“My first and last time drinking alcohol,” Varina said. “I guess I was cutting up pretty bad.”
“It had gotten late, after midnight. And we didn’t dare take her home drunk,” Josephine said. “And anyway, none of us wanted to go home. We hadthis crazy idea about staying out all night—under the stars. Millie wanted to do it. She thought it would be her last night with all of us before she got married.”
“But the bugs… oooh, the bugs were bad back then,” Varina said.
“And it started to rain. Then I remembered the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage. The government had decommissioned it several years earlier, but I knew Gardiner had a key to the cottage hidden under the roadster’s doormat. So I drove us over there, the key worked, and we all piled onto the only bed in the place.”
“Four girls in one bed?” Lizzie wrinkled her nose at the idea.
“Four very drunk girls,” Josephine said. “I was the tallest, and Ruth wasn’t exactly tiny, but Millie and Varina were so petite, they didn’t take up any room at all.” She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Oh my. Maybe I overdid it tonight. Or maybe it’s just these damn pills.” The old woman shook herself slightly as though she were shaking off her weariness. “I can’t remember who woke up first, but I know it was early, because that bed was facing east, so the sun was shining right in our eyes.”
“Y’all didn’t hear me creeping out of that bed, getting sick in the middle of the night, I guess,” Varina said. She held her head between her hands at the memory of it. “Ooh, I had a headache, and I’d never been so sick in my life.”
Felicia laughed. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I just can’t picture you hungover.”
“Girls do lots of crazy things when they’re young,” Varina said. “I seem to remember your mama and daddy putting up with all kinds of foolishness from you.”
“That’s true,” Felicia agreed. “I was a real handful.”
“We were all a little worried, because it was Sunday morning, and we didn’t want Varina to get in trouble for missing church, so we got dressed and hurried back to Oyster Bluff. We hadn’t gotten very far when I spotted something up ahead, in the middle of the road. As I got closer, I could see it was buzzards. Three of the biggest, boldest buzzards I’d ever seen. There was another, pecking at something off in the tall grass. And they didn’t fly off, even when the car was almost on top of them. At first I assumed it was a dead animal, like a deer or a feral hog or something. But as we got closer, I realized it was… a person.”
“I’ll bet it was Russell Strickland,” Lizzie said.
“Was he…?” Marie’s hand reached for her wineglass, but it was empty.
“Yes. He was dead.” Josephine looked back at the sideboard, where another bottle of port rested on a silver trivet. She pointed at Gabe. “Be a dear and fetch that, will you? We’re all going to need another drink.”
***
When everyone but Varina had a refilled glass, Josephine went on talking.
“He must have weighed nearly 250 pounds, and of course, all of it was deadweight. I still don’t know how we managed to lift him. I suppose it was adrenaline or something. Somehow, we got him into the rumble seat, and then, of course, we had to figure out what to do with the body.”
“Wait! Hold the phone,” Felicia said, her voice rising. “How did he die? Who killed him? Are you saying you just hid the body?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Varina nodded calmly. “That’s right.”
“But how did he die?” Lizzie persisted. “It was Russell Strickland, right? So who killed him?”
“Yes, it was him. He’d been shot. He didn’t tell us who did it, and we didn’t ask,” Josephine said.
Gabe had been silent throughout most of the dinner, but now he was shaking his head. “You didn’t notify law enforcement?”
“We did not,” Josephine said.
“Why not? He’d been murdered. A crime had been committed.”
“Russell Strickland was a monster,” Josephine said, her voice cold, detached even. “We’ve already established that. Varina saw him assault Millie. He was twice her size! He would have kept on assaulting her, and nobody could have stopped him. Whoever killed him did the world a favor.”
“So you got rid of the body. Just like that?” Gabe reached for the port bottle. “You didn’t wonder who the murderer was?”
“It didn’t matter. The four of us—Millie, Ruth, Varina, and me—we all agreed not to ask any questions. And never to tell what had happened. And we didn’t.”
“Until tonight,” Brooke said.
“Do I dare ask what you did with the body?” Gabe asked.
Josephine regarded him with cool dispassion. “Why do you want to know? Are you going to report me to the authorities?”
