Page 19 of The High Tide Club
“And you’d be doing a really good thing. You’re fond of Louette and Shug, aren’t you? Think of what it would mean to them—to own their own home again.”
Brooke paused, then reached out again and touched Josephine’s hand. This time the old woman sighed loudly but did not shake her off.
“Look, Josephine. You called me over here because you said you want to make things right, because you’re not sleeping. You said yourself, you don’t have much time left. If that’s true, why not start by returning Oyster Bluff to those families who still live there?”
“It’ll be a big mess,” Josephine grumbled. “Lots of paperwork.”
“That’s why you have me,” Brooke said. “I can get started on it right away, if you’ll get me a list of your tenants. My assistant can look everything up in the county tax office.”
“Fine,” Josephine said, throwing up her hands in surrender.
“Do you have contact information for Varina’s niece in Jacksonville?” Brooke asked.
Josephine motioned to the corner of the room, in the general direction of a huge antique mahogany Chinese Chippendale secretary. “There’s an address book in the top drawer of the desk. It has a blue leather cover. I might still have the last birthday card Varina sent me tucked in there somewhere.”
“What about a phone number for Felicia?”
“I don’t know. Just look in the address book.”
“While we’re on the subject, if I’m going to try to track down your friend Ruth’s family, I’m going to need whatever information you have. Old correspondence, anything like that with her last known address.”
Josephine’s eyelids drooped, first one, then the other, and she leaned her head against the back of the recliner. “Dear Ruth. She always had the cleverest Christmas cards. She was a wonderful writer, Ruth was. That was one of the things I missed, after our quarrel. Those damn Christmas cards.”
“Josephine?”
Brooke leaned forward. Her client was perfectly motionless. She gingerly touched her bony wrist. Her skin was cool, the skin dry as paper and brown-splotched. Brooke wrapped her fingers around the old lady’s wrist, watching her face for any reaction. There was a surprisingly strong pulse.
Josephine snored softly. Not dead. Just napping.
Brooke stood and walked over to the secretary. She might as well start trying to find contact information for Ruth’s heirs and for Varina. She yawned involuntarily. What she wouldn’t give for a few stolen hours of sleep. Her son had climbed into bed with her sometime after midnight, nestling against her back, his sweet, warm breath close against her neck. And sometime after that, he’d wet the bed, and they’d both ended up sleeping on the lumpy sofa in the living room.
She heard a hesitant knock at the door, and Louette entered, carrying a silver tray with a plate of sandwiches, a bowl of potato chips, and a silver pitcher beaded with condensation. She cleared some magazines from a tabletop and set the tray down, glancing over at her employer.
“I was hoping she’d eat something,” Louette said, shaking her head. “The doctor says she needs to gain weight, but I can’t hardly get her to eat anything. I made her favorite—egg salad on toast, and there’s a pitcher of iced coffee too. Does that sound okay? I could fix something else if you want.”
“Actually, that sounds perfect. My son was a little fussy this morning, so I didn’t have time to grab breakfast and I’m starving.”
“You need anything else before I run down to the dock to meet Shug? He’s bringing our groceries, and I don’t want my milk to sour in this heat.”
“No, thanks. I’m going to eat this lunch, then go through Josephine’s address book for some folks she wants me to contact.”
Louette nodded and started to leave the room, but then she turned and came back. “I’m not trying to pry into Miss Josephine’s business,” she said, hervoice low. “But I do know she’s not sleeping well or eating, and she’s all upset about those state folks coming around, trying to make her sell the island to them. Is that why she wanted to see you?”
Brooke hesitated. “I’m sorry. My business with Josephine is confidential. She specifically asked me not to tell anybody about our discussion.”
“Okay,” Louette said. “I figured you couldn’t say anything. It’s just, Shug and me and the rest of us, we’re worried about what will happen. You know… after.” Her dark eyes rested on Josephine, asleep in her chair. She smoothed her hands over her hips. “If the state takes the rest of Talisa, what’ll happen to Oyster Bluff? Where’ll we go? Shug wasn’t crazy about moving over here, at first, but now, he’s turned into a real Geechee. He hates the idea of going back to the city. And so do I.”
“I don’t blame you,” Brooke said. “This island. There’s something special about it that I can’t describe. It’s like the last wild place.”
“It is that,” Louette said. “You know, when I was coming up, I couldn’t wait to get off this island. The day I got done with high school, I told my mama I was getting me a job in town and finding me a man from away, and then I wasn’t ever coming back here again.”
“I felt the same way about Savannah, where I grew up,” Brooke agreed. “I didn’t even want to go to college in Georgia. And then I ended up moving right back home after law school. So what did your mother say when you told her you never planned on coming back here?”
“She just laughed and told me to go on and get all that running around out of my system,” Louette said. “But she always said she knew someday I’d end up right back here on Talisa. And she was right. My mama was nobody’s fool.”
8
The secretary was enormous, with seeded glass doors behind elaborate fretwork, and a drop-front desk with a dozen small cubbies and drawers. Each slot was crammed with yellowing stationery, envelopes, pencil stubs, and notebooks. Behind the glass doors, leather-bound books with stamped gold lettering were shoved up against Chinese export blue-and-white porcelain vases and bowls. The top shelf of the bookcase held a turtle shell, an old mayonnaise jar full of beach glass, and a stuffed squirrel with lifeless brown glass eyes and a tail that seemed to have lost most of its fur.
