The Cast Net

by Mille West

  “Mr. Camp, I’m confused. I saw a hand-carved walking cane beside the fireplace in Cooper’s living room. I thought Cooper said that his relative George Camp had carved the cane.”

  “I’d prefer that Cooper explains that ancient history to you.”

  Cooper joined them at the fire, and Mr. Camp said, “I was just telling Mills about some of our local history. Did your parents ever tell you that during World War II, we had to adhere to a strict blackout policy? At night, we had to turn off the lights so the Germans couldn’t locate targets. Work was in full swing at the Charleston Naval Yard—that was the thing that brought Charleston out of the cycle of poverty that it had been in since the Civil War. Who would have thought that it would take another war to help the citizens of this state recover from one that took place eighty years before? You know, I think I may have seen a German submarine down at the mouth of the Edisto while a group of us were fishing. I guess we weren’t worth bothering with, because they didn’t blow us out of the water.”

  “Cooper, you never told me about how your father was awarded the Victoria Cross and the other medals on display at the Heath Brothers office.”

  “My father and uncle served in the Royal Navy during World War II. The Heath family had been in the shipping business for many years prior to the war, and my father and uncle were often dispatched to the United States to supervise the transportation of war materials to Great Britain. On one occasion, a convoy of Allied cargo ships was en route to Plymouth, England, and the lead ship was torpedoed by a German submarine. An American destroyer accompanied the convoy, and while it released depth charges, sailors from the other transports saved as many men as possible from the sinking ship. My father told me he couldn’t remember how many times he went into the water to rescue men. What made matters worse—as soon as blood went into the water, the sharks showed up.”

  “Oh, no,” Mills gasped.

  “The convoy was not far from Bermuda, and they were able to make it into port without a further encounter with the Germans. There was great loss of life from the torpedoed transport, but many men survived, because of the heroism of men like my father. That’s why he was awarded the Victoria Cross.”

  “He was very brave.”

  “Indeed he was.”

  That afternoon, on the drive home, Mills inquired, “When I was talking with Mr. Camp beside the fire, he told me that George Camp was his uncle. I thought you said that the man who carved the cane was related to you. He told me to ask you about him and then changed the subject to World War II.”

  “Mr. Camp and I share a common ancestor, Amos Camp. I’m afraid that miscegenation was not uncommon during the years of slavery. The slave owner had power over his slaves to do with as he pleased.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  Early Monday morning, Cooper departed for Paris to meet with Perret International executives and hopefully complete the details of the shipping agreement. Having missed the previous work week due to her illness, Mills attempted to reschedule as many business meetings as possible. For the first time, she received a blatant rejection from the President of Crimson Label Clothing Company; she was told that a donation would not be made to a cause where the head of the foundation was a suspect in the disappearance of his wife. Mills was quick to defend Cooper, but the woman responded, “You’ve just started to work for him—you can’t be sure of anything. Can you?”

  As disappointed as she was by the ugliness of the woman’s accusation, Mills remembered what Cooper had told her the first night that she was in town: “. . . it is possible that you could meet with some resistance because of my personal situation. Please don’t trouble yourself if that happens.”

  An invitation to Susan Caldwell’s April wedding arrived in the mail, which lifted her spirits. On Tuesday afternoon, there was a message on her telephone answering machine from Price’s Chevrolet to get in touch with the owner, Steven Price, at her convenience. When Mills returned the phone call, Mr. Price asked her to stop by his dealership to pick up a donation for the Heath Foundation. He confessed that he had not paid close enough attention to who Mills worked for when she made a professional call at his business for the foundation. “Miss Taylor, my wife has reminded me that Mr. Heath has, on numerous occasions, donated his flying skills to help with a charity that I am involved with called ‘Mercy Flights.’ We help the injured and sick get to hospitals across the United States for the treatment they need. My wife said that we had met Mr. Heath on several occasions and wanted me to explain how I could forget that . . . she said that meeting your employer was something she would never forget.”

  When Mills picked up the gift from the Prices, she was excited to see a donation of $5,000. Included in the envelope was a note from Mrs. Price stating, “I don’t think this donation can begin to make up for the time that Mr. Heath has spent helping ‘Mercy Flights,’ but please let him know that we are grateful for his help. Elaine Price.”

