Return to Sullivans Island (34 page)

“No, it’s truly terrible. Telling it won’t make it better.”

“Come on, Beth. Every problem has a solution just like there’s a lid for every pot. Let’s go.”

Beth moved so slowly and with such profound sadness, as though she were taking that final walk to the gallows, but she finally made it to the kitchen table, where she sank into a chair.

They were quiet for a few minutes until they could hear the heat coming up under the kettle. The water sizzled a little as droplets rose and splashed against the hot sides of the stainless steel. Cecily took out two mugs, the sugar bowl, the cream pitcher, and a lemon, put them all on the table, and sat.

“I don’t know if you want lemon or milk, so we have both. Talk to me.”

“Cecily? I don’t know where to start.”

But she did start, and soon, after three cups of tea each, Cecily knew as much as Beth did. The clock struck noon.

“That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s the whole sordid tale.”

“Well, I must say, I am in awe of your cojones.”

“Oh, thanks a lot. Do you understand that my mother is going to kill me?”

“Yes. She will. She’s going to beat you bloody up one side and black and blue down the other. Unless we figure this out. Look, first, you have to call Woody. He has a right to know everything that you know, don’t you think?”

“Yes. I know he does, but I can’t face him. I can’t face anyone. Not right now.”

“Who am I? Nobody?”

“Of course not, please Cecily. I called you because you’re the only one I trust not to go crazy and start yelling at me like an animal!”

Cecily reached across the table and put her hand over Beth’s.

“You called me because you know in your heart that I am your true friend. No matter what. We’ve got the Livvie-Susan bond.”

“Thanks be to God for that. Yes. Yes, you are my friend, and you know what? Besides Woody, you are my only friend.”

Beth began to weep again. This time her tears were so large and fast and in such profusion that they ran together, splashing the table as they fell, forming tiny pools.

Cecily could actually feel Beth’s suffering all through her own body, and not knowing what else to do, she got up and stood behind Beth, rubbing her back in circles with her hand, saying,
It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.
She recognized that Beth’s sobbing and the depth of her despair weren’t normal even given the gravity of the situation. She had never seen anyone cry so hard. It seemed as though Beth was releasing a veritable lake of tears she had been holding back her whole life, letting them go all at once. The sounds of Beth’s wounded heart continued to break Cecily’s heart as well. She imagined her disappointment in Max was somehow tied into her disappointment over losing her father, and maybe some part of her felt she had lost her mother too when she married Simon. But mostly it seemed apparent to Cecily that no one had ever given this child a chance to grieve with someone sympathetic to listen. And she was still a child in many ways. So trusting. So naïve. So desperate to be the center of someone’s world to the point that even a creep like Max could get the job by just showing up. He was no better than Rasputin.

Finally, after a while, Beth seemed to be slowing down, having worn herself out. Cecily walked back around the table to take her seat again, but as she passed the door, she saw a car pull up into the yard, blocking her own. It was a sedan.

“Hey, Beth? You know anybody who drives a black Plymouth?”

“No.”

Two men in dark suits and sunglasses got out of their car and looked up at the house. They could’ve been the Blues Brothers, but they weren’t.

“Well, we’ve got company. Go wash your face. Right now, Beth.”

Beth jumped up and took a quick look out of the window over the sink.

“Maybe they have the wrong house.”

“I doubt it, now scoot!”

Beth didn’t have time to go upstairs, wash her face, and put on some makeup that would disguise her distress. If there was one thing she had inherited besides her blue eyes, it was the kind of complexion that got blotchy and swollen when she cried. For years she had struggled to save her tears for great calamities such as death, fear of death, and now she could add fear of prison to her list. Not to mention being completely ostracized by her family. Forever. And that was the paradox. Now that she needed her family more than she ever had, they were going to disown her. She was about to lose everything.

She slipped into the bathroom Woody had used and held a cold wet washcloth to her face, especially on her eyes. When she heard Cecily call out for her, she flushed the toilet to buy her another minute and finally reappeared in the kitchen, where the two men waited by the door.

“Are you Elizabeth Hayes?”

