Paper Castles (17 page)

A few moments passed in small talk before Kip found the courage to say what he obviously came to say.

“You know I’m behind you one hundred percent. But I have to know. You didn’t do this thing, did you Savvy?”

The look of alarm on her face had him immediately reaching out for her. “I’m sorry honey. Sorry I have to ask.”

The tears were hot on her cheeks.
Not Kip,
she thought.
Please, not Kip
.

“It’s just hearing about this Adam guy—”

“It’s okay,” Savannah said cutting him off. “You have a right to ask.” Just as her tears had a right to fall. She sat back and wiped them away with angry fingertips. It took a few deep breaths before she could find her voice.

“First of all. About Adam. It’s partly true. Or mostly true, however you want to look at. We had some indiscreet carrying-on, but I didn’t have sex with him.”

Kip gathered up the bits and pieces of her tale. Her starts and stops were met with gentleness, until the story broke through the dam and spilled over the sides for the second time that evening. She gave him the details without any window dressing. Her drinking, her pills, Price’s infidelities, their fights.

“Why didn’t you talk to me, Savvy?” Kip reached for her hand. “Why didn’t you let me know things were falling apart again?”

“Because I didn’t want you to rescue me. Again. It was hard enough the first time. I was too embarrassed to let you know about the others.”

“Savvy, that hurts me. I should have known.”

“What could you do?”

“I could have knocked the shit out of him,” Kip said.

Savannah shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “Sometimes, a person just has to rescue themselves.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to rescue you.”

“Looks like you’ve got your job cut out for you this time.” Savannah had her feet tucked under her, her body unconsciously angled towards her brother. Her heart leaning in and across the sofa.

“Look, Savvy, that’s another reason I came to talk to you tonight,” Kip leaned back against the cushions. “This case is beyond me, Dad and I are calling in the big guns on this one.”

“But I want you.”

“This isn’t small ball, Savannah.”

“I know that, and that’s why I want you.”

“You don’t,” Kip said. “You need someone who’s tried murder cases and not only tried them but won them. Dad and I are too close to the situation. We would never do an effective job. You know we’ll do everything we can to help and we’ll be there. But you need someone with a proven track record. You only get one shot at this.”

Savannah could feel the dread of the unknown building with every word. The thought of having to establish trust with someone new terrified her. Of course Kip was right. But that didn’t do anything to calm the screams from the little girl being taken from the familiar safe hands of the two males closest to her and handed over to a stranger.

W
HEN BEVERLY suggested that Savannah take a break at the beach she didn’t have to think twice. The Kendall family home on Tybee Island had always been a safe haven when the world came undone. The sea had been calling her for some time now, as things continued to deteriorate with Angela and her house felt like a war zone. She could feel the tide tugging at her. She ran to the sea, ran to her true north. She couldn’t get her shoes off fast enough to dig her toes in the sand.

Two days on the island was more restorative than all the sleeping pills money could buy. She’d thrown out all of her pills, anyway. Flushed away all the Valium that got her through the days and sleeping pills that swept her away in a sweet and gentle fog at night. Neenie found her sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, in her nightgown, head on her knees, face red and swollen from crying.

“What’s the matter, child?”

“I’m the matter. Those pills used to be my friends. They kept me from falling off the cliff during this last year. But they’re also the reason I’m in this mess.”

“This a good thing, Baby. You’ll be better off without them.”

“Will I?” Savannah wiped her nose with a wad of toilet paper. “What if I fall off the cliff? What if I’m like her?”

“You’re not your momma. You leave that thought alone.”

But being exactly like Beverly was the nagging suspicion hanging in the back of Savannah’s closet. And the reason she had to keep such a tight rein on her emotions.

“You’re gonna get through this and be stronger than ever,” Neenie said.

Savannah was already halfway through it. She’d been cut off cold turkey while she sat in the jail for eleven days, suffering the agitation and the restlessness. The hard part was behind her. It gave her the strength to open all those pretty little bottles, dump them out, and flush them away.

The nightmares weren’t disposed of so easily. She killed Price every night in her dreams. Sometimes shooting him, aiming down the barrel of the gun. Sometimes stabbing him over and over until the blood ran down her arm. One dream had her poised in a window with a sniper rifle and she watched the slow motion replay of Price’s head being blown off as he and Jackie Kennedy drove by in their convertible.

She woke in a sweat, thinking it was blood soaking her sheets. Sometimes she had to get up and shower in the middle of the night to scrub it off. Neenie would sit by her side, rubbing her hands, stroking her hair and wrapping Savannah up in the sweet molasses of her words until she could find a peaceful place to close her eyes.

She dreaded the nights and what she was forced to battle when the lights went down. Her mind was frantic to find answers while she slept.

What if her nightmares knew the truth?

Now, here at the ocean’s door, she slept soundly and unaided, with Daisy snoring on the floor next to her. This morning she was up with the sun, walking the silent stretch of beach in front of the family home. It sat like a sentinel on the ridge, wrapping around the dune like a mother’s arms. A wall of windows faced the sea, framed in weathered, soft gray.

Other than a lone fisherman in the distance, the beach belonged to her. Daisy was far ahead, chasing a black skimmer as he glided across the water’s edge, knife-edged beak slicing through the waves and scooping fish into his bill. With their wings outstretched, hovering over the surface, Savannah always thought they looked like they were ice skating.

