Page 61 of The High Tide Club
Brooke looked down at the bleeding claw marks on her forearm. “Uh, sure.”
***
Marie turned around from the front seat and extended her hand toward their passenger. “Hi. I’m Marie. Brooke’s mom.”
“I figured,” Lizzie said, taking her hand and shaking it briefly. “Same nose and all.”
She opened the carrier, and an enormous fluffy gray cat exploded onto her lap, yowling indignantly. “And this is Dweezil.”
“My goodness,” Marie said. “I’ve never seen a cat that large. She’s beautiful. And so unusual looking. What kind of cat is she?”
“Maine coon cat,” Lizzie said, burying her nose in the cat’s fur. The cat purred happily and licked Lizzie’s face. “Three-time, All-West best-in-breed.” She looked out the window at the passing traffic. “About that drink?”
Brooke followed the airport signs toward the interstate. “We’re about an hour or so away from St. Ann’s. Can you wait until we get to your hotel? I think there’s a bar in the lobby.”
“They don’t have liquor stores in Florida?” Lizzie said pointedly.
“Riiiight,” Brooke said. She flipped her turn signal and maneuvered the Volvo into the far-right lane. “I think there might be one at this next exit.”
***
They waited in the car while Lizzie went into the liquor store. Dweezil was perched on the backseat, her face turned expectantly toward the window. A moment later, her owner was back, clutching a large brown sack under one arm and holding a smaller package with a straw poking out the top. Lizzie opened the back door and set the large sack on the floor, then clipped a leash to the cat’s collar and tucked her under her arm.
“This could take a while,” she warned. “Dweez doesn’t like to poop in new territory.”
“You walk your cat?” Brooke asked.
“Unless you want her to poop in your backseat, I do,” Lizzie said. She slammed the door and walked around to the side of the liquor store, where she gently set the cat down on the concrete.
“Interesting woman,” Marie said, raising one eyebrow.
***
Lizzie settled herself into the backseat with her cat on her lap. She reached into the paper sack and brought out a six-pack with one can missing. “Anybody want a mojito?” she asked. She took a sip from her own can. “No clue what’s in this, but it’s not half-bad.”
“I’m good,” Brooke said.
“No, thank you,” Marie added hastily.
“So,” Lizzie said, after they were back on the road. “Tell me about this island we’re about to inherit. Got any idea what it’s worth?”
“Um, well, the State of Georgia previously offered her $6 million,” Brooke said. “But Josephine doesn’t want to sell her portion of Talisa. Not under any condition. She’s going to fight the condemnation.”
“But we could sell it after she’s dead, right?” Lizzie asked. “That is, I could sell my portion, right? I mean, no offense to you girls, but I live in California. What do I need with an island in Georgia?”
“Actually, Josephine is adamant that the island shouldn’t ever be sold,” Brooke said. “That’s why she hired me. She wants to establish a trust to ensure that it’s left just as it is.”
“In perpetuity,” Marie added.
Lizzie took a long pull on her canned mojito. “Shit. But you’re a lawyer, right?”
“Yes.”
“If the state does force her to sell the island, who gets that money? When she’s gone? I mean, you told me she’s pushing the century mark and she doesn’t have any family. That just leaves us, right?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Brooke cautioned. “At this point, Josephine wants to meet with you, Marie, and Varina. After that, I can’t predict what will happen. She’s, um, eccentric, to say the least.”
“Are you trying to say that if she doesn’t like me, she might write me out ofher will?” Lizzie asked. She scratched the cat’s ears. “That won’t happen, will it, Dweez? Everybody loves your mommy. Right?”
