The Ladies of Garrison Gardens (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-eight

P
ERRY HAD SAID SHE NEEDED
to go over the financial reports for the gardens and the resort. A grown-up would have called Stuart at his office and asked him to give her the account books. But the idea of making that phone call after her last encounter with the man made her teeth chatter. So early the next morning, she drove to Lenny's Barbecue, which was the place in Charles Valley where the entire sheriff's department went for breakfast.

Laurel's quarry was a blonde in a cop's uniform who still favored the big hair so beloved by women in the 1980s. Her name was Sheralynn, and during the years when Laurel was having an affair with the very much married sheriff, Ed Hood, Sheralynn had been the token female on the force. Ed, not exactly a liberated thinker, had assigned Sheralynn to a desk in the station house and turned her into a glorified secretary-receptionist, frustrating her lifelong ambition of becoming a highway patrol officer. Since Laurel was locked into her lousy relationship and hanging around the station a lot, she and Sheralynn had bonded over their mutual resentment of the man who was, in very different ways, doing them both dirt.

Since that time, mercifully, both of them had moved on. Laurel had found Josh, who was a massive, though brief, step up on the dating food chain, and Sheralynn, having outlasted Ed's defeat in the last county election, was now following her bliss in a shiny new patrol car.

When Laurel found her, Sheralynn was eating Lenny's breakfast specialty, two cinnamon-raisin biscuits liberally covered with gooey white icing. Laurel pulled up a stool and quickly got down to business.

“Do you have any family working for the accounting department at the resort?” she asked. Sheralynn came from a huge clan, and it was a sure bet that she'd have a cousin or a nephew working in every branch of the place.

“Let's see, Ruthie's at the information desk and Tommy's in the sales
department. . . . Probably Mary Lou's young'un, Jessie, would be the best. That child is a whiz at numbers. She's just two night courses away from her CPA, and I know she's got an office job over there. Why?”

Laurel told her what she needed. Sheralynn shot her a suspicious look. “You want Jessie to sneak you copies of the account books? Don't you own the resort and the gardens?”

“Just the resort. Technically—” Laurel was about to launch into an explanation, but to her horror she felt her eyes begin to pond up.

Sheralynn said hastily, “Hey, it's not a problem. As far as I can see, it's not illegal for you to borrow something you own. I'll call Jessie as soon as she gets to work.” She studied Laurel thoughtfully. “You know, since we heard—about Miss Peggy—doing what she did and all, a lot of folks have been real jealous of you.

“Don't be.”

“Yeah, I'm beginning to think maybe that jackpot isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

Sheralynn promised to be in touch as soon as she'd spoken to Jessie and took off in her patrol car with an ostentatious squealing of tires. Laurel picked at the remains of the cinnamon biscuit she'd left unfinished and tried to plot out her next move according to the precepts laid out by Perry. “Do research on Stuart Lawrence,” he'd said. Presumably that meant doing more than reading the author's biography that appeared on the back cover of the book he'd written on the Garrisons. She got up and made a phone call.

Chapter Thirty-nine

I
ASKED MAGGIE
to come over too,” Li'l Bit said. “She'll be here as soon as she can get away from the clinic. Perry overslept this morning and they're backed up. It seems he was out quite late last night.”

“Really?” Laurel said. She told herself she didn't feel responsible—or uncomfortable. Li'l Bit produced two cups of the undrinkable instant coffee she made with hot water from the tap and settled into the big rocking chair that had been her father's. Laurel sat in her usual spot on the front steps.

“Now, what can I tell you about Stuart Lawrence that you don't already know?” Li'l Bit mused. “I have to admit I always thought he was an unpleasant youngster. I used to have swimming lessons in my pond for all the children in town. Stuart came one summer when he was nine. He was large for his age, and it was just evil the way he delighted in dunking the little ones.”

Perry had called it right. Junior was a bully, and he always had been.

“The man had poor Peggy completely bamboozled.” Li'l Bit sighed. “Isn't it odd how you can know someone for so many years and never realize the most basic thing about them?”

Used to the loopy routes Li'l Bit's mind could take, Laurel didn't make the mistake of thinking they were still talking about Stuart. “You mean Peggy?”

Li'l Bit nodded. “Maggie and I were closer to her than anyone. But we never knew how frightened she was.”

“You think Stuart frightened her?”

“There had to be some reason why she put up with him.”

“Maybe she trusted him.”

