The High Tide Club Read online

  The thick, humid air closed in on us, and as we pushed through the vines, we stirred up clouds of stinging, swarming mosquitoes.

  “Aaagggghhh!” Millie cried.

  The skeeters were in our hair, our mouths, our noses.

  “Let’s run,” I urged. So we did, lunging through the green curtain toward a clearing I prayed was right where it had been during my last trip here, in the daytime, with my brother, Gardiner.

  Ruth stopped short at the point where the tunnel opened up to a shimmering platinum world.

  She flung her arms wide as though to embrace the spectacle and make it her own.

  “Wow,” she breathed.

  Millie and I stood beside her, breathless from the run.

  The wide sandy beach ran down to the Atlantic Ocean, and a huge full moon shone down from a black velvet sky. It was high tide, and the silver-streaked rollers broke just inches from our feet.

  “What is this magic place?” Ruth asked, slipping out of her shoes and digging her toes into the cool white sand.

  “We call it Mermaid Beach,” I said, plopping down on the sand to untie my shoelaces.

  “It’s wonderful,” Millie said. She tilted her head back and gazed up at the sky. “Have you ever seen a moon so big and beautiful?”

  “It’s called the king moon,” I told my friends, feeling important at possessing such knowledge. “I think it only happens once or twice a year.”

  I glanced at Ruth, expecting her to ridicule or contradict me, but to my astonishment, she was busily unbuttoning her cotton blouse. She dropped it onto the sand and unfastened the gingham skirt she’d dressed in that morning, and soon it joined the blouse.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m going swimming,” she said, leaning forward to unfasten the brassiere she’d just begun wearing earlier that spring.

  “But you don’t have a swimsuit,” Millie said.

  “I don’t need a swimsuit. I’ve got my birthday suit.” Ruth dropped the brassiere, and next came her panties. She danced toward the waves, wiggling her bare bottom the way we’d seen the sideshow hootchy-kootchy girls do when the carnival came to town. She glanced back at us, over her shoulder. “Come on, you prissy-pants!”

  I was hot and sweaty, and I could feel itchy mosquito-bite welts on my face and arms. I pulled my dress over my head and kicked off my cotton panties and the icky cotton undershirt Mama insisted on making me wear. A moment later I was as naked as a jaybird, the breeze ruffling my hair. I glanced over at Millie, who’d averted her eyes out of modesty.

  “Come on, Millie,” I begged. “It feels great.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  Ruth was leaping and diving into the waves. She pulled the pins from her long red hair and let it cascade, dripping down her knobby breasts. “Look, Josie. Look, Millie. I’m a mermaid!” She dove backward into the water, kicking her feet at the last minute.

  “I’m coming in,” I announced, and I made a running leap into the surf. I’d never felt so daring or so free. The ocean was as warm as bathwater. I floated on my back, staring up at the velvet sky, pricked with millions of stars and that low-hanging king moon. The tide carried me back toward the shore, and when my bare bottom scraped the sand, I flipped over and looked toward the beach. Millie was crouched on the sand, her knees pulled up tightly against her chest, looking thoroughly miserable.

  “If you don’t get in here right now, I’m never speaking to you again,” I called.

  “And I’ll tell you-know-who that you have a crush on him.” Ruth ran forward and began splashing Millie.

  “Ruth, stop!”

  I joined in, and within minutes, Millie was soaked and laughing despite her protests.

  “Oh, all right,” she said finally. Gritting her teeth, she pulled off her dress and ran shrieking into the waves, dressed only in underclothes similar to mine.

  “No fair,” Ruth said, splashing Millie again. “It’s not skinny-dipping unless you’re naked.”

  “That’s right,” I agreed. “You can’t be in the club unless you are tee-totally stitch-stark naked.”

  Millie sank down into the water until only her head and shoulders were exposed. “This is stupid,” she grumbled. A moment later, she stood and tossed her remaining clothes onto the beach.

  “See? Doesn’t it feel wonderful?” Ruth asked.

