“Did C. D. say where he was going? And how does he get around when he’s over there? Does he have a car in St. Ann’s?”
“According to Shug, C. D. has an old Vega. A real rust bucket he keeps parked at the city marina,” Felicia said. “And Louette thinks he might have a girlfriend there too.”
“How does he get around on the island? Does he always use Josephine’s truck?”
“I’ve seen him a couple of times on a motor scooter,” Lizzie said. “Don’t know if it’s actually his or if it belonged to Josephine.”
“I find it hard to picture Josephine on a motor scooter,” Brooke said. “Does anybody know where C. D. was headed when he went to the mainland?”
“He told Shug he was going shopping for a new boat so he’d be ready to buy it when his inheritance from Josephine comes through,” Felicia said. “Which gave everybody a good laugh.”
The trunk bounced down the long drive to Shellhaven.
“Looks like Shug’s been busy,” Brooke said. The huge expanse of grass had been mowed. All the fallen palm fronds and tree branches had been picked up, and the flower beds had been weeded.
“Finally getting a paycheck was a real morale booster,” Lizzie said. “But Shug can’t keep these grounds up all by himself. He’s got to have help, from C. D. or somebody.”
“Louette says C. D. wasn’t that much help with the lawn maintenance anyway,” Felicia said. “He mainly wanted to take care of the boat and run errandson the mainland. She says he’s forever wandering off and disappearing for a day or two.”
“Does she have any guess where he goes?”
“Maybe shacked up with the girlfriend?”
***
They walked over to the barn, a creaky wooden structure that seemed to lean at a near forty-five-degree angle. It was painted a weathered white, and sunlight shone through cracks in the old boards.
“Shug says the barn roof is in worse shape than the house,” Lizzie remarked. “He’d finally talked Josephine into shelling out the money to hire roofers to do it, but then, after she got so sick, the roof sort of got put on the back burner.”
“She wanted her husband’s cars preserved, Louette says,” Felicia added. “I walked over here and looked at them this week. If you’re into cars, it’s a pretty amazing collection.”
Lizzie grasped one of the barn doors, and the rusted hinges squealed a protest. Inside, it was dim and relatively cool and smelled of mildew and mouse droppings. Four shadowy hulks were shrouded in dusty tarps.
She walked over to the car on the end and yanked off the cover to reveal a gleaming vintage roadster.
“This was the last car Gardiner owned, and we know Josephine worshiped him. And this car,” Brooke said, running a hand over the hood of the roadster.
Felicia walked slowly around the roadster and peered in the back. “Is this the same car she told us they dumped Russell Strickland’s body in when they went to bury him?”
“It must be,” Brooke said.
Felicia jumped away from the car, eliciting a belly laugh from Lizzie.
“What’s the matter, Felicia? You getting spooked by an old car?”
“Must be ’cause I’m spending all my time with these Geechees,” Felicia admitted. “I had no idea how superstitious my people are. Even Auntie Vee. You can’t leave a broom in a corner because she says that means somebody’s fixingto die. And don’t you let her catch you leaving a pocketbook on a bed, either. I’ve started writing it all down. It’s really pretty fascinating.”
Brooke carefully returned the dustcover to the roadster. “How far is C. D.’s place from here?”
“Just a little ways away,” Lizzie said. “It used to be the chauffeur’s house.”
The house stood in the shadow of an enormous oak tree. It was a step up from the humble slave cottages they’d seen at Oyster Bluff—wood frame, with a small front porch ornamented with simple Victorian-inspired gingerbread trim. Once, the house had been white, but only traces of the paint remained now. A front door with a small window was flanked on either side with tall windows.
Lizzie stepped onto the porch and boldly jiggled the doorknob.
“Lizzie!” Felicia scolded.
“He could be in there, hurt and unable to call out to anybody,” Lizzie said. She stepped to the right and pressed her face against the wavy window glass, which was smeared with ancient layers of grime and cobwebs. “Can’t see a thing through all this dirt,” she complained.
