder held evidence of two businesses: a local jewelry store and P&R Printing Co. The jewelry store seemed a logical business for any woman. But the printing company, for some reason, I found rather odd.
About that time, I heard someone coming down the stairs. Not even imagining that almost five hours had passed, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. But then I saw the pizza box and Gregory’s face.
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