Tell No Lies (19 page)

She wondered if Daniel had come by. Normally, if she wasn’t home, he would have tried her at the main house, but with all that was going on, he’d probably figured that was the last place she would go. He knew she was thinking about telling the girls the truth and didn’t think it was a good idea, but Sadie didn’t much care. It felt like the right thing to do—no matter what Flo or Daniel thought, and if Daniel truly loved her, he was gonna have to let her be who she had to be.

It was too late to call him now, so she resolved to call him in the morning, and with that decided, she didn’t bother searching for her cell phone. She’d had enough talk today anyway. Tomorrow she would call Savannah as well, because Savannah deserved to hear the truth from her. With a weary sigh, she set the cup down on the counter and made her way back to the bedroom.

Gracie’s black form jumped down out of the bathroom sink as she passed, mewing a complaint over her absence. As expected, the cat followed her down the hall, ready to take up her spot at the foot of the bed.

The old cottage was small—a bread box of a house, really, but it was hers. The back bedroom faced the marsh as well, and she loved that most—looking out her picture window at the spartina grass, dancing in the breeze, while she read.

Making her way to the nightstand, she turned on the lamp and sat on the bed to remove her shoes, glancing at the current book sitting there—
The Road to Forgiveness
. Would she make it through a single page? Probably not, but it was her habit to read a little every night.

She tossed one shoe on the floor. “Flo,” she said. “You got a lotta nerve dying on me like this, eah! Leavin’ me all alone with this mess!”

The house remained silent, no response. Not that Sadie expected one. Though she was about as superstitious as they came, she knew the only kinds of spirits that lingered here on this earth were the mean ones—those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t move on. Flo didn’t have a mean bone in her body.

“Then again, maybe you can’t go yet,” she said to a make-believe Flo. “You certainly made yourself a big enough mess.”

Sadie realized she’d had a part in it, and she considered the possibility that maybe she and Flo might haunt what was left of this old plantation together. The thought of that was fitting somehow. It made her smile a bit and she tossed the other shoe on the floor, thinking that the only one mean enough to actually come back from the dead would be Robert.

Wasn’t much positive to say about that man, and although it wasn’t Christian, she was glad he was dead. She hated that Josh had inherited the house on Tradd Street—there could be nothing but bad karma in that old place. Maybe Flo had thought she was doing him a favor, but that wasn’t the way Sadie saw it. She’d rather her son had stayed in the house Queenie had sold him on John’s Island. He’d had plenty of privacy there, and lots of room to grow—even if it was a little too far out for anyone to go visit him. She supposed at least now he was closer.

“They’re gonna make a movie about us,” she said to Gracie, and reached over to stroke the cat.

Gracie gave her a solemn “mech” and stretched out a paw, seemingly to push her away.

“What do you know anyway?” she said to Gracie. But the truth was, Gracie probably knew far more than most folks did. Cats could see things people couldn’t see. With a sigh, she got up from the bed, found her nightgown, changed into it and then got into bed, pulling the covers up. Gracie watched her all the while, her blinky eyes fixed upon Sadie’s every movement, assuring her that there was nobody here tonight but the two of them.

For a long moment, Sadie stared at the cat, thinking about that bottle tree outside. If anyone had ever bothered to empty out her notes from inside, they would have discovered all her secrets long ago. It was her way of giving her cares to God and lettin’ him deal with them. Once all those bad feelings and stories were in the bottles, all the bad medicine surrounding them was trapped inside. Although some folks believed that to truly be rid of them, you had to cap the bottle and cast it into water. Maybe she would try that someday.

Her grandma used to have a bottle spell for every dang thing, but the only one Sadie had ever tried was the breakup spell. Maybe it was taking things a little too far, but just in case it was all true, she’d placed the hair of a black dog—courtesy of Tango—and the hair of a black cat—she eyed Gracie—into a bottle with both Augusta’s and Josh’s names. She didn’t want them to hate each other, but it was better than the idea of brother and sister getting up and married without even knowing they were related, and Flo had made her promise never to tell.

