The High Tide Club
“And you had terrible gas,” Josephine retorted. “And Millie likes to talk in her sleep.”
Varina giggled in the darkness.
“This’ll probably be the last time we get to do something like this,” Millie said, sounding wistful. “Once I’m married…”
“You are not marrying him,” Jo said. “And we would never forget about you.”
“I ain’t ever getting married,” Varina said.
“Sure you will,” Millie answered. “Not right away, of course. But someday you’ll find some nice boy and get married and have the sweetest babies ever.”
“No, ma’am,” Varina said forcefully. “I ain’t ever gonna let some bad man beat up on me or drink too much or tell me what to do. Someday, I’m gonna get off this island, and I’m gonna get me a job and have me a house of my very own.”
She expected an argument from the others, but after a moment, all she heard was a low rumbling snore emanating from Josephine on the far side of the bed. Varina closed her eyes tightly and turned on her side, toward the wall. She felt Millie’s slight body, spooning into her back, heard her mutter something incoherent.
She heard the rain pelting the tin roof and saw flashes of lightning through the windows. The wind picked up and the curtains danced. She pulled the edge of the quilt over her eyes and burrowed deeper into the lumpy mattress.
The last thing Varina heard before drifting off to sleep herself was a faint phhhhhht coming from Ruth, who was stretched out between Josephine and Millie. She giggled softly.
27
Marie whipped her head around to stare at Lizzie. “What do you mean? Are you saying my mother was engaged to marry this man who just vanished?”
“According to the old newspaper accounts my grandmother saved, yes,” Lizzie said calmly.
“That’s impossible.” Marie shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of this Russell … what did you say his name was?”
“Strickland. I can’t believe this is news to you. It was a really big story back in the day.”
Brooke reached over and touched her mother’s hand. “That must be the man Josephine told me about. She said his name was Russell. Granny never said anything at all? About being engaged to somebody before she married Pops?”
“Never,” Marie said. “In fact, after Pops died, I teased her once, saying she should find another husband. She was so young to be a widow, only in her forties, and so pretty too. She got really angry at me for even suggesting such a thing. I can still remember what she said. ‘I had one true love—and he’s gone. That’s enough for one woman.’”
“So … is it possible she was talking about Russell Strickland and not Pops?” Brooke asked.
Marie didn’t hesitate. “No. Mama was devoted to Pops. As he was to her.”
“Maybe your mother just felt uncomfortable talking about this guy,” Lizzie suggested. “That generation—your mother’s and my grandmother’s—could be pretty stoic. Or in denial. Or both. Take my dad. It was clear to anybody who met him that he had issues. I mean, he once set fire to my grandma’s Cadillac when she wouldn’t give him the keys—this after he showed up at her house, at nine in the morning, stoned out of his gourd. But she never once admitted that he might be an addict.”
“Well, this certainly puts a whole intriguing new light on our trip to Talisa,” Marie said.
* * *
The desk clerk at the Seafarer Motel looked at Lizzie Quinlan and then pointedly at the cat carrier she’d placed on the counter at the reception desk.
“Sorry, Miss, uh, Quinlan. But we don’t allow cats.”
Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Dweezil is not just a cat. She’s a certified emotional therapy support pet.” She slapped an envelope on the counter. “Here’s her registration from the California secretary of state’s office.”
The clerk ignored the envelope. “Ma’am? This is Georgia. And it’s management policy. No cats, no dogs, no ferrets. No pets of any kind.”
“Policy?” Lizzie shrieked. “Is your policy posted on your website? Is it posted on the property? I don’t see any signs.”
Brooke stepped up to the counter to intercede. “Can you recommend any of the other local hotels that do accept pets? It’s just two nights.”
He shook his head and pointed out the lobby’s plate glass window, where knots of gaudily costumed adults dressed up in pirate garb strolled past on the sidewalk. “I guess you could try the Happy Wanderer. Myrtice, the owner, is a crazy cat lady. But you know, it’s Buccaneer Ball weekend, and every hotel in town has been booked for months. We’re all pretty slammed.”
Dweezil yowled her annoyance.
“What the hell is a Buccaneer Ball?” Lizzie asked.
Brooke slapped her forehead. “I’d totally forgotten that was this weekend. It’s a local festival. A big tourism draw. Grown men and women dress up as pirates and wenches and take turns invading each other. There’s even a big parade.”
Lizzie gave Brooke a winning smile. “Maybe I could stay with you. As you say, it’s only two nights.”
“I’m so sorry,” Brooke said. “I have a tiny two-bedroom cottage, and I share it with my three-year-old son.”
“A kid? Never mind. I don’t do kids,” Lizzie said quickly.
“And Mom is already sleeping on my sofa,” Brooke added.
Lizzie’s shoulders sagged as she gathered up the cat carrier and her rolling suitcase. “I guess it’s Shellhaven and Talisa, then,” she said, heading for the door.
“I’ll call Louette and let her know to expect an overnight guest,” Brooke said.
* * *
C. D. took Lizzie’s suitcase and stowed it in the bow locker. “Y’all having some kind of a convention over on the island? This is the third boatload I’ve had today.”
“Third?” Brooke asked. “I know Felicia and Varina were going over this morning, but who else have you taken to Talisa today?”
“That other lawyer fella,” C. D. said, casting off the lines and easing the boat away from the pier. “Louette called me first thing this morning to tell me to pick him up. Wasn’t even daylight.”
“Lawyer? You mean Gabe Wynant?”
“Yup,” C. D. said. He gestured toward Lizzie, who was clutching the pet carrier with both hands. Inside, despite having shared a tranquilizer with her owner, Dweezil yowled loudly and pitched herself against the carrier’s sides. “A cat, huh?”
“Good guess,” Lizzie said coldly.
C. D. stretched his neck to see inside the carrier. “Wow. That’s one pretty kitty. Never seen one like that before.”
“She’s a Maine coon cat,” Lizzie said, preening just a little. “She was actually cover kitten of the July 2015 issue of Cat Fancier.”
“Have to check that out,” C. D. said as the boat puttered away from the city dock.
Lizzie looked over at Brooke. “Wynant. Is he the lawyer who’s making Josephine’s new will?”
“That’s right,” Brooke said. “He was my boss at the law firm I worked at in Savannah.”
“Why don’t you just draw up the will yourself?” Lizzie asked.
“I thought the same thing, but Brooke can’t do it because of me being involved in the trust,” Marie explained. “It’s a conflict of interest.”