I GUESSED RIGHT ABOUT WHICH END OF HOLLY HILL Road the Brawleys lived on, and from there it wasn’t hard to pinpoint the location of the party. Almost at the end of the blacktop, I passed cars lining both sides of the street and others pulled up at odd angles in the front yard of a rambling bungalow that looked as if it had been added on to several times over the years. The white paint was fresh, though, and I wondered if Ellis had spent last summer crawling up and down ladders.
I had to drive all the way to the end of the blacktop and turn around before I found enough of a space to squeeze in the Jaguar. I glanced down the overgrown lane to the old plantation house, but I could detect no activity. The warning signs nailed to the beautiful old oaks trembled a little in the breeze. I hitched my bag over my shoulder and retrieved the gaily wrapped package from the passenger seat. Thank God for Barnes & Noble and a knowledgeable young woman in the children’s section. The richly illustrated picture book about ballerinas had enchanted me. I was assured that any little girl would love it.
As I neared the house, I could hear the low rumble of a lot of voices coming from the backyard. There was a sudden shriek of feminine laughter, and the general volume rose. I walked up beside a gravel drive packed tightly with vehicles and followed the sounds of hilarity around the left side of the house. The scene spread out before me drew a smile.
Beneath a stately old oak, tables covered with a variety of colored cloths groaned under the weight of more food than I thought I’d ever seen in one place. A few yards away, an entire pig—minus the head and feet, thank God—sizzled over a smoking pit. The smell of fat crackling as it dropped onto the glowing embers made my knees weak. Barbecue, hot and spicy, was definitely on the day’s menu. Other grills held quartered chickens turning brown over beds of charcoal. As I watched, a steady stream of women trekked from the back of the house to the tables, carrying who knew what other Lowcountry delights like dirty rice and maybe a banana pudding. I determined at that moment that I wouldn’t let them throw me out before I had a chance to eat.
My resolution hit an immediate snag when a young woman with a child in tow approached. She would have been pretty if someone had gotten her braces at an early age. As it was, her front teeth stuck out so far she could barely close her lips over them. Still, her smile, puzzled but welcoming, made the first blush of shame wash over me.
“Hello,” she said tentatively. “I’m Faith Godwin.” Her face beamed as she smiled down at the child. “And this is the birthday girl.”
I squatted and held out the package. “Happy birthday, Hope. This is for you.”
The mother relaxed a little at my use of her daughter’s name, but I could still sense her wariness in the way her hand never left the child’s shoulder. I completely understood her caution.
“Say thank-you to the nice lady,” Faith instructed, and Hope complied.
“You’re quite welcome, honey.”
“It’s very kind of you, Miss . . . ?”
Showtime. I held out my now empty hand. “Bay Tanner, Mrs. Godwin. I’m a friend of Ellis’s.”
“Oh. He didn’t—I’m very glad to meet you.”
Her skin felt like velvet, although her grip was tentative.
“He’s over there by the pit,” she said. “He and Uncle Duke are arguing about whether it’s time to start pickin’ the pig.” She looked down at her daughter, who was ripping the paper off her gift. “Oh, Hope, honey, you shoulda waited.”
The child’s squeal of delight when she finally revealed the book made the two of us smile at each other. In an instant, Hope abandoned the scattered bits of wrapping paper and dashed off on her fat little legs crowing, “Gwammy! Gwammy! Wook what I got!”
For a moment, Faith Godwin and I stood awkwardly together. I noticed more than a few dark eyes glance questioningly in our direction.
“I’ll just speak to Ellis,” I said. “Thanks for making me welcome.”
Faith laughed. “I’ll bet half of Holly Hill Road is here, and probably a lot more people that I’ve never laid eyes on. When Mama throws a party, she usually invites the whole town. I hope you enjoy yourself, and thanks for the book. Hope likes to pretend she knows how to read, and she really loves the pictures.”
She moved away then with a quick wave, and I negotiated the maze of lawn chairs filled with older black men and women, most of whom nodded as I edged my way past. There were other white faces scattered around the huge backyard, and I felt less conspicuous than I’d feared.
Ellis wore a gray T-shirt saturated with sweat, the heat from the smoldering coals sending beads of perspiration coursing down his cheeks. He stood talking with his uncle, and I waited for an opening before edging closer. Duke Brawley’s face clouded, and his nephew looked as if he’d stepped on a copperhead a moment before I spoke.
“Hey, Ellis. Mr. Brawley. I took a chance I’d find you.” The word brazen floated into my head. I was certain it was the one my mother would have used.
“Mrs. Tanner? What are you doing here?”
Ellis looked genuinely shocked, and I wondered if he was afraid I’d come to blow the whistle on his snooping into his mother’s Bible. Duke mumbled something about getting a beer and stomped away.
“I’m sorry. I know this is beyond the bounds of anything resembling good manners, but I desperately need to talk to your mother. I called her this morning, and she mentioned the party and pretty much blew me off. I just want to find Maeline Mitchell, and I’ll be out of your lives. Believe me, this isn’t something I normally do, crash private parties, I mean. But a young girl’s life is at stake, and I just took the chance that you and your family would eventually forgive me. Or at least understand.”
