SAVANNAH GONE (23 page)

Anyway, I played it safe with a turkey and Swiss on rye, snacked on the sandwich, and sat reading The Post and Courier.

An hour later I turned my collar up against the cold and leaned into the wind. I made my way to the intersection of Meeting and Broad, known locally as the Four Corners of Law, each corner representing either federal, state, local or God’s law. The only location with that distinction found anywhere in the United States. I stood there and lingered a moment, my eyes resting on St. Michael’s, the historic church where Claire Robertson and Bill Taylor almost married. I looked skyward and nodded, then turned the corner. Ready to close the book.

~ ~ ~

U.S. District Judge Janet Wilson was a raven-haired woman in her mid-forties. At one o’clock she struck her gavel and began the proceedings. I looked around, and there were more than seventy people in attendance. I glanced across the aisle at Caroline and Puny Pickle, and she smiled. No one bats a thousand, even yours truly. A few months ago Caroline ran into McCoy somewhere along Broughton Street. He took her to lunch, and much to my displeasure, they’ve been seeing each other ever since. McCoy seems to care for her, but if he steps out of line, his ass is mine.

At the front of the courtroom, flanked by his attorney, stood Bill Taylor. Fidgety Bill’s parents and a sister sat behind him in the first row on the left. Conspicuously absent on this day of reckoning, Frank Chambers.

Frank cut a deal with the Feds and rolled over on Taylor. He’s currently two months into a four-year stretch at Edgefield, a medium security prison. Maybe a couple skinheads will recognize him...Achtung shit-head. Anyway, I hope he drops the soap.

Taylor and Chambers, it turns out, had cooked up a complicated scheme that bilked the Hardeeville Bank and Trust out of millions of dollars. After the bank collapsed, the Feds seized Liberty Island, as well as the large tract of land near the Savannah Port, and the thousands of marsh acres Chambers owned along the river.

When Judge Wilson asked if he had anything to say before sentencing, Taylor bowed his head and blubbered. “Mister Taylor,” she said, scowling down from the bench, “you’ve done a grave disservice to the citizens of South Carolina, not to mention costing the taxpayers close to ninety million dollars. In light of the seriousness of your crimes, as well as your refusal to cooperate with the investigators, I’m sentencing you to ten years in Federal Prison. This court is adjourned.”

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Sapelo is a real island with a fascinating past. I did, however, take several liberties, including some of the descriptions.

This book is dedicated to the three lights that illuminate my heart: Lily Grace, who would not let me quit. Matt, for inspiring me every day. And of course to Deena, there’s no one else like you.

A thousand thanks to Rich Malerba, for reading countless passages and drafts, as well as making valuable suggestions.

A thousand more to Shannon Carter for her editing expertise.

I’d also like to thank my siblings, Diane, Rob, Lee, Karen, and Jeff. I love you all very much.

Without all of you, this book would not be possible.