Girls of Summer Read online

  Charlotte stepped back from her grandmother. Her lips stretched to a wide grin and all of the acid accusations the agents had been spewing about her grandmother’s involvement in her mother’s possible criminal activities were neutralized in one Baba cuddle. “Your face makes my heart smile, too.”

  “Come. Come. We must have zee teas, no?”

  “Yes, Baba. We’ll have tea.”

  Baba rang a crystal bell and proceeded to a petite room swathed in cheery yellows. Wide windows with French doors leading to a terrace wrapping the length of the apartment were the focal point of every room. Each piece of furniture in every room faced the expanse of windows. Baba loved the view and wanted every visitor to comment on what a wise decision she had made with her real estate investment. The tiny tearoom overlooked a stunning scene of Central Park stretched out before them and even the low hanging clouds couldn’t detract from the beauty of nature in the middle of the concrete jungle.

  Baba lowered onto a flowered, high backed chair with thick tufts and stretched her slim fingers toward the matching chair to her left. Charlotte sat, crossed her ankles, and clasped her hands in her lap.

  “Tell me. How goes baseball? Do you love more zan ballet?”

  “Baba, you know I love ballet, but I have to admit my love of baseball has been renewed.”

  “Ah, yes. Your baseball.” She shook her head. “And everything else iz OK? Your head OK after accident?”

  “Yes.” Charlotte decided the moment she looked into her elderly grandmother’s eyes she couldn’t burden her with the weight of the other “accidents” or her mother’s unexpected visit.

  “You certain, dorogoy?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Your mama tells me of your friend. Remy? So tragic. Accident on family land. Your pain must be great. You friends long time. All has purpose, no? You find purpose in tragedy. You come home. To family. We help you find purpose.”

  Charlotte nodded, swallowing against the burning venom rising in her stomach.

  Mama told Baba about Remy? Why? Mama hated Remy. Always had. Remy connected her to South Carolina and the Dixons. To a life separate from Stasi.

  Sucking in a lung-filling breath, Charlotte rose from her seat and walked to the wide expanse of windows. The chilled early February air pressed against the seams. She cracked open the terrace door allowing the frost outside to battle against the suffocating warmth of the sitting room.

  “Ah, Charlotte, you wantz all the cold to freeze you? Close. Close. We must keep warm air.” Babushka shouted.

  Her words barely registered through the shouts of accusations tumbling through Charlotte’s mind. Could her grandmother be involved? Charlotte could barely entertain her distant mother as a character in the FBI’s horror story. If her grandmother was…No. Not Babushka.

  “Ah, the tea.” Babushka’s lilting voice softened, drawing Charlotte out of her thoughts. “Sit. Sit, myshka.”

  Charlotte clicked the terrace door in place. The thick carpet muffled her steps back to the chairs.

  Marta laid out the tea service and tiny round cakes dusted in powdered sugar.

  Sitting in the seat opposite her grandmother, she nodded to Marta who silently left the study. Muscle memory caused her hands to reach for the steaming tea pot, serve her grandmother, and then delicately pour tea into her own cup. The younger always served the elders. Tradition. Family. Bonds that could never be severed. At least not without a very big knife.

  Charlotte had such a knife. Was she willing to use it?

  28

  The tin tap of the winter storm against the triple paned window of Georgie’s third floor office fought against the soulful acoustic guitar floating through her desk speakers. The blinking cursor seemed to keep time while taunting her with the pages of contracts she was supposed to read and sign by the end of the day. But her thoughts were at war with the legal phrasing, and the near constant worry over Charlotte.

  Her sister landed in New York only two hours ago, but Georgie wished she had chosen any option other than walking into the near certain disaster of a one-on-one meeting with Anastasia.

  Cade had promised Georgie that Charlotte would be safe and closely monitored during her entire stay. Georgie wanted to trust his promise.

