building right against the Honeycutt property line.
But even the smaller of the two homes was a palace compared to the tar paper sharecropper's shack without plumbing that Nate Senior had grown up in.
After Reconstruction, when the market for Southern crops plummeted, the Honeycutt men had turned to medicine. For over a hundred years they'd treated patients in a clinic set up in their home, and Nate knew the two doors on the side of the house were for those not-so-long-ago days when "coloreds" and "whites" had bided their time before appointments in separate, and definitely not all that equal, waiting rooms.
Still, he thought, as he climbed the steps to the front door, he supposed the Honeycutt physicians got points for treating their black neighbors, which sure as hell hadn't always been the case over on the mainland.
The doorbell played the opening bars of "Dixie"; a moment later, an elderly housekeeper wearing a black dress with white cuffs and collar and a blindingly bright scarlet, purple, and turquoise turban answered the door.
"Mr. Nate." The Geechee woman greeted him with a huge smile. She'd been brought to Whispering Pines as a teenager, to care for the doctor from the day he'd been brought home from the hospital as an infant. "How lovely to see you again."
Eugenia Pickney might have been born into a Gullah home, but her diction was pure Lowcountry society white.
"It's good to see you, too, Miss Eugenia." Nate wished he was there under any other circumstances—not that he'd ever been invited to Whispering Pines for any social occasion.
"The doctor's waiting in his operating room."
A euphemism, they both knew, for his autopsy suite, since any actual surgery required by live patients was done off island at Somersett's St. Camillus Hospital.
As he passed the formal parlor on the way to the back of the house, a voice called out to him through an open pocket door.
"Nate Davis. How lovely to see you again." The mistress of the house unwittingly echoed her servant.
Nate stuck his head into the room. The doctor's wife was sitting on a brocade sofa, a needlepoint frame in her lap, a spiffy electric wheelchair by her side. Proving that even the rich didn't get a free pass through life, she'd survived polio as a girl only to have it reappear with a vengeance in her later years.
"Good to see you, too, Miss Lillian."
"If only it weren't for such a somber reason. I swear, I don't know what the world is coming to." She clucked her tongue. "Who'd have ever thought we'd have two murders on Swann Island? Let alone two in such a short period of time."
"It is unfortunate," Nate said, proving himself the master of understatement.
It was a lot more than unfortunate. He knew he was under a microscope, not only because of his color but because he was Big Nate Spencer's son. If he didn't close these cases, and fast, the good citizens of Swann Island would start looking around for another candidate for his badge.
The fact that he didn't want to give it up surprised Nate nearly as much as the fact that he'd agreed to take it in the first place.
"Would you stay for dinner? Eugenia picked up some fresh scallops at the market and has planned a special dessert."
"Thank you, Miss Lillian. I certainly appreciate the invitation, but I'm afraid I have a prior engagement."
It was weird how whenever he got into a conversation with Lillian Honeycutt he started talking like Ashley Wilkes.
Pale blue eyes lit up with feminine interest. "A date?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"With Titania?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh, she's such a lovely girl. And so talented!" She clapped her hands together with pure feminine glee. "I bought some of her ladyfingers for my book club last week and all the ladies raved on and on about them. I swear they were all pea green with envy."
Her hand trembled as she pulled the needle threaded with yarn through the canvas. The picture emerging appeared to be of Whispering Pines in spring, with white dogwoods blooming and red azaleas
But even the smaller of the two homes was a palace compared to the tar paper sharecropper's shack without plumbing that Nate Senior had grown up in.
After Reconstruction, when the market for Southern crops plummeted, the Honeycutt men had turned to medicine. For over a hundred years they'd treated patients in a clinic set up in their home, and Nate knew the two doors on the side of the house were for those not-so-long-ago days when "coloreds" and "whites" had bided their time before appointments in separate, and definitely not all that equal, waiting rooms.
Still, he thought, as he climbed the steps to the front door, he supposed the Honeycutt physicians got points for treating their black neighbors, which sure as hell hadn't always been the case over on the mainland.
The doorbell played the opening bars of "Dixie"; a moment later, an elderly housekeeper wearing a black dress with white cuffs and collar and a blindingly bright scarlet, purple, and turquoise turban answered the door.
"Mr. Nate." The Geechee woman greeted him with a huge smile. She'd been brought to Whispering Pines as a teenager, to care for the doctor from the day he'd been brought home from the hospital as an infant. "How lovely to see you again."
Eugenia Pickney might have been born into a Gullah home, but her diction was pure Lowcountry society white.
"It's good to see you, too, Miss Eugenia." Nate wished he was there under any other circumstances—not that he'd ever been invited to Whispering Pines for any social occasion.
"The doctor's waiting in his operating room."
A euphemism, they both knew, for his autopsy suite, since any actual surgery required by live patients was done off island at Somersett's St. Camillus Hospital.
As he passed the formal parlor on the way to the back of the house, a voice called out to him through an open pocket door.
"Nate Davis. How lovely to see you again." The mistress of the house unwittingly echoed her servant.
Nate stuck his head into the room. The doctor's wife was sitting on a brocade sofa, a needlepoint frame in her lap, a spiffy electric wheelchair by her side. Proving that even the rich didn't get a free pass through life, she'd survived polio as a girl only to have it reappear with a vengeance in her later years.
"Good to see you, too, Miss Lillian."
"If only it weren't for such a somber reason. I swear, I don't know what the world is coming to." She clucked her tongue. "Who'd have ever thought we'd have two murders on Swann Island? Let alone two in such a short period of time."
"It is unfortunate," Nate said, proving himself the master of understatement.
It was a lot more than unfortunate. He knew he was under a microscope, not only because of his color but because he was Big Nate Spencer's son. If he didn't close these cases, and fast, the good citizens of Swann Island would start looking around for another candidate for his badge.
The fact that he didn't want to give it up surprised Nate nearly as much as the fact that he'd agreed to take it in the first place.
"Would you stay for dinner? Eugenia picked up some fresh scallops at the market and has planned a special dessert."
"Thank you, Miss Lillian. I certainly appreciate the invitation, but I'm afraid I have a prior engagement."
It was weird how whenever he got into a conversation with Lillian Honeycutt he started talking like Ashley Wilkes.
Pale blue eyes lit up with feminine interest. "A date?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"With Titania?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh, she's such a lovely girl. And so talented!" She clapped her hands together with pure feminine glee. "I bought some of her ladyfingers for my book club last week and all the ladies raved on and on about them. I swear they were all pea green with envy."
Her hand trembled as she pulled the needle threaded with yarn through the canvas. The picture emerging appeared to be of Whispering Pines in spring, with white dogwoods blooming and red azaleas
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