HONEY? WILL THIS DO?”
I felt Red’s presence behind me and frantically shoved the obituary back into the file. I slammed down the lid of the chest and snatched up the power of attorney.
“Found it,” I said, sliding back toward the bed without turning. I didn’t want Red to see the shock on my face, but he knew me too well.
“You’re shaking.” He tossed the small bag onto the duvet and gripped my shoulders. “What’s the matter?”
I tried to fight him, but my legs wouldn’t hold me up. I sagged onto the bed and ordered my brain to function. “Nothing,” I said, not meeting his eyes.
“Bullshit! You look like you’re going to faint. Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”
“Bullshit yourself! I’ve never fainted in my life.” I jerked out of his grasp and picked up the small satchel—a carpetbag it would have been called in the days when the halls of Presqu’isle had rustled with the whisper of crinolines and the soft shuffle of slaves’ bare feet. I began cramming in the underwear and pajamas I’d taken from the highboy.
Red stepped back, stung.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still afraid to face him. I wondered at my own reluctance to share the shocking news with him. Maybe that said more about my feelings than the ring I’d found excuses not to wear. I shook my head. I couldn’t deal with all that now. I picked up the sheaf of papers from the bed and lied without compunction. “The medical power of attorney. It’s me. I get to decide if the Judge lives or dies.”
I didn’t have to feign the quaver in my voice. Again I felt Red’s touch on my shoulders, softer now.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
I rested my cheek against his hand and allowed myself a calming breath. I’d been blessed with the ability to compartmentalize, and I used it. I slid Julia into an empty slot and firmly slammed the door. Tomorrow. I’d think about her tomorrow.
“Have you eaten anything?” Red asked, and I shook my head. “No wonder you’re feeling shaky. Let’s stop and grab some burgers on the way back to the hospital.”
I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. I piled the last of the things from Lavinia’s list into the carpetbag and snapped it shut. On impulse, I turned toward the staircase that bisected the hall.
“I’ll bet Lavinia’s planning on staying the night if she can,” I said. “Let me just get her a change of clothes.”
Without waiting for a reply, I dropped the bag at the foot of the steps, climbed to the second floor, and turned right. Some years ago, at the Judge’s insistence, Lavinia had taken over my mother’s old room with its imported furniture and walls filled with art. A dressing room connected it to the space my father would have occupied if he’d been able to manage the stairs. As it was, this airy room with its view across the Sound provided Lavinia with a haven, a place to escape the demands of running an old plantation house and caring for its failing master.
I emptied Lavinia’s knitting from the needlepoint bag sitting next to her rocker and folded in enough clothes and toiletries to get her through the night. As if drawn by an unseen force, my eyes wandered to the heavy oak box squatting in the center of the dresser, and I paused. When I was a child, I had seen it in the same place of prominence in Lavinia’s old rooms, in the servants’ quarters she and her son had occupied. My refuge in times of distress. I remembered lying curled up on the colorful quilt spread across the iron four-poster while Lavinia hushed and soothed me. Sometimes she’d open the box, with a key she wore on a slim chain around her neck, but I could never see exactly what was inside. Papers, I could tell, and the glint of gold, probably from a piece of jewelry, although our housekeeper never wore anything but the chain and key.
I stepped closer, examining the tarnished hasp, and Julia popped back into my head. Did Lavinia know? Would she be the keeper of things my father wanted hidden from me? My hand reached out of its own volition, hovering over the worn and polished oak.
“Bay? Do you need any help?” Red’s voice drifted up the stairs.
I snatched back my hand, scooped up the knitting bag, and nearly ran from the room. But the image stayed in my mind, even as I followed Red back out into the cool, clear night: The catch on Lavinia’s box of secrets had not been fastened. I glanced back over my shoulder as we pulled away from Presqu’isle onto the rutted Avenue of Oaks.
We hit the Sonic on Lady’s Island and wolfed down cheeseburgers as we drove through the deepening night back to the hospital. Stepping out of the elevator, I delivered both bags to Lavinia, who waited quietly on the sofa in the waiting room.
“Wish you’d brought my knitting instead,” she murmured when I handed hers over. “I’m sorry, honey,” she added almost immediately. “It was thoughtful of you to worry about me at all.”
