Sins of the Fathers (16 page)

“Dr. Flo?” she called in the hall. She got no reply.

When she opened the door at the back of the hall, she saw why. Dr. Flo was opening desk drawers in a small room at the back of the wing, but between them lay the sleeping porch, open to the storm. The rain drummed on the tin roof overhead and fell in torrents from broad eaves. The eaves were wide enough to keep all but a fine mist from coming through the screens, but Dr. Flo could not have heard her.

Katharine stepped onto the porch and saw why the downstairs bedroom had not needed to be cleared of debris. This was where Agnes slept in summer, in a white iron bedstead up among the treetops. The porch had the same happy, haphazard look as the kitchen. Katharine felt goosebumps rising. Was that from the wind? Or from seeing Agnes’s comb and brush lying on an old oak dresser amid a dusting of pink face powder?

She began to share Dr. Flo’s suspicions as she mentally ticked off indications that Agnes planned to come back: overalls hung from a nail on the far wall; a wrinkled white cotton nightgown slung over the foot of the bed, ready to be put on again; one slipper near the rump-sprung chair in the corner and one under the bed; a book facedown on the night table beside a utilitarian reading light. The book was only half-read.

She joined Dr. Flo. “You were smart to open the windows in here.”

“They were open when I got here. Thank heavens for wide eaves, or all this would have been soaked.” She gestured to indicate the stacks of papers that filled every surface. As she spoke, a breeze lifted papers on the desk and sent them spinning to join others on the floor that must have traveled by an earlier breeze.

The Morrisons had used this room for a study. It held a desk, a filing cabinet, and bookshelves on every available bit of wall. Somebody had even built shelves over the windows and the door. The desk was so old the varnish had worn off. The books were a jumble of theology, literature, history, and math. Two bottom shelves held stacks of
National Geographic
and other magazines, covered with dust. “Agnes was right about the Morrisons being pack rats,” she told Dr. Flo. “I don’t think they ever threw anything out.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t find those letters. I don’t see that deed she said she found, either. Maybe she took them downstairs, handier for when she was going to town.”

A door slammed downstairs with such force they felt as well as heard it.

The women looked at one another in panic. “Maybe the wind,” Dr. Flo whispered.

Katharine’s own mind was veering between a murderer returning and an angry sheriff wondering who these women were, leaving fingerprints all over a crime scene. She looked down at her hands in dismay. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?”

She wondered if she’d be able to persuade Louise to call Tom, wherever he was, to bail her out of the McIntosh County jail.

Anything was better than standing there waiting. She went through the porch to the hall and called over the banisters, “Hello? Who’s there?”

Chase Bayard peered up the staircase with a puzzled frown. He must have left a raincoat or umbrella in the kitchen, for his tan shirt was dry but his jeans were soaked below the knees. He had to try twice before he got his first word out. “Mi—Miss Agnes isn’t here. She—” his voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again. “She shot herself yesterday. Did you want something?”

Before Katharine could reply, Dr. Flo pushed past her and descended the stairs. “Yes, we were looking for letters that may relate to the Guilberts in your family cemetery. Agnes called Tuesday night and promised them to me, but on our way home, we read in the paper that she had died. We were going to Darien anyway to sign those papers your daddy wanted, so we thought we might as well run up here and see if Agnes left them where we could find them. I don’t suppose you’ve seen them, have you?”

She stood high enough on the steps that Chase had to look up to her. Confusion and uncertainty flitted across his face. “No, ma’am, I just got here. I saw your car in the yard.” He swallowed again and bit his lower lip as if undecided what to say next. Finally he blurted, “Daddy would get real upset if he knew you broke in or took stuff out of the house.”

“We didn’t break in.” Katharine passed Dr. Flo on the steps and joined him in the hall. “The back door was unlocked. And we haven’t taken a thing. We did feed the cats.”

“Oh, good. That’s why I came, to feed the animals. Miss Agnes really loved her animals.” He bent to stroke the large cat, which had come through the hall and was sitting with its tail switching. It turned and dashed down the hall. “That one’s real wild,” he said with an embarrassed flush.

“Do they really think she killed herself?” Dr. Flo asked. “It’s hard to believe she would have done that without providing for the animals.”

