The High Tide Club

She closed her eyes, and Brooke thought she’d drowsed off again.

But Josephine was only gathering strength. “Where is everybody? Did you bring them? I need to see them. Tell them to come here. Right now.”

“No.”

Josephine blinked. “What’s that?”

“I said no. Something you’re not used to hearing. I’m not going to enable your cruelty and bullying. Either you apologize to Louette and take back everything you said to her, including the part about you not giving back the land and homes at Oyster Bluff, or I quit.”

Josephine coughed so violently the dogs jumped from her lap and began barking at Brooke, their mistress’s tormentor.

“That’s blackmail,” she wheezed.

“Sue me,” Brooke said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Louette,” the old woman croaked. She raised her voice. “Louette, damn it! I need you.”

* * *

Gabe Wynant sat at the table in the kitchen, squeezing lemon into a tall glass of iced tea, surrounded by the women who’d been called to gather on the island. They were all drinking tea and laughing and munching on pale iced cookies from a platter in the center of the table.

Lizzie’s and Marie’s faces were pink with sunburn, and Brooke realized she too had gotten burned during their breakdown on the trip to the island.

“What’s so funny?” Brooke felt like a party crasher. “What’d I miss?”

“Varina was telling us about the first time she tried to bake these cookies,” Gabe said, biting into one, ignoring the crumbs scattering across his shirtfront.

“In a wood-burning stove in their family’s cabin—which didn’t even have electricity until after the war,” Lizzie added. “How is that even possible in the twentieth century?”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” Varina said with a chuckle. “This tea cake recipe—my mama had it written down on a piece of paper in her Bible, but I couldn’t read her handwriting too good. Where it said to put in a quarter teaspoon of salt, I did four teaspoons! My daddy said those tea cakes weren’t hardly fit to feed to the hogs.”

Marie broke off a portion of one of the cookies and nibbled at the edge. “These are delicious. I wouldn’t mind having this recipe myself.”

“Louette got all the cooking talent in this family,” Varina said. “I never did learn how.”

“But I thought all Southern women were great cooks,” Lizzie said.

“Not me,” Varina said. “I wanted to be a career girl. My daddy used to fuss that I’d never catch a husband if I couldn’t cook, but I didn’t care.”

“She’s doing good to open a can of soup,” Felicia said fondly.

Gabe cocked his head in the direction of the library. “Louette seems pretty upset. What’s going on?”

“Josephine threw a conniption fit last night because Louette called her doctor without her permission. She threatened to fire both Louette and Shug. From what Louette told me, I wouldn’t blame them if they both left her high and dry,” Brooke said.

“Oh no,” Varina said quickly. “Louette wouldn’t do that to Josephine. Her being so sick. She would never.”

“Oh noooo,” Felicia said, her tone mocking. “Couldn’t leave missy in the big house to take care of herself.”

“Hush now,” Varina said fiercely.

Lizzie looked around the homey kitchen with interest, taking in the outdated appliances, the worn linoleum, and the water-stained plaster ceiling. “As rich as Josephine is, I can’t believe how shabby this place is.” She pointed at the open kitchen window. “No air-conditioning? It’s barbaric. How do people stand it?”

“That air-conditioning isn’t healthy,” Varina said. “Poisons your lungs. Good fresh air is what people need.”

“Not me,” Lizzie declared. “The air here is as thick as a swamp. Give me air-conditioning any day. That and a shot of tequila. Which reminds me. Wonder where the old lady keeps her liquor?”

Louette bustled back into the kitchen with a wan smile, dabbing at her eyes. “What kind of liquor do you want?” She opened a pantry door and sorted through cans and bottles with faded labels that looked like something out of a museum. “We got gin and vodka.” She held up a bottle with a brown label. “Wild Turkey. Will this do?”

Lizzie took the bottle from her hand and studied the contents. “It’s not tequila, but it’ll do. You do have ice cubes, right?”

Brooke glanced at the kitchen clock. It was already after three. “As soon as everybody’s finished their ice tea, I think we need to meet with Josephine. It’s late, and I promised my babysitter I’d be back by six.”

Louette looked startled. “Josephine said y’all are spending the night. I got all the guest rooms cleaned and ready.”

“Can’t,” Brooke insisted. “I’ve got a three-year-old at home.”

“I haven’t heard from C. D. about the boat motor being fixed yet,” Louette said.

“Can you call him?”

Louette turned to a black rotary phone mounted on the wall beside the pantry and started to dial. “I’ll try calling him, but if I know C. D., it won’t do no good.”

“My God, it’s like being in medieval times around here,” Lizzie muttered.

“Right?” Felicia agreed. “Time-warp city.”

“Went right to voice mail,” Louette said, hanging up the receiver. She took a set of keys from a hook by the back door. “I’ll be right back.”

“What happens if the boat’s not fixed?” Marie asked. “Can somebody else on the island give us a ride back to the mainland?”

“There’s the ferry,” Louette said. “Last trip of the night is six thirty.”

29

Brooke felt odd being the one to usher the others through Shellhaven. Lizzie and Felicia gaped at the disused rooms as they made their way to the library.

“It’s like Miss Havisham’s dining room in Great Expectations,” Lizzie murmured.

“All it lacks is a moldy wedding cake,” Felicia agreed.

Marie cast an appraising eye at the furnishings, tsk-tsking at the state of decay. “What a shame.” She sighed, running a hand over the dining room table whose mahogany top was cloudy and freckled with grayish mildew. “This was once a gorgeous antique piece. It would probably sell for over ten thousand in an antique shop in Savannah. But the finish is ruined.”

Brooke looked up and saw that the plaster ceiling around the chandelier had sustained water damage, leaving crumbling plaster and exposed lathe.

“Mmm-hmm.” Varina clucked her tongue in agreement. “Louette does her best, but this house is too big for one woman. Time she gets one room cleaned, the next one is about to fall in.”

“Louette?” Josephine called from the library. “Where is everybody?”

* * *

The old woman’s dark eyes gleamed with barely suppressed excitement as Brooke ushered them into the library. In just the few minutes since she’d last seen Josephine, a transformation had taken place. She’d removed the knit cap and was wearing the bouffant wig again. Bright lipstick made a vivid slash across her pale face, and she’d changed into a rumpled periwinkle-blue dress that had probably last seen the light of day during the Johnson administration.