“Where’d you get the car?” Brooke asked, jumping into the front seat.
Lizzie handed over the cat. “Shug knew a guy who knew a guy. So for the price of a battery and new tires, I am now the proud new owner. I had it barged over Monday.”
Brooke looked down at Dweezil, who was butting her hand with her head.
“She would like you to scratch her ears,” Lizzie said. “And neck and chin. In that order.”
Brooke did as instructed, and the cat purred her approval. As she scratched the cat, she brooded once again about how to tell Lizzie that she was about to be evicted.
“Oh, hey, that’s Lionel.” Lizzie slowed the car as they approached a young Geechee child. He was barefoot, with a fishing pole propped against one shoulder, lugging a bucketful of fish.
“Lionel, what’s happenin’?” Lizzie called, pulling up alongside him.
“Hey, Miss Lizzie. You give me ride?”
“Sure thing. Hop in the back.”
He wrenched the back door open and slid the bucket across the seat. The smell of fish filled the car. In an instant, Dweezil leaped onto the backseat and began pawing at the bucket.
Lizzie turned to look at the boy. “Did you catch all those fish?”
“I cotched some, but Dobie, he give me some he had extra.”
Lizzie frowned. “Those fish look pretty small, Lionel. They’re not really keepers.”
“Oh yeah, they keepers. My mama gonna keep ’em and fry ’em for supper tonight.”
“Next time, Lionel, they need to be fourteen inches long. Otherwise, you need to throw them back while they’re still alive, so they get big enough to make some more fish babies. If the ranger man comes around and finds you with those little fish, you could get into trouble.”
Lionel shook his head vigorously, sending his dreadlocks flying. “The ranger man already come ’round today. Dobie, he see him coming, so he give me these fish and tell me go home.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Dobie knows better than to keep undersized fish, Lionel,” she said. “It’s probably better if you don’t take any more fish from him.”
“But he’s my friend,” Lionel protested. “He give me money to go to the store to get his smokes and let me keep the change and get me some candy and Cokes.”
Lizzie pulled the car to a stop in front of the Oyster Bluff sign. “Okay, pal, this is as far as we go today.”
She watched the child trudge away. “Dobie is sort of the town drunk of Oyster Bluff. He ignores all the local game and fish regulations. According to Shug, the Department of Natural Resources ranger regularly issues him tickets, but he tears ’em up and ignores the fines.”
“Seems like you’ve settled in and gotten to know the locals,” Brooke said.
“They have a covered-dish supper Sunday nights at the Oyster Bluff community house. Louette invited me.” She patted her belly with a rueful grin. “The food is unbelievable. Baked redfish, shrimp pilau, deviled crab. The island’s not such a bad place once you get used to the humidity and the gawd-awful bugs,” Lizzie said. She slapped at an invisible bug on her forearm and grimaced. “I’ll never get used to the damn no-see-um gnats.” She glanced over at Brooke, noting her glum expression. “What’s wrong? You’re not looking too cheery today. How did your date with sugar daddy Gabe go?”
“It started out great, but then I had to cut the night short because of a crisis at home,” Brooke said. “The thing is, Gabe wants you out of Shellhaven. Like, right away.”
“What’s the big hurry?”
“I’m sorry,” Brooke said. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the odious Dorcas and Delphine have apparently been kicking up a fuss. They say you’re trespassing, and Gabe agrees that you really don’t have a right to be going through Josephine’s papers.”
Lizzie’s answering smile was enigmatic. “Just wait until you see what I uncovered in those papers. You can tell Dorcas and Delphine to take a flying leap.”
*
“Step into my office,” Lizzie said as they entered the library.
Brooke set Dweezil on the floor, and the cat immediately leaped onto the windowsill.
Lizzie pointed at a battered green footlocker. “I found this shoved way at the back of the closet in here. The lid was covered in an inch-thick layer of dust and spider eggs. Louette said she’s never seen it before, and I’m pretty sure it hadn’t been opened in decades.”
S. G. Bettendorf—RCAF was stenciled on the side of the trunk, and the lid was unlocked.
Lizzie plopped down on the floor, and Brooke sat down beside her. “This was Gardiner’s air force footlocker. I found a letter from the RCAF inside, indicating that it was shipped back here to Shellhaven after he was killed in 1942.”
Brooke peered inside the trunk, not knowing what to expect, but it was empty except for a lingering, dank odor.
“I had to throw most of the stuff away,” Lizzie said apologetically. “The clothes were moldy and full of silverfish.” She turned and retrieved a thin packet of papers.
“Fortunately, these were wrapped in some kind of oilcloth, so they were pretty well preserved.” She handed over a gray cardboard folder.
Inside was a hand-colored studio photograph of a young woman. Her blond shoulder-length hair was parted on the side and swept back from her face. She wore a blue sweater and a sweet smile.
Brooke stared down at the photo, transfixed. “It’s Millie, right?” She turned the photo over.
In girlish looping script, the sender had written, To Gardiner: All my love, Millie.
“She looks so young,” Brooke murmured. “But I don’t understand what Gardiner was doing with this.”
Lizzie handed over the packet of papers, and a yellowed newspaper page fluttered to the floor. It was from the front page of The Florida Times-Union, dated October 10, 1941. BOSTON INDUSTRIALIST STILL MISSING; FOUL PLAY FEARED.
“Read the letters and you’ll understand.” Lizzie said.
Oct. 29, 1941
Hingham, Mass.
Dear Gardiner:
Thank you for your kind letter of condolence concerning Russell. I’m so torn and confused right now, your letter was a great comfort. Perhaps you’re right, and he and I were never meant to be. His poor grandparents are distraught, of course, but your dear father has been wonderful dealing with everything, and I will be forever grateful to him.
Please tell me all about your training. Is it exciting? Fascinating? Terrifying? Things are very quiet here at home with Mother and Grandmama. We never speak of what happened on Talisa, but I believe they feel I’m somehow to blame for Russell, and I fear I will never be able to move past this awful doubt. Maybe I will become an old maid and crochet doilies and shout at small children who ride their bicycles past our house. We read the newspapers every day and listen to the radio for war news, and I can’t help but be frightened for you. Please let me hear from you soon.
Your good old friend,
M
Nov. 10, 1941
Hingham, Mass.
Dear Gardiner:
I believe our last letters must have crossed in the mail. I think of you often too and pray constantly for your well-being and safe return home. Of course I would love to see you when you are back in the States on leave at the end of the month, but are you certain you wouldn’t rather spend your precious time with your family? I know Jo would be so disappointed not to see you. We had lunch together last week, and she spoke of you constantly. We had a fine time gossiping. Did you know she is doing volunteer work with the Red Cross? And Ruth has a new beau. He is from Chicago and very dashing. Not nearly as dashing as you, though, in your splendid RCAF uniform, so I do thank you for the photo, which I have hidden in my Bible, because Mother has become such a terrible snoop. She quizzes me constantly about who I am seeing and speaking to on the telephone. She has no idea of our friendship, because I am the one who brings in the mail every day, and I keep an eagle eye out for letters from my favorite airman. Speaking of the mail, must stop now before the postman arrives.
Fondly,
M