her talking more about her memories. There might be something we can follow up on.”
He nodded. “Good. And there have to be records of Edward Bodine somewhere. I’ll start there, see what that tells us.”
“If there’s something else I can do…”
“There is,” he said, so promptly that it seemed he was waiting for the offer. He picked something up from the floor next to his chair, and she realized it was a long legal pad. “I just have too little information to search intelligently. That’s where you come in.”
She should not be annoyed that he was so quick to take charge. She shouldn’t, but she was.
She shoved the feeling down. Her grandmother was important now, not her. “What do you need me to find out?”
“Vital statistics, like birth date, parents’ names, addresses.” He ticked something off on the pad. “And anything you can get from your grandmother about how and when he disappeared. Why did people think he ran away?” His hand tightened into a fist. “It’s all just so amorphous. A story that’s more than sixty years old and not a single fact to support it.”
“It’s about more than facts. There’s family loyalty and trust involved, too.”
“I can’t investigate family loyalty.” His voice had gone dry, his hand tight on the arm of the chair. “Just get me some facts. Surely your grandmother remembers more than she’s told us so far.”
Was that just a normal lawyer’s reaction, his insistence on sticking to the facts? Or did she sense something deeper in his reaction to her comment about families?
“Miz Callie did say she’s started remembering more about that summer. Apparently she’d been talking with a friend from those days, reminiscing.”
“Who is the friend?” His question was quick, his pen poised over the legal pad. “Maybe we can interview him.”
“Her. And we can’t. She died.” She sounded as terse as he did.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached across the space between their chairs to touch her hand lightly.
Her skin tingled at his featherlight touch. She shoved her hair back from her face with her other hand, looking up at the stars again. They seemed very far away.
“It’s all right. I’m not personally upset about her death. I mean, I barely remember her. But her passing had a profound effect on my grandmother. That’s what convinced her she has to learn the truth about Ned.”
“I see.” His fingers brushed hers lightly, as if in silent empathy. “One other thing—what about talking to your family about Ned?”
She winced at the thought. “Miz Callie is right to put that off as long as possible.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Pleased?” Her voice rose in spite of herself and she half expected him to pull his hand away, but he didn’t. The warmth of his skin began to radiate through her. “You’ve seen how they reacted already. If they knew this…Trust me, you don’t want to see the Bodines in full crisis mode.”
“I think I could handle it.” He said the words mildly. But then, he wasn’t related to them.
“It would only make matters worse, and my dad’s generation won’t know any more than Miz Callie does.”
“All right. If you say so.” He seemed to become aware that he was still touching her hand. He grasped the legal pad instead. “We’ll work it out, somehow.”
“I hope so.” It was odd, talking to him this way, relying on him when she barely knew him. More than odd, to feel lonely because he was no longer touching her.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’ll try to get a bit more information from your grandmother. Do you think there’s anyone else we might talk to about that summer?”
She forced herself to concentrate. “I’ll try to find out.” She rose, and Matt stood with her.
“Thanks.” He looked down at her, his gaze searching her face.
She sucked in a breath. “Good night, Matt.” She turned quickly, before he could answer, and hurried down the stairs, her skin still tingling from his touch.
Her mind still occupied with the conversation with Matt as she came back from her run the next morning, Georgia went up the steps to the deck and met her grandmother coming out. The floppy hat, oversized floral shirt and cutoffs were Miz Callie’s typical summer outfit. Her red plastic pail represented one of her most prized roles—that of an island turtle lady.
“Miz Callie, you’re not going out without breakfast, are you?” She glanced through the glass door, seeing only a coffee mug on the kitchen table.
Her grandmother slid a pair of pink-rimmed sunglasses on her face. “I had coffee. That’s all I need now. I’ll eat something when I get back from my patrol.”
“Why don’t you let me fix you some scrambled eggs first?” And talk to me while you’re eating. “Surely the turtles can wait that long.”
“Georgia Lee, I’ve been taking care of myself for a good long time, and I don’t intend to stop in the foreseeable future.” She walked toward the stairs, the red pail swinging. “Course, you could come along with me to look for nests.”
She was just as likely, or unlikely, to get something out of her grandmother on the beach as anywhere else. She followed her toward the beach.
“It’s early in the season, isn’t it? Have you found any nests so far?”
“Well, it’s May already.” Miz Callie set off along the dunes. “We haven’t found any on Sullivan’s Island yet, but they’ve spotted quite a few over at the national seashore. And two on Isle of Palms.”
There was the faintest thread of envy in her grandmother’s voice. She, like the rest of the turtle ladies, wanted to be the first one to spot the marks that showed a turtle had nested in the dunes, depositing her eighty or more eggs in the sand.
“Maybe today will be your lucky day,” she said. “For finding a nest, I mean.”
Miz Callie smiled as her gaze scanned the dunes. “I’d purely love that, to find a turtle nest with you. It’s been a long time—maybe since that summer before you went off to college.”
Georgia’s mind slid automatically away from the memory of that summer. Don’t think about that. Remember other times, happier times.
She tilted her head back, loving the warmth of the sun on her face, the scent of the sea teasing her nose. “I’d forgotten how much I love this place.” The note of surprise in her voice caught her off guard.
“You always did, from the time you were a little bitty child.” Her grandmother slowed, as if she didn’t have quite enough breath for both walking and talking. “You should come more often. Why did you stop?”
Again her mind shied away from the memory she’d
