“I looked up the property on the Bronson County tax assessor’s website, and I couldn’t believe what I found. Symmes deeded the farmhouse and eight hundred acres of land back to Toddie.”
“So?”
“He did it a week before he died, Skelly. He just handed his ex-wife, whom he divorced thirty-four years ago, a gift worth two million.”
“What do you hope to accomplish by driving out to that farm?”
“It’s a beautiful day for a drive in the country,” Conley said, trying to look and sound innocent. “Fresh air, beautiful scenery. Your mom can sit in the back seat and hug Opie, and I’ll even let you drive!”
“And you can sit up front with me and try to figure out something nefarious about the death of a politician,” he said, shaking his head.
“Exactly!”
* * *
“Where are we going?” Miss June asked, looking out the window from the back seat of the Subaru.
“Remember, Mama? We’re going for a Sunday drive,” Skelly said.
“Wonderful!” It was the third time she’d asked the question since they’d left the neighborhood, and they’d barely cleared the Silver Bay city limits.
“I saw a photo on the county website of the farmhouse Symmes deeded back to Toddie,” she told Skelly. “It’s two stories, with big, wide porches. Looks like something out of a magazine spread. Quite a difference from the photo I saw of the house she got in the divorce settlement.”
“How so?” he asked.
“I think she must have been living in the caretaker’s cottage or something. Not a shack or anything. The property card said it was fifteen hundred square feet. But it was modest compared to the big house. The reason I’m so puzzled is, why give her that big house—and all that land—now? They’ve been divorced all this time.”
“Maybe Robinette was feeling guilty. Seems to me that he got the gold mine and she got the shaft when they split up in the eighties.”
“Maybe,” Conley said, sounding dubious. “I looked up his finance records from his last campaign. He was rolling in the dough. He had six million in cash and stocks, plus the Sugar Key house, plus a town house in Georgetown. And that land and house he gave to Toddie.”
“I had no idea being a congressman was so lucrative,” Skelly said. “I’m in the wrong racket, owning a little country pharmacy.”
“Robinette might or might not have been feeling guilty, but he was definitely feeling generous in this last month or so,” Conley said. “He also ‘sold’ his old house—the one that’s right around the corner from yours and G’mama’s—to his son, Charlie, also for a dollar. The house was assessed at over half a million dollars.”
“I know Charlie’s been living in that house since Symmes and Vanessa moved out to the beach at Sugar Key,” Skelly said. “I guess the old man decided he might as well give it to his kid.”
“And again, the question I have is, why now?”
Skelly looked out the window at the passing scenery. “Maybe … he was feeling his own mortality.”
“Or maybe he knew he had some kind of terminal illness and wanted to assuage his own guilt,” Conley said.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Conley, who’d been watching his expression, pounced. “You do know something. You’re the only pharmacy in town. If Symmes Robinette was sick, you’d know what it was. How bad it was.”
“HIPAA,” Skelly said. “I can’t have this conversation with you, Conley. It’s a violation of my professional ethics.”
“Sorry,” she said, chastened. “The last thing G’mama said before she left to go to church with Grayson this morning was that she didn’t want to get any more phone calls complaining about her pushy granddaughter.”
* * *
Skelly had typed the address for Oak Springs in the GPS of his phone, and they were about fifteen miles outside the Silver Bay city limits when he suddenly slowed the Subaru and pulled off the side of the road.
He pointed to a spot on the pavement just a few yards ahead. It hadn’t rained, and the asphalt was still coated with oily black soot, the shoulder littered with glittering pieces of red plastic from the shattered taillights.
“Does this look familiar?” he asked.
Conley’s mouth went dry, and her stomach knotted as she remembered the night of the wreck and the glowing orange of the car fire. “I came past here the other day, but everything looks so different in the light of day.” She gazed out the window and saw the roof of a small house protruding above the tree line. “I didn’t notice that house before. Wonder who lives there? I wonder if those people saw or heard anything that night?” she mused.