“Yes.” Beth’s voice was hushed because in that split second she realized they could be there to tell her anything. That her mother was dead, that Aunt Maggie, Simon, and Uncle Grant had been killed in a car crash or an earthquake. That Uncle Henry had run into a bear…

“I’m Agent Colson from the FBI and this is my partner, Agent Feron.” They offered her their identification and it all seemed legitimate to Beth. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

They could have been showing her false identification and Beth would not have known it. Their presence was so intimidating, Beth was terrified.

“Sure,” Beth said, shaken. “Would you like a cold drink? Tea? Ice water?”

Lola, who was cowering behind Beth, began to growl and bark, although it wasn’t very threatening.

“Does the dog bite?” Feron said.

“Oh heavens no! I’m sorry. Lola! Get in your crate! She’s just protecting me.”

Lola scuttled into her crate and Beth latched the gate.

“Yeah, she’s ferocious,” Cecily said, and reached in the refrigerator, taking a bottle of water. Cecily was as cool and unruffled as she could be.

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “Cold drink?”

“No, we’re fine, thank you. Is there somewhere we can talk to you for just a few minutes?”

“Y’all go on to the living room and I’ll make myself busy in here,” Cecily said.

Beth’s face was almost white, and after the men left the room as she pointed the way, Cecily pulled Beth back.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Remember Martha? Lying to a federal agent is a felony! Tell them everything you know, you hear me? I mean, everything!”

Beth bobbed her head, sighed for all the world, and said, “Can I have that bottle of water.”

Cecily gave her the bottle she was holding and Beth left to join the agents.

“Please, sit down,” she said to them, realizing they were waiting for her to invite them to do so. If nothing else, she had to say, FBI agents had manners.

They sat on two chairs opposite the sofa and took out small flip-top notepads and pens. Beth sat in the center of the sofa so that the three of them formed a triangle.

“What’s this about?” Beth asked.

“Can you tell us how well you know a fellow by the name of Max Mitchell?”

Beth inhaled and exhaled hard.

“Very well. Too well.”

“How so?”

“Meaning that I met him and wrote an article about him for our local paper.”

“We read the article. That’s what brought us here. To the island and to you.”

“Really? Anyway, we went out some, a lot in fact, and I invested a fortune in his business.”

The agents sat back, looking surprised. What did she mean by a fortune? She was just a young girl!

“How much is a fortune?”

Beth hesitated to say because she didn’t want her stupidity to wind up in the news before she had the chance to come clean about it with her family. But she also knew that if she lied she could wind up in a prison washing clothes with convicted murderers and drug addicts.

“Can this be confidential?”

“Sure, Miss Hayes.”

“I gave him one hundred thousand dollars.”

Agent Feron whistled under his breath and glanced at Agent Colson, whose eyes opened wide as he inhaled deeply. They both made notes.

“My father left some money to me,” she offered as an explanation.

“I see. Okay.” Feron cleared his throat. “Can you tell us when was the last time you saw Mr. Mitchell?”

“Yes. It was last Friday. I’m pretty sure of that.”

“And then he told you what? That he would see you again? When?”

“We were supposed to have dinner Sunday night but he was up in North Carolina—Wilmington or Wrightsville Beach, I’m not sure—and he couldn’t get back.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yes. That his next project was all bungled up with permits and so forth but we would have dinner on Monday night.”

“And did you have dinner?”

“No. He never showed up and he never returned my calls. Is Max all right? He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No. Not to our knowledge. Not at all.”

“Well, what’s happened? Why are you looking for him? This is serious, isn’t it?”

“You may as well hear it from us, Miss Hayes. Max Mitchell, who goes by many other names, is a notorious scam artist. We’ve been after him for almost two years. Because of that picture in your local paper, our office in Columbia was able to make a match. I wish I could tell you that you’ll get your money back but you probably won’t. If he’s still up to his old tricks, your money is long gone. Most likely it went to pay some of the bills on his last deal.”

If either agent had merely exhaled in Beth’s direction, she would have fallen off the sofa. She was literally dumbstruck.

