Chickenshit.
Most people thought Augusta was full of pluck, but God’s truth, she was trembling on the inside. Why, she didn’t know. Caroline wasn’t her mother. Nor had she committed any sin here. She had simply made an honest decision based on a strong gut feeling.
On the other couch, Savannah was blissfully unaware of the message on the screen, sipping her wine, eyes closed. Augusta settled back onto the sofa.
The den hadn’t changed much in the years since Augusta had left home. The same cherrywood raised paneled walls, the same portraits on the walls. Only the carpet and couches were new, probably because her mother had been a Type-A germaphobe. Anything organic had been recycled religiously and a single spot on the carpet started the end clock ticking. Kids with chocolate fingers were generally not welcome anywhere within Flo’s house. And yet, despite that fact, the den was the one room in the house that had always felt welcoming.
For one thing, it was the only room with a television, which gave it a certain normalcy, though Augusta couldn’t imagine her mother watching TV.
Then again . . . she wouldn’t really know, would she?
Only Savannah had spent much time with her at the end. For all Augusta knew, Flo had sat here alone night after night, with their grandmother’s quilt strewn over her legs, alone and forgotten, watching reruns of Jeopardy.
But that wasn’t the image that thrived in Augusta’s head. Her mother had never been one to sit still long enough to watch a single show and certainly not long enough to feel sorry for herself. No, Florence W. Aldridge had led a full life . . . it just so happened that it didn’t include her daughters. And if she ever slowed down for five minutes, and feelings crept in, she’d medicate them with alcohol or drugs.
Unfortunately, that was the Florence Aldridge that Augusta recalled.
“Have you started writing your new book?” Augusta asked Savannah.
Savannah opened her eyes and shook her head. Taking the last swallow of her wine, she leaned forward to set her goblet down on the table, then snuggled deeper into the sofa, pulling their grandmother’s quilt down off the back of the couch.
She was facing away from the TV now, which gave Augusta a bit of relief. The banner at the bottom seemed to permanently read: Ian Patterson Free on Bail.
“Maybe once I get this cast off,” Savannah said, lifting her arm and inspecting the frayed edges around her fingers.
Augusta was trying hard not to be distracted by the newscast. “When will that be?”
“Next week—thank God!”
“I’m really sorry about the hand, Sav.”
“Augie, you need to stop apologizing. You elbowed me. I dropped the bacon. Tango went after it. He tipped my stool. Accidents happen. I’m over it.”
Augusta sighed. “So why do you think Mom left you with that particular task anyway?”
“Writing a new book?” Savannah shrugged. “Who knows.” She met Augusta’s gaze squarely, looking much as though she wanted to say something, but then she hesitated and said, “It’s not as easy as it seems, you know.”
Augusta knew she was referring to the comment she had flung at Savannah in anger—that her task was a no-brainer and that it wasn’t fair—but she couldn’t apologize for believing Flo was playing favorites. Augusta still believed it was true. Savannah’s task had absolutely nothing to do with the house or the newspaper. In fact, their mother was asking Savannah to do exactly what she had chosen to do with her life. There seemed to be nothing punishing about that. In contrast, neither Caroline nor Augusta had wanted anything to do with the Tribune or the house. The fact that Caroline suddenly seemed to embrace her role at the paper was beside the point. Augusta couldn’t get past the feeling that, in fact, Flo had meant to teach both of them a lesson . . . or reel them in at the very least.
Helpless to ignore it, she returned her gaze to the television, watching as Sandra Rivers paused in front of the darkened entry of the little broken-down church, her white-tipped nails perfectly manicured. Looking more like Marilyn Monroe than a news reporter, she gripped the microphone with slender fingers. Augusta could almost hear her break out in a breathy strain of “Happy birthday, Mr. President.” Bright yellow tape stretched across the church door, barring humanity from its shadowy interior. The broken window behind her was a dramatic backdrop, and her blond hair was perfectly in place. If she had sweat glands, they clearly weren’t working.
