The Sky Beneath Her(91)

“I’m often guilty of the same.” I motioned her inside.

She entered, and immediately her gaze scanned the room. I could almost hear a calculator adding up the prices for a house full of mid-century modern furniture. Clearly fascinated, she appeared to be holding back her need to explore. “May I look around?”

“Of course.”

Sharon scanned the stack of books in the living room and then moved to an upholstered solid-wood chair. “Do you know much about this style of furniture?”

“Mid-century modern. I’ve been reading up on it.”

“What about the house?”

“I know a little about it. Not much as far as construction.”

She walked toward a solid-walnut sideboard. “These homes were built by Frank Stick. He was an artist and developer who optioned the land in Southern Shores in the late 1940s. He oversaw drawing the plotlines, the installation of roads, and the building of the first houses. They were designed to look like cottages he’d seen in Florida. This house was one of the first he’d built.”

“I don’t see many Florida influences in the house. But the theme of the art is very nautical.”

“I did some research. I found a picture of Mr. Stick and Dr. Brooks.” She reached into her large purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten image.

Curious to see Dr. Brooks, I crossed to her. The black-and-white picture was of two men standing in front of this house shortly after it had been constructed. The builder was a tall, thin man with a vivid grin. Dr. Brooks’s face was in profile, but I noted his expression was neutral. Beyond the passports I’d found in the floor, I hadn’t seen any good pictures of Dr. Brooks except the ones with the mystery woman.

“Hard to find pictures of Dr. Brooks,” she said. “I was curious about him, but there’s not much written about him.”

“I think he was very private.” I reached for my phone and opened to the images of Dr. Brooks and the brunette. “Do you know who she might be?”

Ms. Morrison studied the picture, enlarging the woman’s face. “I’ve never seen her before. You should check at the history center in Manteo.”

“I will.” I accepted the phone back and tucked it into my pocket.

“He was more involved in the community toward the end of his life. But for many years he kept to himself. I hear he wasn’t down here a lot.”

Dr. Brooks had come and gone like the tide. He’d drifted into Gertrude’s life and into mine. “That’s what I could gather.”

She crossed to a stack of boxes. “What are these?”

“His books.”

“I’ll take these two,” she said.

“Great.”

“Why is the family selling?”

“His great-nephew is ready to let the property go.”

“So, this will go on the market soon?”

“I assume so. My job is to clean out the house and get it ready to sell. I don’t know what Mr. Brooks’s plans are.”

“It’s a shame. I’d have kept this place intact. I’d have sold the furniture with the house. There’s a market for this period.”

“I agree. I like the house just as it is. But selling is not my call. Would you like the grand tour?”

“Yes, I sure would.”

We walked from room to room, cataloguing the contents. When we entered Dr. Brooks’s office, I stared at the simple cherry desk and chair. Mr. Brooks had said I could keep whatever I wanted from the house, and originally, I’d had no plans to keep anything. The desk was tempting, but I’d have no use for it wherever I was going. I sensed I was going to be traveling light. But I’d keep all the photographs.

“I think this house is ready for more people,” I said. I wasn’t sure what had made me the authority, but the house felt lonely. It needed life, activity.

“I’ll take everything you want to sell.”

“Seriously?”

“I can sell it all. Mid-century modern is hot now, and anything to do with Frank Stick is very collectable. I already have buyers for the house.”

“Great. I’ll put you in contact with Mr. Brooks.”

“I can have my movers here next Monday.”

And just like that, my life here was ending again. “Can you send me a contract?”

“Of course, I’ll email it to you as soon as I get to the office.”

“Terrific.”

Ms. Morrison’s wide smile was infectious. “I’m so glad you called. I’ll take very good care of Dr. Brooks’s estate.”

I’d never met the guy, but he’d looked out for me. He’d given me a place to land when I was lost. And I’d do the same for him. “Thank you.”





Chapter Thirty-Nine


Gertrude





Friday, April 24, 1942, 8:15 p.m.


Seven hours after the Oceanus was torpedoed


The sun had long set, and the air had turned colder. Everyone in the lifeboat was huddled several feet from me, but they kept their gazes averted as if to give me as much privacy as possible. I lay against blankets and stared up at the night sky as the boat rocked over the rolling waves.

“You’re doing very well, Frau Werner,” Dr. Brooks said.