“I know. She must have been real upset about something. Or maybe she was cleaning her gun and it went off. They know she shot herself, because Papa Dalt and Cooter heard the shot, and they got here not long after she’d done it. They were the ones who called the sheriff. He said the last car tracks on her road were hers.”

“How did your granddaddy get here, then?” Katharine asked.

“Walked along the slough, same as I did today. It’s a couple of miles from her place to ours by the road, but the road bends a lot. Our place and hers aren’t even a mile apart along the slough. Papa Dalt and Cooter were out shooting squirrels—well, Cooter was doing the shooting since Papa Dalt was—wasn’t feeling good. They heard the shot and came to see who was riling Miss Agnes. She didn’t hunt, but she shot at trespassers a lot.”

Dr. Flo made a noise between a laugh and a snort. “We know. She shot at us.”

His eyes widened. “No joke?”

“No joke. So they found her and called the sheriff, but they didn’t find any sign that a trespasser had been here?”

“No, ma’am. Not at all.” He knelt down and reached for the little cat, which had crept from the kitchen in search of the conversation. “We’re gonna miss her. She was a special lady.”

The little cat let him pick her up and cuddled down in his arms like she’d been there before. “Maybe Miss Agnes did provide for the animals, sort of. I saw her on the road yesterday morning and she asked me to come over today. She said she’d help me with my math.” He swallowed hard again. “Maybe she figured I’d feed them for her when I got here.”

“Surely she wouldn’t have wanted you to find her body!” Dr. Flo was clearly shocked.

Chase shrugged. “Maybe she was depressed. She was pretty old.”

“Not much older than I am, young man, and I have no intention of shooting myself.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean no, ma’am. I—I don’t really know why she did it.” He looked miserable.

“When was it that you saw her yesterday?” Katharine asked.

He shrugged. “Sometime around ten. She and her dog were in her car headed somewhere.” He peered around. “Have you seen him anywhere around?”

“No,” Katharine told him. “Just the cats.”

“Will you take them?” Dr. Flo bent to the big one. It approached and wove back and forth under her hand, then darted to the kitchen like it had suddenly realized it was being friendly.

“I wish I could, but Mama’s allergic. Would you like them?” His eager expression wiped away the thin veneer of sophistication that young adolescents work so hard to achieve. “We won’t be down here much longer and nobody will feed them after that. If you’d like them—”

Katharine stifled a groan. Five hours in a car with two cats was one of her personal visions of hell, but she could see that Dr. Flo was on the verge of accepting. She was reaching out to stroke the head of the little cat in Chase’s arms.

To Katharine’s relief, she stepped back with obvious reluctance. “I’m not allowed to have pets where I live.” She turned to Katharine. “I don’t suppose you…?”

Katharine turned away to hide her expression. Apparently Dr. Flo didn’t share her aversion to lying to children. Dr. Flo’s house was larger than hers. She could keep a hundred cats and scarcely notice. Of course, the Gadneys had a lot of valuable antiques. Maybe that kept Dr. Flo from having cats? But she’d said she once had cats…

Katharine realized the other two were still waiting for her answer. “We are away too much to have pets.”

“They could die here!” Chase sounded close to tears. “Somebody needs to take care of them.” The little cat, alarmed by his outburst, jumped from his arms and darted to the kitchen.

“Your daddy claims he owns them now,” Katharine reminded Chase. “If so, it’s his responsibility to find homes for them. For the goats and the chickens, too, unless he wants wild animals roaming his new subdivision.”

“Yeah, but he’ll—” Loyalty stopped him, but he probably knew, as Katharine suspected, that Burch’s solution to his newly acquired menagerie would involve bullets, the slough, and chicken dinners.

“You can get feeders that measure out food and water while you are away,” Dr. Flo said thoughtfully. “And you have a lovely yard for cats to roam around in.”

The little cat crept back into the hall and wove back and forth around Katharine’s ankles. Then it peered up and asked, “M
eow?”

Katharine sighed. “See if you can find some boxes for them to travel in while I get some dry clothes out of the car. I can’t travel as wet as I am.”

The storm had subsided to a gentle drizzle. Chase helped her carry the cats’ supplies to the car, then he went to feed the goats. Dr. Flo closed up the house while Katharine changed and carried the cats, taped into cardboard boxes with air holes, to the car. She was carrying out the second, the smaller one, when Mona’s Mercedes growled down the drive.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she got out. “And what are you removing from the property?”