“Good question for the cops,” Skelly said, steering the car back onto the road and resuming normal speed.
“The map says we’re getting close,” he announced a few minutes later. They passed a small billboard proclaiming WELCOME TO BRONSON COUNTY—THIS IS QUAIL COUNTRY.
They heard a soft noise from the back seat. Conley turned to see that Miss June was napping, with Opie sprawled on his back across her lap, also asleep.
“You see that?” she asked.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “I think maybe you should bring Opie by to see her more often.”
Five minutes later, they saw a long row of white-painted fencing. “Okay, that’s Riverdale Farm. If I remember correctly, that’s the first one of the big plantations along this road. There are smaller ones scattered around the county, but half a dozen of the biggest ones are right along here.”
“It’s pretty,” Conley said, admiring the rows of neat fencing, the stately, moss-draped oaks, and pristine pastures dotted with cattle, horses, and the occasional mule.
“You’ve never been out here?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Don’t think so. My dad didn’t hunt at all. And Pops was more into deer hunting than quail. He said quail hunting was like horse breeding. A rich man’s game.”
“He was right about that,” Skelly muttered. “Not many of these places are owned by locals anymore. A lot of these plantations belong to big-money tycoons. They fly in on their private jets during dove or quail season with their billionaire friends, knock down some quail, sip some bourbon, then jet back up north.”
“It’s a nice lifestyle,” she said.
They were passing another plantation now. “I haven’t been out here in ages,” Skelly said, “but now that I see the landscape, I do remember coming out to Oak Springs with my parents when I was a little kid.”
They passed two more plantations, Buie’s Creek and River’s Edge. Eventually, he pulled over at another impressive entranceway. A pair of tall brick columns held a pair of elaborately scrolled wrought iron gates. A discreet sign on one of the pillars announced OAK SPRINGS FARM, EST. 1902.
“Wow,” Conley said, letting out a low whistle.
Skelly backed the Subaru up a little, then began to pull away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed. “Stop!”
He stopped the car and gestured at the gate. “You said you wanted to see it. You’ve seen it. We had a nice ride out in the country on a beautiful Sunday. Mama got to hold a dog and take a nap. I call that a win-win.”
“I thought we’d go see the house,” Conley said. “You know, maybe let your mom have a little visit with her old friend.”
“I’m not up for trespassing,” Skelly said. “Not even for you.”
“It wouldn’t really be trespassing,” Conley pleaded. “We could just drive down to the house, maybe knock on the door, pay our respects. I mean, Toddie was your mom’s best friend.”
“Toddie?” They both turned to see that Miss June was awake. “What is this place?” she asked plaintively. She craned her neck to see out the window, and before they knew it, she opened the door, climbed out of the back seat, and walked, with surprising speed, toward the gate.
“Mama?” Skelly called.
His mother pointed at the sign, her face animated. “I know this place,” she said. �
��This is Toddie’s farm.” She gave the iron gate a push, and the hinges squealed in protest.
“Shit,” Skelly said, flashing Conley an annoyed look. He got out of the car and approached his mother.
Miss June used her shoulder and pushed the gate open a few more feet. “Toddie lives here,” she told her son.
“Now, Mama,” he started to say, but just then, Opie gave a short yelp of excitement, jumping out of the car and trotting over to join his new friend.
“Opie,” Conley called, following behind. “C’mere, boy! Come here!”
The terrier paused and gave her a backward glance, followed by an enthusiastic wag of his somewhat stubby tail.
“Good boy, Opie,” she called encouragingly, creeping slowly toward him. “C’mere, Ope.”
He wagged his tail furiously. Then the little Jack Russell scampered past Miss June and her son, down the driveway as fast as his brown-and-white-spotted legs could go—which was surprisingly fast for an elderly dog whose usual speed was tortoise-like.
“Opie!” Conley yelled. “Come back!”
Skelly took his mother by the arm and guided her into the back seat of the Subaru while Conley clambered into the seat beside him.