“Sorry, Flo,” she said, and picked up the book lying on the nightstand. Beneath it was a folded sheet of paper. Setting the book aside, she picked up the sheet, unfolded it and read:

Sadie blinked, her heart jolting. It was the missing codicil to Florence’s will—the one Savannah had accused her of hiding. She held her breath as she continued to read:

Sadie clutched her breast as she read the next words:

Her gaze fell to the bottom of the page where Flo’s name was placed in a clear, bold signature she recognized at once. Flo had given Sadie’s house to the city. She really had done it. But why? Even more important than why . . . what was the codicil doing under a book on Sadie’s nightstand? She had never seen this piece of paper in all her life. Even after Savannah had told her about it, she’d doubted its existence.

At the end of the bed, Gracie blinked at her serenely, her black eyes knowing. With trembling hands Sadie folded the codicil carefully, and placed it back inside the book, slamming it shut. She set the book down on the nightstand, her heart beating painfully, and then turned off the lights and stared into the darkness.

 

 

“Hey, sleepyhead . . .”

Augusta awoke to the sound of Caroline’s voice and a tiny bounce on the bed. One open eye revealed that Caroline was dressed for work, and a glance at the clock told her it was late.

“I slept in, too. Yesterday took it out of me,” Caroline said and Augusta shook the sleep from her brain. “I didn’t want to leave you sleeping alone with the work crew banging away downstairs.”

Augusta sat up in the bed. “Oh God! I completely forgot! Are they here already?”

Caroline nodded. “Yep. Though they seem to know exactly what to do without my having to get involved, I thought I’d stay until you woke up. But I have a meeting in forty minutes.”

Augusta stumbled out of the bed and found her clothes, vowing to do laundry today. She glanced at Caroline. They were approximately the same size and height. Maybe Caroline wouldn’t mind if she borrowed an outfit for the day. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it. That makes two days in a row I’ve slept like the dead. I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“Drama,” Caroline said, mouthing the word with great emphasis. Augusta smiled and Caroline stood to go. “Need anything while I’m out?”

“Nah, I’m good. I plan to run out for lunch anyway.” Lunch, meaning time with Ian.

“Alright, then I’m off,” Caroline said and left the room. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she passed the rug in the hall.

Augusta pulled her hair into a ponytail and then reached for the band she’d left on the bedside table last night, freezing at the sight of the small yellow paper umbrella.

Abandoning the ponytail, she reached over to pick up the umbrella, inspecting it. It looked
exactly
like the one Ian had put into his pocket last night.
Exactly
. But she didn’t remember him giving it back to her. Nor did she recall bringing it home. She most assuredly didn’t remember setting it on her nightstand.

Combined with the photograph of Sam and the Nilsson song, it was downright spooky. Outside, she heard Caroline’s Lexus start up and drive away and she glanced at the indentation Caroline’s rear had made on the bed. She’d sat too far away from the nightstand to place it there, and why would she anyway?

She stared at the frilly little decoration, unnerved by the sight of it. But it was simply a paper umbrella, she told herself. Nothing special about it, except for the rotten memories it evoked—memories and bad feelings she could do without, especially this morning when she wanted to feel something different for Flo and for this house.

It was time to put the past behind her.

Her mother was a human being. Everyone made mistakes. Augusta had certainly made enough of her own. For everyone’s sake, she needed to put an end to all the disappointments that could no longer be atoned for. If she could forgive complete strangers for perceived wrongs, then why couldn’t she forgive her mother?

With that thought, she tossed the umbrella into the trash by her dresser.

 

It was morning.

Again.

He thought.

But maybe he was dreaming.

Cody’s arms were beyond hurting. Numbness had set into them, making him feel like they weren’t part of his body anymore—like his tongue. So far, the man hadn’t come back, but now Cody was pretty sure he was going to die before anyone came, so he wasn’t afraid anymore.

His eyes were on fire. His lips were cracked and broken. He was so weak he didn’t even move when he saw the snake slither in from the locker room. He lay still, watching the reptile slip its way across the cavernous room, too feeble even to pull air into his burning nostrils. But his heart sped up painfully, beating erratically as he watched the reptile come closer. It wasn’t the first time since he’d been here that his heart seemed like it wanted to bust through his chest so he lay there quietly, willing it to settle down.

