“Like what?” Brooke asked.
“I ain’t a damn saint. Never said I was. Maybe I wrote some bad checks when I was between jobs, and maybe I got in some bar fights and got locked up for public drunkenness for pissin’ on somebody’s tires.”
“Okay,” Brooke said soothingly. “Those kinds of things happen. Totally understandable.”
“Ticked me off, you know? Some damn lawyer digging up dirt on me. So I decided I’d see what kind of dirt I could dig up on him.”
“Is that when you went to the library in St. Ann’s?”
“You know about that?” C. D. asked. “They keep records of who all looks up that stuff? Them librarians said they didn’t do that.”
“I have a confession to make,” Brooke said, coloring slightly. “We—that is, Lizzie and Felicia and I—were worried when you just disappeared. So we went over to your cottage, and we found the key where you’d hidden it, and we went in. I’m sorry, C. D., but really, we were worried that you might be sick or something.”
“Snooping. Spying on me,” C. D. said accusingly. “Big Brother always watching.”
“We found some of those papers you printed out from the library, the old newspaper photos and clippings. I was in the library yesterday, taking my son to story hour. I asked the librarians if they knew you, and they told me you’d been doing a lot of your own research and that they’d helped you figure out how to use the computers and access databases.”
“You know they charge you for stuff?” C. D. said, indignant. “I mean, that library is paid for with my tax dollars. And hell, I’m a senior citizen and a Vietnam vet. But yeah, that’s where I was doing my research. After that crook Gabe dug up his dirt, I figured two could play that game. So I got them library ladies to show me how to look at the clerk’s records in Savannah and up there at Sea Island, where he’s got that fancy house of his.”
Brooke pulled out her phone and pointed at the text message he’d sent her. “Is that where you found this?”
“And there’s a bunch more like that too,” C. D. said smugly. “He’s plastered bad paper all over Savannah. And that place of his up at Sea Island, it’s got all kinds of liens on it.” He tapped the file folder. “I’m not just talking about tax liens, either. Roofers, electricians, landscapers. Hell, the guy that cleans his swimming pool has a lien on that house.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right address and the right Gabe Wynant?” Brooke asked. “I’ve known Gabe for years. We worked in the same law firm. He’s a wealthy man with a thriving legal practice. I’ve been to his house downtown on West Jones Street several times. It’s probably worth $2 or $3 million. The same for the Sea Island house. Gabe is one of the most respected attorneys in Savannah.”
“He’s a damn crook is what he is. Look at all them small businesses he stiffed.”
Brooke said. “Look, C. D., Savannah’s still a small, gossipy Southern town. If Gabe were in some kind of financial trouble, there would be rumors, and I’d have heard something.”
“How long you been living down here?” C. D. asked.
“Three years,” she admitted. “I guess I have kind of cut myself off from the rumor mills.”
“You know the guy in the $2,000 suit and Rolex watch that drives a Mercedes and a Porsche,” C. D. said. He took off his cap and bent his head down. “Look here.”
There was a knot the size of a hen’s egg on the back of C. D.’s skull with an angry, jagged red scar running through it. “This is the guy I know.”
“Oh my God. Gabe did this to you? When? How?”
“Last week. I called him up and told him I wanted to talk to him about getting an advance on my money, and he just laughed. Said I wasn’t getting a dime. So I texted him the same photo I sent you, of those bad check charges, and all of a sudden, his calendar got freed up in a hurry. He said he couldn’t get down here until early evening. I was supposed to meet him at seven, but it was closer to eight. He said he’d got tied up in traffic, which I think now was just a lie.
“Anyway, I sat in the boat, had some beers, waiting. Hell, I been waiting my whole life, what’s a couple of more hours? He showed up, and it was dark, but I wasn’t too worried, because the boat’s got running lights, and anyway, I could cross that river blindfolded if I had to.
“He come on the boat, acting kind of nervous, and I offered him one of my beers. We talked a little bit about me getting my money, and he was acting like he actually had the money on him, but he wanted to talk more once we got to the island. I was just about out of the no-wake zone, had my back to him, when out of nowhere, he took that full beer bottle and bashed me on the back of my head. Before I knew it, he’d flung me off the side of my boat.”
“You could have been killed,” Brooke said.
“He thought he had killed me,” C. D. said. “I don’t know how, but I never even blacked out. I swam under water until I thought my lungs would explode. He took off and headed back toward the city dock. Me, I managed to make it over to the creek bank. I was bleeding and had a hell of a headache, I’ll tell you that. Lucky for me, the tide was coming in. I swam to a dock a little ways away. Climbed up, walked back to town, and got ahold of Ramona. She took me to the emergency room, and they stitched me up. I stayed at her place that night, then I got her to bring me back over to the island. Just wanted to sleep in my own bed and figure out what my next move was, you know?”
“But you didn’t stay there,” Brooke said. “Louette and Shug checked. We checked. It looked like you’d packed up and left in a hurry.”
“I got to the cottage that night, and the lights were on. I could see him, through the window, going through my stuff.”
“Who?”
“Wynant. He was real careful not to mess stuff up, but I seen him take those papers, the ones that showed all the bad check charges and liens. I watched him, and after he’d gone, I went in, and like you said, I packed up some stuff, got some food, and got the hell out of dodge. Come over here and let myself into the lighthouse, and I been staying here ever since.”
“I’m glad you reached out to me, but why now? And why hide out at all? Why not go to the sheriff? That’s attempted murder, C. D.”