“You did that on purpose,” he said, starting the car and rolling through the now open gate.
She knew better than to protest.
26
The Oak Springs Farm driveway wound through an arching canopy of moss-covered oaks and towering pines, but Conley was oblivious to all of it. “Follow that dog,” she instructed Skelly as he drove down the sandy lane. “If something happens to Opie, G’mama will kill me. And then she’ll kill you too.”
Every few hundred yards, the dog stopped to rest. Skelly slowed the truck and Conley jumped out to approach the dog on foot, but each time she came close enough to grab him, Opie trotted off, playing his own game of keepaway with the pursuers. At the end of the lane they finally spotted a white, two-story farmhouse with wide porches tucked behind a pair of spreading live oaks.
A tall, white-haired woman stood on the porch, her arms firmly wrapped around the squirming brown-and-white Jack Russell terrier, while half a dozen dogs circled around her, barking and whining.
“Thank God,” Conley breathed. Skelly had barely put the Subaru in Park before she was out of the car and running.
“Is this your dog?” the woman called. She had light blue eyes and weather-beaten skin and was dressed in faded blue jeans, mud-spattered work boots, and a navy-blue T-shirt.
“Opie!” Conley said, holding out her arms. “You bad boy!” She turned to the woman. “Thanks so much for catching him.” She looked down at all the dogs surrounding her. “They wouldn’t hurt him, would they?”
“No, they’re just curious. Bird dogs are the nosiest creatures you’ll ever meet. And they’re a little jealous.”
“They’re beautiful,” Conley said of the elegant dogs. “What breed are they?”
“They’re all English setters. Llewellyn setters, if you want to get technical.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Don’t mind the dirt or the dogs. I’m Toddie, by the way.”
“And I’m Conley.” She turned to gesture toward Skelly and Miss June, who were standing beside the car. “I believe you might know those folks?”
Toddie fished a pair of glasses from the breast pocket of her shirt and stared. “Good heavens! Can it be? Is that June Kelly?”
“It is,” Conley said.
“She looks … different. Smaller.”
“She’s suffering from dementia,” Conley said quietly. “That’s her son, Sean. He runs the pharmacy now, and Miss June has been talking about you lately. We thought—well, I thought it was such a nice day…”
Before she’d finished the sentence, Toddie was striding toward the car, arms outstretched. “June Kelly!” she called. “Come here and let me give you a big old hug!”
“Toddie?” June said. She looked at her son. “Is that really Toddie? She looks old!”
“Mama!” Skelly said.
“She’s right. I do look old. I am old.” Toddie enveloped the smaller woman. “Oh, June, my old friend. How I’ve missed you.” She left an arm slung around June. “And Sean! The last time I laid eyes on you was when you were crying to get away from one of my mules.”
Skelly grinned. “I’ve been trying to live that down for more than thirty years. And I’m still not crazy about an animal that could kick you in the head and kill you.”
“Seanny works at the store now, Toddie,” June said proudly. “He’s a big help to me.”
“I’m sure he is,” Toddie said. She looked past the Kellys at Conley, who was hanging back, not wanting to interrupt the reunion.
“Is this your wife, Sean?”
“Uh, no, Mrs. Robinette, er, Toddie. That’s Sarah Conley Hawkins. Her family lives two doors down from Mama’s house. Maybe you remember them?”
“Lord, I’ve been living out here in the country, away from civilized society in Silver Bay, for so long you’ll have to remind me of their names,” Toddie said.
“Why, Sarah is Lorraine’s granddaughter,” June said. “Lorraine Conley. You know, them; Lorraine and Woodrow, they run the newspaper.”
“Of course,” Toddie said, nodding. “That would make you Melinda and Chet’s daughter, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Conley said, feeling suddenly awkward.
“I hope your parents are well,” Toddie said. “It’s been a long, long time.”
“Melinda ran off some time ago, and we don’t know where she is,” June volunteered. “And Sarah’s daddy’s dead. Like my Patrick. Did you know my Patrick died, Toddie?”