  In the weeks since their first meeting, Georgie thought she’d come to know the heart of the steely federal agent. Through his frequent meetings with Charlotte in preparation for this day, and long chats over coffee, she learned about his family, his love of all things involving Ohio State, and his unwavering passion for justice. Despite her resistance, she liked, even admired, Cade Murphy, but she didn’t completely trust him.

  Cade still had his doubts about Charlotte’s authenticity. He was quick to remind Georgie of Charlotte’s slow disclosure of her art gallery’s finances and the emotionless mask she wore with every outfit, but Georgie believed Charlotte. Or at least, she wanted to believe her.

  She was confident in Cade and Special Agent O’Neal’s ability to keep Charlotte safe, but the fact her sister needed two highly trained FBI agents to ensure her safety was the first course of the meal of worry Georgie had been munching on for the last month.

  Since the New Year, Georgie’s quiet life had been twisted into a tornado of murderous plots, mystery, and mayhem worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster. She’d prayed for so many years to be reunited with her sister. God was definitely working to bring them together. She felt closer to Charlotte every day, and yet her trust of her was straining thin in the light of Cade’s accusations. How could her heart’s desire cause catastrophe worthy of a national state of emergency?

  Charlotte left only hours after the doctor removed Remy’s ventilator. Georgie watched from the hall with Mac as Charlotte and Remy’s momma held tightly to each other, waiting for Remy’s chest to expand on its own.

  A few tense seconds passed, but Remy’s breaths came, shallow at first but steady. The doctor led Mrs. Reynard and Charlotte from the ICU bay. Remy’s ability to breathe on his own was the first step on a long road to recovery, but the doctor was encouraged by his slow but steady progress. The doctor went on to discuss continued concern about swelling on the brain and kidney function, but Charlotte and Mrs. Reynard both looked visibly lighter.

  Mrs. Reynard laced her arms around Charlotte’s waist. The frozen shield her sister established since leaving Mac’s condo three weeks earlier melted into a puddle of soft streaking tears. Mrs. Reynard trembled in Charlotte’s embrace. The two women who loved Remy most in the world found solace in the simplicity of human connection and hope in the possibility of his recovery.

  Georgie rubbed her temple as the memory pinched her chest. She stood and traced a finger along the path of a raindrop sliding down her window.

  Dear God, please continue to heal Remy. And please keep Charlie safe. You are all she has, and she doesn’t even know You’re there.

  A soft knock tugged her from her prayer. “Come in.”

  Charlotte’s administrative assistant, Bridget, slipped through the door, her blonde hair tucked into a tight ponytail and her slim pants hugging every curve of her long body. Something about Bridget’s presence chaffed Georgie’s sensibilities. She was relatively new to the organization, and Georgie was trying not to judge, but it would be helpful if everything the woman wore didn’t need extra inches of fabric. “Yes, Bridget, what can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Vasil would like a few moments of your time to walk through the contracts he sent you and there’s a Special Agent Murphy on the phone for you. Would you like me to tell him you’re busy with Mr. Vasil?” Bridget chomped on her gum between each slowly drawn word, but her lack of decorum could not stifle the flutter of excitement that lifted Georgie’s spirit.

  “Tell Cole, umm, Mr. Vasil I can meet with him in fifteen minutes. Please connect Special Agent Murphy.”

  Bridget shrugged and disappeared through the doorway.

  Georgie took a few steps and closed the door. Sliding behind her desk, s
he pressed the flashing red light and sucked in a deep breath. “Special Agent Murphy?”

  “Georgie, I thought we’d dispensed with the formality.” His voice was low and rich, pouring into her spirit and calming the near constant worry.

  “Yes, Cade.”

  “Better. But unfortunately I’m not calling for social reasons.”

  “What happened?” An image of Charlie lying in the hospital, head bandaged and unconscious, just a month ago slapped across her vision, and all thoughts of Cade Murphy as anything other than her sister’s lifeline vanished.

  “Nothing’s happened. Your sister arrived in New York as scheduled. She is to contact us when she needs us, but if all goes according to plan, she should be home by noon the day after tomorrow.”

