The High Tide Club
She could hear the tinny theme song of her son’s favorite cartoon show. Then her son’s voice. “Yes! I’m good boy.”
“He really has been pretty good,” Farrah said. “I got him to sleep almost the whole night in his new bed. He’s had breakfast, and now we’re just chilling with some Caillou.”
Brooke smiled despite herself. “Ugh. I hate that show.”
“For real. Whatever happened to Barney the purple dinosaur like I used to watch?”
“Dunno. Listen, Farrah. Would it be possible for you to stay ’til later in the day?”
“I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do since me and Jaxson are broken up. How late are we talking about?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Is everything okay? You sound kind of stressed.”
“Yeah, well, stressed is putting it mildly. The thing is, Josephine is dead.”
“What! For real? What happened?”
Brooke described the scene she’d found in the bathroom.
“Oh, man. That really sucks. What happens now, with the island and everything?”
“It’s way too soon to tell. I’ve called the sheriff’s office, and he’ll be over pretty soon. In the meantime, I’ve got to deal with things here, which could get complicated. Which is why I’d really, really appreciate it if you could keep watching Henry. I’ll pay extra, of course.”
“No problem. It’ll be fun. Maybe we’ll head over to the park in a little while.”
“Good idea,” Brooke said. “I can’t thank you enough, Farrah. Can you put Henry on the phone?”
“Sure thing,” she said. “Henry!” the babysitter called. “Hey, Henry, come here. Your mama’s on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”
“No!”
“Come on, buddy,” Farrah coaxed. “Don’t you want to tell Mama about the awesome thing you did last night?”
“No!”
“Never mind,” Brooke said, sighing. “I’ll get home as soon as I can. Give him a kiss for me, okay?”
“All day long,” Farrah promised.
“Just out of curiosity, what did he do last night?”
“Oh. Big news. Huge news. He pooped in the potty.”
“Major breakthrough,” Brooke said, laughing. “I’ll call you later.”
* * *
Gabe Wynant was just emerging from his bedroom, dressed, with his briefcase tucked under his arm. “Oh, good,” he said, seeing Brooke approach. “You’re up. I was going to see if somebody could give us a ride to the ferry…” He left the sentence unfinished, noticing her pained expression. “What’s wrong?” He clutched her arm.
“Josephine’s dead,” she said.
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “Heart attack?”
“Maybe, but maybe not. Louette found her lying on the bathroom floor. It looks like she fell and hit her head on the tile.”
He glanced up and down the corridor at the closed doors. “Have you told the others?”
“No, I just got off the phone with the sheriff’s office. He’ll be over with the coroner as soon as he can. I was just about to start the process of letting the others know. My mom’s still sleeping. But I’m glad you’re the first. I guess we need to talk about what comes next, right?”
“Yeah,” he said with a long sigh. “But first, coffee. And maybe some aspirin.”
* * *
When they’d reached the first floor, Gabe turned away from the kitchen and toward the library. Brooke intercepted him before he opened the door.
“Gabe, the sheriff said not to let anybody near the body, or to touch anything.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and nodded. “I promise not to touch anything, but as her attorney, I think I need to see her body.”
Brooke used the hem of her shirt to turn the doorknob. Inside, the room was already hot, despite the early hour and the fan whirring in the open window. “She’s in there,” she said, pointing to the open bathroom door. Unwilling to see her client’s body again, she posted herself beside Josephine’s recliner. The knitted afghan was carefully folded across the back of the chair, but the covers of the nearby bed were rumpled. Josephine’s favorite sneakers, with the laces removed, were neatly lined up at the foot of the bed, and the wig was on the nightstand.
She looked up when she heard Gabe’s cell phone shutter clicking off multiple frames. When he emerged from the bathroom, his face was pale under his ruddy tan. “Coffee,” he said.
* * *
Gabe helped himself to a mug of coffee, then poured more for his associate. “This has been a hell of a twenty-four hours,” he said, draining half the cup.
“What comes next?” Brooke asked.
“Assuming the authorities don’t think foul play is involved, I suppose the body will be removed to the funeral home at St. Ann’s.”
“Will there be an autopsy?” Brooke cringed as soon as she’d said the word.
“Up to the sheriff and the coroner. I mean, she was old and terminally ill. And as far as we know, nobody would have a motive to want her dead, right?”
“Not that I know of,” Brooke said.
“If that’s the case, they’ll start the work to issue a death certificate. After that is when the fun begins.”
“What’s that mean?” Brooke asked. “You drew up a new will and executed it yesterday before I got here. Right?”
He set the coffee mug on the table and massaged his temples with both hands. “Not quite. I did draw up the will. Josephine read and approved it, but we needed two witnesses. Louette was supposed to fetch a couple of folks from Oyster Bluff, but then there was the trouble with the boat, and Josephine was excited about seeing your mother and Lizzie, and the will got pushed onto the back burner.”
“Oh no,” Brooke moaned. “I thought everything was signed and sealed.”
“Christ!” He stared down at the table. “This is going to be a hell of a mess, and it’s totally my fault. I knew I should have pressed her to get those witnesses over here yesterday, but Josephine was adamant about greeting her guests first.”
“Not blaming you at all, but couldn’t you have gotten Louette and maybe C. D. as witnesses?”
“No. She’d left them small bequests, so they had the same conflict as you.”
“Which means that Josephine died intestate.”
“As far as I know, yes.”
Brooke gestured upward with her chin. “So this means we tell everybody—Varina and Felicia, Lizzie, Mom, and of course, Louette and Shug—that they don’t inherit?” She stood and began rifling cupboards, banging the warped wooden doors as she searched.
“What are you looking for?” Gabe asked.
“Aspirin. Let’s hope there’s an industrial-sized bottle somewhere in here.”
36
“Good morning, ladies,” Louette murmured, head down, eyes averted. She set a tray of fruit, coffee, and tea down on the sideboard. “Breakfast will be just a few minutes.”
Brooke looked around the table, wondering how she would break the news to the women that their hostess was dead. As a delaying tactic, she got up and began filling coffee cups.
“I’ll get your tea, Auntie Vee,” Felicia volunteered.