The High Tide Club

“Run that by me again?” Lizzie said. “Are you saying we don’t inherit? Like, anything?”

“Yes,” Gabe said, looking defeated. “That is correct. For all intents and purposes, Mrs. Warrick died intestate.”

Felicia pounded the tabletop with the flat of her hand, sending coffee cups and plates bouncing and clattering. “I knew it! I knew this was just some bullshit white guilt trip.”

“All because of a frigging piece of paper you didn’t get signed?” Lizzie demanded. “We can fix that. Send for the witnesses now. Get Louette and that weird guy who drives the boat. Have them sign the will, backdate it, then slip them a couple of hundred bucks to keep their mouths shut, and it’s all good. The will is in effect, and everybody’s happy.”

Gabe shook his head. “It’s not that simple. For one thing, Mrs. Warrick left both Louette and C. D. bequests, which means they are ineligible to be witnesses. But more importantly, even if they hadn’t been named as beneficiaries, such an action would constitute fraud, and as an officer of the court, I cannot and will not be a party to that.”

* * *

“The sheriff just called. He and the coroner should be docking in a few minutes,” Louette announced, returning to the dining room. “I said I’d send Shug to fetch them.” She circled the table with the coffeepot, hovering quietly in the background as the unhappy news sank in.

It was Lizzie who asked the question that had already occurred to everybody.

“If none of us inherits everything, who does? Josephine didn’t have any family, right?”

“Actually, she did,” Brooke said. “There are a couple of distant relatives. Second or third cousins, I believe?” She looked to Varina for verification.

“Those Underwood girls.” Varina frowned. “Josephine never did take to them.”

“She couldn’t stand those women,” Louette agreed. “She always blamed them for ruining that end of the island by selling their land to the state to make a park out of it.”

“Did either of you ever meet these cousins?” Gabe asked.

“Just the one time,” Varina said. “Those two … I forget their first names…”

“Dorcas and Delphine,” Louette put in. “But I don’t know their married names.”

“Ooh, yes,” Varina said. “Long time ago. Josephine wouldn’t even let ’em in the house. She stood right in that front doorway out there and told them they could get off her property and never come back. Then one of them started to say something about burying the hatchet and acting like family again, considering they were all cousins, and that’s when she told them they’d better not hold their breath waiting on her to leave them anything, because she’d leave it all to her dogs before she gave them a single red cent,” Varina said.

“But guess who’ll be having the last laugh now?” Lizzie said gloomily.

“Is that right, Mr. Wynant?” Varina asked, turning to Gabe. “Will everything really go to those Double D girls? Isn’t there anything you can do to stop that from happening?”

“That’s for a judge to decide, but yes, barring any other claims on the estate, and if these cousins truly are her only other living relatives, that’s a possibility.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Wynant, but what happens in the meantime?” Louette asked. “To the house and the island and to me and Shug and C. D.? And all the folks living at Oyster Bluff? She was going to give that land back to all of us, wasn’t she, Brooke?”

“Yes, that was her intent. I had all the paperwork drawn up, but again, it was never signed and witnessed.”

“So we’re all out of a job, and now we’re fixing to get kicked out of our houses and off this island,” Louette said sadly. She turned and hurried back to the kitchen.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Brooke appealed to Gabe. “I know the law’s the law, but you and I also know how Josephine wanted her estate disposed of. This all seems so heartless.”

“I can petition the county to be named administrator of the estate,” Gabe conceded. “If approved, I would be able to keep the staff on here, to maintain the house and grounds. That might buy us some time.”

“Time to do what?” Lizzie asked, draining her coffee cup.

“I don’t know,” Brooke admitted. “Do some research. See if Josephine left an earlier will, anything that would keep her cousins—or ultimately the state—from taking over the island. It’s a long shot, but I can tell you this—Josephine Bettendorf Warrick had been living in this house full-time since the war was over. That’s nearly seventy years. And judging just from the papers she had me look through in the library, when I was trying to track you and Varina down, she was a world-class pack rat.”

“Can we do that? Legally?” Felicia asked.

“Maybe.” But Gabe sounded dubious.

37

“Sheriff’s here,” Louette said, gesturing to the man and the woman who stood in the front hallway at Shellhaven.

The man stepped forward and held out a hand to Gabe and then to Brooke. He was trim, probably midforties, with steel-framed glasses and dressed in a khaki uniform. When he removed his cap, his closely shaved head gleamed in the dim light.

“Good morning,” he said. “Howard Goolsby, Carter County. And this here,” he said, referring to his companion, a sturdily built middle-aged brunette dressed in civilian clothes, “is Kendra Younts, our county coroner.”

After the introductions were made, Goolsby wasted no time.

“Who found the body?”

“I did,” Louette said.

“And you are?”

“Louette Aycock. That was my husband, Shug, who just picked you up at the dock. We both work for Miss Josephine.”

“Can you show us?”

“Yes, sir,” Louette said. “Right down this hallway.”

“Will you need us?” Brooke asked, not anxious to revisit the death scene.

“Stick around, if you would. I’ll need to talk to you after this,” Goolsby said.

* * *

Brooke and Gabe sat on the stiff upholstered furniture in the living room.

“I feel like I’m living in the middle of an Agatha Christie novel,” Brooke said, clasping and unclasping her hands.

“If Agatha Christie had ever written a book set on the Georgia coast,” Gabe said.

“You don’t think they’ll think something … bad happened, right?”

“I don’t see why they would,” Gabe said. “This is all strictly procedural.”

“This is all just so … bizarre,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad I got to meet Josephine Warrick and see all of this,” he said, indicating the house. “The whole story she told us last night was unbelievably fascinating. And of course, I’m glad to be working with you again, Brooke. I just wish we’d gotten that damn will executed.”

She heard herself say her father’s favorite phrase. One she’d always hated. “It is what it is.” Brooke nodded in the direction of the closed library door. “Yeah. About that. Should we mention Russell Strickland to the sheriff?”

“God, no,” Gabe said quickly. “It’s just a story, right? No need to muddy the water, especially since we have no firsthand knowledge of what happened back then.”