The High Tide Club

Gabe followed suit. “Tell me about this case of yours,” he said between bites.

* * *

Brooke quickly recapped Josephine Warrick’s standoff with the State of Georgia.

“I had one of our law clerks pull all the recent filings,” Gabe told her, retrieving a file folder from the kitchen countertop.

“What do you think?” she asked eagerly.

He took a sip of iced tea. “You’ve got an uphill battle ahead of you. There are only two legal ways to challenge the state’s right to condemn land. One way is to challenge the procedures by which the condemnation is initiated. The state has to make good-faith efforts to negotiate a fair price prior to the actual condemnation.”

“Anyway,” Brooke said, “the main issue is, she doesn’t want to sell her land. Not at any price.”

“Why not? She’s what? Nearly a hundred years old? No heirs. Why not take the money, give it to her favorite charity, and get a life estate? She gets to live out her life there, and after that, it’ll be a nice state park. Maybe they’d even name it after her.”

“You don’t know Josephine. She claims to have seen some secret long-range development plan that would have the state razing Shellhaven and putting in a big marina to allow for larger boats to ferry campers and visitors over from the mainland.”

“Would that be such a bad thing? Just playing devil’s advocate here.”

“Her father, Samuel Bettendorf, whom she worshiped, hired Addison Mizner to design and build that mansion for her mother. So it’s basically a shrine to her parents. Virtually nothing in the house has changed in decades. Bettendorf was an amateur naturalist, and Josephine and her late husband also made it their life’s work, studying and preserving the land and the wildlife. As far as Josephine is concerned, Talisa and Shellhaven are her legacy, and she wants them preserved. And I can’t say that I blame her.”

“Very noble,” Gabe said, nodding. “Talking about the wildlife over there. That could be another argument against developing Talisa. Say, if there were some kind of rare or endangered animal indigenous only to that specific island. The navy’s development of the big sub base down at Kings Bay in that neck of the woods was delayed for years because of some obscure species of gopher turtles that nested down there. You might ask Josephine about that.”

“I will,” Brooke promised. “You said there are two ways to challenge the condemnation? What’s the second?”

He chewed on some ice. “Well, theoretically, you could argue that the condemnation is not intended to serve the public trust. But realistically, how do you claim that a big new state park with acres and acres of pristine beaches and a new marina is a bad thing for citizens?”

Brooke’s shoulders sagged, but she struggled valiantly to mount a defense against Gabe’s reasoning.

“This state has dozens of parks already—which it doesn’t have the funding to staff or maintain. Who’s going to pay for not just the acquisition but the development of Talisa?”

“Nice try,” Gabe allowed, doodling on a yellow legal pad. “But feasibility is not really something you can litigate.” He grinned. “There is one place where that argument might work. The court of public opinion.”

“You’ve lost me,” Brooke said.

“I’m talking about politics,” Gabe said. “Do an end run. Who are your state representatives down here? Call ’em up. Ask ’em to lunch and make your case to them. Or better yet, have Josephine Warrick call and raise hell with ’em.”

“I can definitely call those guys,” Brooke said, nodding. “And you’re right about a phone call from Josephine. I just don’t know if she’s up to it. Health-wise.”

“She’s that sick?”

“End-stage lung cancer,” Brooke said. “But she’s still razor sharp and full of piss and vinegar. She might really enjoy unloading on some hapless state senator.”

“Sounds like that could be your game plan,” Gabe said.

He wadded up the empty paper sacks and put them in the trash, then took the lunch dishes and stacked them in the sink before returning to the table. He handed the file folder to Brooke. “This has got all my research and the relevant legal citations you’ll need.”

“Gabe. I can’t thank you enough,” Brooke said.

“This is going to be a fun one. I envy you, Brooke.”

“That’s your idea of a good time? Going up against the majesty of the state?”

“Sure. That’s exactly what makes it fun. The law doesn’t necessarily have to be dry and dusty. This is your chance to get creative. Think outside the box.”

“If you say so.” She opened the file and thumbed through the contents. “Hey, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. Josephine says she wants to create a trust—with three beneficiaries.”

“I know you didn’t do a lot of estate work when you worked at our firm, but that should be pretty cut and dried,” Gabe said.

“It might be, except for the fact that one of the beneficiaries is mom,” Brooke said.

“You and Marie? Really?”

“Yeah. It’s another long story. Josephine never had children, and she doesn’t have any living family members, so she’s decided she wants to leave Talisa to the heirs of her oldest, dearest friends, including a woman who worked for her family for many years. Coincidentally, my maternal grandmother, Mildred, who died years and years ago, was Josephine’s best friend since kindergarten.”

“So you’ve got a big conflict,” Gabe said.

“Afraid so. She wanted me to track down the other friend’s heir, which I’ve done. I contacted her last week to let her know Josephine wants to meet with her. Would you have any interest in handling the estate work?”

“Me?”

“Why not? If you’re worried about the money, I don’t think that should be a concern. She’s apparently loaded.”

“Money’s not the issue,” he said quietly. He looked around the room. “I’m fifty-nine, Brooke. I’ve been thinking maybe I should slow down my work schedule. Not retire, not yet, but maybe not take on any new clients.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” Brooke said, trying not to show her disappointment. “Okay. I’m sure I can find somebody else locally.”

“Oh, what the hell,” Gabe said. “Who am I kidding? I’m selling this place because I never come down here. Work is what I do. Tell you what. Talk to your client, and if she agrees, I’ll come down and talk to her and get the ball rolling on the trust.”

“Really?” Brooke threw her arms around her old boss in an impulsive hug. “That would be awesome! We’ll be working together again. It’ll be just like old times.”

“We’ll see,” Gabe said, patting her back awkwardly. “We’ll see.”

20

Josephine was standing in the front door at Shellhaven, leaning heavily on a cane. She was dressed in baggy khaki slacks cinched with a worn leather belt and a tucked-in long-sleeved pale pink blouse. A baseball cap with the Audubon Society logo shaded most of her face. With a shock, Brooke realized it was the first time she’d seen her client standing upright and outside the confines of the library-turned-bedroom. It was Monday afternoon.