  Millie ducked down under the water and popped back up again, spouting a stream of water from pursed lips, like the fountain in the garden back at school. She shook her head, raining droplets on both of us. “Yes! All right. Yes, it feels marvelous!”

  After that, we laughed and splashed and floated and swam until our arms and legs were so tired we could barely drag ourselves onto the beach. Finally, we lay flat on our backs in the sand, our fingertips barely touching, while we gazed up at the moon.

  “You said there’s a club,” Millie said, sitting up and looking around for her clothes. “And now you have to let me be in it, because I skinny-dipped too. What’s it called?”

  “Hmm.” Ruth found Millie’s wadded-up dress and tossed it at her.

  “It’s the High Tide Club,” I announced.

  “Yes!” Ruth proclaimed. She found her skirt and pulled a packet from the pocket, tapping out a cigarette and a book of matches.

  “Ruth Mattingly! I didn’t know you smoked,” Millie said, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, sure,” Ruth said carelessly. She held out the package. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks,” Millie said.

  I shook my head. Ruth shrugged, lit the cigarette, inhaled, then tilted her head back and blew a series of perfect smoke rings.

  “What should we have for rules?” Millie asked as she began to dress.

  “Well, skinny-dipping, for starters,” Ruth said. She flicked ashes onto the sand, took another puff on the cigarette, and handed it over to me. I hesitated and took a tiny puff. My lungs burned, and I coughed and passed the cigarette back.

  “But only when there’s a full moon,” Millie said. “It’s so much more glamorous.”

  “And a high tide,” I added between coughs.

  “Next meeting, this summer,” Ruth said. “You’re all invited to my house at Newport.” She waved her cigarette in our faces. “And don’t forget your birthday suits.”

  5

  Josephine closed her eyes. Her chin sagged, and a moment later, she was softly snoring, the Chihuahuas each nesting with their snouts in the opposing crooks of her elbows. Brooke waited tactfully. Should she leave?

  Remembering Louette’s warning about overtiring Josephine, Brooke quietly stashed her notes in her briefcase and began to tiptoe toward the door.

  Josephine’s eyes opened. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The Chihuahuas scrambled to alert, yawning, their huge eyes staring expectantly at the intruder.

  “Um, I thought maybe you needed some rest,” Brooke said.

  “I’ll let you know when I need some rest. Now, where was I?”

  Brooke sat down again. “Well, I asked you who would be the beneficiary of your trust, and you said something about the girls of the high tide? Was that sort of a youth organization? Like Pioneer Girls maybe?”

  “I’ve never heard of that organization, so why would I leave my island to them?”

  “Sorry,” Brooke said. “Maybe I misunderstood. The High Tide Club?”

  “For heaven’s sake. Keep up, will you? I just told you, these were my oldest, dearest friends in the world.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was all so long ago,” Josephine said drowsily. “Sometimes, I almost wonder if I dreamed them. Dreamed the times we had together.”

  Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Um, just how long ago did you have these friends?”

  Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “We were just girls. Millie and I were in kindergarten together. Ruth, oh, I don’t know. I suppose I met Ruth my first year at boarding school. We were both so terribly homesick. We hated
our roommates. So we tricked them into ditching us so that we could room together. Oh, that Ruth. She was the most delicious fun! Sweet Millie, well, she had such a soft heart, the other girls would take advantage of her. So we had to take her under our wing, didn’t we? We were peas in a pod. We made our debut together…”

  Josephine’s eyelids fluttered, and Brooke feared she was falling asleep again. Should she leave?

  “I want you to find them for me,” Josephine said suddenly, fully awake again. “I … it was a long, long time ago, but it’s begun to eat at me. I’m not sleeping. I want to make amends. Before I go.”

  “Make amends with these women? Your old friends?”

  Josephine gave her a withering look. “Are you always this slow? Have you heard anything I’ve said so far?”

  Brooke wondered what she was missing here. Josephine Bettendorf Warrick was inching up on the century mark. What was the likelihood that these girlhood friends would also still be alive?