Ellis had been slowly moving away from the fire as I spoke, and at the end I found myself talking to his back. I followed quietly behind until he finally stopped and sank onto an old concrete bench, its once white finish now green with mold. A crape myrtle, left to run wild, dropped welcome shade, shielding us a little from the speculative eyes I could feel being cast in our direction.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said softly. “Mama will know what I did.”
“She doesn’t have to,” I said, matching his tone. “I called her, as I said, and gave her my name. I can stonewall on how I came up with the information.” I tried for lightness. “In my business, skirting the truth is part of the game. Just get me ten minutes alone with her, and I’ll do the rest. I promise I’ll keep you out of it.”
“Don’t see how,” he mumbled, but at least he didn’t grab me by the arm and drag me off his property.
“Which one is your mother?” I asked, glancing around the flurry of activity in the yard.
Apparently those who were convinced the pig was ready had won the argument. Several men, including Duke Brawley, were hoisting the beast off the fire toward an old door, covered with newspaper and resting on two sawhorses. Depending on the custom of Ellis’s family, either the women would use long-handled forks to pull the succulent meat away from the bones into huge pans, or each guest would be supplied with his own fork and do his own pickin’. However the process unfolded, I was sure there would be vats of homemade barbecue sauce to slather over the meat once it had been removed.
I flinched at the unladylike rumbling of my stomach and turned as Ellis’s voice penetrated.
“She’s over there in the yellow apron.”
Patience Brawley had stopped to speak to one of her elderly guests seated in a lawn chair close to the pit, and I wondered that the poor thing wasn’t dripping sweat. The daughter had inherited her protruding teeth from her mother, but Patience’s skin matched Ellis’s, a creamy mocha that told of Caucasian blood somewhere back in her heritage. And maybe in Joline’s as well? I wondered. She was a tall woman, perhaps equal to my own five-ten, I thought, and her hair was a soft cloud of gray around her head.
“I’ll introduce myself if you get her over here,” I said. “Just tell her someone needs to speak to her, then you can disappear.”
He seemed reluctant to move, and I restrained myself from giving him an encouraging shove.
“Please,” I said, hoping it sounded more like a command than a request.
Finally, he shrugged and moved off. I watched him approach his mother and lead her away. When they began moving in my direction, I sat down on the bench and folded my hands demurely in my lap. I intended to present as nonthreatening a picture as I could manage.
“Yes?” she said, stopping in front of me. “Ellis said you wanted to talk to me about something?” Before I could reply, she added, “I don’t believe I know you.”
“No, ma’am,” I said softly. “Do you have a moment to sit?”
“Young lady, I’ve got more ’n sixty mouths waterin’ over there and a stack of presents so high it looks like there were ten little girls having a birthday. It could take ’til midnight just to get through ’em all. So I have no time to waste, you understand?”
Her tone was scolding, in the way of women who deal a lot with small children. I’d bet she taught elementary school. Sighing in resignation, she dusted off the bench with a dishtowel she pulled from the waistband of her apron and sat down beside me.
“Now, what do you want, if you’ll forgive my bluntness?”
I determined to give it to her straight up, with no embellishment. “My name is Bay Tanner, and I’m a private investigator from Hilton Head. I called you this morning. I have a client who desperately needs to locate one or both of her sisters. There’s a little girl dying, and only a blood relative can help save her. I need to find Maeline or Tessa Mitchell, born around Pritchardville, and I strongly believe you’re the one person who can help me do that. I need last names, married names, for these women—and addresses, if you have them. I guarantee no harm will come to them, and whether or not they choose to help will be entirely up to them. My job is to give them the chance to do the right thing. The rest is on their shoulders.”
I paused to draw a breath and to steal a glance at Patience Brawley. Her face had lost its wary but pleasant look. It felt as if she’d taken a giant step back, although in reality she still sat ramrod straight on the bench beside me. I couldn’t read her expression, but her deep brown eyes had slid nearly shut as if she could make me disappear by shutting out my image.
“Will you help me? Help this poor child?” I asked softly.
Her shoulders slumped a little, and I sensed some of the resistance leave her. “I didn’t ever want to have to think about them again,” she said quietly. “I don’t know where those girls are, nor do I care. Is it Joline’s child that’s sick then?”
“Yes,” I said. “Kimmie. She has a blood cancer. She needs a bone marrow transplant, and no one in the rest of the family is a match. The doctors think her sisters might be their last hope. Can you help me?” I asked again.
She thought about it for a long time. “I believe I would, in spite of—It would be the Christian thing to do. But I can’t. I haven’t seen or heard of any of the Mitchell girls for years. I’m sorry.”