“That woman makes me ill,” Caroline said, walking into the room.
Tango, their mother’s black lab, who seemed to have taken to Caroline more than anyone else, had probably been waiting for her by the front door. He sauntered in behind her, his collar jingling as he walked.
Savannah sat up. “You’re home!” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in. Are you hungry?”
Caroline shook her head, dropping her purse on the French marble-topped console their mother would have cut off their fingers for touching. She chose a seat on the end of Savannah’s couch and Savannah pulled back her legs to give her room. Tango sat on the floor at Caroline’s feet. “Rose Simmons died tonight,” she said solemnly, and then reached down to stroke the top of Tango’s head.
“We heard,” Augusta said, glancing anxiously at the television screen. She reached forward to pick up the remote, switching the TV off.
Savannah’s feet returned to their previous spot, her toes touching Caroline’s thigh and Caroline glanced down. “We tried calling,” Savannah offered.
Caroline nodded, and tugged a corner of Savannah’s quilt onto her lap, covering Savannah’s toes. She dabbed at her eye. “I’ve been with the family.”
Sensing her distress, Tango sat upright and stared at her, and Caroline automatically reached out to reassure the canny beast.
Savannah’s eyes misted, too, and Augusta wondered why she couldn’t feel what they felt. Rose Simmons had been one of their mother’s dearest friends, and Augusta hadn’t even said hello to her at Flo’s funeral. But that wasn’t nearly as disturbing to her as the simple fact that she had yet to shed a single tear for her own mother. All her life she had been driven to do for others because her heart bled indiscriminately. Only now it seemed that wellspring of emotion had completely dried up. Yet she couldn’t get Cody Simmons out of her head. If her heart bled, it was for him right now.
“We figured,” Augusta said. “How are they?”
Caroline shrugged. “Upset.”
“Understandably.”
“Man, you’ve gotta feel for them,” Savannah said. “Cody’s missing. Rose is gone. How the hell do you grieve when you’re dealing with a missing child?”
“I can’t imagine,” Augusta said, her thoughts honing in on Cody.
Where could he be?
Amanda Hutto had never been found—despite the reward money that had been offered for information—money Augusta had donated and the Tribune had sponsored. Tons of calls, but no one ever came forward with reliable information. Still, she thought about offering another reward for Cody anyway, despite the fact that his family had more than enough money of their own to do so if they wished. It probably wasn’t appropriate, she decided. What was appropriate had been getting Ian out of jail so he could pursue whatever leads he might have. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about that.
Caroline sighed. “Poor Janet.”
“What about Claire?” Savannah asked.
Caroline shook her head. “I didn’t see her. I guess she’s due in tomorrow.”
Janet was Rose Simmons’s youngest daughter. Her oldest daughter, Claire, had been Caroline’s best friend—before life happened to them all—before a big to-do over Jack that had led to Caroline and Jack’s ten-year breakup. Their older brother Nick Simmons had been everyone’s crush in school, including Augusta’s, but Augusta had no idea where he was these days. She was sure they would run into him at his mother’s funeral. As much as Augusta might hope to avoid that, she wasn’t so far removed from her sense of propriety that she could ignore a funer
al obligation. If she could have, it would have been her mother’s.
For a long moment, they sat together, all three of them, contemplating the circumstances, the only sound in the room the nervous tapping of Augusta’s nails on her crystal goblet and the soft jingling of Tango’s collar when he adjusted his position at Caroline’s feet.
“Did Sadie go home?” Caroline asked finally, sounding surprised by the prospect—for good reason. Since their mother’s death, Sadie had spent more time in their house than she had in her own home.
“Yeah . . . well . . . about that.” Savannah grimaced. “I hate to break it to you after a day like today, but there’s more drama, so brace yourself.”
Before Savannah could begin her story, Augusta grabbed the wine bottle from the table and poured the remainder into her own glass, taking a deep breath. She felt only slightly guilty for not offering it to Caroline, but after this conversation, if Caroline wanted wine, Augusta would gladly open a new bottle.
