Damn it,Brooke thought. She’d bungled that one badly.
“No, not at all. I know how much good work you and your friends do and how hard you work at it,” Brooke said hastily. “But couldn’t you let your cochair run the meeting? Please, Mom? For me?”
“Well, if it really means that much, I’ll do it for you, but not for her. This seems like a lot of fuss,” Marie complained. “I don’t mean to second-guess you, Brooke, but how do you even know Josephine really and truly means to leave the island to a bunch of strangers? It’s just so unbelievably odd. Are you sure this isn’t some ploy, just to get attention or sympathy?”
“It had better not be,” Brooke said.
23
Gabe Wynant was dressed for his Wednesday morning meeting with Josephine Warrick in what was apparently his idea of island casual—white button-down oxford cloth shirt (sans necktie), pressed khakis, and navy-blue blazer, accessorized by Topsiders (sans socks) and a briefcase. Brooke didn’t have the heart to tell him that Shellhaven didn’t have air-conditioning.
“Who’s this?” C. D. asked Brooke as the two boarded the boat.
“Gabe Wynant,” the visitor said, extending a hand in greeting.
C. D. reluctantly shook hands. “C. D. Anthony. You got a business card?”
Being the Southern gentleman he was, Gabe produced a thick velum card and handed it to the boatman.
“Another lawyer?” He raised one bushy eyebrow.
“How are you today, C. D.?” Brooke asked.
“Same as ever. Bursitis, arthritis, and gastritis. Them VA doctors are all a bunch of quacks, if you ask me.”
Gabe started to offer his condolences, but Brooke gave him a warning shake of her head to telegraphDo not engage.
***
“I haven’t been over to Talisa probably since the eighties, when it was included on one of the Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation’s rambles,” Gabe said as they puttered slowly through the marina’s no-wake zone. “At the time, the house wasn’t open for tours. I’ve always been fascinated with the place.”
“It’s pretty much a living time capsule,” Brooke said. “Josephine has tried to keep everything the same as it was at the time of her husband’s death.”
“When did he die?”
“Sometime in the sixties, I think.” She glanced at C. D., whose back was turned to them. “The house and grounds are in pretty sad shape. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the manpower to keep up with all the needed maintenance. Even in its current condition, you can tell it was once pretty magnificent.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it. And, of course, to working with the lady of the house,” Gabe said.
“You might change your mind about that once you actually meet her,” C. D. said. He’d turned around and was facing them now, ready to insert himself into their conversation.
Brooke frowned and shot her colleague theDo not engagelook again, which Gabe cheerfully ignored.
“Why’s that?”
“Just sayin’. She’s a tough old bird. Stingy as hell.”
“Why do you stay?” Gabe asked. “I mean, if she’s as bad as you say.”
“I’m seventy-six years old. I got a bad leg and some might say a bad attitude. I ask you, who else is gonna hire me and give me a place to live, sorry as it is?”
“Exactly,” Brooke said. She pointedly turned toward the bow of the boat, leaving her back to the boat’s captain and effectively ending the conversation.
***
When C. D. pulled the boat alongside the dock at Shellhaven, the same little boy was stationed at the end of the dock, waiting. “Hey, C. D.,” the boy called.
“Gimme a hand with the bowline, will ya, Lionel?” C. D. tossed him the bowline, and the kid knotted it around a cleat.