“I can't imagine why. He's totally lacking in gravitas. His father was truly awful, but he was tough.” She paused. “I always thought there was a story there.”

“Stuart Lawrence Senior and Peggy?”

Li'l Bit shook her head. “Myrtis.”

Laurel realized the route was going to be loopier than usual. But she perked up at the mention of Myrtis Garrison. Since finding the mystery suitcase she was hungry for any new insights on the woman. “The way I heard it, Miss Myrtis was the one who brought Stuart Senior to work for the Garrisons,” she prompted.

“That's right. I always thought that was odd. He wasn't her kind of person at
all. . . .” Li'l Bit drifted off, lost in thought. “You never knew her, of course.”

“I've heard about her. Everyone talks about Miss Myrtis like she was the mother of Jesus.”

“The first time I met her, I thought she was the kindest person I'd ever known. It was at a dinner party. I was young and rather awkward, I'm afraid, and Mama was being unpleasant. Myrtis defended me. No one else ever tried to curtail Mama when she was on a tear, and Myrtis didn't even know me.” It would not be helpful to ask for details about that meeting, Laurel decided; Li'l Bit was wandering down some elusive memory lane and it was always better not to interrupt the trip. “There was always something a little reserved about Myrtis,” Li'l Bit went on, “even in the beginning. Most people put that down to her having been educated in England. In those days, people around here were very suspicious of anything foreign.”

“I never heard about Miss Myrtis going to school in England,” Laurel said.

“Myrtis never talked about it. It was considered strange that her father sent her abroad. Northerners did that with their daughters all the time—well, look at dear Mrs. Roosevelt—but here in the South we didn't as much. Myrtis's father was a restless soul, and her mother died quite young. They lived in England on and off for several years when Myrtis was a child. Her father sent her back to England to attend Gracewood Academy when she was fifteen, because he didn't want to hand her over to his mother-in-law, whom he didn't like. That was the story we all heard. I always thought he did it because he was a terrible womanizer, and having an adolescent daughter around would have been—Good Lord, she's going to hit that tree!” This last in reference not to the adolescent Myrtis but to Maggie, who was careening up the driveway in her Volvo.

Maggie swerved out of danger, got out of her car, and came up on the porch while Li'l Bit made dire predictions of death and destruction if she didn't stop driving. Maggie dismissed them serenely. “I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner,” she said. “Perry was late this morning. I can't imagine what—”

“Li'l Bit and I have been talking about Myrtis Garrison,” Laurel said hastily.

“I was telling Laurel about Myrtis's years at Gracewood Academy,” said Li'l Bit.

“It was supposed to be a progressive school for the time,” Maggie said, as she hiked herself up on her porch swing. “Personally, I always thought her father, the old goat, sent her there so she wouldn't cramp his style. But I thought Laurel wanted to hear about Stuart Lawrence.”

“Yes,” Laurel said. She told them about the power of attorney. Li'l Bit and Maggie exchanged glances.

“So that's how he did it,” Li'l Bit said softly.

“But why did she go along with it?” asked Maggie.

“Who?” Laurel asked, feeling the conversation was slipping away from her.

“It does explain some things,” Maggie said.

Li'l Bit nodded. “The clinic.”

“Exactly.”

“What clinic?” Laurel asked, in a desperate bid to keep up.

“When Myrtis was first married, she was going to help me set up my clinic,” Maggie said.

“Back in those days, no one wanted a female physician,” Li'l Bit added.

“The only patients I had were the ones who were so poor they couldn't afford to go to Dr. Brewster.”

“Which was precisely the point.” Li'l Bit beamed at Maggie before turning back to Laurel. “Maggie was living in Atlanta, and she came back home because this was where she was needed. It was very brave of her.”

“But since none of my patients could pay me, I couldn't support myself. Myrtis was very enthusiastic about setting up a clinic on the grounds of the resort and running it as a service to the community. Then, suddenly, she dropped the whole idea. I never understood why, but now I realize she backed off right after Stuart Lawrence came to work at the gardens.”

“If she was letting him make the decisions for her . . .” Li'l Bit said.

“That would account for it.” Maggie finished the thought. “But why did she let him do that?”

“Exactly. I hate to admit it, but I can see Peggy signing over her voting rights, if she was put under enough pressure,” Li'l Bit said. “She wasn't strong.”

“But Myrtis was,” Maggie said.

