Return to Sullivans Island (37 page)

“Take over?”

“Yes. Exactly. You don’t need all this confusion, do you?”

“No ma’am. I’m actually doing okay, all things considered. But I would love the help. Do you have Uncle Timmy’s cell? I have you on speed dial, but I left his number on the island.” Aunt Maggie is the true matriarch, Beth thought, and she was in awe of how Maggie just told it how it was. Beth was not insulted in the least.

“Sure, sweetheart, here it is.”

Beth jotted down the number and said, “Thanks.”

“Goodness gracious, Beth. You are such a wonderful girl. Your momma is so lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Aunt Maggie.”

“And, I’m so proud of you too.”

They hung up and Beth looked at the phone. Wait until they find out what I did to my trust fund. Then they won’t think I’m so wonderful.

“Uncle Timmy?” She had called him next.

“I’m on the next plane, Beth. You just hold on, okay?”

That afternoon, Woody flipped on Allison’s television to see where the markets had closed that day and there was a nice big picture of Max Mitchell being taken into custody.

“Beth! Come here! Look!”

Another Ponzi scheme smashed! Max Mitchell, forty-eight years of age, of Cleveland, Ohio, was arrested today in Asheville, North Carolina, on charges of interstate fraud, money laundering, and an elaborate Ponzi scam that centered around all sorts of real estate development deals—houses, shopping centers, condominiums, and more. The FBI said that Mr. Mitchell, also known as Lou D’Andrea, Billy Bogart, and Ed Hammer, had eluded them for two years. Working with several other men, his alleged scams stretched from Portland, Oregon, to Sullivans Island, South Carolina, and he has stolen nearly one and a half billion dollars in various scams. This will be an interesting case to follow in the coming weeks, don’t you think, Andrea?

Andrea, the other TV journalist, said, “If I had a bad dog, I’d name him Ponzi!”

“Holy crap, Woody? We’re gonna get subpoenaed, you know.”

“I’ll be glad to testify.”

“Yep. Me too.”

“When do you think we should confess?” Woody said.

“When we have to, and not a minute before.”

“Good plan.”

By late that night, they were able to move about the house again, and except for the wrecked bedroom door, everything was pretty much in order. The garage, however, was still off-limits until the police had the results of the autopsy. Maggie was there at the dining room table drinking a large glass of white wine and trying to initiate a plan. She had chosen an outfit for Sophie that she thought was appropriate for burial.

When she asked Beth what she thought about it, Beth said, “I can’t look at it.”

“Well, shugah, you have to be practical. I sure hope when my time comes that someone will care enough to make sure my hair gets done right and that my dress fits like it should.”

“If I’m around, Aunt Maggie, I’ll take care of it.”

“Remember I want to wear pale blue.”

“Okay.”

“For the Blessed Mother.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Maggie had asked her son Mike to put out his feelers with Mary Ellen Way should they need extra bedrooms for a funeral. She had asked Susan to write the obituary for the newspapers, and it was assumed that Susan was already somewhere over the Atlantic, racing home to Beth, insisting on being with her as soon as she could.

No other news could have lifted Beth’s spirits like knowing her mother was coming.

Since his arrival, Timmy had been at the morgue trying to understand what legal entanglements they had to deal with to have Sophie’s body brought home to Charleston and how long it would take to have Allison brought to the Medical University of South Carolina for inpatient treatment if she needed it, and it appeared that she would.

Maggie assured them all that she was going to oversee Allison’s care, but she was adamant it had to be in Charleston as she had no intention of ever leaving South Carolina again.

Henry had been calling and calling, arranging lawyers for Allison and gathering details about Allison and Sophie’s business. Because Beth was able to tell them what her Aunt Allison said that morning, Henry was arranging an audit of Allison and Sophie’s business and he planned to bring a civil suit against Geoffrey with a
G
on their behalf. He couldn’t wait for the criminal investigation to get smoking. He fully expected the State of Florida to track Geoffrey with a
G
’s sorry ass down and fry it for sticking his sister in the freezer like a potpie.

“I don’t give a shit what,” Henry said over and over. “That was completely unforgivable.”

