Her face clouded at the memory of families scattering.
“Some sold their property, some up and left. Then the government come, talking about making the Everglades a national park. World War Two was in the way for a while, but right after, the park come into being. Some folks took a bit of money for whatever land deeds they held.
“But even before the war most families had moved inland. My family and Delia’s lasted longer. We left and settled around Everglades City in the early 1940s, along with some other aunts and uncles. We had deeds to the islands. Just didn’t live there no more.
“About twenty years after the national park come to be, my brothers and I decided to sign the land over. I kept the deed to one island for a souvenir-like, never intended to live on it. That’s what I was telling those wreckers. Young folks, new to the coast, don’t know who owns what, is all I was saying.”
A couple of birds were croaking back and forth outside the window. I looked at Bridgy, who knew birds nearly as well as she knew shells.
“Egrets, I think.”
Augusta agreed. “Couple of egret nests down by the bay. They gossip back and forth, not as loud as the hawks, so I don’t pay them any attention.
“As to islands the Batson family owned, I don’t know what they did. Delia being a woman the men treated like a servant, I’m not sure her brothers would’ve even told her if they done anything at all. If she has papers, I guess they’d be in her house. One reason I wouldn’t give the nephews her keys. Didn’t want them noseying around.”
We sat awhile longer, ate some fruit and then took our leave, promising to see what we could find out about the nephews.
I was in the middle of making the U-turn to head home when Bridgy asked the bombshell question.
“If, close as they were, Miss Augusta doesn’t know whether or not Delia still had any land in Ten Thousand Islands, can you tell me why Tighe Kostos is so sure that Delia owned an island large enough to build a resort?”
I was tired, ready to call it a day.
“To quote the legendary philosopher Scarlett O’Hara, ‘I’ll think about that tomorrow.’”
Chapter Thirty ||||||||||||||||||||
Judge Harcroft came in for breakfast slightly later than usual. I’d been steering folks away from Dashiell Hammett because I wanted the judge in a contented mood. He opened the Fort Myers Beach News and sipped his orange juice. I served his Hammett Ham ’n Eggs over hard, and then kept my eye on him.
When he finished eating, I approached.
“Excuse me, Judge, are you representing Josiah and Edgar Batson, or is that merely a rumor?”
“Attorney-client privilege.”
He rattled his broadsheet as if shooing me away. That pushed my buttons.
“I have no interest in your privilege or in the Batsons’, for that matter. I want to speak with the resort guy you were talking to at the funeral reception for Miss Delia.”
I struck a nerve. He dropped the newspaper and slid his index finger back and forth in the collar of his spotless white shirt.
“That was terribly awkward. Still, my clients . . .”
So much for attorney-client privilege.
“I’d like to speak with him on an unrelated matter. Do you know where he’s staying?”
I stood by the judge’s side, holding the refill coffeepot over his cup, but didn’t pour until he answered.
“I believe he has accommodations at the Tower View. You should be able to leave a message for him there.”