Sins of the Fathers (10 page)

The road to Darien was miles of vine-covered forest interspersed with mobile homes. Occasionally somebody had built with brick or stucco, but the prevailing opinion seemed to be, “Why build when you can buy a prefab house already furnished?”

When they reached the county seat, they found Mr. Curtis’s office in a strip mall with a plate-glass window lettered in flaking gold:
HAYDEN CURTIS, ATTORNEY AT LAW.
As they approached, Katharine and Dr. Flo had an excellent view of a blond receptionist’s brown part as she polished her nails at the front desk. “Y’all go right on in.” She waved them toward a closed door at the rear, multitasking by indicating their way while drying her nails.

When Dr. Flo knocked, a bass drawl called, “Come on in. It’s open.”

They stepped into a windowless office with avocado shag carpet and gray walls. Katharine felt she had wandered into a cave, especially since the only illumination came from low-watt bulbs in table lamps beside the client love seat and on the credenza behind the desk.

Did Hayden Curtis prefer dim light because his office was furnished in thrift-store chic? Or because he was so unattractive? A pudgy little man with rolls of fat bulging over a tight white collar and his belt, he had an abundance of black hair—fluffy on top, curling from his ears, lying like a pelt on the backs of his hands. His eyes, which were on a level with Katharine’s own as he stood behind his desk to greet them, were like two shards of coal.

They locked on Dr. Flo as soon as she came in. “Miz Gadney?”

Dr. Flo and Katharine exchanged a quick look. Burch must have called.

“Dr. Gadney.” Her voice was smooth as velvet. She looked chic and competent in her beige pantsuit and heels, but Katharine refused to feel underdressed. She had no need to impress a man in a shiny, rumpled suit.

His air conditioning, like Nell’s, was low enough to turn Katharine’s toes to ice, but beads of sweat stood on his forehead. He pulled a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and swiped it across his face with one hand while he waved them to the love seat with the other. The office was so small, Katharine’s knees touched his desk when she sat.

“Good of you to come.” His voice aimed for hearty but achieved only breathy heaviness.

He finally looked at Katharine. “And you are?”

While he waited for her to answer, he folded his handkerchief and restored it to his pocket, making it clear he was only giving her part of his attention. She wondered if that technique was effective in court.

“Katharine Murray.” Devilment made her add, “Dr. Flo’s chauffeur.”

That earned her his attention for an instant. She bent to set her purse on the floor to hide her smile.

“I see. Do you want her present, Miz Gadney, while we discuss this—ah—little matter?”

“I definitely want her present. Katharine has my full confidence.” Dr. Flo fixed him with a look that used to dominate classrooms. “We have seen the cemetery this afternoon. And met Burch Bayard.” She paused between statements to make a complete sentence of the last.

“I know. He called. He says it’s unlikely those graves belong to your people.”

“Not at all.” Dr. Flo drew the Neiman Marcus bag onto her lap and took out a worn black leather Bible, the once-gold edges faded and speckled. She laid it on his desk and opened it to the page where births, marriages, and deaths were recorded. “If you will turn on that lamp,” she gestured to the reading light on his desk and waited until he complied, “and compare these dates with the ones on the gravestone for Claude Gilbert,” she laid her notebook beside the Bible, “you will see that the dates for the birth and death of the man in Mr. Bayard’s cemetery and for my grandfather exactly coincide. I have no doubt that I have found my grandfather’s grave.”

He slid a sheet of paper toward her. “So you are authorized to give permission for Burch to move the grave. Just sign here.” He indicated the line with his pen and held it out to her.

Dr. Flo shook her head. “There are three other graves that seem to be connected to his, and I am not familiar with those names. I need to do research to determine if I am the person with authority to move those graves.” She closed her Bible and notebook and put them away with the air of having had the final word.

He shoved the paper another infinitesimal quarter inch her way. “You don’t have to worry about those graves, Miz Gadney. Permission to move the one will be fine.” Again he held out the pen.

“Dr. Gadney,” she corrected him, keeping her hands in her lap. “And somebody has to be concerned about those graves, if they are to be moved. If they are related to my grandfather, you need my permission to move them. I am the last of his family.”