“I don’t think Sadie’s coming back for a while,” Savannah said, and she proceeded to tell Caroline about the afternoon’s argument. Augusta had already heard the story, so she said nothing, hoping to remain inconspicuous.
A few weeks ago Savannah had discovered a codicil intended for their mother’s will—an amendment that, although signed and dated, had somehow never made it into the attorney’s version. While the original will had bequeathed Sadie the carriage house along with all its surrounding property, the new codicil would have seized the house from her and willed it, along with the surrounding property, to the County of Charleston. Although Sadie had always claimed she didn’t care about the land, she damned well did care about the house. And evidently, Savannah had taken her discovery to their family attorney without talking to Sadie first, and he in turn had confided in Sadie. Clearly, Daniel Greene’s and Sadie’s relationship had become a conflict of interest and Daniel should be held accountable for the breach of ethics, except that he was obviously too close to their family—and to Sadie—to believe any of them would report him. He was right.
As Augusta had earlier when Savannah told her the story, Caroline screwed up her face in confusion. “What do you mean a codicil?” She shook her head. “And why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”
“Well . . .” Savannah sat up straighter, nervously tossing away the quilt. Augusta noticed and couldn’t help but wonder why they both seemed to fear Caroline’s wrath so much. She was their eldest sister, so what? “It’s not an official document,” Savannah explained. “I just wanted to see what Daniel had to say about it. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to tell Sadie.”
Caroline looked even more confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, it’s not an official document?”
“Yeah, so this is where it gets really confusing,” Augusta added, swallowing the last of her wine and setting her goblet down on the table.
Savannah sighed. “Okay, from the beginning . . . I found this pad of paper in Mom’s office. I noticed the indentations were well-defined, so, out of curiosity, I used a pencil to do a rubbing. So I don’t have the original—the one with the actual signature and writing on it—I didn’t think the damned thing would hold up in a court of law anyway. I just wanted to find out why a codicil Mom went so far as to sign and notarize never ended up in the final version of the will. I figured Daniel must have been aware of it, so I asked him. It’s that simple.”
“Mom is—was—a notary, right?”
Savannah shrugged.
Caroline placed a hand to her forehead, as though the conversation threatened to give her a headache. “Well, it doesn’t sound simple to me.”
Savannah continued, “Bottom line: Daniel says he’s never seen the thing. He suggested Mom must have written the codicil, then changed her mind and threw it away.”
“Which is entirely possible,” Augusta agreed.
“Since it was written the day before she died—that’s what the date says, right?—maybe the original never made it out of this house?” Caroline suggested. “Maybe it’s somewhere in Mother’s things and we just haven’t found it yet?”
Savannah shrugged again.
Caroline drew her brows together. “So Sadie’s pissed now because you brought the document to Daniel?”
Savannah shook her head solemnly. “No, Sadie’s pissed because I asked her whether she’d seen the codicil, which she felt implied maybe she’d kept it from us. And because I asked Daniel if there was any legal recourse to investigate honoring Mother’s wishes—if that’s indeed what the codicil is.”
“And the answer is?”
“No. There’s no original document, and even if it wasn’t just a pencil shading, it’s our word against . . .”
“Sadie would never lie!” Caroline assured them both. “Not even to save her house!”
A sense of gloom entered Savannah’s gray eyes. “I only asked her if she came across it in Mother’s things, Caroline. I never accused her.”
They sat there in silence for a few moments, and then Savannah added, “But you have to wonder about the break-in we had a few months ago. It’s awfully convenient that Mom apparently wrote this thing and then died the very next day.”
It was true. Augusta had nearly forgotten about the break-in with all the other drama that had happened since. The night after the first Secessionville murder, someone had broken into their mother’s office, shattering one of the expensive lead-glass panes in the double doors that led to the back veranda. No prints had been discovered, and nothing had been left out of place. Caroline had been alone that night, with Jack, in the kitchen. Augusta had been in New York, where she’d gone to pick up a few necessities for an extended stay in Charleston. Savannah had been with Sadie. But clearly that meant Sadie couldn’t have been the thief... unless it had been done much earlier in the day and made to look like a break-in . . . but why would she bother when she had free access to the house all the time? It didn’t make sense.
