Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Ali
The Mangrove County offices were in a pink stucco building.
Pink. Okay then .
Ali thought back to her hometown. Toledo had a reputation as a rust belt town. As something less than, maybe, even the punchline to a joke. But that was wrong. Toledo was vibrant and beautiful, and its downtown along the waterfront sparkled. She was proud to change minds on The Glass City every time she booked an event for Frogtown.
Her own neighborhood celebrated the architecture of a bygone era. She was used to older neighborhoods and buildings sitting side by side with newer ones. Toledo was like that.
Ali realized that she’d been up and down the beach in several towns, and it was mostly new. She didn’t see the old and historic. Was it hurricanes? Or was it just that this part of Florida wasn’t settled until later? She wondered. The good news was she also didn’t see gray slush on the sidewalk, so there was that.
This building, with its pink stucco, couldn’t be more of a contrast to county offices in Toledo. But inside, well, inside, it couldn’t be more the same. Counters, cubicles, and the maze of slow-moving red tape. That was also part of her job in Toledo, navigating it to get the approvals she needed to get her things done.
Ali visited a clerk’s window and made her inquiry.
“Hello, I’m looking for the history of a property on Gulf Boulevard.”
The clerk, a curvy woman with a floral blouse and the ability to raise a single eyebrow at Ali, removed her readers. They were draped around her neck on a crystal chain. “Address?”
“13 Gulfside Way. It would have been a real estate transfer in the 1980s.”
“Uh, good luck. None of those are digitized. You’re going to need to go to room 205, that’s down the hall. Let me write down the cabinet.”
“The cabinet??”
“Yeah, anything prior to my time here, so 1980, they’re in the cabinets in 205. There’s a microfiche reader. Instructions are on the side.”
“Any advice on how to find it?”
“Well, take your best guess at the year and find that cabinet, then address by address.”
“Oh, okay, wow.”
“Yeah, so much easier to Google, ha. But then I’d be out of a job, right?”
“Yes, uh, well, that would be bad, uh, no?”
The woman rolled her eyes at Ali.
“Don’t worry, I’m joking.”
The woman pointed her in the right direction and Ali let her presumably get lost in paperwork hell.
Ali had done some research here and there for her job with the convention center. They’d pulled permits for expansion and dealt with building regulations and liquor licenses, and she felt confident she’d find something. Even if she didn’t know exactly where to look here.
Ali wound up in a room full of file cabinets and walked by the early 2000s, past the 1990s, and finally found cabinets labeled with 1980 on the front.
She narrowed it down to 1984 and then through the streets, listed alphabetically. Gulf had half a file cabinet and three drawers. She figured that owed to the fact it was the longest street on Haven Beach. She made her way through the addresses, and after only fifteen minutes in the records room, she found the file cabinet she hoped had answers.
In 1984, the Sea Turtle Resort was given over to her and her sisters. They were little then. Only children.
Why? Who would give three little girls this property? Was it an investment? How in the world did it come to be?
She looked at her phone. Back in Toledo, she’d taken a picture of the deed. There should be an exact duplicate in here.
They were arranged by street, and then by date. Ali pulled the microfiche reel out and loaded it into the machine.
This had to be it!
She hoped this was right. A surprising mix of emotions tumbled around in her chest. She didn’t know why she was nervous, but solving a mystery where you were the mystery probably explained it.
The machine was easy to work, so Ali cranked the handle to advance the film.
She read one deed transfer after another, addresses she didn’t recognize, until there it was:
13 Gulfside Way.
She read the description of the property. Six single-family cottages, a swimming pool, and an office structure. This was it.
It was doing business as the Sea Turtle Resort, even back then. She had to imagine not many places had retained their old names or structures. The state had expanded so much. At that point, Epcot at Disney World was brand new. The tourist machine of the state was in full swing, but nothing like it would become.
There was a copy of the deed she’d found. She and her sisters were listed as the owners. And then she flipped back one more document.
The deed was transferred from Joetta Bennett to Ali, Faye, and Blair.
Ali audibly gasped.
Joetta Bennett was her mother, it had to be. Their father said her maiden name was Joetta Bowles. But not once had she ever seen a thing related to that name. Why did he lie about her name? But at least now Ali knew why there was no trace of Joetta Bowles, other than in their own home. Joetta Bowles didn’t really exist. Joetta Bennett did and at one point she’d owned the Sea Turtle and beautiful gowns and jewels.
Joetta Bennett was her mother.
And when her mother died, she’d given the Sea Turtle to her daughters.
Ali shook with the realization that even though their mother had been gone all this time, she’d given them a gift.
Was there a will? Did it come to us that way?
Ali made notes with her questions.
But the main mystery was solved.
Their mother—their vulnerable, beautiful, tragic mother—wasn’t as destitute as they thought. The things they’d found since their dad died had only served to make their mother more mysterious. She’d owned jewelry and designer clothes and now Ali saw her mother had owned real estate in Florida before she died. And before she died, she’d signed it over to her three children.
Ali felt a little dizzy. This upended what she knew about her mom. And why in the world had their father never said anything?
This could have been a way to pay for college or, at the very least, a place to visit on vacation. This would have been some small way to know their mother. Bruce Kelly had cut off all avenues of memory that his daughters could have pursued. She remembered his deathbed apology. Was this it? Was this what he regretted? Keeping this secret?
“It had to be done. Cut off. The only way.”
He’d admitted it. That was what he was saying. Bruce Kelly, in his final breaths, had apologized for cutting them off from the memory of their mother. But why was it the only way? Why did he need to be sure they didn’t know her memory. Or where she came from? Their mother had to be from Florida. This property had to mean she was from here.
The questions Ali had for her mother would never be answered. She’d resigned herself to that a long time ago. But with a harsh slap in the face, she realized she couldn’t ask her father now either.
She’d lived a life without her mother. This was a familiar injury that she’d been able to close off. The scar had almost faded. Or so she thought.
But not being able to take Bruce Kelly to task over this, not being able to call him or talk to him, that was still so fresh. She could still hear his voice in her head.
Ali had long ago forgotten what her mother sounded like.
Bruce Kelly knew their mother left this resort to them and he’d never said a word. Never let his daughters know more about their mom. The seashells they’d found…She’d probably collected them from this place, this beach that seemed to call her home.
These revelations knocked the wind out of Ali. They upended her in a way that she didn’t know how to fix. How did the world turn right side up after learning you knew nothing about something so important about your own life, your own family?
Ali took a breath. She had to calm herself, and deal in the present and in the reality of what she could do now, what she could know.
How did her mom come into this property? How did a young woman in her twenties own a resort to leave to her children?
Joetta Kelly was Joetta Bennett. And Joetta Bennett was a young woman with means. How did she wind up a mother of three with nothing?
Ali moved through the documents.
There were no more records in that year.
There were no more records of the Sea Turtle. At least that she could find. Ali had been warned that water damage from a long-ago storm had washed away records from the first thirty years of Mangrove County, that was well before everything was backed up on computers.
But one thing was clear. Her mother had given the Sea Turtle to them. And her father had hidden it away.
Why?
Her father’s deathbed words echoed in her mind.