  Georgie pushed a long breath through her tightly stretched lips. “Good. Good. I have to say I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

  “Interesting thought.”

  “Yeah, well, the South has an interesting way of describing emotions. So if this call isn’t about Charlie, is it about, umm, something else?” She couldn’t stifle the waft from the butterfly wings trembling in the center of her being.

  “Unfortunately, I’m calling about the Reynard investigation. I thought you’d want to know. They’ve just made it public. It wasn’t an accident. Mr. Reynard was not intoxicated. The doctors confirmed, he was struck at the base of his skull and then tossed into the creek, with what we can only assume was an attempt at drowning him.”

  A surge of nausea swelled in the pit of Georgie’s stomach engulfing any feelings of anything other than grief. Remy’s text message to Charlotte hadn’t been a delayed send due to cell phone towers as Georgie had tried to convince her sister. “Someone tried to murder Remy?” She sucked in her bottom lip to stop the deluge of tears threatening to flood her face.

  “Yes.”

  “Poor Remy. How could this have happened? And at Colin’s Fancy. I don’t understand. Why would someone want to kill Remy?”

  “That’s something for your county sheriff to determine.”

  “What? Why aren’t you?”

  “It’s a local matter, Georgie. Sheriff Cambry was generous enough to share an update in the investigation since we were on the scene when Remy was discovered, but it’s not our jurisdiction. If they need help, we certainly will be willing to help any way we can, but I have to stay focused on my current case.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But, what?”

  “We don’t have much crime here. It’s a sleepy community.”

  “Really? In the week I spent in town, you had a bomb explode, a fire of an unexplained nature, and now an attempted murder. Doesn’t sound so sleepy to me.”

  Georgie sighed. She didn’t know why she wanted Cade to help, but she couldn’t let the attempt on Remy’s life go unsolved. Justice for Remy needed to be served. “It’s been a little unexpected, as of late, which is why I can’t imagine Sheriff Cambry and his boys are up to an attempted murder investigation. Underage drinking. Illegal poker games. Graffiti in the park. Sure, they’d hit a home run. But murder?”

  “Cambry’s been trained for cases just like this one. Trust me. He’ll want to find the culprit.” Static flowed in the silence. Cade cleared his throat. “But I’ll let the sheriff know I’ll be happy to help in any way he needs.”

  Relief poured through Georgie. “Thank you, Cade. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “Why don’t you show me when I return in a couple days? Dinner?”

  The butterflies zoomed in her belly, softening the edges of fear threatening to swallow her whole. “Well, I believe I’d like that just fine.”

  “It’s a date. Let’s say, seven the day after tomorrow?”

  “Sounds perfect. Just meet me here at the office, OK?”

  “Georgie Dixon, you made this cold-hearted federal agent’s day.”

  A giggle bubbled through her lips. She hung up the phone and swirled toward the fogging windows streaked with rain, gleaming like diamonds against the harsh florescent light of her office. She didn’t want to think about why or what she felt toward Cade Murphy. Any relationship or even friendship with him would be near impossible. But then again God did like to work in the impossible.

  A soft knock and the creak of her door dragged her thoughts from potential outfits and impossible relationships to the present.

  Cole Vasil, her friend and coworker who’d been a steady support since her father’s death leaned against the door frame. “Good call?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yes and no.” She stretched her hand toward the chairs across from her desk. “Remy’s accident has been classified an attempted homicide. I’m dreading how Charlie will react. She loves him more than a brother.”

  Sliding onto the chair, he shook his head. “That’s awful. Do they know who did it?”

  “No, but I’m sure they’ll figure it out. But that’s not why you’re here.” She said nodding toward the slim, leather cased tablet tucked against his chest. “You want to talk about those horrible contracts.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Shall we?” He flipped open the case and began outlining the details of a contract for offshore drilling rights near the Black Sea.

  Two hours later, Georgie rolled her shoulders and read through the final pages of the contract.