Mona was exquisite in a long white skirt, navy blouse, white blazer, and white and navy sandals. Every hair was in place, her makeup fresh. Katharine was acutely aware of her own damp, frizzing hair, her perspiring face, and a stain on her thigh where the male cat had turned over his water as she attempted to put him in the box. Just once she would like to meet this woman looking good.

“We came because Agnes had promised Dr. Flo some letters.”

She’d decided to let Mona think they hadn’t known about Agnes’s death.

“Why are
you
here?” Dr. Flo asked, joining Katharine.

“You must not have heard, but Agnes is dead. I came to see if she had any bits and pieces that might be worth saving before Burch tears the place—ah-ah-choo!” She opened her purse and snatched out a tissue too late to catch the sneeze.

“Ownership of this land is still in question,” Dr. Flo informed her. “Tuesday night, Agnes found the original deed, which included a stipulation that when or if the Morrisons no longer required the house, it reverted to the family for which it was built.” She drew herself up to her most haughty posture. “It is possible I am the last member of that family. Katharine, may I use your cell phone?”

“Sure.” Katharine handed it over.

“Who are you calling?” Curiosity battled annoyance in Mona’s voice. She dabbed her nose again.

“My lawyer. I want him to take steps to ensure that nothing can be removed from or done to destroy this property until a legitimate search has been made by the authorities for that deed.” She punched in a number, listened, then said, “Rodney? Flo here. I’m fine, but listen…” She moved away so the others could not hear. In a few moments she returned. “He is going to file a motion immediately.”

Mona turned to Katharine with her forehead wrinkled. “She’s not serious, is she? Slaves never lived on this property.” She turned her head aside to sneeze again. “Excuse me. The rain must have stirred up pollen or something.” She used her tissue to blow her nose.

Dr. Flo pulled her notebook out of her purse and slapped it against her palm. “I have inventoried every room and have asked my attorney to come down tomorrow and do the same. You had better not remove a thing from this house until that matter is settled. You might want to have your attorney make an inventory, as well.”

Leaving Mona standing there with her mouth open, she got in the SUV.

“The property is ours. There is no doubt whatsoever about that,” Mona called angrily.

Katharine thrust the cardboard box toward her. “In that case, take Agnes’s cats. They’ll starve otherwise.”

Mona backed and clasped her hand over her nose. “No wonder I’m sneezing! I’m allergic to cats. Get that thing away from me!”

“If it turns out you own them, I’ll send you a bill for room and board,” Katharine warned as she stowed the second cat in the back of her vehicle.

On the way back to the road, she said admiringly, “That was a stroke of genius, calling your lawyer to file an immediate motion, but when did you have time to inventory the house?”

Dr. Flo’s black eyes twinkled. “My poker buddies call me Queen of Bluff.”

Of their five-hour trip home with two cats alternately yowling and scratching the sides of their boxes, the less said the better—especially since the larger one soon clawed his way out and roamed the car for the rest of the drive. The women ate sack lunches from a drive-through and made only one gas and bathroom stop.

“If traffic is bad, I’m going to need Agnes’s litter box,” Dr. Flo warned as they reached the outskirts of Atlanta.

By the time they reached Buckhead, Katharine had a throbbing headache and tight muscles in her neck and down her back. She had thought she had left all her stress on Jekyll, but it had crouched on top of the car and ridden back with her like another cat.

After Dr. Flo drove away, she left the cats in the car while she set up the utility room with the food and water dishes and litter box she had brought from Agnes’s. “Just like home,” she told them as she carried them in and released them. The big cat darted into the small space between washer and dryer and tried to press himself into the wall. The little cat dashed out of the utility room and disappeared.

“You’d better remember your sandbox is in here,” Katharine called after her. She propped one elbow on the dryer and asked the big one, “Why on earth did I bring you all home? You’re going to want me to talk to you and pay you attention, and Tom is coming home tomorrow and wants to go up to the lake. Can you ride up there and ride back again Sunday, when you haven’t even settled in here yet? Are you going to need a cat psychiatrist when this week is over?”

He hissed and puffed up his fur.

She stooped down and coaxed, “Make an effort, okay? Work with me here. I know you miss Agnes. She was a great owner. But I’ll do my best. Take a while to get used to the place and relax. I’ll be back.”

