The High Tide Club
8
The secretary was enormous, with seeded glass doors behind elaborate fretwork, and a drop-front desk with a dozen small cubbies and drawers. Each slot was crammed with yellowing stationery, envelopes, pencil stubs, and notebooks. Behind the glass doors, leather-bound books with stamped gold lettering were shoved up against Chinese export blue-and-white porcelain vases and bowls. The top shelf of the bookcase held a turtle shell, an old mayonnaise jar full of beach glass, and a stuffed squirrel with lifeless brown glass eyes and a tail that seemed to have lost most of its fur.
Brooke tried to open the top drawer. Stuck.
Finally, after prolonged jiggling, one side of the drawer loosened, and as she inched it open, she could see stacks of papers and notebooks inside. She worked on the other side, and after five minutes of tugging and cussing, the whole drawer pulled free of the cabinet, landing on the rug with a dull thud.
“Damn,” she whispered.
The drawer was about eighteen inches deep and was as crammed with papers as the bookcase above it. There were stacks of rubber band–bound canceled checks and bills, spiral-bound notebooks and black-and-white composition books, and bundles of letters and cards tied together with faded blue ribbons.
Brooke dug around in the drawer until her fingers closed on something that felt like leather. As she lifted the address book from the drawer, shards of the palest pink rose petals showered down on the faded rug, releasing their faint, musky scent.
* * *
She sat cross-legged on the floor and lifted out a rubber band–wrapped bundle of likely looking correspondence, each with the same handwriting on the envelope. Opening one, she saw that it was an anniversary card.
“To My One True Love” was written in thick gold script on the outside of the card, beneath an image of red roses. The inside right side of the card had a treacly Hallmark verse, beneath which the sender had written in a strong, slanting script: “My darling Jo, with love from Preiss.” On the opposite side, the sender had copied a poem called “Always Marry an April Girl.”
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger.
Ever changing, ever true—
I love April, I love you.
—OGDEN NASH
“Ohhh.” Brooke let out a long, involuntary sigh and looked again at her would-be employer, her crepe-like eyelids closed, nearly bald head slumped sideways, a tiny bead of saliva trickling from narrow, colorless lips. Of course, Josephine Warrick had been young once, with slender limbs and a laughing smile. She had won the love of a much-younger man, this Preiss Warrick, who called her his April Girl.
9
An hour later, she’d finished her sandwich and chips and made what she thought was a decent start on completing the old woman’s assignment.
“Well?” Josephine was awake again. Her dark eyes glared accusingly. “What did you find?”
Brooke looked down at the notes she’d scrawled on her yellow legal pad. She’d drawn circles around the names Varina Shaddix and Ruth Quinlan.
“Josephine, if I find Ruth’s relatives and Varina, what do you want me to tell them?”
“When you find them, I want them to come to Talisa,” Josephine said. “I want to see them. Your mother too, of course. She was Millie’s only child, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” Brooke said cautiously. “And what will you tell them—if they agree to come here to see you?”
“I want to leave this island to them—in a trust,” Josephine said promptly. “And I want you to set up the trust and administer it.”
“But that’s impossible,” Brooke said quickly. “If my mother is to be included in the trust, that would present a clear conflict of interest.” She shook her head sadly. “I wish you’d told me that from the beginning. I can’t represent you, Josephine. It’s a matter of ethics.”
“Ridiculous,” the old lady snapped. “I can hire whomever I want to help me dispose of my property.”
“You can, but that person cannot legally benefit in any way from such a relationship,” Brooke said. She was already thinking of the $25,000 check. She was going to have to give it back.
So, goodbye to paying down her Amex bill. Goodbye to replacing the bald tires on the Volvo, and goodbye to making a dent in Henry’s hospital bills.
“If you really don’t trust your Atlanta lawyers, I can help you find an attorney to set up the trust, and contact the others in the High Tide Club,” Brooke offered. “It would probably be better anyway, since I have absolutely no experience with estate law.”
“You’re not listening,” Josephine said. “I want you. Only you. Millie’s granddaughter.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment, but I can’t ethically do the job,” Brooke said. “It’s not just a whim of mine. It’s the law.”
“There must be a way around that kind of thing. A work-around, Preiss would have called it. There’s always a work-around.”
“Not this time,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry, Josephine. I really am. I’m willing to track down Ruth’s relatives and Varina, and I’ll let my mother know you’d like to meet with her, but that’s the extent of the services I’m legally able to offer you. Of course, I’ll be returning your retainer.”
“I don’t want my money back,” Josephine fumed. “And I don’t need any more damn lawyers complicating what’s left of my life.” She shoved the sandwich plate aside. “Go on, then. Take your so-called ethics and get out.”
* * *
Brooke had been standing under the shade of the porte cochere for at least ten minutes, staring down at her cell phone, which still had no service. So she was thrilled and relieved when Shug pulled up in the pickup truck.
Louette leaned out the passenger-side window, a look of alarm on her face. “What’s wrong? Where’s Josephine?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Brooke said quickly. “She just woke up, and she’s in a foul mood.”
“Sounds about right,” Shug said.
“You’re leaving already?” Louette asked, climbing down and grabbing two canvas totes of supplies.
“I’ve got to get back to my son,” Brooke said. “Anyway, I’ve told Josephine I can’t represent her in the matter she raised. So there’s not much more I can do here.” She looked over at Shug. “I hate to ask, but can you or C. D. take me back across to the mainland?”
“No bother,” Shug said. “It’ll have to be me, ’cause C. D.’s off this afternoon. No telling where he’s got to.”
* * *
She sat in the bow of the boat as they crossed the river. It was hot and sunny, and the water was dead calm. A pair of dolphins skimmed along in the boat’s wake, and Brooke felt grateful for the slight breeze.
“So … you won’t be coming back over to the island after this?” Shug asked, his face impassive behind his sunglasses.
“Probably not,” Brooke said.
“Too bad. Louette said Miss Josephine was all excited about whatever it was she wanted you to do for her. She’s been kinda low since the last time she went to the doctor. Seems like she perked right up since she got the idea to call you. Even started eating a little bit again.”