Page 25 of The High Tide Club
Brooke hesitated. Josephine hadn’t told her not to reveal her identity, and she couldn’t really think of a legitimate reason not to disclose it.
“Hername is Josephine Bettendorf Warrick. Does that name ring a bell at all?”
“Never heard of her,” Lizzie said. “Spell it for me, okay? So I can Google it?”
Brooke spelled out her client’s name. “While you’re at it, you might want todo a search for Talisa; that’s the island Josephine owns, and it’s off the Georgia coast.”
“Got it,” Lizzie said. “My Wi-Fi is slow as hell, so if you would, fill me in on the details while I wait. Like, what’s the deal with this Josephine? And what does she want with me?”
“It’s complicated.” Brooke took a deep breath.
“You’d be surprised at the depth of my ability to handle complicated issues, Mrs. Trappnell.”
“It’s Ms. Trappnell, but call me Brooke.”
“Okay, Brooke. I’m listening.”
***
“I know there are gaping holes in this story, but what you have to realize is that Josephine is ninety-nine and critically ill. I met her just a few days ago, so she’s been feeding me the details in tiny little spoonfuls,” Brooke said. “Your grandmother Ruth and Josephine were lifelong friends. They were roommates in boarding school and made their debuts together.”
“I never knew Granny was a debutante,” Lizzie said, chuckling. “That’s just crazy! She was a card-carrying liberal.”
“Which Josephine decidedly is not,” Brooke volunteered. “Anyway, Josephine and Ruth were also best friends with Mildred Updegraff, who, by the way, was my grandmother. They had another friend, who was much younger, named Varina. The four girls had a little club, sort of a secret society, which they called the High Tide Club.”
“Cute, but what’s the point?” Lizzie said.
“Sometime after the war—World War II, that is—Josephine had a falling-out with my grandmother Millie and later, your grandmother Ruth. Over the years, she lost contact with everyone except for Varina. Josephine is hazy on the details, but that’s it in a nutshell. Now she’s got terminal cancer. She wants to reconnect with her old friends’ heirs and ‘make amends’ as she says. I should add that Josephine has been a widow for many years and never had children.”
Brooke heard the tapping of keys from the other end of the line.
“Holy shit,” Lizzie said. “I’m just reading an article about Josephine Warrick. This says that Talisa is twelve thousand acres. Is that true?”
“Yes. A small portion of the island was owned by distant cousins, who sold it to the State of Georgia for a park in 1978, but Josephine retains ownership of the rest of Talisa, and she’s determined not to let the state take her land. That’s how I got involved.”
“I’m looking at a photo of some gorgeous pink mansion. It looks like a frickin’ castle!” Lizzie exclaimed.
“That’s Shellhaven. It was built in the twenties by Josephine’s father, who was a shipping magnate. It’s in pretty bad shape these days, but Josephine is also adamant that the house should be preserved. She wants her land and house transferred intact to her beneficiaries,” Brooke said.
“Are you telling me a woman I never met, never even heard of until today, wants me to inherit a twelve thousand–acre island in Georgia?”
“Not exactly,” Brooke said. “I mean, maybe. It’s not really clear. And yes, I understand how insane this all sounds to you, because it sounds insane to me too, and unlike you, I’ve met her, and I’ve been to Talisa.”
“This is totally, totally nuts,” Lizzie said.
“Agreed. So here’s the thing. Josephine wants to meet you. You and your brother. I’ve been trying to find a way to contact him too, but I’m sort of at a dead end.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Bobby’s dead,” Lizzie said.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Brooke said.
“Don’t be. My brother had what we journalists like me call ‘a checkered criminal career.’ We hadn’t talked in years. I only found out Bobby was dead when his landlord called me up to ask for his last three months of back rent. Turns out he’d listed me as next of kin on his apartment application.”
Brooke was at a loss for words.
“So you were saying?” Lizzie prompted.