“Don’t forget the break-in at Daniel’s office the day of the reading,” Augusta interjected, remembering suddenly.
Caroline stood, apparently having heard enough. “Christ—no wonder Sadie’s pissed! Especially if you brought all this shit up to Daniel!”
Savannah sat back on the couch, looking defeated. “What would you have had me do? Ignore it?”
Caroline shot Savannah a glare. “You could have brought it to us, Savannah. Pissing off Sadie is the last thing any of us needs right now! We can’t manage without her.” Shaking her head, she walked out of the room, snagging her purse on the way out. Tango skulked after her without looking back. The sound of her footsteps receded down the hall.
“She’s had a hard day,” Augusta offered, when Caroline was out of earshot. “It’s not your fault, Sav. And it’s not your fault Sadie and Daniel are bumping uglies either.”
Savannah laughed at the image that presented and tilted her a curious glance. “You know that for sure?”
“Well, I haven’t stalked their bedrooms, but don’t you think it’s obvious?” The two of them had been spending an inordinate amount of time together.
Savannah shrugged.
“Anyway, Daniel should have kept his mouth shut.”
“All I was doing was asking questions,” Savannah explained. “Isn’t that what attorneys are for? I just wanted to be sure it was something before I got everyone all riled up over it. Turns out it was nothing and everyone’s all riled up anyway. I just wish he hadn’t told Sadie. But I do have to wonder why Mom was suddenly planning to give Sadie’s house to the city. It’s a huge departure from the original will and the break-ins are at least weirdly coincidental—don’t you think?”
Augusta shook her head. “There’s no telling what Mother was thinking, though I do know Sadie would have accepted Mom’s decree without any question. She’s loyal.”
“And give up the house?”
“Not happily, but yes.”
“Well, she’s pissed about it now,” Savannah obser
ved.
“Yeah, well, I might be, too, if you didn’t come straight to me, and besides, didn’t you imply there might be something shady about the whole thing?”
“Indirectly.”
“No judgment here, Sav. Out of all of us, you’ve got the biggest heart, and you did what you thought was right. But Sadie is family. If you questioned my loyalty, I’d be pissed, too.”
Savannah’s eyes grew moist, and she averted her gaze to the dead television screen. “God, we’re all a mess, aren’t we?”
Augusta laughed softly. “Some of us more than others, and I’ll accept the greatest share of dysfunction.” She raised her wineglass. “At least I know you guys think so anyway.”
Savannah laughed, though her eyes remained glassy. “So how the hell do I fix this? You’ve had more practice at this sort of thing.”
Sadly, it was true. “Don’t worry. I’ll go by Sadie’s in the morning and talk to her.”
Savannah tilted her a look of surprise. “You?”
Augusta lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, why not?”
“Augusta, you haven’t been to Sadie’s in more than fifteen years!”
Augusta smiled ruefully, knowing that it was hardly an exaggeration. Although Sadie’s house was literally a stone’s throw away, Augusta could barely stomach the place and hadn’t gone there since she was a teenager with a bad attitude.
Some would say she still had a bad attitude, she supposed. “I guess it’s about time, huh?”
Savannah smiled. “I owe you one,” she said.
Augusta gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Nah. We’re sisters. We’re all in this together, right? Just remember this next time I piss you off.”
Which would be precisely tomorrow, Augusta thought.
Savannah laughed again. “You don’t exactly piss me off,” she countered.
Augusta gave her a wry smile, and for once, her barb was meant sincerely and without any sarcasm—at least not much of it. “Only because you were born with a degree of sainthood, Sav—something Caroline and I, unfortunately, don’t share.”
Tell No Lies Page 6