On the other side of the yard, people had begun to stir, and I guessed the picking was about to begin. I had precious little time before I lost Patience Brawley for good. With a silent apology to Ellis, I said, “Are you certain you haven’t spoken to anyone about Maeline? Maybe on the phone?” I felt her stiffen, and I hurried on. “I don’t want to cause any trouble, Mrs. Brawley. I hope you can believe that.”
A squeal drew our attention to the yard. Apparently, little Hope had been given the first stab at the steaming pig in honor of her birthday, and the task appeared to both delight and frighten her at the same time. I turned to find Patience smiling.
I spoke very softly. “If it were Hope who needed help, wouldn’t you want anyone who had even the tiniest bit of information to share it? No matter how personally painful it might be for them?”
She sighed, her eyes never leaving her granddaughter. “You have no idea what you’re asking,” she said.
I waited, holding my breath for fear of interrupting the inner struggle I could see going on behind her gentle eyes.
“Jefferson,” she said, and I had to strain to catch the next words. “Maeline married herself a no-account white man named Jonas Jefferson. I heard they lived a while in Macon, Georgia. He ran out on her. After that, I don’t know. I have no idea about Tessa. Neither one of them could be bothered to even show up at their own mama’s funeral. Left it to the rest of the family to take care of everything. I haven’t spoken to any of them since . . .” Suddenly she rose and stared down at me. “I have to tend to my guests. You’re welcome to stay and have a bite with us, but please don’t come back. You tell Joline I’ll hold her and her little girl in my prayers. That’s the best I can do.”
I watched her move resolutely through the throng of her family and friends to pick up a squealing Hope and crush the child to her chest.
I took out my cell phone and called Erik.
Back at the Jaguar, I leaned against the warmth of the rounded fender and turned my face up to the sun. After I’d relayed the information about Maeline to my partner, I’d found my appetite had entirely deserted me. I hadn’t even bothered to seek out Ellis or Patience and take my leave of them. Another of my mother’s strict rules of etiquette trampled in the dust. No one paid any attention to the interloper who slipped around the side of the house and hurried away.
A rustle in the bushes behind me made me turn, but it must have been a bird or a squirrel for I could see no one in the immediate vicinity. I rubbed my hand unconsciously over my chest, the longing for a calming hit of nicotine making my knees wobble. I settled for another of the peppermint candies that seemed to breed in the bottom of my bag. I had just pulled my key ring into my hand when again the muted noise of something moving in the untamed brush sent me spinning around. I caught a brief glimpse of a face, perhaps a child’s, and the impression of wild dark hair standing out among the soft browns and tans of the withered foliage before the rustling turned to thrashing.
“Wait!” I called, though why I couldn’t have said, and took a few tentative steps down the lane. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
I followed the intruder’s progress by the disturbance he—or she—made through the tall weeds before my watcher gained the path and sprinted away. Faded jeans, rolled up, and the bright splash of a red plaid shirt against the stark trunks of the oaks. Bare feet flashed in the sun, and long dark curls flew out behind the sprinting—woman. Too tall for a girl and without the grace and effortless gait of someone young and agile. In a few seconds, the vision disappeared around a bend in the lane, leaving me to wonder if I had imagined the whole thing, if it had been perhaps a trick of the sunlight dappling through the low-hanging branches of the live oaks. I waited, but the strange woman didn’t reappear. With a shrug, I clicked the locks on the Jaguar and pulled open the driver’s door.
“You’re trespassing on private property.”
The voice came out of nowhere, and the suddenness of it made me drop my keys in the dirt. I turned slowly to find a small woman standing at the rear of the car, her booted feet planted in the powdery dust of the driveway, her fists jammed against her hips. It took a long moment for my heart rate to return to normal.
I gazed into her cold eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought the shoulder of the road was public.”
“You’re not on the shoulder. This is McDowell land.”
I stooped down and retrieved my keys. “Then I’ll get going.” I couldn’t decide if her terse challenge had made me more angry or afraid.
She reached up to shield her eyes from the sun, and I noticed her hands were roughened, as if she did a lot of manual labor. Her dark hair was liberally streaked with gray and pulled back into a loose ponytail at her neck. She, too, wore jeans, faded from many washings, molded to her slender frame. The long tails of a man’s pale blue shirt hung down over her narrow thighs.
“You’re a friend of my neighbors?” she asked, moving around so that we stood closer. Her eyes narrowed as she studied my face. “Have we met before?”
Suddenly I didn’t like being crowded by this woman who, though she came only to my shoulder, seemed fit and strong under her loose clothes.
“I’m sure I’d remember,” I said. “I’ll get my car off your property.”
I slid into the seat and pulled the door closed. It took a little maneuvering to get the long body of the Jaguar out of the tight spot, and I wondered if the old woman intended to accost everyone parked around me as they left the party. When I finally gained the blacktop and looked up into the rearview mirror, the woman was still standing at the entrance to the lane, staring after me. I gunned the engine and quickly put distance between myself and the weird encounter. As I turned back toward Beaufort, I thought I had probably just made the acquaintance of Ellis Brawley’s wise but very strange Miss Lizzie.