The agents stood and took out their business cards, offering her one, which she took with shaking hands.

“If you see him or hear from him, we’d appreciate a call.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks for your time,” they said. “We’re sorry to bring you such bad news.”

“I was in love with him. I’m such a fool.”

“No, Miss Hayes. I disagree. You’re not a fool. It’s guys like him who are the fools,” Agent Feron said. “First, he bamboozled you, and then he took you on a very expensive ride. Unless we find him first, you won’t be his last victim.”

“But why did he do this to me? I thought he really cared about me.” Her voice quivered, more tears began to well up in her eyes and spill over, sliding down her cheeks. “I thought he loved me,” she said in a whisper. “How could this be?”

The agents, thinking of their own daughters who happened to be about Beth’s age, looked at each other, their eyes filled with empathy for Beth. This could’ve happened to anyone.

“I’m sure he did care about you,” Agent Colson said.

“Yeah, he cared about you,” Feron said. “It’s just that he cares a lot more about himself.”

Beth mustered her strength, got up to walk them to the door just as Cecily was coming up the back steps and into the house.

“This is about Max, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yes ma’am. Have you seen him?”

“No, never, but can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Just how old is this guy?”

“Why, he’s forty-five. Maybe forty-six. We think.”

Beth, who was standing by the door to the dining room, slid down the wall, and after weeks of making jokes and innuendo about fainting, she passed out cold. A minute or so later when she came to, Cecily was standing over her, fanning her with the newspaper, and Lola was making mewing sounds from her crate.

“Hey! Are you all right? Drink this.”

“Thanks.” Beth sipped some of the water from the bottle she had never opened. “What happened?”

“You fainted. Here, let me help you up.”

The two FBI agents stepped in to help Beth to her feet.

“It’s just such a shock,” she said.

“Are you sure you’re all right? Can we call an ambulance?”

“Oh no, I’m fine,” Beth said.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Cecily said. “Thanks.”

“Okay then. We’ll be on our way. Just, if you hear from him—”

“Don’t worry. Believe me. I’ll call you,” Beth said.

Beth stood at the sink, watching through the window, and Cecily, who had held the kitchen door for them, continued to stand there as well, as if both of them were in a trance.

Finally, when the car had disappeared from their view, Cecily spoke.

“Okay, Beth, it’s time for you to come clean all around. Are there any other lies you’re holding back?”

“No. I told you everything. I swear. But I have a question.”

“What?”

“I know I committed fraud, but can I go to jail for it?”

“Well, I’m no Johnnie Cochran, but I think you can only be prosecuted if your mother decides to press charges. Or maybe your uncle. Do you think they’d do that?”

“I have no idea what they’ll do. Turn me over to the cops? But I know there’s going to be a whole lot of yelling before this is over. I guess I should call Woody now, huh?”

“Just get it over with before the FBI shows up at his door. Or, worse, at his office.”

“Oh God. I would rather die than go through this.”

“No you wouldn’t. We’ll get through this. Dial his number.”

Woody was thrilled to hear Beth’s voice until he heard her say, “Woody? I have something to tell you and you’re not going to like this. Max Mitchell has run off with our money and the FBI just left my house.”

“That’s impossible, right?”

“Nope. And Woody? There’s more. Remember the letter of permission from my mother?”

“Don’t tell me you faked her signature.”

“No. Worse. I added a zero.”

“WHAT?”

“I did, Woody. I am so sorry I deceived you. I am so sorry.”

“Let me understand this again. Your mother only wanted you to take ten thousand and you changed the document to read
one hundred thousand
by adding a zero?”

“Yeah. It was what Max wanted and I thought that I had to get it for him…Oh, Woody! I don’t know why I did it. It was so wrong! What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to be in some very deep legal trouble, but I guess you already know that.”

And just when Beth thought she didn’t have a tear left to shed, she burst into tears again. The clock struck three.

“Oh, Woody! I am in so much trouble! What am I going to do? Oh my God! I could go to jail!”

“No! No, you’re not going to jail! I’m getting in my car. I’ll be there by eight o’clock.”