“You take me for a motorcycle ride?” Lionel asked eagerly.
“Maybe later,” C. D. said, nodding at his departing passengers.
It was Louette, and not her husband, who was waiting for them at the dock this time. She was driving a vehicle Brooke hadn’t seen before, a gleaming aqua-and-white four-door Chrysler with the exaggerated tailfins of a fifties muscle car.
Brooke gamely climbed into the backseat of the car and introduced Gabe Wynant. “Where’s Shug today?” she asked.
“He’s up on the roof, trying to patch another hole,” Louette said. “Silly me, I never did learn how to drive a stick shift, which is why I had to come fetch you in Nellybelle.” She gave the turquoise vinyl dashboard a fond pat.
“My dad had a Chrysler like this, only his was brown and cream,” Gabe said. “I can’t believe this thing still runs.”
“Shug likes to tinker with Miss Josephine’s cars when he has the time,” Louette explained. “This is one of his favorites.”
“There are others?” Gabe asked.
“Oh, sure. The barn is full of ’em. She don’t like to get rid of anything, especially if it had something to do with Mr. Preiss. Let’s see, there’s the Cadillac he bought her after they first got married. I guess it’s from the fifties, like this. And there’s her daddy’s old Packard. I don’t know how old that thing is. Shug can’t find parts for it no more. The oldest car, the roadster, is one that belonged to her brother, Gardiner, the one who was killed in the war.”
Gabe gestured at the cars parked nearby. “Is this some kind of junkyard?”
“Looks like it, don’t it? No, this is where island folks leave their cars when they’re going across to the mainland. We just leave the keys in ’em, in case somebody needs a ride somewhere,” Louette said.
“And nobody worries about car theft?” Gabe asked.
“Who’d steal any of this mess?” Louette scoffed. “Anyway, it’s an island. How far is somebody gonna get in a stolen car?”
“How’s Josephine feeling today?” Brooke asked.
“Shesaysshe feels fine, but I know she didn’t sleep much last night. I heard her get up two or three times in the night.”
“You’re sleeping in the house now?” Brooke was taken aback.
“Uh-huh. Miss Josephine fell and hurt herself Monday night. Said shetripped over one of the dogs. Somehow she managed to get up and get back in the bed. It’s a miracle she didn’t break a hip or crack her skull wide open. She fought me on it, but last night I fixed me a bed on the sofa in the living room, and that’s where I’m gonna be staying until…” Louette’s voice trailed off.
“Do you think Josephine needs round-the-clock nursing care?” Brooke asked.
“Maybe. But I know her, and she ain’t gonna do that. No, ma’am. She ain’t gonna want to spend the money on a nurse. It’s funny. She’s been telling me the doctor says this cancer will kill her, but she really ain’t ready to admit yet just how sick she is.”
Gabe turned around to Brooke. “Maybe that’s something I could discuss with her, if we’re redoing her will. She probably already has an advanced health care directive.”
“It’s worth a try,” Brooke said.
***
“Y’all go on inside, please, while I park Nellybelle out back,” Louette said when they’d reached the house. “She’s in the living room. Got herself all fixed up today, on account of having herself a ‘gentleman caller.’”
Gabe got out of the car and took a few steps backward to take in the house. The grass had been freshly cut, the formerly overgrown shrubbery nearest the house had been trimmed, and the flower beds weeded. He let out a low whistle under his breath. “So this is Shellhaven. Even with the decay, the photos don’t do it justice. It’s magnificent.”
“Just wait,” Brooke warned. “If you’re into shabby gentility, this is the place for you.”
She led the attorney through the foyer and down the hallway to the living room, where they found the lady of the house sitting in a high-backed chair angled in front of the fireplace, facing the sofa.
True to Louette’s word, Josephine seemed to have transformed herself into an old-style grande dame for today’s meeting. She was wearing a floor-length flowered silk caftan with a stunning double-strand pearl necklace and matching earrings, and a fluffy silver bouffant wig that sat slightly askew on herhead. She wore bright pink lipstick and a thick application of face powder that failed to hide a bruise on the right side of her face, but she still managed to look formidably regal. A box fan had been propped in front of one of the windows, its blades barely managing to stir the blanketlike heat in the room.
“Josephine,” Brooke said, “I want you to meet my former boss, Gabe Wynant.”
“Forgive me for not standing to greet you,” Josephine said, offering her hand to Gabe. “I took a tumble the other night and I haven’t quite regained my equilibrium.”
Gabe gently shook the old lady’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Warrick. Both to meet you and to see your beautiful home.”