Mind over matter, his dad would say, though he couldn’t remember exactly why he’d said it.

Eyes half-closed, he watched as the snake paused to inspect him . . . almost as though he sensed Cody lying in the shadows.

Don’t breathe,
he told himself.
Stay still.

But he knew snakes could sense heat, so playing dead wasn’t exactly the right thing to do. Still, he lay as still as he knew how to do, not daring even to blink.

His chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm.

After a moment, the snake slithered away, into the corner behind Cody’s head and curled its long, thick black body around a pile of wood in the middle, where a shaft of sunlight poured in through the broken window.

Cody could see the snake, lying there in the sunlight.

It was large, with a big, wedge-shaped black head. From Cody’s viewpoint on the floor, he could see that the underbelly still had some cross bands, but not too many and they faded to brownish black toward the top of the snake’s body. That meant it was probably old, Cody realized. It had outgrown its yellow-tipped tail, but Cody recognized it as a cottonmouth the moment it settled into the woodpile and cocked its head back to show Cody the white interior of its mouth. It stayed there, with its mouth gaped, not more than three feet away—close enough that Cody could see the two large fangs, warning Cody to stay away.

Cody tried not to breathe.

He didn’t talk to the snake except inside his head.

“I won’t hurt you,”
he said.
“Don’t worry.”

The cottonmouth responded by wiggling its tail, hitching its head farther back and turning its white mouth toward Cody so Cody could see its fangs more clearly.

His dad had always told him that if you were near enough to see a snake’s fangs, you were too close, but Cody didn’t have much choice.

For the longest time, the snake stayed in that threatening position, watching Cody from the corner of one elliptical eye.

Outside, he heard the sound of thunder approaching, and the sky rapidly darkened, casting the snake’s body into shadow along with Cody.

Cody blinked, closing his eyes, remembering the cottonmouth that had come straight up to their fishing boat. They swam with their heads above the water, their fat bodies nearly invisible in the black river. His dad said they were only curious, but the man at the wildlife habitat said they were aggressive and that his buddy narrowly survived multiple bites from one mean old moccasin.

Forcing his eyes open, he watched the dark form in the corner through slitted lids, his brain weary as he fought the need to close his eyes.

After a while, the snake shut its mouth and Cody relaxed, letting his eyes rest.

Somewhere in his dream head, he thought he heard the snake say,
“Don’t worry, Cody. I won’t hurt you.”

 

Storm clouds were rolling in.

The work crew had barely begun before they had to pack it up again, promising to return again Monday morning. Augusta stood on the front porch, watching the last of Luke’s crew head out the gate.

The weather forecast called for light showers, but these particular clouds had an angry, bruised underbelly that promised more than sprinkles. The wind kicked up and even the tidal flats had a few visible whitecaps.

Augusta might have been disappointed, but what she really wanted to do was to see Ian, and this would afford her the perfect opportunity to slip out if he was available.

She knew that despite Jack’s warnings, he probably wouldn’t completely give up his search for Jennifer, but neither was he going full speed ahead with it either. He had promised to cooperate with the police and Augusta was sure he wouldn’t risk ending up behind bars again, especially now that all charges were being dropped. But she also knew he felt responsible for Jennifer.

She stood on the porch, looking out over the marsh. It appeared as though the boathouse door had been left ajar and seemed to be hanging precariously. If she didn’t go out and batten it down, it was going to end up being just another repair they would have to make. In fact, judging by the way it was seesawing, it was already too late. But before she could head in that direction, her cell phone rang and she fished it out of her back pocket—Caroline’s back pocket, to be more specific, and the pants were a little tight. She’d stolen a pair of jeans from her sister’s drawer along with a cottony blouse. Disappointment filtered through her when she saw it was an unknown number. Wavering between letting it go and answering, she tapped the green answer button and said hello.

“Hi,” responded the voice. “It’s Brad Bessett.”

“Oh hey!”

“Hey, so I looked into that tip you gave me—thanks, by the way.” He sounded genuine.

A little distracted by the boathouse door, Augusta said, “Great, you’re welcome. What did you find out? Anything?”

