The High Tide Club

“I know them,” Brooke said.

“I showed him how to search the local genealogical society databases here and in the next county over. And then we had to order him some books through interlibrary loan. One was an old out-of-print book about Josephine Bettendorf Warrick that she apparently commissioned back in the 1970s. He was incensed that we charged him three dollars for ordering those materials and having them shipped here. Gave me the whole line about being a Vietnam vet and how his tax dollars paid our salaries.”

“What kind of books?”

Janice lowered her voice. “I don’t mind telling you, because you’re a longtime patron, but that man, Mr. Anthony, was obsessed with privacy. To the point of being paranoid. He wanted to make sure we weren’t keeping any records of what he was looking at.”

“Which was?”

“Hmm. Well, he looked at the county property tax records. I know, because I helped him with that. He printed out some records concerning Talisa. And then he also researched legal records from Glynn and Chatham counties.”

“Did he say why he was interested in those counties?”

“I tried not to get too close to him, to tell you the truth,” Janice said. “His personal hygiene isn’t the best, if you know what I mean. But I think I printed out some tax records for him. And he was looking at civil and criminal dockets for those counties too. I remember because he raised holy you-know-what because we charge ten cents apiece for printouts!”

“Weird,” Brooke said.

Janice looked around to make sure she couldn’t be overheard. “Pretty sure he was also trying to look for online pornography sites too. We have blocks to keep people from doing that, but a couple of times, when he left before signing off the computer, I saw the record of his Google searches. Yeesh!”

“Anything else you can think of?”

“He was very interested in wills and trusts and that sort of thing. Funny, because he didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would stand to inherit anything from anybody.”

“Fascinating,” Brooke said. “Has he been in here lately? Like in the past week or so?”

“I didn’t see him myself, because I was at lunch, but Myra mentioned that he was here last week. She finally had to ask him to quit standing outside the doors smoking those cigars of his, because the other patrons were complaining. Excuse me,” Janice said, hurrying off to quiet a table of giggling teenage girls.

60

“Brooke?” Lizzie’s voice was crackling with excitement when she called early Thursday morning. “I found something. You need to get over here right away and take a look.”

“I was planning on coming this morning. Are you at Shellhaven now?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Can you ask Shug to come pick me up? I can be at the marina by nine o’clock.”

“He just pulled up with Louette,” Lizzie said. “I’ll ask him now.”

* * *

Lizzie met Brooke at the Shellhaven dock, and it struck Brooke that although she’d been on the island only a short time, the change since she’d arrived from California was remarkable. She wore shorts, a white tank top, beat-up sneakers with no shoelaces, and a baseball cap. She held Dweezil in the crook of her elbow.

“My chariot awaits,” she announced grandly, pointing at a battered blue VW station wagon.

“Where’d you get the car?” Brooke asked, jumping into the front seat.

Lizzie handed over the cat. “Shug knew a guy who knew a guy. So for the price of a battery and new tires, I am now the proud new owner. I had it barged over Monday.”

Brooke looked down at Dweezil, who was butting her hand with her head.

“She would like you to scratch her ears,” Lizzie said. “And neck and chin. In that order.”

Brooke did as instructed, and the cat purred her approval. As she scratched the cat, she brooded once again about how to tell Lizzie that she was about to be evicted.

“Oh, hey, that’s Lionel.” Lizzie slowed the car as they approached a young Geechee child. He was barefoot, with a fishing pole propped against one shoulder, lugging a bucketful of fish.

“Lionel, what’s happenin’?” Lizzie called, pulling up alongside him.

“Hey, Miss Lizzie. You give me ride?”

“Sure thing. Hop in the back.”

He wrenched the back door open and slid the bucket across the seat. The smell of fish filled the car. In an instant, Dweezil leaped onto the backseat and began pawing at the bucket.

Lizzie turned to look at the boy. “Did you catch all those fish?”

“I cotched some, but Dobie, he give me some he had extra.”

Lizzie frowned. “Those fish look pretty small, Lionel. They’re not really keepers.”

“Oh yeah, they keepers. My mama gonna keep ’em and fry ’em for supper tonight.”

“Next time, Lionel, they need to be fourteen inches long. Otherwise, you need to throw them back while they’re still alive, so they get big enough to make some more fish babies. If the ranger man comes around and finds you with those little fish, you could get into trouble.”

Lionel shook his head vigorously, sending his dreadlocks flying. “The ranger man already come ’round today. Dobie, he see him coming, so he give me these fish and tell me go home.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Dobie knows better than to keep undersized fish, Lionel,” she said. “It’s probably better if you don’t take any more fish from him.”

“But he’s my friend,” Lionel protested. “He give me money to go to the store to get his smokes and let me keep the change and get me some candy and Cokes.”

Lizzie pulled the car to a stop in front of the Oyster Bluff sign. “Okay, pal, this is as far as we go today.”

She watched the child trudge away. “Dobie is sort of the town drunk of Oyster Bluff. He ignores all the local game and fish regulations. According to Shug, the Department of Natural Resources ranger regularly issues him tickets, but he tears ’em up and ignores the fines.”

“Seems like you’ve settled in and gotten to know the locals,” Brooke said.

“They have a covered-dish supper Sunday nights at the Oyster Bluff community house. Louette invited me.” She patted her belly with a rueful grin. “The food is unbelievable. Baked redfish, shrimp pilau, deviled crab. The island’s not such a bad place once you get used to the humidity and the gawd-awful bugs,” Lizzie said. She slapped at an invisible bug on her forearm and grimaced. “I’ll never get used to the damn no-see-um gnats.” She glanced over at Brooke, noting her glum expression. “What’s wrong? You’re not looking too cheery today. How did your date with sugar daddy Gabe go?”

“It started out great, but then I had to cut the night short because of a crisis at home,” Brooke said. “The thing is, Gabe wants you out of Shellhaven. Like, right away.”

“What’s the big hurry?”

“I’m sorry,” Brooke said. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the odious Dorcas and Delphine have apparently been kicking up a fuss. They say you’re trespassing, and Gabe agrees that you really don’t have a right to be going through Josephine’s papers.”

Lizzie’s answering smile was enigmatic. “Just wait until you see what I uncovered in those papers. You can tell Dorcas and Delphine to take a flying leap.”