Page 121 of Hello, Summer
“And what did he give you?” Conley asked.
“After the kids left, and it was just the two of us, I was kind of teasing, and I said, ‘Your son got a shotgun, and your daughter got a ring. Don’t you have a present for me?’ That’s when he told me that he intended to deed the farm over to me.”
“Were you shocked?”
“Flabbergasted,” Toddie said. “You have to understand, Symmes was never what you would call generous. It’s true he let me and the kids live there rent-free, but I was responsible for the property taxes and the maintenance. It had been a hobby farm when we were married, but after the divorce, I turned it into a working quail-hunting plantation, and Hank and I have worked our butts off making it a success. As soon as the farm started turning a profit, Symmes began charging us rent on the land. For years, I’d been after him to sell it to me, but he never would.” She scowled. “I guess maybe I can thank Vanessa for loosening up the old tightwad. He certainly did well by her, with all the jewelry and clothes, fancy cars, the house in Georgetown, and the oceanfront mansion.”
“Did he say why he was suddenly feeling so generous?” Conley asked.
“It was obvious. He felt guilty.”
There was a light knock, then the office door swung open, and Skelly poked his head inside. “Hate to interrupt, but Toddie, Mama’s aide just brought her over. I told her you’re here, and she really wants to see you.”
“It’s fine. We were just finishing up,” Conley said. “Thanks, Toddie.”
“Don’t forget to get those pictures back to me,” the older woman said as she hurried out through the stockroom.
Skelly lingered while Conley stood and stowed the photos in her backpack.
“Well?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Did you get what you need for your story?”
“More than enough. Toddie was amazingly frank. I have to admire her. Symmes Robinette walked off and left her with two teenagers to raise, for a woman twenty years younger. Typical of that time, he had all the money, so he had all the power when it came time for the settlement. And yet, she managed to take care of business despite all that.”
“Toddie Robinette was no shrinking Southern belle,” Skelly agreed. “She could be tough as nails when she had to be.”
Conley patted her backpack. “With the quotes I got and the old family photos, I’ve got stuff now that no other reporter has access to. She was a gold mine. Thanks again, Skelly.”
He shrugged. “It was her idea.” He turned to go, but she reached out and touched his wrist.
“Skelly? I hate this.”
“What?”
“This! This awkwardness. I wish we could just go back to the way things were before.”
“You mean before the other night, when we were on the beach, and you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and we had a great time, then you announced you were already over me?”
Stung, she took a step backward. “I never said I was over you.”
“You could have fooled me,” he said.
45
By Conley Hawkins—special to The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Silver Bay, Florida—The life of the honorable U.S. Rep. C. Symmes Robinette, seventy-seven, may have ended in a fiery one-car crash in the early-morning hours of last week, but his mysterious death has ignited a smoldering hometown soap opera that seems equal partsDynastyandDallas.
Within days of the accident, which is still under investigation, Robinette’s widow, a fifty-six-year-old former congressional aide, whom he met and impregnated 34 years ago while still married to his first wife, and their son and namesake, thirty-four-year-old C. Symmes “Charlie” Robinette Jr., both declared intentions to vie for the congressman’s unexpired term in an upcoming special election.
“Thanksgiving could get a little awkward,” Charlie Robinette quipped at the time, “but we’re a political family.… We’re used to finding ways of compromising.”
And then things got nasty. Local voters, still divided over whether to side with Team Charlie or Team Vanessa, were further stunned this week when Charlie Robinette, who is managing partner in his father’s former law firm, took to the steps of the Griffin County Courthouse at a hastily called press conference to announce that, prior to his father’s death, he’d filed a formal complaint of elder abuse against Vanessa Robinette, alleging that his mother deliberately kept his terminally ill father, who was suffering previously undisclosed non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a virtual captive in his own home, isolating him from friends and other family members, and depriving him of skilled medical care.
Conley rested her head on her desktop. It was only Friday and she was already tired. Her eyes burned, and her shoulders ached. There was so much more to this story. There always was, because the news never ended; it just paused, hopefully long enough for someone to observe, analyze, and report.
She pushed Send on her keyboard just as Grayson walked up to her desk. She tossed a batch of typewritten copy onto Conley’s desk. “If you’re done with your freelancing gig, maybe you can do some work for theBeacon.”
“Noooo,” Conley groaned as she looked at the byline. “I can’t deal with Rowena today.”
