The old lady’s hands shook violently, but she managed to unseal the flap. “Put out your hand,” she said.
Brooke obeyed, and the old lady shook a small item into Brooke’s palm, quickly returning the envelope to the drawer it had come from.
It was no more than half an inch high, a tiny gold-and-enamel brooch depicting the slender silhouette of a girl in a jackknife dive. The girl was nude, and a diamond chip twinkled in the position where her nipple would have been.
“What’s this?” Brooke asked.
“We called ourselves the High Tide Club.” Josephine’s lips curved into a smile. “You see, we had a ritual. Whenever we were together, the four of us, and there was a high tide and a full moon, we’d go skinny-dipping. At Newport, at Ruth’s family’s home there, or Nantucket, at my grandmother’s house, and at Palm Beach, back when Millie’s family had a winter home there, before her father lost everything in the crash. Of course, Varina was only with us when we skinny-dipped here, on Talisa. You’re shocked, I imagine.”
“Not at all. My friends and I used to skinny-dip off the dock at my cousin’s house, on the bluff, at Isle of Hope in Savannah.” Brooke held the pin up to the light to admire it. “It’s lovely.”
“Millie had them made for us. As bridesmaids’ gifts. For the wedding that never was.”
“When was the last time you spoke to your friends?”
Josephine shrugged. “Sometime right after the war, I suppose. Maybe Ruth’s wedding? But I don’t think Millie was there. It’s such a long time ago, I really can’t recall.”
“You said there were four members of the club? You, Ruth, and Millie? Who was the fourth?”
“Varina.” Josephine held out her hand for the pin, which Brooke surrendered.
“And why didn’t Varina join you at those other places, Newport and Palm Beach?”
The old lady stared at her as though she were daft. “Varina? Don’t be absurd.”
“Did your friends come to your wedding?”
“No,” Josephine said. “We were … estranged.” She looked out the window, which was nearly covered by a thick green vine whose tendrils had crept through the window screen. “They’re probably all long dead by now. All but Varina. She was younger than the rest of us. She comes to see me, still, although it’s harder, because she’s getting on in years now. Like me.”
“This really isn’t the kind of work I usually do,” Brooke said. “Have you considered hiring a private detective to find your friends?”
Josephine looked her over carefully. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t need money.”
Brooke felt her face flushing. “What do you know about my finances?”
“I’ve asked around,” Josephine said. “You left a top law firm in Savannah after you broke off your engagement a few years ago, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a bit of an ambulance chaser these days, aren’t you? And representing drunk drivers and shoplifters, between divorces and debt collection?”
Brooke said nothing. Because it was true. She’d take just about any legal, ethical work thrown her way these days. There were bills to be paid. Hospital bills. She couldn’t afford pride. Any more than she could afford cable television, dinners out, or a set of new tires for her eight-year-old Volvo. Her car needed work. She needed work.
“And I believe you’re an unwed mother? Oh, wait. I beg your pardon. Nowadays women like you are called single mothers, isn’t that right?”
Brooke felt her jaw clench and unclench. “I have a son, yes, and I’m not married.”
Josephine yawned widely. “What do your people think about your having a child? Out of wedlock?”
She considered ignoring the question. But why? Henry’s existence was no secret. Except to his father.
“My father and stepmother are scandalized. Dad definitely does not approve. He and Patricia have only seen their grandson once or twice. My mother, at first, was worried, but once she held Henry in her arms, she fell madly in love. She comes down from Savannah to see him as often as she can.”
“Your mother is a lovely person. I’m sorry I can’t say the same about that unfortunate woman your father left her for. How is your dear mother, by the way?”
“She’s, uh, fine.”
“I imagine that divorce knocked the wind out of her sails.”
“She was devastated,” Brooke said truthfully. “She never saw it coming. Nobody did. But I think she’s finally come to terms with her new life. So you know my parents?”
Josephine waved the question away. “Savannah’s not that big a town, my dear. Everybody knows everybody else. Except for the nobodies that nobody cares about anyway.”
“Exactly how do you know my family?” Brooke persisted.
“If you must know, your grandmother was a dear, dear friend of mine.”
“You were friends with Georgette?” Brooke asked, confused.
“Good heavens, no! Not your father’s mother. I’m sorry to say this, but Georgette Trappnell was truly a horrible woman.”
Brooke wouldn’t argue that point. Georgette Trappnell had been a dragon. A selfish, self-centered terror whose acid tongue could peel the paint off a wall. Not unlike Josephine Warrick.
“I meant your mother’s late mother,” Josephine said sadly. “Dear, darling Mildred.”
“Wait. Your friend Millie was my granny? The friend you went skinny-dipping with?”
“Yes,” Josephine said. She changed the subject abruptly again. “What about your son’s father? Do you know who he is?”
Brooke shot to her feet, nearly knocking the chair backward. “I think I’d better be going. I don’t need money badly enough to be insulted this way.” She reached for her briefcase and her pocketbook. “I suggest you find somebody else for this particular assignment.”
Teeny and Tiny, sensing her hostility, went on the offensive, jumping down to the floor, bracing themselves on either side of their mistress’s chair, yapping loudly.
“Don’t be foolish,” Josephine snapped. “I didn’t mean to wound your pride. I just wanted to learn more about you.”
Brooke’s face was hot. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation that I’m some sort of harlot.” She would have said more, but she hadn’t been raised to disrespect her elders. Even elders who were as loathsome as Josephine Bettendorf Warrick.
“That’s not what I meant to insinuate at all,” Josephine said. She scooped the dogs back up into her lap, stroking their heads soothingly. “I just wondered if your son’s father is part of your life—that is, does he provide financial support? Does he see the boy?”
“He doesn’t need to be part of our lives,” Brooke said. “Henry and I do just fine without him.”
“Is this man even aware that he has a child?”
The smaller of the two dogs arched her neck and began licking Josephine’s chin.
“No.” Brooke still had no idea why she was submitting to this deeply personal line of questioning. Maybe it was because she’d become immune to the intrusive questions asked by strangers who all seemed to feel entitled to ask questions about Henry’s absent father.
“Do you think that’s fair? To your little boy? Doesn’t he wonder where his papa is?”
Brooke sighed. How often had both her parents asked that same question? “Henry’s only three. I’m all he knows. Anyway, times have changed, Mrs. Warrick. There’s no longer any real stigma to being a single parent. Now that we’ve established that I’m broke and unmarried, is there anything else, before I catch the boat back to St. Ann’s?”
“I really must insist you call me Josephine,” the old lady said. “And I’ve already told you what I want. Two things. I want you to keep the state from taking my island away from me. From ruining all of it. Whatever it takes, that’s what I want from you. And I want you to help me make things right by those women I told you about.”
She coughed again, then reached for a thick, leather-bound book on the table beside the chair. Opening it, she took out an envelope and extended it toward Brooke.