17

Fault Lines

I
T TOOK SOME
time to get everything sorted out, but in a week plus a few days, Sophie’s body was in residence at McAlister’s Funeral Home in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, being prepared for her funeral. The autopsy results showed that Sophie had indeed suffered a massive heart attack. There were no significant amounts of belladonna alkaloids or any other kind of herbs that could have brought on a myocardial infraction of that severity. Foul play was ruled out and Allison was exonerated of any charges related to homicide. Sticking her in the freezer, however, was still a problem.

The entire family was returning to Sullivans Island to lay Sophie to rest.

“I’m going to call George Durst tomorrow and make an appointment for a complete physical. In fact, we had all better get a good physical this year,” Maggie said. “I mean, I haven’t stopped taking my pulse all week! Okay, y’all. We’ve got potato salad with the ham for dinner, corn pudding, and red rice. Doesn’t that sound yummy? And I picked up a pound cake from Mimi’s today!”

Henry, Timmy, and Susan burst out laughing.

“She’s trying to kill us,” Henry said.

“I agree, Henry,” Timmy said. “But to be specific, I’d say it’s another manifestation in the vast array of her unconscious obsessions to be the only child. It’s treatable.”

“What?” Maggie said. “Oh. Fine. Well, how’s a carrot stick instead?”

“I think we just ought to buy her a tiara,” Susan said good-naturedly. “It’s cheaper. Times are tough, you know.”

As Beth expected and hoped, it seemed that when they all got together their amazing love for one another and their incredible wit could get them all through anything. But this was a tragedy of a magnitude they had never known. Nothing could bring back Sophie and it was doubtful that Allison would ever be herself again.

“I saw her today. It’s horrible. She’s had a complete psychotic breakdown,” Timmy said. “Seeing her twin dead and then standing by while her boyfriend disposed of her body?” He shook his head. “It was too much for her mind. She just snapped.”

“So what’s the prognosis, Freud?” Henry said.

“Stabilize her with lots of drugs, give her intense therapy, and pray for her to come around. She might. She might not. She didn’t even know me.”

“Yikes. So, she’s not coming to the funeral, I guess?” Beth asked.

“Uh, no. That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Timmy said.

“She’s in the psych ward in lockdown, honey,” Susan said, to give Beth a fuller picture. “Medicated up to her eyeballs.”

“Holy crap,” Beth said.

And for once Maggie agreed with Beth’s choice of words. “Holy crap is right, Beth. I just wish the newspapers and television would stop talking about it. If I ever meet that insipid Nancy Grace in a dark alley, she’s in big trouble with me.”

The wake was to be that night between six and eight and afterward they expected a lot of people to come by the house. This was the time-honored island custom. The Bereavement Committee from Stella Maris Church had organized food for the next day after the funeral. But for that day, Maggie and Cecily had cooked and cooked. They were ready for a crowd.

All the spouses and their children were still arriving, and happily, Mary Ellen Way had thrown open the doors to her home once again.

“I read the obituary in this morning’s
Post and Courier
. What a terrible shock. Your sister Sophie was an absolute darling,” she said to Maggie when she called. “And Allison? Poor Allison! It’s the very least I could do! I’m just so happy to help.”

When Maggie repeated the conversation to the family, no one said a word about the fact that Mary Ellen Way could not bring herself to say that Allison was a darling too. Mary Ellen was a perfect lady from the top of her beautifully coiffed head to the tip of her pedicured toes, but she wasn’t a liar or a phony. The stories of Allison’s temperament had swept the Lowcountry long ago. What could they do except say
Thank you so much for your dear friendship and for the use of your house
? And that’s exactly what they did.

Around three that afternoon, Mike and Bucky rolled in. They picked up Phillip and Blake and Timmy’s boys, Luke and Mark, and took them down to the other house to settle in and to dress for the wake, which meant neckties, blazers, and no matter how much they objected, Maggie insisted, they had to wear socks.

Teensy, taking the news in stride, had flown in earlier in the day and was downtown at Bob Ellis Shoes, checking out the sales. Mary Jo’s girls were on the porch, rocking and trying to stay wrinkle-and perspiration-free. Mary Jo, genuinely distraught from the news, was having a nap. And lastly, Simon and Grant were on their way to the island from the airport.