“How is he?” I asked, glancing down the hall toward the ICU.
“ ’Bout the same. He comes and goes. They say he’s losing consciousness, but I think he’s just napping.” She smiled. “Like he does at home.”
It wasn’t like Lavinia to sugarcoat things, to try to fool herself—or me—but I liked her version of things a lot better than the doctors’.
“You go on home now, you hear? I’ll let you know how things are going.” Her voice soothed and comforted as it always had in times of trouble.
“He’s my responsibility. If you’re staying, I’m staying.”
Beside me, Red laid a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you come home with me now? Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll have you back here first thing in the morning, and Lavinia can call if she needs you.”
I whirled, ready to tell him to mind his own damn business, but the look of tenderness and concern on his face brought tears rushing to my eyes. I gulped them down.
Behind me, Lavinia said softly, “Redmond is right, honey. No sense both of us sittin’ here all night.” She smiled. “Go on now. Get some rest.”
As usual, there was no point in arguing with Lavinia. “Okay. But we’ll stay at Presqu’isle. I don’t want to be an hour away in case—I just want to be close by.” I pulled the power of attorney from my bag and handed it to Lavinia. “He’s designated me for medical decisions, so will you make sure they take a copy of this?”
She nodded.
“And no matter what it says in there,” I said, pointing to the papers, “you know I would never do anything without talking it over with you first.”
Again she bobbed her head, her grip on the legal document creasing the edges. “Go on now,” she said again.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
Our eyes met, the unspoken bond of trust we’d forged over four decades hovering between us. The words slipped out before I even registered the thought.
“Do you know about Julia?”
If the question startled her, she gave no visible sign. “Julia who?”
I could read the truthfulness in her steady gaze, and my heart dropped. If Lavinia didn’t know about my sister—or would it be half sister?—where would I begin to find the answers?
I ignored her question. “Did the Judge give you any papers to keep for him? Something he didn’t want . . . anyone else to stumble across accidentally?”
When her gaze slid away, I knew she would lie. And that it would trouble her deeply to do so. “No, he didn’t. What’s this all about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, lying myself. “Call me the minute there’s any change. I’ll keep the cell by my bed.”
I wanted to plant a kiss on her wrinkled forehead, but I knew she’d stiffen at the effort. Since I’d grown up, we’d stopped being a touching family at Presqu’isle.
“Goodnight,” I said awkwardly, glancing down the hall before turning for the elevator.
Behind me, I heard Red say, “I’m sure it’ll be all right, Mrs. Smalls.”
“Thank you, Redmond,” she murmured. “If the good Lord sees fit.”
I stabbed the Down arrow and suppressed a shiver. When I looked back, Lavinia’s head was bent in prayer.
I left Red to light a fire in the back parlor and retraced my steps up to the second floor. The creaks and groans of the old house welcomed me as I put fresh linen on the bed and laid out a clean set of towels in the bathroom that had been mine when I was a teenager. Nothing had been changed in the intervening twenty-five years, the same flowered wallpaper and crisp white beadboard still surrounding the claw-footed tub.
Back in the bedroom, I pulled a pair of sweats from the stash of clothes I kept at Presqu’isle and hung my work clothes in the closet. I retrieved my cell phone from my bag, ready to tuck it into one of the deep pockets, when I realized it was still turned off. I’d automatically shut it down the first time I’d entered the hospital. I flipped it open and powered it back up, and a flurry of missed messages lit the readout.
Almost all of them were from Erik.
I glanced at my watch. At a little after nine o’clock on a Wednesday evening, I thought I just might catch him at home, but the landline switched over to voice mail. He picked up his cell on the second ring.
“How’s the Judge doing?” he asked. “I got worried when you didn’t call. I almost came over there.”
“I’m sorry. He’s staying the night at the hospital, and I’ve been running back and forth to Presqu’isle. They think he’s got a blockage in one of his arteries, but he won’t let them go in and check it out.”
“Why not? That’s a pretty simple procedure these days, isn’t it?”
“The Judge said no, and I have to abide by his wishes.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I have his medical power of attorney, but I’m not going to do something he’s against. It’s his life.”