  “It all seems pretty straightforward,” Cole said. “I just wanted you to know about the few things that seemed out of sort.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask Mac about your concerns. Or would you like to tell him yourself?”

  “No, I think he takes your opinions more seriously than mine,” he said with a quick wink. Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “It’s getting a bit late. You don’t want to be driving when you’re tired and it’s this dark.”

  Although the night sky had descended nearly two hours ago, her wall clock read only six o’clock and she still needed to review her proposal for the Watershed Foundation board tomorrow. Her only involvement with Watershed Industries, prior to her father’s death, had been as a family voice with the company’s philanthropic arm. Her proposal to fund a unique music center in an abandoned church a few blocks from the ballpark was one of the last ideas she’d discussed with her father before his disease jumbled his mind. The music center would be an alternative afterschool program for elementary and middle school students. The primary teachers were to be high school students, under the supervision of adults. The Bombers currently had a similar pilot sports program running out of the local recreation center, but many students in need had little interest in becoming the next Beaufort Bomber. There were little boys and girls who shared her love of music and art. She wanted them to have the same opportunities as the athletes. And to ensure her dream, she needed her pitch to be perfect, but perfection would require at least a few more hours work. “I appreciate your concern, Cole, but I need to work through something and want to finish it before I leave this evening.” She handed him his tablet.

  “Would you like me to wait? There’s always more work to be accomplished.”

  A smile tilted her lips. Cole had the most interesting way of using words. “I appreciate the dedication, but I’ll be fine. Enjoy your evening.” She swiveled her chair toward the computer desk stretching the length of her wall.

  “As you wish.” He rose from the chair and tucked the tablet under his arm. “Good evening, Georgie.”

  “Night, Cole,” She mumbled. Her focus locked on her presentation.

  ~*~

  The shrill of her cell phone drew her out of the kaleidoscope of images depicting the future world of the afterschool center. Swiping the screen, she placed the phone on the edge of her desk and clicked the speaker button without looking at the caller ID. “Georgie Dixon.”

  “Georgiana! I’ve been worried sick.” Savvy’s screech twisted Georgie’s heart. “You can’t not show up with bombs going off and fires blazing on half the plantation. I’m already con
cerned enough with your sister up North. My heart can’t take it, Georgiana. No, it cannot.”

  Georgie sucked in a shallow sigh and glanced at the large clock centered on the opposite wall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “Well, dinner is all but ruined waiting for you.”

  “I really am sorry. I was…”

  “No, I don’t want to hear excuses. I heard them from your uncle and your father for too many years to start having them trickle down like DNA memories from your lips.”

  Reaching for her coat and handbag, she lifted the phone and hurried down the darkened hall to the stairwell. “I’m leaving right this minute. I might drop you because I’m heading to the stairs.”

  “Don’t try that shifty move on me young lady. I know when I’m being given the brush.”

  “Aunt Savvy, you’re breaking up. I’ll see you when I get home.” Georgie dropped the phone in the pocket of her coat. Resting her forehead against the cool steel door, she released a long sigh. She loved her aunt, but often being the sole focus of Savvy’s worry was suffocating.

  With a quick hip check to the door, Georgie shuffled into the stairwell. Tentatively, she started down the open crate stairs, her heels sinking into the octagon shaped steel design. As much as she despised this staircase, the metal coffin posing as the elevator to the ground level was one she avoided like the bathroom scale after a two-week vacation. The tap of her shoes echoed against the cinderblock walls as her phone vibrated against her thigh. A smile stretched her lips as she answered. “I’m leaving the office now, Cole.”

  “I knew I should have stayed to watch over you.”

  “I’m a big girl.” She said, stepping onto the fourth-floor landing. Glancing to her next step, she heard a clink. With a snap of her head, she twisted and went back up the steps. Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she was surprised it didn’t reverberate against the metal stairs. “Hey, Cole?” she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. “When you left was anyone still in the building?”