After Simon arrived and had a gooey reunion with Susan and Grant had a meeting and update from Maggie, dinner was ready.

“We have to be there by five-thirty, so everyone had better come get a plate of food,” Susan said.

They ate everything in sight and Cecily helped them clean up after their meal. Before they wanted to know it, it was time to leave. All the parents rode in their cars with their own children, giving them strict instructions on how to behave. But in each car was a sibling of Sophie’s, struggling with all their might to maintain their own composure. Cecily had thoughtfully placed a box of tissues, breath mints, and some bottled water in each car, and later on, after she had gathered up the pictures of Sophie from all over the house, she would meet them there.

Cecily was deeply worried and had almost grabbed Beth by her shoulders to give her a good shake the day she returned from Coral Gables with Woody. Didn’t Beth know that Max Mitchell was all over the news! The jig was up! Had Beth told her mother and had Woody told Henry the truth?

“No,” Beth said, and picked up Lola, who was licking her all over her face and wiggling with frantic excitement to have her back. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“Well, what do you think the right time looks like? When your momma waves the bank statement in your face? And Woody? You don’t think Mr. Henry Hamilton is gonna miss one hundred thousand dollars? Honey, he’s still got his First Communion money! Have you both taken leave of your natural minds like Allison? Shoot! Y’all are cracked, that’s what!”

“Unless they bring it up? I think we should try to get through the funeral,” Woody said. “That combined with Allison’s condition and that fellow Geoffrey still on the run, well, that seems like enough to digest for the moment, don’t you think?”

“You’re both overwrought. You listen to me. I’ve been knowing Henry Hamilton all my life, and if you don’t give him a heads-up? He’s gone chop yours off!” Cecily ran her finger across her throat and made a sound that sounded like
keeeek
.

“She’s right, Woody.”

That had been several days ago, but still they could not find the right moment to come clean. Woody returned to Atlanta, promising to come back for the funeral, and Beth, very happy to know he was coming back, did not say a word about Max Mitchell to anyone else. The only people who knew Beth had an interest in investing with him were her mother and possibly her Uncle Henry. And if they weren’t bringing it up, neither was she. But she felt completely terrible about everything. When she wasn’t thinking about her aunts Sophie and Allison, she was thinking about Max, angry at him one minute and baffled the next by what he had done.

Everyone took her serious mood to be a hangover from the shock of being the first responder to the Sophie and Allison fiasco. Each of them had something to say to Beth about how grateful they were that she had sensed the need to act immediately, and wasn’t Woody a wonderful man to take her the whole way to South Florida? Beth wanted to say, There was nothing like a haunted house with a big spooky mirror to help your instincts, but she didn’t. At some point she would have her turn to speak, but not just yet. The older generation had arrived and assumed control of everything, including most conversations.

In the parking lot of the funeral home, they all got out of their cars and waited for one another. The air was heavy with the smells of musk, a combination of wet earth, woodsmoke, and pine straw. It always smelled like that in certain parts of Mount Pleasant, especially on the land where McAlister’s stood. Because they had lost so many family members and friends, they had come to associate that particular scent with funerals. That and the stench of carnations reminded them of death. They never sent one another carnations.

No one wanted to be the first person to go inside and absolutely no one wanted to see Sophie in a casket. But they linked their arms with their spouses and threw an arm around the shoulders of their children and went in the door all the same.

They were greeted by the funeral director, who asked them if they would like to go inside the chapel. As they stepped inside the enormous double parlor, flowers filled the end of the room and lined the walls. Gorgeous floral arrangements were everywhere, enough for three funerals. The director directed his comments to Henry, who had the most hair and the most expensive suit.

“We have closed the casket, Mr. Hamilton. The deceased was embalmed in Florida, but unfortunately their heat added to the fact that she wasn’t found for three days before they put her in the freezer, led to tremendous swelling. I’m afraid things didn’t work out as well as one might have hoped. We did our best, of course, but I don’t think it would be wise to open it, especially if there are children expected tonight.”

