The High Tide Club

Shug pulled the pickup truck in front of the door, and Brooke got out. She’d called the house on Sunday, during her drive back from Sea Island, to let Josephine know she wanted to come see her, and Louette had promised to give her the message.

Even before the old lady opened her mouth, Brooke sensed she was in a rare mood.

Shug leaned out the driver’s-side window. “Hey, Miss Josephine,” he said, also obviously startled by the boss lady’s miraculous transformation. “Ain’t you lookin’ perky today.”

“Hello, Shug,” Josephine said. She nodded at Brooke. “So you changed your mind. Needed the money, is that it?”

“No. Well, sort of. My son had surgery recently, and my insurance is crappy.”

“Surgery? What’s wrong with the boy?”

“He fell off a jungle gym and broke his arm in two places.”

It didn’t miss Brooke’s attention that the old lady hadn’t offered any empathy or condolences for her son’s injury. Not that she’d expected any.

“You must be feeling better,” Brooke observed. “I’m glad.”

Louette peeked out from the spot where she’d been standing at Josephine’s elbow.

“She’s got some new medicine making her feel way better.”

“Steroids.” Josephine grimaced. “They don’t cure anything, but I’ll admit my breathing is much improved. Although they make me feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.”

“She’s eating way better,” Louette confided. “Sleeps better too.”

“Shug,” Josephine called to her handyman. “Just leave the truck right there. I want to take Brooke around and show her the island while I have the energy.”

His amiable face showed his alarm. “For real? You don’t need to bother about that, Miss Josephine. I can take her anyplace you want her to see.”

“Not necessary,” Josephine said firmly. She turned to Brooke. “I assume you can drive a stick shift? I know how, of course. But it might be better if I navigate and you drive.”

“I know how to drive a stick,” Brooke said.

“All right, then,” Shug said reluctantly. He slid out from behind the steering wheel and held the door open, then ran around and helped Josephine onto the passenger seat.

“Ready?”

Josephine’s face was pink with exertion, and she was breathing heavily as she adjusted the portable oxygen canister hanging from a strap on her shoulder.

She pointed toward the end of the driveway. “Down there, then take a sharp left where the road forks.”

* * *

The old woman directed her driver on a road that took them toward the state park and nature center. The blacktop was crumbling in places and pitted with potholes. Wooden directional signs pointed toward a bathhouse, wilderness camping area, wildlife interpretive center, and conference center.

They drove under a thick canopy of live oaks, sweet gums, and pines. Clumps of palmettos crowded up against the shoulder of the road, and Brooke caught glimpses of some primitive-looking log cabin structures where the vegetation thinned out.

“Interpretive center,” Josephine said, sniffing. “These fools don’t know the first thing about the wildlife on this island.” She pointed at a low concrete-block building with smoked-glass windows. “That’s their conference center. Don’t ask me what they confer about, though.”

They rode in silence through the half-empty campground. Here and there, Brooke spotted tents and picnic pavilions, and occasionally they passed a family hiking or biking along the road. It looked innocuous—idyllic, even—but Brooke could feel the anger radiating from Josephine as she glared at what she saw as the state’s intrusion on the environment.

“This is what they intend to do with my land if they succeed in taking it,” Josephine said, scowling at two teenagers who sped by on all-terrain vehicles.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about today,” Brooke said, sensing an opening. “I conferred with a former colleague of mine, and he had some suggestions about how it might be possible to deal with the state’s efforts to buy your land.”

“Steal it, you mean. What sort of suggestions does this colleague of yours have?”

“First of all, we need to get an independent appraisal of your property. Do you know if your Atlanta lawyers have an updated appraisal?”

“Maybe,” Josephine said. “I can’t keep track of all the correspondence they’ve sent over the years.”

“I can ask them to share their files, but you’ll need to contact the law firm, by registered letter, to notify them that you’ve hired me to work on the matter. I drafted a letter, and if you approve, you can sign it, and I’ll send it out today.”

“All right.”

“We can certainly continue challenging the state’s offer as being unfair and inadequate,” Brooke said. “But that doesn’t halt the condemnation; it only slows it down.”

“I want it stopped,” Josephine said. Her bony fists clenched and unclenched. “That’s what this is all about. I won’t rest until I know the state will never be able to take my land.”

“I understand,” Brooke said soothingly. “But our options are fairly limited. One way we might approach it is through political means.”

“How’s that? I don’t trust politicians. Never have.”

“Do you have any connections in the state legislature?” Brooke asked. “Do you know your local state senators and representatives?”

Josephine wrinkled her nose. “I used to know Jimmy Carter’s mama. She was nice, even if she was a Democrat. And Preiss played golf with Talbott Hicks, who was our U.S. senator from this district, but he’s long dead. Back in my churchgoing days, I knew Maralai Graham, who was in the general assembly, but she’s dead too. And Mike Stovall, he was our state senator, but I believe he got indicted for racketeering last year.”

“How about anybody who’s alive?” Brooke asked, stifling a laugh. “Or not currently incarcerated?”

“Jenks Cooper is still alive, and I don’t believe he’s gone to prison yet. He’s the state representative from our district.”

“Great. Do you know him?”

“I know his grandmother and his mother and his wife,” Josephine said. “Lovely women. Jenks is a scalawag, but aren’t they all? I believe he’s some sort of vice president at my bank.”

“Anybody else?”

“There’s the governor,” Josephine said.

“Ooh, good. You know Governor Traymore?”

“Of course. I’ve known Tubby since he was a child. I contributed to his election campaign, as a favor to his mother. Personally, I don’t think Tubby is all that bright.”

“Are you friendly with anybody in local politics? Like somebody on the county commission? Judges, anybody like that?”

“Certainly,” Josephine said. “They all come here with their hats in their hands to ask for money. I never give them as much as they expect, but I don’t send them away empty-handed.”

“Do you feel up to making some phone calls and writing some letters?”

“I don’t see why not. Do you really think it will do any good?”

“It might,” Brooke said. “The state always seems to be strapped for money. They can’t even maintain the parks we have. So how can the state justify spending millions and millions of dollars to acquire land for another park? Especially one you can’t even get to by car?”