  The Charleston area was exceedingly warm that week of February, and Mills took advantage of the pleasant temperature to take long walks around Cooper’s property. On the first afternoon walk, she found herself returning to the ruin of the old mansion and the grounds that surrounded it. Long before she reached the meadow near the slave cabins, the rich fragrance of daffodils filled the afternoon breeze. And then she saw them—a sea of daffodils.

  Just as Cooper and Anne had assured her, the meadow was filled with an abundance of daffodils; so many in fact, that she could not begin to count them all. The scene reminded her of a poem, “Daffodils,” that her mother used to read to her:

  I wander’d lonely as a cloud

  That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

  When all at once I saw a crowd,

  A host of golden daffodils;

  Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

  Fluttering and dancing in the breeze . . .

  Captivated by the scene, she thought of her desire to paint again; for the next several afternoons, she sought the beauty of the meadow to create an everlasting memory through her art.

  In the Friday edition of the Charleston Dispatch, file photos of Cooper and his uncle appeared with a business article that Heath Brothers was very close to working out a shipping agreement with Perret International. Henri Duchard was quoted as saying, “Due to Cooper Heath’s in-depth knowledge of the shipping industry, international maritime law, and French language and culture, the negotiations have been professional and productive.”

  The article further stated that Cooper was one of the youngest people to ever be nominated to the State Ports Authority Board, but the nomination had been indefinitely suspended until the disappearance of Elise Heath, wife of Cooper Heath, was solved. The article was written by Charleston journalist, Lee Mencken, with Pierre Beauville of the French publication Le Monde contributing.

  On Sunday morning, when Mills rose for church, there was a note on her door: “I got in late last night and I’d like for you to join me for breakfast. The kitchen door will be open. Cooper.”

  Instead of dressing in her Sunday best, Mills showered and slipped on her blue jeans to join Cooper. She quickly knocked on the kitchen door, and he turned, motioning for her to come into the house. “I’m glad that you could join me. We’r
e having shrimp and grits for breakfast. How about some hot tea?”

  “Love some. Did you reach an agreement with Perret International?”

  “Yes, we did. Due to the increase in shipping, over the next several months, we’ll begin hiring people for jobs. My uncle was very pleased.”

  “I have some good news too.” She handed him the check from the Prices, and he smiled as he looked at it. “Well done, Mills.”

  “I don’t think this donation had anything to do with me. Elaine Price arranged for this donation. She said that you had contributed your flying skills to their organization called Mercy Flights.”

  “Yes, I help them when I can.”

  “She said that she’d never forget you.”

  Mills sipped her tea and added, “There was an article about you and the negotiations in Friday’s paper. The author said that you were one of the youngest people ever nominated to the State Ports Authority Board.”

  “Yes, but the nomination was suspended.”

  “What does the board do?”

  “It’s a private organization that facilitates growth and development of the Charleston shipping trade. I would have been honored to have been on the board, but I suppose it’s not meant to be, at least, not yet.”

  “I think you’ve been unfairly treated.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me.”

  “I do believe in you, Cooper—you’re my friend. Just don’t get discouraged.” Hearing her words, he smiled and then served the shrimp and grits.

  “This is delicious.”

  “I’m glad that you like it.”

  The afternoon was spent with the continued renovation efforts of the Freedom School and the volunteers came close to completing their work. The schoolhouse had been afforded a new life and it displayed a youthful charm that had probably not existed even when the structure was new.

  That evening, as they said good night, Cooper walked Mills to the row of camellias in front of her cottage before saying, “Tomorrow morning, Murphy is coming by with some legal documents that need to be witnessed. He has an appointment in Beaufort, and he said that he would be here around eight. I hope that you will be able to witness the documents for me.”

  “I’ll be glad to help.”

  “Thank you. I’ll have breakfast ready for you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Lee Roy

  T he next morning, the aroma of fresh bread and coffee enriched the air when Mills entered Cooper’s house. “Biscuits are coming out of the oven—help yourself to some coffee. You know where the cups are kept.”

  She poured her coffee, and the rich chocolaty flavor of the beverage lingered on her palate. Glancing at the front page of the morning newspaper, she saw another article about the trade agreement, with a photo of Cooper shaking the hand of Henri Duchard of Perret International.

  The headline stated, “Heath Brothers to Bring Jobs to Charleston,” and the article gave credit to Cooper and Henri for successfully negotiating the agreement, which would be a lucrative contract for both parties.

  “Cooper, this is wonderful. The article is written by the same journalist I met at the Charleston Dispatch office about a month ago—Lee Mencken.”