  “It’s just that, well, if these friends were your age, I was wondering…”

  “If they’re dead?”

  “I was trying to be tactful,” Brooke said.

  “We don’t have time for tact, dear. Just say what you mean. I find that’s the best policy.”

  “All right. When was the last time you were in touch with these friends?”

  Josephine looked down at the dogs in her lap. She stroked their ears, scratched their noses. “Too long,” she said softly. “Much too long. Maybe it’s too late. Probably it is, but I have to know. I have to try.”

  “Well,” Brooke said. “With computer databases, it’s usually not that difficult to track people down these days.”

  “Computers?” she sniffed. “Never had any use for one. And unfortunately, I have no idea where to start looking.” She turned to a small mahogany end table that stood beside the recliner. Sliding the drawer open, she reached in and took out a yellowing envelope.

  Brooke leaned in, trying to get a better look at it. Three names were scrawled on the envelope in fading blue ink.

  The old lady’s hands shook violently, but she managed to unseal the flap. “Put out your hand,” she said.

  Brooke obeyed, and the old lady shook a small item into Brooke’s palm, quickly returning the envelope to the drawer it had come from.

  It was no more than half an inch high, a tiny gold-and-enamel brooch depicting the slender silhouette of a girl in a jackknife dive. The girl was nude, and a diamond chip twinkled in the position where her nipple would have been.

  “What’s this?” Brooke asked.

  “We called ourselves the High Tide Club.” Josephine’s lips curved into a smile. “You see, we had a ritual. Whenever we were together, the four of us, and there was a high tide and a full moon, we’d go skinny-dipping. At Newport, at Ruth’s family’s home there, or Nantucket, at my grandmother’s house, and at Palm Beach, back when Millie’s family had a winter home there, before her father lost everything in the crash. Of course, Varina was only with us when we skinny-dipped here, on Talisa. You’re shocked, I imagine.”

  “Not at all. My friends and I used to skinny-dip off the dock at my cousin’s house, on the bluff, at Isle of Hope in Savannah.” Brooke held the pin up to the light to admire it. “It’s lovely.”

  “Millie had them made for us. As bridesmaids’ gifts. For the wedding that never was.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to your friends?”

  Josephine shrugged. “Sometime right after the war, I suppose. Maybe Ruth’s wedding? But I don’t think Millie was there. It’s such a long time ago, I really can’t recall.”

  “You said there were four members of the club? You, Ruth, and Millie? Who was the fourth?”

  “Varina.” Josephine held out her hand for the pin, which Brooke surrendered.

  “And why didn’t Varina join you at those other places, Newport and Palm Beach?”

  The old lady stared at her as though she were daft. “Varina? Don’t be absurd.”

  “Did your friends come to your wedding?”

  “No,” Josephine said. “We were … estranged.” She looked out the window, which was nearly covered by a thick green vine whose tendrils had crept through the window screen. “They’re probably all long dead by now. All but Varina. She was younger than the rest of us. She comes to see me, still, although it’s harder, because she’s getting on in years now. Like me.”

  “This really isn’t the kind of work I usually do,” Brooke said. “Have you considered hiring a private detective to find your friends?”

  Josephine looked her over carefully. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t need money.”

  Brooke felt her face flushing. “What do you know about my finances?”

  “I’ve asked around,” Josephine said. “You left a top law firm in Savannah after you broke off your engagement a few years ago, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a bit of an ambulance chaser these days, aren’t you? And representing drunk drivers and shoplifters, between divorces and debt collection?”

  Brooke said nothing. Because it was true. She’d take just about any legal, ethical work thrown her way these days. There were bills to be paid. Hospital bills. She couldn’t afford pride. Any more than she could afford cable television, dinners out, or a set of new tires for her eight-year-old Volvo. Her car needed work. She needed work.

  “And I believe you’re an unwed mother? Oh, wait. I beg your pardon. Nowadays women like you are called single mothers, isn’t that right?”

  Brooke felt her jaw clench and unclench. “I have a son, yes, and I’m not married.”

