Mercer was consumed with her story and longed to hear Lovely’s voice. She wanted to spend hours on the phone with a million questions, but Miss Naomi could not convince her. Lovely had no phone, no television.
The more Mercer wrote, the more she disliked her job. She was in her third year at Ole Miss, her third teaching position, and she was tiring of the departmental politics. She assumed they were present on every campus and Ole Miss was no exception. With a master’s degree but no doctorate, and no plans to get one, she was deemed a lesser academic and one probably not worthy of tenure. What she did have was a publishing career that now included two novels and a collection of stories. Adding insult to envy was the fact that Tessa had spent four weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. At that moment, no one else on campus could make that claim. Indeed, according to Thomas’s meticulous research, it had been over thirty years since an Ole Miss professor had “hit the list.”
In spite of her misgivings, and she kept most of them to herself, the fall semester was clicking right along, with SEC football the main focus and academics somewhere down the list. Mercer and Thomas lived in a rented condo on University Avenue, fifteen minutes from campus on foot. Heading east in the other direction, they often walked to the picturesque town square for dinner with friends or drinks in one of the many student hangouts.
Six weeks passed before Etta emailed with the news that the contract with Viking was on the way. Mercer should sign immediately and maybe the money would arrive by Christmas. Publishers were notorious for taking their time with contracts and payments.
When Mercer received the emails from Steven Mahon with the responses from the state of Florida and Tidal Breeze, she read them twice and felt uncomfortable. She called him and they talked for half an hour.
“What is discovery?” she asked.
“Both sides get to poke around in the other’s case. Live depositions, written interrogatories, document swaps, the like. It’s one of the more unpleasant aspects of litigation but a necessary evil.”
“So Lovely will have to give a deposition?”
“Oh yes. I’ve explained this to her. She was less than enthusiastic. It’s gonna take some work and preparation, but she’s our only witness.”
“Has she told you about her notebooks?”
A long pause on Steven’s end. Then, “What notebooks?”
“She told me that she has a box full of notebooks that date back many years. When you read her book and you see all of those names and dates, you realize that someone had to write them down.”
“Well, I asked her about that. She said it all came from memory.”
A long pause on Mercer’s end. Then, “Okay, so what happens if she does in fact have notebooks?”
“The other side gets to look at them, and given the resources they have, you can bet they’ll go through everything with a magnifying glass.”
“She might not like that.”
“No one likes that, but it’s part of the litigation process.”
“Okay, but if she has extensive notes that date back years, wouldn’t that tend to support her story?”
“One would think so.”
“So what’s your next move, Counselor?”
“You’re watching too much television. I’ll do some interrogatories, same for the other side. We’ll slog through a document swap and so on. Nothing much will happen until they take her deposition.”
“We’ll be down for fall break early in October. I’d like to be around for the deposition.”
“A good idea. I’ll try but no promises.”
“Any word from Judge Salazar?”
“Not a peep. She’s known to lay low during the preliminary matters.”
“All right. Keep in touch.”
6
The early stage of the lawsuit generated only passing media coverage.
The Register and the Jacksonville daily ran stories when it was filed but had not revisited the controversy. The only letter to the editor of The Register was from a noted crank who habitually griped about property taxes and welcomed any new development that would generate revenues elsewhere. Around town, the sentiment was that Dark Isle had been forgotten for so long it wasn’t worth discussing.
The quiet was shattered by an op-ed piece penned by Gifford Knox, fresh off his latest book tour and obviously looking for trouble. He began with a brief history of Dark Isle, poked endless fun at its gimmicky new name of Panther Cay, a “slick marketing creation,” and tore into Tidal Breeze for its attempt at the “outright theft” of the island. Showing some impressive research, he described two other Tidal Breeze projects in the past ten years that involved the company’s “swiping” of public land by cozying up to politicians and bureaucrats in Tallahassee. He lamented the environmental destruction of even more of Florida’s natural beauty, blasted the idea that more gaming was needed to shore up someone’s tax base, and railed against yet another “chemically drenched” golf course.
His closing paragraph was a beauty: “Eighty years ago white people wrecked the ecosystem of Dark Isle by building a paper mill upstream on the Camino River. The pollution wiped out the oyster beds and abundant fish. Faced with starvation, the longtime black owners of the island were forced to flee. Now another white corporation intends to steal the island from its last owner and turn it into another gaudy resort for white people.”
7
For reasons she kept to herself, Lovely refused to meet with her lawyer anywhere other than Bruce Cable’s office on the ground floor of Bay Books. And since Bruce was always on the prowl for local gossip, or even regional, he welcomed Steven and his client whenever they wanted to meet. He offered them coffee and made sure they had plenty of privacy, then busied himself with some first editions in a narrow hallway where he could eavesdrop at will.
Only later did Miss Naomi reveal the secret to Bruce. Steven Mahon’s office was in a building that had once been a restaurant, which, decades earlier, had refused to serve black customers. Steven had no way of knowing this, and would have never known if Bruce had not whispered it to him.
Lovely had a long memory and carried many grudges.
With her granddaughters in school, Miss Naomi was as free and eager to take Lovely anywhere she wanted. Both women loved the bookstore because they felt welcome there. Bruce kept a long table near the front for African American writers and invited the ladies to the store whenever one was passing through. At Mercer’s request, he also kept Miss Naomi occupied elsewhere when Lovely was in his office.
Lovely assumed her position in her favorite chair, an old French chaise that Noelle had hauled back from Provence. Miss Naomi and Steven exchanged pleasantries as Bruce poured coffee. After a few minutes he left and closed the door. Steven placed his iPhone on the corner of the desk and said, “I like to record my client conferences, if that’s okay.”
Lovely glared at the phone, then looked at Steven. “Why you doing that?”
“It’s standard procedure. My memory is not what it used to be and I like to have a record. It’s no big deal.”
His memory was fine and he seldom recorded conversations with his clients. With Lovely, though, there was plenty of room for misunderstanding and he wanted to take precautions. She looked at Miss Naomi, who shrugged as if she had no idea.
Lovely said, “I suppose.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, then I won’t do it.”
“No, that’s okay. Just treat me like you treat the rest of your clients.”