Page 45 of Camino Ghosts

9.

After the party, Mercer, Thomas, and Diane retired to a wine bar two blocks down Main Street. Diane didn’t want to go home to Tennessee for the holidays and was hanging around the island. Mercer had invited her to dinner later in the evening at her cottage where she had a pot of gumbo on the stove.

Thomas bought a bottle of wine from the bar and poured three glasses.

Diane said, “We may have a problem.”

“The snowstorm,” Mercer said.

“Yes. A great story but I’m not sure it holds up. Snow around here is a big deal, right? According to The Register, the last measurable snowfall here was in 1997. There was a photo of it on the front page. The story went on to recap the other major snowfalls on Camino Island. The record was set in 1932—eight years before Lovely says she was born. The weather bureau officially recorded it at five inches, probably not up to the knees of a child. Of course, it was front-page news then as well, and The Register had this great photo of the drifts along the east wall of the train depot. Renfrow’s Café still has the photo enlarged on its back wall, near the kitchen. It’s also included in several of the local history books.”

Mercer said, “And I don’t recall this story in Lovely’s memoir.”

“Another problem. It’s not there, not that it has to be. As the author, the memoirist, she can include anything or nothing. There are no rules, right?”

“I suppose.”

“But, you’d think she would have included such a good story.”

Thomas said, “Maybe she forgot it.”

“Yes, and that would be okay, except Lovely is forgetting a lot of things. I’ve studied her deposition, word for word, and compared it to her memoir. I have flowcharts, spreadsheets, and timelines, and so far I’ve found at least a dozen inconsistencies, or discrepancies, or whatever you want to call them. Names, dates, events.”

“Are you doubting her story?” Mercer asked.

“Some of it, yes. Plus, she’s eighty and slipping. It’s only natural. The problem, and it’s rather significant, is that the lawyers on the other side will find, if they haven’t already done so, the same inconsistencies. And, Lovely can’t produce the notes she relied on when she wrote the damned book. Her memoir could really hurt her case.”

Mercer asked, “You don’t doubt her history on Dark Isle, do you?”

“No. That part of the story is believable, if the judge wants to believe it. The problem is that she admits she left, or abandoned, the island in 1955. And so far we have been unable to find anyone to verify her story that she returned periodically to tend to the graves.”

Thomas said, “To me, as the non-lawyer, the biggest problem is that she did nothing for almost seventy years until the developers showed up and wanted the island. Suddenly she ran to court claiming ownership. Why didn’t she do that decades ago if she was so concerned with the property?”

“Maybe she wasn’t threatened,” Mercer said.

“Maybe, but why does she care now? I’m not being cruel, but her days on this earth are numbered. She has a nice, quiet life in The Docks. Why should she care what happens to the island?”

Diane said, “Well, her people are buried there.”

“Are you sure? If they were, they’re probably gone now. What Leo didn’t level it washed out to sea.”

Mercer’s eyebrows were raised and aimed at her husband. “Don’t you care what happens to the island?”

“Of course I do. I don’t want it developed. I’d like to see it preserved as it is, with maybe a memorial to the slaves.”

Diane said, “Right. Fat chance of that these days here in Florida.”

All three took a sip and a deep breath. Another group of revelers rolled in from the street and a gush of cold air filled the wine bar. Thomas, from Ohio, wearing sandals with no socks, was amused at the excitement over the “cold weather” and chance of snow.

When things were somewhat quieter, Diane said to Mercer, “We’ve both spent hours with Lovely, yet I haven’t picked up a single clue as to her notes. Not long ago she said she used them to write her memoir. Now, though, she can’t find them. Has she mentioned them to you?”

“No. I’ve asked twice and got nothing. How important are they?”

“Don’t know until we see them. She got spooked when she realized that they might be turned over to the other side. I even said something to Miss Naomi once and she claims to know nothing about the notes.”

“Are you sure you want to see them?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know. Steven and I go back and forth. If we see them, then we have to produce them for Tidal Breeze. What if they’re filled with inconsistencies? What if they conflict with her memoir, or her deposition? There’s a good chance the notes could really muddy the water.”

---