“It couldn’t have been Granny, no matter what he did to her,” Brooke said. “I bet she didn’t even know how to fire a gun.”
“We all knew how to shoot,” Josephine corrected her. “We learned to shoot sporting clays at summer camp. And of course, Gardiner taught me how to hunt.” She pointed at a pair of impressive deer mounts on the wall above the sideboard. “That eight-point buck is one I shot when I was twelve. That one”—she pointed to the mount on the right—“Gardiner shot just a week before the party.”
She nodded at Varina. “You know how to shoot, don’t you?”
“Oh yes,” Varina said. “On an island like this—with rattlesnakes and gators and wild hogs, every family has a gun and every child learns how to shoot it, even little bitty girls like me. My daddy had a big ol’ pistol, and he made me learn how to use it.”
“This is just unbelievable,” Lizzie said, slapping the tabletop for emphasis. “But it doesn’t really solve the big mysteries of the night. What happened to Russell Strickland’s body? Was it ever discovered? Granny’s scrapbooks just covered the year he disappeared. And it was a huge story at the time.”
“To my knowledge, the body was never found,” Josephine said.
32
October 1941
Harley Shaddix’s shoulders sagged as he parked the rusted pickup in front of Shellhaven. Samuel Bettendorf had been waiting for him, nervously pacing back and forth in front of the house, wearing a path in the lush green grass.
Dusk was approaching. Most of their houseguests had departed on the four o’clock ferry, including Millie Everhart’s mother and grandmother, but it had been hours since anyone had seen or heard from Russell Strickland. The knot of worry burned in his gut.
The hound tethered to a cleat in the bed of the pickup truck hung his head over the side, panting heavily.
“Anything?” Bettendorf asked.
“No, sir,” Harley said. He pointed at his dog. “Butch, he picked up a scent out in that dove field and followed it right close to the deer stand. Then, coming back down the road, he acted like he picked it up again, but I couldn’t find no sign of Mr. Strickland.”
“His kit and all his clothes and suitcases are still in his room,” Bettendorf said. “I can’t tell what’s missing, other than his shotgun. Poor Millie is so upset, I hate to ask her to look through his things. Josephine and Ruth are with her now, trying to keep her calm.”
“I talked to my boys,” Harley said. “Homer said he showed Mr. Russell the spot where we seen that big ol’ buck Mr. Gardiner’s been tracking. And Friday, he talked about he was gonna bag him a trophy while he was on the island.” Harley winced as he tried to take the weight off his bad leg. “I got Omar and Otis out in the bateau, looking in the creek in case he decided to go fishing.”
“Good idea,” Bettendorf said. “I wish to God Gardiner were here right now. He’d know where to look.”
“Varina tells me your boy’s gone off to fight in the war,” Harley said.
Bettendorf’s posture stiffened. “He’s a goddamn fool. What happens in Europe is not this country’s concern. But I couldn’t talk him out of it. Couldn’t stop him from going.”
“He’s a grown man,” Harley said. “My boys, they say they’re gonna sign up first chance they get.” He sighed. “I can’t talk no sense into them neither.”
The two men, one black, one white, leaned against the bed of the truck, gazing up at the sky, where the last orange streaks of sunlight were visible through the tree line.
“Getting dark,” Harley said, scratching at the stubble of beard on his chin. “City boy like that, how’s he gonna do alone at night in a place like this?”
*
Ruth peered out the window at the scene below. “Your father’s back with the truck,” she told Varina, who crouched uneasily on the chair at the dressing table. “He’s got a huge dog with him. I’ve never seen a dog like that.”
Varina craned her neck to see. “That’s Butch. My brothers take him coon hunting. He can scent anything. Daddy must have been out looking for that bad man.” She wouldn’t say his name out loud. She would never say his name.
Millie sat on the bed, her knees drawn up tightly against her chest. “What if they find where we put Russell? What if the dog finds that place and they dig him up?”
Josephine stood by the window now, looking down at the two men. “They won’t go near that oyster mound. It’s a special Indian place for the Geechees. Right, Varina?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Varina nodded agreement. “Supposed to be evil haints there.”
“But you’re Geechee, aren’t you?” Ruth asked. “And you were right there with us.”
“Dead Indians don’t scare me,” Varina said. “And I don’t believe in haints. Anyway, I’m not gonna be afraid anymore.”
“I’m not going to be afraid either,” Millie said, lifting her chin. “I’m going to be like you girls.”
“The High Tide Club,” Josephine said. “We’re like the Three Musketeers, plus one.”
“All for one, and one for all,” Ruth said.
Millie clapped a hand to her mouth and jumped up from the bed. She scrabbled in her suitcase, spilling slips and stockings and dresses onto the carpet. “Oh my gosh! I almost forgot.”
She brought out a small package. “Here!” She opened the wrapping and brought out three small black velvet boxes, which she passed around to each of the girls. “These were to have been your bridesmaids’ gifts,” she said.
Josephine was the first to open the box. She held up the tiny brooch, squinting at it and then laughing delightedly. “Millie, you scamp! She’s naked!”
Ruth clapped her hands. “Mildred Everhart, this is the most perfect gift anybody has ever given me. And I will treasure it always.”
Varina stared down at the pin nested in its white satin wrapping. “But I’m not a bridesmaid.”
“Neither are we. Now,” Ruth drawled.
“You’re better than a bridesmaid,” Millie said, hugging the younger girl. “You went skinny-dipping with us last night, didn’t you?”
“And helped us bury you-know-who this morning,” Josephine pointed out. “I’d say you’ve paid your initiation fees in full.”
Varina lifted the pin from the box and held it up to the light. “That ain’t a real diamond, is it?”
“They’re just chips, but they’re real. Granny gave me a pair of her earrings, and I had the jeweler use them for the pins.”
From outside, they heard an engine starting, then backfiring. Ruth parted the curtains again. “Your father is leaving, Varina. And, Josephine, your father is in the truck with him.”
“Maybe they’re going for the sheriff,” Millie fretted. “Maybe they’ll bring more dogs and men who aren’t afraid of dead Indians and haints. And they’ll figure it out and we’ll all be arrested.”
“It won’t matter. They won’t find Russell. As long as we stick together, nobody will ever know what happened to him,” Josephine said.
33
“No, the body was never found,” Josephine said.
“And the family never did anything about that?” Lizzie persisted. “They didn’t, I don’t know, hire a private detective or try to call in the FBI?”
“Russell Strickland’s parents were both killed in a car wreck when he was a boy. He was raised by his grandparents, who were old and ill at the time. They did send somebody down to conduct an investigation, but you have to understand, the sheriff in this county at that time was part of a political dynasty who’d run things here for generations. He didn’t appreciate having a Boston lawyer question his methods and practices.”
“And I’d venture a guess that your father, being the wealthiest taxpayer in these parts, probably had some political sway with the sheriff and his cronies,” Gabe said.
“Papa believed in being generous to this community. Among other things, he paid for two new squad cars, and he built the high school football field. The sheriff was … grateful,” Josephine said.