  Josephine yawned widely. “What do your people think about your having a child? Out of wedlock?”

  She considered ignoring the question. But why? Henry’s existence was no secret. Except to his father.

  “My father and stepmother are scandalized. Dad definitely does not approve. He and Patricia have only seen their grandson once or twice. My mother, at first, was worried, but once she held Henry in her arms, she fell madly in love. She comes down from Savannah to see him as often as she can.”

  “Your mother is a lovely person. I’m sorry I can’t say the same about that unfortunate woman your father left her for. How is your dear mother, by the way?”

  “She’s, uh, fine.”

  “I imagine that divorce knocked the wind out of her sails.”

  “She was devastated,” Brooke said truthfully. “She never saw it coming. Nobody did. But I think she’s finally come to terms with her new life. So you know my parents?”

  Josephine waved the question away. “Savannah’s not that big a town, my dear. Everybody knows everybody else. Except for the nobodies that nobody cares about anyway.”

  “Exactly how do you know my family?” Brooke persisted.

  “If you must know, your grandmother was a dear, dear friend of mine.”

  “You were friends with Georgette?” Brooke asked, confused.

  “Good heavens, no! Not your father’s mother. I’m sorry to say this, but Georgette Trappnell was truly a horrible woman.”

  Brooke wouldn’t argue that point. Georgette Trappnell had been a dragon. A selfish, self-centered terror whose acid tongue could peel the paint off a wall. Not unlike Josephine Warrick.

  “I meant your mother’s late mother,” Josephine said sadly. “Dear, darling Mildred.”

  “Wait. Your friend Millie was my granny? The friend you went skinny-dipping with?”

  “Yes,” Josephine said. She changed the subject abruptly again. “What about your son’s father? Do you know who he is?”

  Brooke shot to her feet, nearly knocking the chair backward. “I think I’d better be going. I don’t need money badly enough to be insulted this way.” She reached for her briefcase and her pocketbook. “I suggest you find somebody else for this particular assignment.”

  Teeny and Tiny, sensing her hostility, went on the offensive, jumping down to t
he floor, bracing themselves on either side of their mistress’s chair, yapping loudly.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Josephine snapped. “I didn’t mean to wound your pride. I just wanted to learn more about you.”

  Brooke’s face was hot. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation that I’m some sort of harlot.” She would have said more, but she hadn’t been raised to disrespect her elders. Even elders who were as loathsome as Josephine Bettendorf Warrick.

  “That’s not what I meant to insinuate at all,” Josephine said. She scooped the dogs back up into her lap, stroking their heads soothingly. “I just wondered if your son’s father is part of your life—that is, does he provide financial support? Does he see the boy?”

  “He doesn’t need to be part of our lives,” Brooke said. “Henry and I do just fine without him.”

  “Is this man even aware that he has a child?”

  The smaller of the two dogs arched her neck and began licking Josephine’s chin.

  “No.” Brooke still had no idea why she was submitting to this deeply personal line of questioning. Maybe it was because she’d become immune to the intrusive questions asked by strangers who all seemed to feel entitled to ask questions about Henry’s absent father.

  “Do you think that’s fair? To your little boy? Doesn’t he wonder where his papa is?”

  Brooke sighed. How often had both her parents asked that same question? “Henry’s only three. I’m all he knows. Anyway, times have changed, Mrs. Warrick. There’s no longer any real stigma to being a single parent. Now that we’ve established that I’m broke and unmarried, is there anything else, before I catch the boat back to St. Ann’s?”

  “I really must insist you call me Josephine,” the old lady said. “And I’ve already told you what I want. Two things. I want you to keep the state from taking my island away from me. From ruining all of it. Whatever it takes, that’s what I want from you. And I want you to help me make things right by those women I told you about.”

  She coughed again, then reached for a thick, leather-bound book on the table beside the chair. Opening it, she took out an envelope and extended it toward Brooke.

  “That’s your retainer. It’s a certified check. I’m assuming $25,000 is sufficient for you to get started?”