Faye Longchamp 01 - Artifacts

She would need the time to gather the earring, the religious medal, and all her photocopies documenting Abby’s life and death, because it was important that she be able to support her theory that Cedrick Kirby killed Abby and the people buried under the live oak on Seagreen Island. Even though no one had seen him in years, logic said that he had returned to kill Sam and Krista. She needed the sheriff to listen to her. He was going to think she was scum when he found out about her chronic withholding of information. She might as well get used to being treated like scum. She didn’t imagine that bankruptcy court and prison were going to boost her self-esteem any.
    Delaying her moment of reckoning by just one day would help her in another way. It would give her time to gather up as much money as she could. She would need plenty of money to pay a lawyer, to pay the fines, to maybe pay her taxes while she was in jail and out of the workforce.
    Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t need to pay her taxes. Joyeuse was as good as gone.

    Faye was glad to go home and leave Seagreen Island behind her, and she was sorry for Deputies Claypool and Thornton, who were left to guard the evidence.
    Rejecting Joe’s offer of supper felt like slapping a puppy on the nose, but Faye had no appetite. Still, she wished she hadn’t told him what they’d found on Seagreen Island before she dragged herself to bed.
    “A man. A woman. A child. Dead and lying in pieces under the ground.”
    If she’d been speaking to a child she would have measured her words more carefully or said nothing at all. Joe’s gentle soul deserved the same consideration.
    Joe posed another problem for her. Could she steer her life into a controlled dive without taking him down with her? When she lost Joyeuse, he would be rendered homeless. But he’d been homeless before.
    It was more important to protect him from the federal charges she would face for digging on public lands. Joe had kept a low profile; it was his way. None of her customers had ever met him, so there would be no one to testify that he had profited from her pothunting activities. If nobody knew that he helped her excavate Abby, she could face the charges for withholding evidence all by her lonesome self. That was the way she wanted it.
    It didn’t take long to box up the evidence supporting her suspicion that Cedrick Kirby killed Abby Williford. Sadly, it also didn’t take long to assemble her few remaining valuables. Faye owned nothing worth selling, nothing but Joyeuse. But she was never without a plan. In the morning, she would call Cyril from Wally’s and invite him out to see Joyeuse. He had money and good business sense, and he would understand the potential commercial value of her island. He would lend her the money she needed if she offered him Joyeuse as collateral.
    There was no possibility that she’d ever be able to pay him back, but she preferred to lose Joyeuse to Cyril rather than to lose it for back taxes. She collapsed on her bed, surrounded by her gaily painted walls, and let failure hang in the air like a wet fog.
    “I have failed,” she said aloud. “I have let Cally down.”
    Her days as mistress of Joyeuse were winding down.
    ***
    Excerpt from the oral history of Cally Stanton, recorded 1935
    Going to Last Isle was Mister Courtney’s idea and he always felt bad about it. He was visiting with his mama and she’d had too much bourbon. She was crying, like she always did when she’d had too much bourbon, and he asked her why didn’t she go with him to the grand opening of the new hotel on Last Isle. I can still hear his sweet voice saying, “I hear it has every amenity.”
    When he said that, I stopped my dusting and leaned up against the window seat to free up all my strength for praying. Please, Lord, let her go to Last Isle and let her take me. I’d be out of the Master’s reach for weeks. I held my breath.
    The Missus kept sipping her bourbon, but she nodded her head yes and I was a happy woman.
    It wasn’t long before the Missus found a way to spoil my happiness. I remember the day, I remember it well. I was packing the Missus’s things and loving my work. I’m going away from this place, I’d say to myself while the flatiron got hot. The Master can keep his ugly face right here, I’d say when I was laying her underclothes in the travel trunk. I’ll just keep the Missus drunk and have me a fine old time.
    But I should have got her drunk before we left,