“I knew that was going to happen,” Grant said. “She’s a floater, am I right?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Then the director lowered his voice. “A dry floater. We even used the trocar, and as I said, we tried our very best…”

“What’s a floater?” Henry asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Simon said. “We’re talking swelling, discoloration…all sorts of nasties. Hey, pssst.”

“What?” Henry said.

“I’ll bet this little dude squats to pee,” Simon whispered behind his hand.

Henry suppressed a laugh and nodded his head in agreement.

“Wait a minute,” Maggie said. “Are you saying we don’t get to see our sister to tell her goodbye?”

“That’s up to y’all,” the diminutive director with the shiny bald head and pursed lips said, “but I would think in this situation it would be best to remember how she looked in life.”

“Cecily’s bringing pictures,” Beth said.

“Ah geez. Is she like really gross?” Susan asked in an uncharacteristically timid voice.

“Susan!” Maggie said.

“Yeah, for Pete’s sake, Susan,” Simon said, and pinched her butt.

Susan slapped his hand away and blushed. Beth witnessed their brief interaction and felt like gagging. Truly, her mother and stepfather acted like horny teenagers, and it was embarrassing. And sometimes Simon was an ass, but everyone dealt with grief in their own way. Some wept. Others like Simon made ridiculous comments and gestures because they couldn’t deal with the finality and pain of death or the pain they witnessed in others. Typical doctor, Beth thought.

“You go look, Grant, and then you tell me if it’s going to be too traumatic for me, okay?” Everyone looked at Maggie and she said to the funeral director, “My husband’s a doctor.”

“I’ll go with you, pal,” Simon said, and they approached the casket on the other end of the large room with the funeral director hot on their heels.

“Steel yourself, gentlemen. This is going to be difficult.”

Grant gave a signal for him to raise the lid of the casket and in two seconds flat he signaled for him to lower it.

“Thank you,” Grant said.

“You’re welcome.” The director looked away from them and walked back toward the rest of the family.

“I sure could’ve lived without that,” Simon whispered to Grant.

“No shit, bubba.”

“Grant? Well?” Maggie said. “Should we all have a look?”

“No. Definitely not. You’ll be scarred for life. Is there any whiskey in our car?”

“Of course not,” Maggie said, unhappy about Grant’s call.

“I have a rather brilliant white Bordeaux in the cooler in the back of our car,” Henry said. “Does anyone have a corkscrew?”

“Swiss Army knife?” Simon pulled it from his pocket. “I love these things. So practical.”

Grant, Simon, Henry, and Timmy made their way out of the door, stopping only to avail themselves of the plastic cups from a chute attached to the side of a Poland Springs watercooler.

“They’ll be back,” Susan said, looking at the peculiar expression on Maggie’s face. “What? You’re not going to go up there and look, are you?”

“I was merely considering my options, that’s all. I just don’t like this. That’s all. We’ve never had a funeral with a closed casket, that’s all.”

“You said
that’s all
three times. You’re really thinking of doing this?”

“A closed casket sends a certain message, don’t you think?”

“Maggie, I love you like crazy but this wake isn’t meant to impress anyone. It’s to mourn Sophie’s death.”

“I know that, but I just don’t want people to talk. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Then you’d better plan a wide-scale massacre of all the media in Charleston County, okay? That horse left the barn a long time ago.”

“I’m going to ask Grant again if he was really serious.”

“I’m coming,” Susan said.

“I’m staying,” Beth said, and moved toward her cousins Bucky and Mike.

Susan and Maggie pushed open the heavy glass door and went from the extreme refrigeration of the chapel to the Lowcountry sauna of early evening.

“Why are funeral homes always so cold?” Maggie asked.

“Probably for some reason we don’t need to know tonight,” Susan said.

Their husbands were clustered in the parking lot, behind Henry’s SUV, engaged in an emergency tailgate wine tasting.

“Would you like a little?” Henry said. “There’s plenty. I brought a case. You know, self-defense against swill?”

“Pompous ass,” Timmy said.

“Sure!” Maggie said. “Thanks.”

“Susan? Up yours, Timmy.”