She took a couple of pills for her headache, brought in her bags, and unpacked. Then she called Posey. “We had a marvelous time,” she reported, and described most of what had happened on Bayard Island. She didn’t mention Agnes’s shotgun or her death—Posey was apt to let things like that slip to Tom.

Posey listened with few comments until Katharine mentioned one name. “Mona Bayard?” she said in the tone that meant she was trying to remember something.

Posey’s spacey memory was legendary in the family. Wrens often joked, “Sugah, at least you don’t have to worry about becoming absentminded when you get
old.
”

Still, if you gave her enough time, she usually dredged up what it was she was trying to remember. This time it took thirty seconds by Katharine’s watch. “Is that the Mona Bayard with that
gaw-geous
house down in Savannah—the one everybody was talking about on last year’s tour of homes?” Posey’s drawl tended to deepen when she was talking about antique furniture and old houses. She adored both. “You know, the one with all that
mahvelous
antebellum furniture?”

“The very same. She asked if you were the Posey Buiton whose beach cottage was featured in
Southern Living
, the one with all the antebellum furniture. You all are soul mates, definitely, except the way she carried on, they are down to their last dollar and need this island development to pay for their son’s private school. I’ll keep you posted if we learn anything more.”

“You think she might want to sell some furniture?”

“Could be. Call her and ask. I hope never to have to speak to her again. Thanks again for the house.”

“Anytime. But don’t forget I’m going with you next time you get a chance to go down.”

“That may be sooner than you think. Dr. Flo has decided she wants to be present at the disinterment of her ancestors. I told her I’d drive her down if I can.”

“Disinterment? You mean when they dig them up?”

“Afraid so. Dr. Flo wants to be sure Burch and his attorney don’t try any monkey tricks, like burying them any old where and saying they carried out her wishes.”

“I can’t see that it matters where they’re buried, if she hasn’t known about them all these years, but I’ll go if she doesn’t mind. I’ve never attended a disinterment. What does one wear?”

“Long sleeves, long pants, and repellant. This one will be in woods where chiggers and mosquitoes abound.”

“I can’t wear my summer black in the woods!” Her summer black was a Chanel.

“Of course not. Wear slacks with a long-sleeved T-shirt. We aren’t dressing up, Posey, we’re dressing for survival.”

“Still, we ought to show respect. I’ll think of something. Let me know when.”

After Katharine hung up, she roamed the house trying to decide what to do next. She checked the phone for messages. She held up her new dining room drapery and admired Hollis’s handiwork. She thought of calling the glazier again, but couldn’t summon the will. Hasty was right. Without a deadline, it was easy to postpone things that required energy or thought.

She skimmed three days’ mail and tossed most of it. She considered the two paintings she’d bought Monday evening and decided she liked one of them. Maybe she should have let Hasty take her to the gallery. He might have stopped her from buying the other picture.

She went back to the phone, trying to remember if there was anybody she ought to call, but she couldn’t think of a soul. Feeling at loose ends, she turned on the outside telephone ringer and went out to check her yard. Three squirrels played chase overhead, chattering like little boys and flinging themselves across incredible distances between branches, landing safe every time. Their gray-brown fur, outlined in gold, was the color of oak bark. “Hey, little guys,” Katharine called up to them. They bolted.

She browsed among her borders and pulled deadheads off the daylilies. She strolled down to check her roses, which had been gorgeous when she left.

In her brief absence, Japanese beetles had descended. They had chewed off most of the leaves and burrowed deep into blossoms, leaving them rotting and brown. “Predators!” she snapped in disgust. “Just like Burch Bayard. You’d chew up the whole world, wouldn’t you, for your own personal gratification?” Sick at the destruction, she stomped back into the house and called Anthony’s wife to ask him to bring beetle poison when he came to mow the following morning.

She fetched her secateurs and removed the rotting roses. While she gathered up the debris, she found herself darting another glance at the telephone ringer. Finally she recognized the root of her restlessness. She was waiting for Hasty’s call.

“Dumb!” she told herself.

Dumb and foolish
, snapped her Aunt Sara Claire’s voice in her head. For once, Katharine agreed with her. If Hasty called, he’d want to come over. If he came over, he’d want to swim. If she said no, he’d invite her to dinner. Tired and with a headache still lurking, would she be strong enough to say no?

“I am prolonging my vacation,” she announced to a robin.