“Anything I can do? Stephanie and I are just finishing dinner. We could come over there and keep you company.”
My late partner’s daughter had become a big part of Erik’s life since that horrible night at the marina just south of Amelia Island. Ben Wyler’s death still lay heavily on my conscience, although I never figured out exactly what I could have done to prevent it. The irrational but nonetheless profound sense of guilt kept me from accepting Stephanie’s overtures of friendship. I never said it made any sense, but I just couldn’t feel comfortable in her presence.
“Red’s here,” I said. “We’re staying the night at Presqu’isle. But thanks for the offer.”
“No problem. We’re here if you need us.” He paused. “Hey, I did find something interesting after you left. About the Eastman case?”
I welcomed the change of subject, dropped onto the duvet, and pulled my legs into an approximation of the lotus position. “You have some luck with the photograph?”
“In a way. I contacted this guy I know, back in Charlotte. I sold him a lot of equipment when I ran the electronics store up there. I scanned the picture and sent it up to him. Got a pencil? Or I could send it to your phone.”
I laughed, and the very act made me feel better. “Get serious. It would probably be this time next year before I figured out how to retrieve it. Hold on.”
I unwound my legs and rummaged in my bag for a notebook and pen. I sat down at the desk where I’d done my homework, its surface still bearing some of the scratches and dings of my teenaged carelessness.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Ron—that’s my friend—said he couldn’t do a lot with it, but he did manage to raise some of the letters on the sign in the background. He came up with e-l-l, then a capital B and a small r. There was more, but it was out of the frame.”
I looked at what I’d printed on the pad in front of me. “Probably Mitchell,” I said, almost to myself. That had been Joline’s grandfather’s last name. I tried to remember what else she’d said about her family. “And I’ll bet the last is Brothers. Mrs. Eastman said she thought her something-great-grandfather and his brothers started a grocery store after the War Between the States. Any hint about where it might be located?”
“Nope. I sent him the back of the photo, too, but all he could make out was the same thing you came up with. It looks like Charleston, and there’s definitely something else there, but he couldn’t do anything with it. He’s going to try his computer at work tomorrow. Apparently it’s got better software.”
“If you have time, see if you can find anything on the Net about Edisto Island in the forties. I think that’s where the letters were mailed from. See if there was a Mitchell Brothers grocery store there. It also may be a good place to start looking for Joline’s . . . missing sisters.” I stumbled over the last two words, but Erik didn’t seem to notice.
“I can get on that as soon as I get home. You want me to let you know if I find anything tonight?”
I let the pen drop from my fingers and roll across the scarred surface of the desk. It felt like a supreme effort just to keep my head upright on my neck.
“No, that’s okay. I’m wiped out. Either send it to my computer at the office or at home if you come up with something. Or call me tomorrow.”
“Will do.” A pause. “Everything’s going to be all right with the Judge, isn’t it?”
“I hope so. I’ll let you know if—I’ll let you know. Goodnight.”
I hung up without waiting for his reply and looked up to see Red standing in the doorway.
“Just Erik. Work stuff.” I rose and stretched. “The bathroom’s all yours. No shower, but the water’s hot if you want a bath.” It suddenly occurred to me that Red didn’t have a change of clothes. “You want me to see if something of the Judge’s will fit you?”
“I’ll be fine. It won’t be the first time I haven’t been able to get home to change,” he added as he moved toward the bathroom.
“Take your time,” I said. “I’ll get things locked up downstairs and make some tea. I’ll bring it into the parlor by the fire.”
By the time I stepped into the hall, he’d already closed the bathroom door. I automatically turned for the stairs, but the door of my mother’s old room drew my gaze. The image of Lavinia’s eyes sliding away from mine when I’d asked if my father had given her any papers to keep led my feet away from the steps. I paused, glancing over my shoulder, and reached for the knob. A stab of conscience stayed my hand. Invading Lavinia’s space was the worst kind of betrayal, snooping in other people’s business one of the most grievous offenses in her eyes.
But there was that word: daughters. And the others: Julia Simpson.
With a silent apology and another guilty look at the closed bathroom door, I twisted the knob and stepped inside.