His lips tightened but before he could speak, she added, “You need to know, too, that after Mr. Bayard left, we met Miss Agnes Morrison. She claims she has the title to that land.”

“That woman!” His voice rose several notes. “Meddles in everything. She has no claim to that land. No claim whatsoever.” He patted the air with both hands to dismiss Miss Morrison and her claims. With his snout of a nose and hairy paws, he reminded Katharine of a panda. Put the man in the right suit and he’d make a grand panda—plump, hairy, and potentially dangerous.

“She said her grandfather—”

He cut her off with an imperious wave. “Her granddaddy was given land for his lifetime. Since the Bayards have never had another use for it until now, they permitted her family to live there out of the kindness of their hearts, but the land has always been theirs.”

Since they came in, he had developed a little wheeze. Katharine wondered if he had asthma and whether they were bringing on an attack.

She entertained herself by considering the difficulties an asthmatic panda might encounter in the wild.

“Miss Morrison was quite emphatic that she has documentation to prove her claim,” Dr. Flo said calmly, “but that will be your problem. My only concern is that I must wait to sign anything until I can research the identity of those persons buried in the other graves, to determine if they were my ancestors.”

Mr. Curtis interlaced his thick fingers and clasped his hands close to his chest like he held winning cards. “Ma’am, to be blunt, it’s unlikely any of them were your ancestors. That cemetery has been in the Bayard family for over two hundred years, and without wanting to overstate the obvious, they are white. Burch Bayard will take legal action against anyone who claims one of his ancestors was involved with a black woman, so unless your ancestor was white, I believe we are finished here.” He stood.

Dr. Flo opened her purse, took out an envelope, and extracted an old sepia photograph. “My ancestor was not white. This was him. It says on the back ‘Claude Gilbert, 1902.’”

The lawyer glanced at the photo, turned it over, read the name, and handed it back with obvious relief, “Then he is not the man buried in the Bayard cemetery. That tombstone has a misspelling. We are looking for a family of Gwilberts.” He pronounced the name as if it were a familiar one.

Katharine stirred in her chair. “Are there other Gwilberts in this county?” She had never heard the name, but Mr. Hayden had said it so confidently that McIntosh County might be full of Gwilberts.

“Not that I know of,” he admitted, adding quickly, “Lemme look.” He reached in his bottom drawer and pulled out a small telephone book. Either the company didn’t put out new books of that region very often or he was sentimentally attached to an early edition, for his was limp and dog-eared. He donned a pair of drugstore reading glasses and thumbed through the pages, licking his forefinger before turning each page.

Katharine motioned for the photo and held it close to the table lamp. Claude Gilbert had been a handsome man, with an oval face and a little mustache, but he looked darker than Dr. Flo.

Mr. Curtis laid down the phone book and shook his head, failing to conceal his disappointment. “The Gwilberts must have died out or moved away.”

“Or changed the spelling of their name to Gilbert,” Dr. Flo suggested with asperity.

He waved his furry paw again. “I regret that you have wasted your time…”

Dr. Flo drew herself up in her chair and said in an icy voice, “I have not wasted my time. I have found my grandfather’s grave.”

Mr. Curtis’s face grew pink and mottled, and spit collected in the corner of his mouth. “Can you prove that your people have any connection with Bayard Island?”

“Not yet. Until today, all I knew about Claude Gilbert was that he went to Atlanta around 1887 to attend Morehouse College, became a lawyer, and remained in the Atlanta area.” She paused, then added, “My father was a lawyer, too. He graduated from Emory law school.” Her eyes flickered to the unimpressive degree hanging behind Mr. Curtis’s desk.

He clasped his chubby fingers so tightly together they turned white. “The fact remains that you cannot be positive that this Claude Gilbert was your grandfather.”

“Not positive, yet, but so certain that I am willing to sign to have his grave moved.” She took the photo Katharine handed her, restored it to its envelope, and slipped it back into her purse. “However, while I have no idea who Marie and Françoise Guilbert”—she emphasized the French pronunciation—“were, or who the Mallery was who was buried near them, I am convinced that at least two of those graves are connected to Claude’s. Otherwise, why enclose them together like that? Naturally, then, I want to do more research before I give permission to move any of the graves. I hope you understand. If the Guilberts turn out to be my relations…”

He stood. “I don’t think there is any possibility that they are your relations. We don’t need to bother you any longer, Miz Gadney. We’ll take care of our little problem down here. Sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

It didn’t take a psychic to figure out what he planned to do.

