“He kicked you out?”
“Not exactly, but it’s better for everyone if we’re not confined to the same house.”
I touch his cheek. Not knowing how to make him feel better, I give him a kiss, hoping it helps soothe the pain. He returns the kiss slowly and it ignites a burning in my belly. He glances at his watch. “I’m teaching lessons this morning down by the pier. I should head back.”
“I’ve got a walk of shame to complete.”
He helps me back on my board, fingers lingering on my hips. Soon we’re back on the waterway, sun rising to the east. I can’t help but think as we paddle back to the dock, that if every morning started like this one, I’d be pretty damn lucky.
Chapter 14
No questions are asked when I emerge from the shower. It’s obvious my mother didn’t sleep here, either. She simply hands me a sausage biscuit, coffee, and a pile of files. She has a lead, a solid one, and we’re driving to Cherry Grove, South Carolina, just outside of Myrtle Beach.
“No Nick today?” I ask as we turn off the main road.
“I thought this visit may go better without a man present.”
“Oh.” Nervous about what that means, I distract myself with looking out the window at the neighborhood.
“Wow. This neighborhood is pretty nice,” I say, checking out the big homes, just blocks away from the ocean. The neighborhood has a more typically suburban feel than the touristy areas surrounding the beaches.
“When I was younger, we came to some parties down here. Most of these families are pretty wealthy.”
“Not to sound rude, but isn’t Sugar’s family kind of poor?”
My mother frowns and shakes her head. “Why would you think that?”
“Umm… the trailers? Living in this po-dunk town? The kids before twenty?”
“Don’t be so judgmental. Our grandparents had quite a bit of money. Sugar’s father owned a factory in Marion. Do you think that property came cheap? It’s a huge block of waterfront real estate. Sure, fifty years ago it wasn’t what it would cost today, but don’t mistake them for poor,” she scolds. “Sugar and Jimmy went to private school. They were friends with a lot of kids down here.”
“Oh.” I feel like an idiot. “I guess it’s just different from what I’m used to.”
Still, as we reach the upper-class neighborhood, I’m relieved. For once, I don’t feel like I have to watch my back as we walk from the car to the door in case a rabid dog wants to attack.
“How did you find this woman?” I ask.
“I followed a trail of newspaper clippings and some police reports. I almost overlooked it. I think her family wanted to hush it up, but the police wanted her statement because she was from a good family and not a wanderer or prostitute.” She frowned. “She was not his typical M.O. That made them curious.”
My mother rang the bell on the large double black doors. We hear several locks release from the inside and she glances at me from the side. “Also, we’re talking more about this Mason thing on the way home. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
I have no chance to reply before the door opens and a well-dressed, attractive woman about my mom’s age answers the door. Her hair is cut short and she’s let the gray grow in, but it doesn’t make her look old. She has an air of elegance about her. She smiles when she sees us. “You must be Julia and Summer. I’m Martha Sanders.”
She swings the door wide open and lets us in—such a different greeting than any of the other homes we’ve been to. “Sorry about the mess,” she says, ushering us through an immaculate dining room and down a hallway lined with framed photographs. We emerge in a brightly lit, enclosed porch, overlooking a backyard pool. My mother sits on a cushioned wicker couch and I sit next to her. Martha takes the seat next to us and starts pouring lemonade out of a pitcher on the table in front of us. I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.
“I hope you found the house easily,” she asks.
“We did, thank you,” my mother says. “You have a beautiful home. Did you get that fixture at Horchow?”
I have no idea what a Horchow is, but Martha’s face lights up. “I did—for a steal, too. I hit the post-season sale—my favorite thing.”
I watch these two, trading compliments and shopping tips, in fascination. Again, my mother manages to charm and relax her sources, no matter their social class. She truly has a gift.
During the conversation, my mother has taken her notebook out of her bag and placed it on her lap. “I appreciate your willingness to talk to us. I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been to find people willing to talk to about the horrific crimes Gaskins committed.”
Martha frowns and sets her glass on the table. “I was one of the lucky ones,” she explains. “I can’t imagine how our lives would be different if he had successfully lured me away from my car that night. Obviously, I would be dead, but my family…my parents had a hard enough time with the basic fact I’d encountered him. They did everything to make it disappear. It’s why I never testified.”
“Martha,” my mother says, “Can you tell us what happened that night?”