The water was cool this morning. The waves licked at her ankles, carrying away her footprints as if she’d never been there. She rolled her white pants up to her calves and stepped further into the surf. She stopped a moment, staring at the horizon, feeling the incessant pull of the sea as the sand shifted under her feet. She’d like to disappear along with her footprints. No trace of her existence. The prospect stared back at her for a long time. It scared her how comforting the thought of disappearing was.

Daisy was barking at something and Savannah turned back up to the beach to see a man standing there, one hand shading his eyes while he waved with the other one.

Who the heck is that?

She was in no hurry to find out. She pulled her thin gray sweater tighter around her shoulders. The breeze ruffled her hair around her face as she took her time heading to the house, calling Daisy to her side in the process. The man made no move to leave. Great. Some salesman, she guessed. Or a lost tourist. He waved to her again, as she got closer, and she returned the salutation with an unenthused lift of one arm.

“Hi. I’m Phil Hannigan.” He stood there with his hand outstretched. Savannah stared blankly, wondering why she should care.

“I’m your attorney. Your father hired me.”

“Oh.” Savannah shifted the seashells to her left hand, brushing the sand from her right hand before extending it. “I wasn’t expecting you here on the island.”

A firm handshake. “Sorry if I caught you off-guard. I wanted to meet with you before I met with your father.”

“I see.”

“Your housekeeper told me I’d find you here.”

Words took a different turn off his tongue. Savannah struggled to place the accent as she pointed to the house.

“Do you want to come in?”

Phil followed her back, his loafers no match for the sandy dune. She grinned at his attempts to make traction as they walked through tall tufts of beach grass, swaying as the breeze swept over it in a lover’s caress.

“Let me get a few things from my car, do you mind?” Phil turned towards an unpretentious black rental car sitting in her driveway.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” Savannah said.

As the coffee began to percolate, she gathered cups and spoons, sugar, and cream. Phil was setting up shop on the dining room table, pulling yellow legal pads and files from his briefcase. His initials were stamped into the leather in chunks of gold. Solid, hefty letters with no flourishes. He meant business.

He smiled as she set the tray on the table and she felt a little better about him. A few fine lines pulled at the corners of blue eyes. He looked more approachable when he smiled. Then again, dealing with murderers wasn’t exactly funny business.

“Do you take anything in yours?” Savannah asked as she poured.

“Black is fine. Simple and unadorned.”

“Me too,” she said, sliding the mug across the table.

She tucked her leg up under her, pulling the mug close as she spun the spoon through her coffee. She noticed Phil’s eyebrow twitch as he watched her.

“I know,” Savannah shook her head. “I gave up cream years ago, but I still like to stir it. Isn’t that silly?”

“Why?”

“I like the sound it makes.”

Another quick smile before he ducked his head back to the stack of papers before him. “So where are you from again, Phil?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“Phil from Philly. Obviously that’s why my father chose you.”

“Excuse me?”

She pointed a finger at her face. “Phil from Philly and I’m Savannah from...”

Phil nodded slowly. “From Savannah. Got it.”

No sense of humor,
she thought, drinking her coffee.
This is going to be great
.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my abilities as a litigator,” he said. “But I’d like to think I have just one or two things to bring to the table other than my amusing name.”

“Whoa there, Philadelphia. I didn’t mean to step on your feelings.” Savannah sat back in her chair trying to take the measure of the man.

Her father and brother had assured her Phil Hannigan was the best of the best. Jack Kendall and Phil’s father were roommates at law school and in an odd collaboration between the north and south, had kept up a friendship through the years.

Which was all well and good. But Savannah still had to relate to him. She was trusting him with her life, and he was shuffling papers around like she already annoyed him.

“Look, I’m really in no shape to walk around on eggshells,” she said. “I’m hanging on by my fingernails here and I don’t have time to be worried about male egos.”

His blue eyes flicked over her, in their depths she could see decisions being made. Then, the easy grin she’d seen earlier returned.

“Hell, no,” he said. “I’m a big city boy. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Savannah eyed him with suspicion. “Uh, huh.”

“Speaking of your father,” Phil’s tone took control of the conversation. “I met him once at a conference. He seemed the epitome of the southern gentleman. And a bit formidable.”

“He is that.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing him again, tomorrow. Like I said, I wanted to meet with you first. Get a feel for my potential client—before I commit to the case.”

“I should consider this an audition?”

“Precisely.” Now his tone was playful.

Maybe she’d be comfortable with this guy, after all. He
was
handsome. In a serious way. More importantly, he looked capable. Reading glasses perched on his nose, a frown line on his forehead, pen in hand. He pulled out a tape recorder and looked over at her.

“Ready?”

She eyed the legal pad and the recorder. “You need both?”

“The tape speaks for itself. The notes are for me. Words that spring to mind, as you tell your story. Things I want to remind myself to check on later. I know you’re tired of telling it. But I don’t want notes and transcripts. I need to hear your words. Each time you tell it, you’ll get more comfortable. You might even remember more than you think.”

“I see.”

Phil pressed the button on the recorder and the little red light began to blink. “So tell me everything you remember about that night.”

“It’ll be a short story.”

“I know you think you don’t remember much, but it’s my job to figure out what’s important. Give me everything you can remember. Sights, sounds, even something you sensed but couldn’t quite put your finger on. Especially every word between the two of you. Then we’ll back up and look at the days preceding the...”

He started to say, murder. His lips pressed together in the M and she could feel the word stifled between pursed lips.

“The night in question,” he finished.

She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Wait.” Phil reached over and paused the recorder. “I have the notes here about Adam Vincent.”