  “Yes—Lee’s been very attentive to the disappearance of my wife, and I tease him, at times, by calling him H.L.”

  “H.L. Mencken?”

  “He seems to like that nickname—he’s a very tenacious young man.”

  A knock at the front door interrupted their conversation. Cooper left the kitchen, but returned with Murphy. He poured coffee for himself and said, “Mills, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “You, as well.”

  For a few minutes, they talked in the kitchen while eating biscuits, until Murphy asked, “Cooper, are you ready to sign these papers?”

  “Yes, Mills is going to witness the documents.”

  “I’d like to talk over something with you first. It will only take a few minutes.”

  Mills remained in the kitchen while they went into the study. As she poured herself another cup of coffee, Marian and Charles entered the house through the kitchen door.

  “Good morning. What brings you to the house so early?”

  “Cooper asked me to witness some legal documents; he’s in his study with Murphy.”

  Charles poured himself a cup of coffee and said to the two women, “Time to get to work,” and he exited out the kitchen door.

  Marian became committed to a task, and Mills slowly walked into the foyer, studying the intricate moldings that bordered the ceiling. Classical figures graced the center of the ceiling, and Mills wondered how someone could design plasterwork with such perfect mastery.

  Inside the study, the volume of Murphy’s voice raised as he told Cooper, “I think you should start investing with Jeff and me.”

  “You know I don’t purchase property with partners.”

  “You’re one of my most independently wealthy clients, and I think you could gain substantially from investing with us.”

  “To what type of investments are you referring?”

  “Mostly short term. We’re purchasing properties and then reselling them at a profit to investors, sometimes substantial profits.”

  “Does this involve heirs’ property?” Cooper asked in a concerned voice.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Then, you’re just flipping properties.”

  “I guess that’s one term for it.”

  “You buy the property from owners who don’t realize the value of their land, or else they’re desperate to sell it.”

  “Don’t you think that it’s the responsibility of owners to know the value of their property?”

  “I hope these investments don’t involve the elderly.”

  Murphy paused for a moment. “Just think about it—Jeff and I are currently working on a transaction that we’ll make a large profit on. With you involved, we could purchase the entire tract.”

  “Don’t tell me any more. I don’t want to know what you’re doing and, as I told you, I won’t buy property with a partner—what was the term that you used to describe Piet van der Wolf?”

  Murphy did not respond, but Cooper continued, “I remember—you called him a vulture. How is what you’re doing any different than what he’s done throughout his business career?”

  “I think you’re too hard on me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  There was silence in the room for a moment. Then, Murphy said, “I have an update on the property you’re purchasing on the Ashley River. I heard from one of the sellers’ attorneys last week. After your family sold the land to Manson Cusworth, he left the property to his son, James, who agreed to your offer. Unfortunately, he died intestate before your contract could be closed. There are several heirs, all nephews, in dispute over the division of assets, and I think they’d rather fight each other than reach an agreement. This attorney told me that he is no closer to reaching a settlement among the heirs than he was months ago, but he said the parties would
sign another contract extension with you.”

  “Why don’t we close on the tract, and their proceeds could be held in escrow until they reach an agreement?”

  “I suggested that, but one of the heirs won’t agree to it. He wants the division of assets settled beforehand.”

  “Did you bring the extension agreement with you?”

  “Yes, I have it with these other documents.”

  “Why don’t you get out all the documents that I need to sign? Mills may have an appointment.”

  Mills heard Murphy open his briefcase and the sound of pages turning on the desk.

  “Mills, could you come in, please?” Cooper called.

  When she entered the study, Cooper rose from his seat and helped her with a chair near the side of the desk. He began to sign the papers and when he finished, Murphy asked her to sign her name as the witness. When she completed signing the last document, they heard the sound of a vehicle pull up in front of Cooper’s home.

  The car horn blew loudly and a man yelled out, “Cooper Heath, I want to talk to you!”

  Cooper rose from his chair and went to the front window, adjusting the shutters so that he could see outside. The man yelled even more loudly, “Cooper Heath, I want to talk to you!” Mills couldn’t place his accent—but it wasn’t local.

  “It sounds like I’m being called out.”

  “You’re not going out there? Call the police!” Murphy exclaimed.

  “It will take forty-five minutes for the police to get here—you know I’m careful.”

  Cooper sat back down at his desk and opened the top drawer, removing a large black handgun. Sliding the chamber back, he placed the gun in the waistband of his pants behind his back. Mills gasped softly.