Justice(61)

Dobbs, the butler/chauffer, opens the door for me. His grief is written all over his wrinkled face. He’s been the Pendergast butler for forty-four years, running this house like a tight ship, thirty of those years with the help of his wife Leigh, who was the maid before she passed away. He’s always been kind to me, having the cook make my favorite meals and dropping or picking me up when I’d come over. He’s even the one who taught Justin and me how to drive and sail. Justin practices that last one a lot more than I do, but I’m a great first mate when I’m there.

Dobbs shuts the door and we stand in the large entranceway, the crystal chandelier glittering like fairy dust above our heads. At least that’s how Daisy described it. Bowing his head, Dobbs says, “Terrible day.”

“The worst.”

“You found them?”

“Yes.”

He squeezes my arm. “I am so sorry.”

“Me, too. I know how fond you are—were of them.”

“Yes. I was looking forward to the sound of children once more. Now, I fear these walls will never hear them again.” I have no idea what to say to that, so I hang my head and say nothing. He swallows down his emotions and is his professional self again. “Miss Lucy is in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Dobbs.”

I start toward the parlor until Dobbs says, “Miss Joanna?”

I turn around. “Yeah?”

“When it comes time to meet Master Justin, would it be possible for me to drive you two? I just want to…be there for him.”

“Of course. It’ll mean a lot to him, you being there.”

“Thank you, Miss Joanna.”

I nod before going to find Lucy. On the way, I pass the paintings on the walls. “The Hall of Pendergast,” I call it. It’s a family tradition dating back nine generations to commission a family portrait and hang it here. They’re always the same with the husband on the left, children on the right, and mother sitting in a chair between them. The first dates back to the seventeen hundreds when the city was founded. Jeremiah Pendergast was one of the first to settle here, quickly building his milling and then shipping empire while his wife Ellen started the Daughters of the Falls, a charity organization still around today that every socialite is in or trying to be in. The last portrait is of Justin when he was nine with his father and mother. She had to be painted in using a photo as she died of breast cancer when Justin was six. He got her lips and chin, but the rest belongs to the Pendergast’s. All are blonde, blue-eyed Gods and Goddesses right down the line.

One night, when I was about twenty, I accompanied Justin to his cousin Jeanne’s wedding in St. Croix. While we were walking along the beach, he asked me if I ever thought I’d get married. Of course I wanted to blurt out, “Yes, to you,” but instead said, “I don’t know.” Good thing I did, because he said with utter confidence, “I never will. Never. And I won’t bring children into this world either. I wouldn’t do that to any of them.” Then she came and it all changed. She melted his heart, brought it to life. She gave him hope. Now, I doubt this wall will ever get a new edition.

Lucy sits behind the desk at the bay window overlooking the ocean, the telephone pressed against her ear. There’s a glass on the desk of what I think is Bourbon, her drink of choice, which she plays with nervously. “No, I don’t think they’ll release the names until the family has been notified. If anyone else calls, just tell them no comment. I’ve already called Gene and he’s drafting a statement. He’ll release it when he deems it necessary.” She listens. “Shannon, Joanna, and I can handle the funeral preparations.” She listens again. “Thank you. Good-bye.” She hangs up the phone, taking a moment before acknowledging me. “You arrived quickly.”

I sit on the couch, crossing my ankles like she’s told me to do for years. “Ladies do not sit like cowboys, Joanna.” Now I only sit like a cowboy in her presence just to tick her off. No desire to do that today. “I just had to give a statement.”

“Oh.” She sips her drink with a slightly shaky hand. Mine stopped shaking on the drive over through sheer force of will. “A few members of the press, it seems, have already contacted Pendergast Industries in search of Justin.”

“One of the neighbors probably told them who lived at the crime scene. I’d give it another half hour or so before the entire mess is leaked out. You should probably call a security firm and get them to guard the gate. This place is going to be a madhouse.”

“For how long, do you think?”