Page 38 of Hello, Summer
“Ouch. From the research I did earlier, I saw that Robinette’s house in D.C. was in Georgetown. I didn’t look up the tax records yet, but there’s nothing cheap in Georgetown.”
“What’s your point?” Skelly asked. “Symmes was a lawyer. All lawyers are rich, right?”
“He’s been in elected office for decades. Hasn’t practiced law in forty years. So where’s a small-town lawyer come up with the kind of money to own millions of dollars’ worth of real estate?”
“It’s not against the law to be a rich politician. Maybe he’s done really well in the stock market. Are you suggesting Robinette was some kind of crook?” Skelly asked.
“Not suggesting anything. Yet. I’m just doing what my old editor calledturning over rocks.To see what crawls out from under, you know?”
Skelly fixed her with a stern expression. “This isn’t Atlanta, Conley. Symmes Robinette was a hero to a lot of people around here. With the exception of my mama. You need to be real careful about what kind of rocks you turn over in Silver Bay. It’s a small town, and people take this stuff real personal.”
“So… don’t go poking any bears? Is that what you’re saying?”
“If you want to put it that way.”
“I’ll be discreet, but if there’s a story here, I’m gonna find it, Skelly. That’s what I do. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But what happened to kicking back at the beach? Hanging out with your grandmother?”
“Who says I can’t do both? Speaking of family,” she asked, trying to sound casual, “what’s up with the Little Prince these days?”
“Charlie? He’s a lawyer in the old man’s law firm. He’s a customer at the drugstore. I see him at the country club occasionally, although I haven’t been over there since, well, since Danielle left. I know he hangs with the courthouse crowd. Very preppy. I think he’s what they call anup-and-comer.”
“So a chip off the old block. I wonder—”
“Oh shit!” Skelly jumped to his feet. “Mama?”
A tiny, wraithlike figure walked briskly down the sidewalk in their direction. She was barefoot, wearing an oversize white undershirt, and was, from what Conley could see, naked from the waist down.
“Patrick?” June called. Her voice was startlingly loud and shrill, coming from such a diminutive body. She stood outside the wrought iron fence surrounding Lorraine’s yard, searching for her long-dead husband.
Skelly rushed to his mother’s side, taking her by the arm. “Mama, what are you doing out here? What happened to your clothes?”
“I’ll go get her something to wrap up in,” Conley said. She went inside and came out with the first thing at hand, a crocheted throw G’mama kept in a basket by the hall closet.
She flew down the steps and handed the blanket to Skelly, who struggled to wrap the throw around his mother’s waist.
“Patrick?” June Kelly gave her son a stern look. “I’ve been calling and calling you. Your supper is ready. Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Sean said. “I just came down here for a moment. Let’s go on home now and get you back to bed. It’s pretty late.”
June brushed her son aside, letting the throw fall to the grass. Conley couldn’t help but stare. What had happened to her beautiful, stylish,accomplished neighbor? Sean’s mother’s face was smooth and unlined, but she wore grotesquely smeared red lipstick, and her thinning white hair stood out from her head like a barbed wire halo.
“Who’s that?” June Kelly demanded, pointing at Conley. “Your new girlfriend?”
Skelly shot her an apologetic look as he tried again to cover his mother’s exposed lower body.
“This is Sarah Conley Hawkins, Mama. You know Sarah. She’s Chet and Melinda’s daughter. Lorraine’s granddaughter. Come back to town to visit.”
“Don’t lie to me, Patrick.” June batted his hands away. “Is this your girlfriend? One of the nurses at the hospital? Or one of your so-called patients? How dare you!”
June Kelly’s brilliant blue eyes searched Conley’s face, trying to make a connection. Conley thought about all the times Miss June had treated her to a free ice cream cone at the soda fountain. She thought about the pharmacist’s immaculately starched white lab coats with her name stitched in cursive letters over the breast pocket that she’d worn over her pretty dresses. June Kelly, RPh.
“It’s me, Miss June,” Conley said, taking the older woman’s fragile arm. “Sarah Conley. Sean’s friend from down the street. Remember me?”
“Sarah? From down the street?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Conley said. She picked up the throw and fastened it, sari-style, looping one end over the older woman’s shoulder and knotting it securely in front before taking a step backward.