“We’ve seen the graves,” Katharine pointed out.

His gaze flicked her like a whip and returned to Dr. Flo.

“If those graves get moved without Dr. Flo’s permission,” Katharine continued in a quiet voice that her children had learned meant trouble, “she will sue and I will testify to what I have heard, both here and out at the cemetery. I am sure Agnes Morrison will be willing to testify, as well. We met her at the cemetery and went home with her to discuss the graves.”

Frustration stripped off the thin veneer of manners and revealed the country boy within. With an oath he slammed one fist on his desk. “I shoulda let Burch sign off on all them graves and been done with it. Ain’t nobody else’s bidness. They’re in his plot, on his propitty.”

“Then why did you bother to look for descendants?” Dr. Flo’s voice was cool and merely curious. Katharine admired her poise. In the professor’s shoes, she would have been furious.

Instead, it was Hayden Curtis who was a hairsbreadth from incoherent. “Because we didn’t want Agnes stirring up more trouble than is necessary. She pointed out that some graves say Gwilbert instead of Bayard, and she said if we didn’t look for their relatives, she’d make a stink.” He pulled out his handkerchief one more time and dabbed his forehead, cheeks, and the back of his neck.

With no warning, he slumped into his seat, scrabbled in his desk for an inhaler and stuck it in his mouth. He took several deep breaths with his eyes closed.

“Are you all right?” Katharine asked. “Should we call your secretary?”

He flapped his hand in negation and took the inhaler out of his mouth long enough to gasp, “Give me a minute.”

They sat uneasily until he sat back up in his chair and pocketed the inhaler. “Agnes affects me that way. I shouldn’t let her get to me, but she does. She’s so apt to make a fuss over nothing, but she tends to make such a big one, we couldn’t just let it pass. But it’s not like you have been tending those graves all these years, or even know who those people are.” Having failed with intimidation and threats, he tried pleading. “We’ll put them in a place where they’ll be taken care of without it costing you a dime. Mr. Bayard will assume full responsibility for all the costs of moving and transplanting them.” He clutched his handkerchief in one hand while his other one shoved the paper across his desk so it was right in her face. “All you gotta do is sign right here—”

One forefinger covered with soft black hair marked the place while he swabbed the back of his neck again. Katharine wondered how low the thermostat would have to be to cool his blood. His skin shone with oily sweat.

Dr. Flo shook her head. “I was a professor of business, Mr. Curtis. I taught my students never to sign a paper until they had studied it and considered all the ramifications. Recent lawsuits against top executives in large corporations have demonstrated the wisdom of that. So if you will give me the papers, I will take them home with me, sign them, and mail them back to you as soon as I have satisfied myself that I have the right and responsibility to do so.”

He chewed his lower lip. From a lump on it, Katharine deduced he did that whenever he was perplexed, and he must be perplexed a lot. She didn’t envy him, caught between Burch Bayard’s determination and Dr. Flo’s integrity.

He came to a decision. He folded the papers and shoved them back in a desk drawer. “Okay, you win. When you are ready to sign, give me a call and I’ll send them to you. I’d give them to you now, except that wouldn’t be right, seeing how as somebody else might show up tomorrow also claiming to be a descendent of Claude Gilbert. But if you get positive proof you’re his authorized descendant, you give me a call and I’ll send them overnight. You gotta do it fast, though—you understand? Mr. Bayard can’t wait around.” He shoved his handkerchief back in his pocket without bothering to fold it. One corner dangled sloppily like a little white flag of surrender.

“We’ll be in Jekyll for a few days,” Dr. Flo told him. “I’ll get back to you by the end of the week, if possible.”

He grabbed up his pen and the back of an envelope. “Where you gonna be on Jekyll? Lemme have a number where we can reach you. I’ll have my secretary call if she can turn up information on those other graves. I’m gonna be out of town the rest of this week, but heck, if she finds anything, I’ll even have her run it down so you can see it for yourself.” He reached for a pen.