The High Tide Club
“Honestly? I don’t think this is about forgiveness,” Brooke said, drawing away. “It’s about understanding. What you said last night—about me pulling a disappearing act? It showed you don’t really know me, even after all this time. I left Harris Strayhorn because, ultimately, I wasn’t ready to be married. I’ve admitted that was wrong. I don’t regret canceling the wedding, but I do regret the careless way I did that and how deeply I hurt both our families. But I’ve changed. I have a child now, and he has to be my first priority. If you can’t understand that, there’s no future for us.”
Gabe nodded solemnly. “I get it. Really, I do. That’s part of what attracts me to you. Your fierceness. And your intelligence. Can we start over? Can I have that second chance?”
“Mama? Where Fawwah go?”
They both turned. Henry stood in the doorway, naked from the waist down, clutching his stuffed Ninja Turtle. “I pooped,” he said solemnly.
“This is my life now, Gabe,” Brooke said. “Are you really sure this is what you want?”
58
Brooke walked Gabe out to his car, blinking in the white-hot sunlight. “Any news on probating Josephine’s estate?”
“I’ve filed all the paperwork, and I’m still tracking down all the assets,” he said. “It’s still amazing to me that she allowed the house to deteriorate to the extent it has, even though she had millions in cash and stocks.”
“I think she wanted time to stand still after Preiss died. She only allowed Shug to do the barest minimum maintenance.”
“Crazy old bat,” he said, shaking his head. He turned the key in the ignition. “So … are we good? Can I call you again? I need to head back to Savannah this afternoon, but maybe I could take you to dinner when I’m down here next time on estate business?”
“Let’s take it a day at a time,” Brooke said. “Lizzie and Felicia and I are worried about C. D. Nobody’s seen or heard from him in several days.”
“He called me just this morning, demanding to know when he can get his inheritance,” Gabe said.
“Did he say where he was calling from? I meant to tell you, we checked his cottage at Shellhaven, and it looks like he hasn’t been there in a while. It looked like he’d left in a hurry.”
“You broke into the guy’s house? Bad idea. C. D. is certifiable. He’s paranoid, and he’s got a gun. There’s no telling what he’d do if he caught you prowling around his house.”
“We didn’t actually break in. Lizzie found the key. And we weren’t prowling. We were conducting a welfare check. Anything could have happened to him.”
“And did you find anything interesting?”
“No. Just copies of some old newspaper clippings and things of that nature.”
Gabe frowned. “C. D. has a record, Brooke. Mostly petty stuff—public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and a misdemeanor assault. My point is, until we have the results of that DNA test back, I’m not assuming he actually is Josephine’s heir.”
“But what about the stuff we found out in Savannah? The photos of Josephine with him at the orphanage? The truck she gave him? He still has it, you know. And if he wasn’t her child, why was she so benevolent toward the orphanage and the boy’s home?”
“The Bettendorfs believed in philanthropy. Josephine’s father built hospital wings, paid for local ball fields and libraries. He endowed university chairs, underwrote all kinds of things. Going through her tax records, I can see that up until her husband died, she gave away hundreds of thousands of dollars every year. That truck could be meaningless in the larger scheme of things.”
“Or it could be proof that Josephine felt deeply guilty about abandoning her child,” Brooke said stubbornly.
“We’ll see,” Gabe said. “So Lizzie is still living at Shellhaven?”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Those cousins don’t like the idea of anybody who isn’t family living there,” Gabe said. “They’ve called me twice to complain that she’s trespassing. I thought Lizzie understood that. Magazine article or no, she has no business digging through Josephine’s effects. I hate to be the bad guy here, but she really can’t stay there any longer.”
“But that’s so silly,” Brooke protested. “She’s not hurting anything.”
“Lizzie has no standing in this estate,” he said firmly. “Please let her know she needs to go. Or I will.”
59
On Monday, Brooke attended a child custody hearing, took a deposition on behalf of a client who’d shattered an ankle after slipping on a newly waxed floor at a fast-food joint near the interstate, and on Tuesday, after a day’s worth of negotiating, managed to get all the charges against Brittni Miles dropped. Her feeling of triumph was short-lived.
Farrah called shortly after nine. Brooke could tell from her voice that there was an issue.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Don’t hate me, but I need to miss work tomorrow,” Farrah said. “My granny’s back in the hospital in Jacksonville, and Mom says I need to go with her to visit.”
“I’m sorry.” Farrah’s grandmother’s declining health was a source of continued concern for the tight-knit Miles family. “You’ll be back to work on Thursday, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good, because I need to take a run over to Talisa, and I’m going to need you for Henry in the afternoon.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Henry squealed with happiness as soon as she pulled into the parking lot at the library. He loved Wednesday morning story hour.
“Hey, stranger!” Janice, the head librarian, a chunky brunette with a fondness for gaudy jewelry and big hair, approached and gave Brooke a hug. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Where’s Farrah this morning?”
“Family issues,” Brooke said. She watched as Henry ran off toward the cozy book-lined children’s room, eagerly taking his place among the chattering semicircle of preschoolers seated around Miss Myra, their beloved octogenarian storyteller.
“Life treating you all right?” Janice asked as Brooke plucked the Atlanta newspaper from the periodical rack.
“I’m good,” Brooke said. Seeing the newspaper reminded her of something that had been bothering her. “Janice, have you had an older guy in here a lot lately?”
“Tons,” Janice said. “The retirees come in to research their stock picks and read their hometown newspapers online, the unemployed want help writing résumés, and the homeless ones like the air-conditioning and use our bathrooms. Which old guy are you looking for?”
“He’s short and wiry, has a gray ponytail, always wears a baseball cap?”
“And smokes those stinky cigarillos? Don’t tell me he’s a friend of yours.”
“No. He’s an, um, acquaintance.”
“He’s a pain in the butt is what he is. He’s been researching back issues of the Savannah and Atlanta newspapers, doing all kinds of online searches. He seems to think I’m his personal computer instructor.”
“Any idea what he’s looking for?” Brooke asked.
“He’s very interested in local history. Especially the Bettendorf family. Do you know about them? They owned Talisa Island, and the last remaining member of the family died recently.”