“I didn’t know that.” Toddie nodded gravely at Conley, with just a hint of a twinkle in her cornflower-blue eyes. “But my condolences to both of you.”
Skelly’s face blushed crimson as he glanced from Toddie to Conley. “Sorry, y’all. Mom’s, uh, sort of unfiltered these days.”
June pointed a bony finger at Toddie. “Whatever happened to that sorry husband of yours, Toddie?”
“Why, he ran off with a younger gal who didn’t sass him half as much as I did,” Toddie said good-naturedly. “That’s when I said good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“Oh my God, Mama!” Skelly pulled her by the hand. “I think maybe we need to be getting you home for a rest.” He turned to Toddie. “I don’t know what to say, Toddie. I’m mortified. Truly.”
“Don’t give it another thought, Sean,” Toddie said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I feel badly that I’ve let so much time go by without connecting with people from my old life. It’s just that we stay so busy out here at the farm, I lose track of time.”
“It’s just as beautiful here as I remembered from when I was a kid,” Skelly said.
“Thank you. My son, Hank, works here right beside me, and of course, Rebecca lives on the property now too since her divorce, in what we call the little house. Her girls are teenagers now, if you can believe it. How about you, Sean? Do you have kids?”
“No, ma’am,” Skelly said. “Divorced too, unfortunately.”
Skelly nodded at Conley and then, pointedly, in the direction of the car. “We’d best be getting her home now. Mom loves getting out and seeing people, but when she gets overtired, I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth.”
“My granny was like that when she got dementia,” Toddie said. “She once told our pastor he oughta pass around the collection plate and buy a new set of teeth for himself and a larger size dress for his wife.”
“Ouch.”
“It was good seeing you again, Sean, and June, of course. Any special reason why y’all came all the way out here today?”
“I’m gonna get Mama settled in the car,” Skelly said. “Here, Conley. I’ll take Opie and put him back there with her.” He put the wriggling terrier under his arm and led his mother back to the Subaru.
“He’s embarrassed,” Conley told Toddie once he was out of earshot. “I’m afraid I s
hould admit to you that I dragged them out here today under false pretenses.”
Toddie cocked her head. “Oh? How’s that?”
“Well, I’m currently working at the Beacon. Temporarily. And the thing is, I’m working on a story about your ex-husband. About his death, I mean.”
Toddie’s smile faded.
Conley rushed on. “I’m sorry for your loss. It must have been a terrible shock for your family.”
“My family?” Her voice grew frosty. “If you’re looking for a story about my ex-husband, you’d best contact his wife. Symmes and I parted ways more than thirty years ago.”
“Vanessa—I mean, Mrs. Robinette—submitted an obituary for the Beacon, and the thing is, it only lists her and her son as the congressman’s survivors. There’s no mention of you, which I guess isn’t unheard of, or the children you had with the congressman.”
Toddie’s lips clamped tightly. “That’s not surprising,” she said finally. She looked away and then back at the Subaru. “I’m sorry you made the trip here for nothing, Sarah.”
“I was wondering,” Conley said, rushing now. “It’s just that in my research, I saw that the congressman deeded this farm over to you only a week before his accident. And I found that unusual—”
“I don’t have anything else to say to you about this matter. Thank you for bringing June to see me today. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got dogs to train and a farm to run.”
* * *
“That was incredibly awkward,” Conley said as they drove away from the farmhouse.
“What did she say?” Skelly asked.
“Basically, she said, ‘Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?’” Conley turned in her seat and saw that Miss June was already dozing, with Opie draped contentedly across her lap.
“The good news is that Toddie’s been out of touch for so long, she probably doesn’t have your grandmother’s phone number,” Skelly pointed out.
“I guess I need to apologize to you again,” Conley said, sighing.
“Not to me,” he said.
She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes for a moment, but sat up straight after she remembered a question that had been bothering her since that morning. “Skelly, do you know what’s going on between Grayson and Tony?”
Hello, Summer Page 20