“Not what you were looking for. As far as we can tell Jennifer never applied here at the
Tribune
, though I did check with my source at CPD and they gave me a new lead. Seems Jennifer legally changed her name, and apparently, they’ve got a BOLA out for her missing vehicle right now.”

Ian would be happy to know the police were actually following up on the information he’d given them. “That’s good news, right? So they’ve got a lead?”

“Not sure, but I thought you’d be interested to know the vehicle is registered under a name you might be familiar with . . .”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah . . .” He paused for an instant, as though building suspense, and Augusta found herself instantly annoyed. “Daniel Greene,” he revealed before she could speak up.

The disclosure bowled Augusta over for a second; she didn’t know what to say.

“The car is an old decommissioned police-issue Dodge,” he added, when she remained silent. “With a license plate registered as NZ3 H43.”

A chill ran down Augusta’s spine. “Repeat that license again, please.”

“NZ3 H43.”

The car following her last night had been a black Dodge with a license plate beginning with NZ3. Augusta was pretty sure Jennifer Williams wasn’t behind the wheel.

But it couldn’t be.

“Apparently, the car was auctioned a little over a year ago. Greene apparently buys and donates vehicles on a regular basis.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s about all I know. He was Jennifer’s pro bono attorney and he does this sort of thing a lot—donates beaters to organizations like Wheels for Women, which in turn gives them to single moms and such. Except it looks as though he handed Jennifer the keys to this one directly because most charities will assume the title and act as dealer, selling the title to the recipient. This one’s still in Greene’s name.”

“Is this public knowledge?”

“Not yet. So please keep it under your hat. I’d like to cover this properly when I can.”

Augusta was too stunned to know what to say.

“I’m sure your sister would appreciate it, as well.”

“Caroline?”

“Yeah,” he said, and added, in case she didn’t understand what he was telling her. “She would probably appreciate your keeping quiet about it.”

“Sure,” Augusta agreed.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing . . . Greene was also Karen Hutto’s pro bono attorney.”

Another prickle ran down Augusta’s spine.

“Like I said, he’s pretty involved with a lot of these charities for abused women. Apparently, her husband was an abuser, and she was attempting to get full custody of her daughter Amanda before she disappeared. ”

The hairs on the back of Augusta’s neck prickled. “Thanks,” she said, and then said good-bye and hung up, too dazed to carry on any further conversation.

She stared out at the boathouse, at the door slamming violently in the wind, her brain racing over possibilities. Her mother probably would have shown Daniel the codicil, though she might not have given it to him yet, because otherwise he wouldn’t have broken into their house to try to find it—assuming that’s how it went. The morning after they’d discovered the body on Backcreek Road, someone had broken into their mother’s office through the back doors. Nothing had been stolen as far as they could tell, and aside from the broken window in the expensive French doors, nothing was out of place. They’d found no fingerprints—none that didn’t belong in the room—and nothing to indicate there had actually been a successful robbery. All her mother’s documents and books were undisturbed.

That break-in had happened
after
the break-in at Daniel’s law office on the morning of the reading of the will. But it didn’t make any sense that Daniel would break into his own office and beat himself up. Supposedly, he had responded to a silent alarm, surprising an intruder who then beat him nearly to death with a bat and put him in the hospital.

Something didn’t add up.

Besides, if Daniel had known about the codicil, he couldn’t have told Sadie about it because Sadie was one of the most honest people Augusta had ever known. Sadie could never have kept a secret like that to save her life—or so Augusta had believed until yesterday. And yet, her feeling was that Sadie had longed to tell the truth. If she had kept the secret of Josh’s paternity from them, it was because Flo had demanded it. That’s what Sadie had said, and despite the pain she felt over the disclosure, Augusta believed it.

In the distance, the boathouse door swung to and fro, but Augusta stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to move, her brain filling up with new scenarios.

Even through all the media hype, Daniel Greene had never uttered a single word about Jennifer Williams. He’d kept that information completely to himself—despite the fact that Caroline had dragged Ian’s name through the muck over his relationship with the missing girl. Not only that, Daniel had never once disclosed his relationship with Karen Hutto.