Li'l Bit nodded. “In the beginning, she was full of ideas. She was a big admirer of Mrs. Roosevelt—which was a rarity in these parts.”

“Most people of Myrtis's background thought Eleanor Roosevelt was a traitor to her class—and race,” Maggie said.

“Myrtis used to argue with old Mr. Grady—”

“He was Dalton's father,” Maggie clarified.

“Laurel knows that,” Li'l Bit said, irritated. “As I was saying, Myrtis used to argue with her father-in-law all the time about labor unions. She believed in them strongly. She wanted to integrate the staff at the resort and the garden thirty years before anyone heard the term
civil rights
.”

“Then Stuart Lawrence came,” Maggie said. “And suddenly Myrtis didn't have a word to say about the resort
or
the gardens. Dalton, on the other hand, had always been a bit of a nonentity, but he came into his own after Stuart showed up,”

“Not in a good way,” Li'l Bit added.

Maggie nodded. “Stuart and Dalton were two of a kind—put them together and they had the compassion of a rock.”

“And the vision of an avocado,” Li'l Bit chimed in.

“But you say Myrtis signed that power of attorney,” Maggie said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“And now Stuart Lawrence's son wants
you
to sign,” said Li'l Bit.

Laurel nodded.

Maggie inspected her fingernails and Li'l Bit looked off into space. Like the late Myrtis Garrison, Maggie and Li'l Bit held political and social beliefs rooted in the glory days of FDR. Maggie kept true to her ideals by working in her clinic and charging only twenty dollars a visit. Li'l Bit supported her long list of charities, worked tirelessly as a volunteer, and had been known to pay the electric bill or a month's rent for a hardworking family that got behind. They weren't the only people in Charles Valley who disapproved of the way the gardens and the resort were run, but they were probably the most active in trying to combat the results. And for thirty years, Peggy had had the power to change everything they disliked, but she hadn't. Laurel wondered what it must have cost Li'l Bit and Maggie to keep their mouths shut for three decades. They had, because they loved Peggy, and because the three Miss Margarets didn't meddle. If Peggy hadn't wanted their advice—and clearly she hadn't—they hadn't offered it.

Now, it seemed, the old rules held for Laurel. The question of her signing the power of attorney hung in the air. Li'l Bit and Maggie had to be bursting with opinions and suggestions, but Laurel hadn't specifically asked to hear them—although she might have been glad if they'd been offered—so her two friends changed the subject and began a lively debate about the exact date in the 1930s when the Fair Labor Standards Act was passed. The argument lasted until the bad coffee was finished and the little party broke up. Laurel left for home, Maggie went back to her clinic, and Li'l Bit bustled off to work in her garden. No advice was given.

Back at her house, Laurel went to her bedroom and took the old suitcase out of her closet. The damn thing was starting to haunt her. So was the ghost of Myrtis, as she'd just been described by Maggie and Li'l Bit. Laurel opened the suitcase and took out the child's dress and the sheet music. She laid them on her bed, smoothing out the yellowing paper and running her fingers over the darned places on the dress. She still resented the great lady whose legend had terrified her beloved Peggy, and she would always hate the fact that Peggy had lived in a shrine to Myrtis's ancestors. But Li'l Bit and Maggie had given her a picture of young Myrtis that was very different from the Myrtis Garrison of the legend, who gave money to charities but would have had to go lie down if she'd actually met a poor person face-to-face. That didn't sound like the eager young woman who wanted to start a clinic and got into arguments over labor unions. Laurel imagined her coming to Charles Valley, full of ideas from her progressive school in England, wanting to make a difference. She'd been strong enough to stand up to her father-in-law—a tough old coot, by all accounts—but she'd somehow let herself be bulldozed by the elder Stuart Lawrence. Pretty much the same way Laurel was being bulldozed by Junior. So when you stopped to think about it, the town tramp and the great lady had something in common. Wasn't that a kick in the pants?

Laurel looked down at the strange old-fashioned dress she'd spread out on her bed. Why had Myrtis caved? And if classy, rich, educated Myrtis Garrison couldn't fight the first Stuart Lawrence, how the hell could redneck, uneducated, perpetually down-and-out Laurel Selene McCready fight Stuart Junior? But wouldn't it be another kick in the pants if she could?

Why does it seem like everywhere I look these days I keep coming back to Myrtis Garrison?
she wondered. And what the hell did the contents of this faded old suitcase have to do with Charles Valley's great lady?