Beach Town

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “I don’t know,” Greer admitted. “Maybe I see a little of myself in her.”

  “Go for it then,” CeeJay said.

  * * *

  Greer sidled up to Allie, who was watching Kregg on the receiving end of the director’s bad mood.

  “Hi, Allie.”

  “Hey,” the girl said, keeping her eyes on Bryce and Kregg. “Wow. Bryce is really PMS-ing, huh?”

  “Mondays are always tough, and there’s a lot going on,” Greer said. “Zena just called from the house on Manatee, where we’re shooting interiors tomorrow. Do you maybe know Edith Rambo?”

  “I did, but um, she’s dead.”

  Greer laughed. “I realize that. I’ve rented her house from her son, who lives in Tampa. But Manatee is a really narrow street, and all our trucks are going to block that street, which is already starting to piss off the locals. You could do what I call neighbor triage.”

  She riffled through the forms on her clipboard and came up with the one she needed, handing it to Allie.

  “That’s a letter notifying the neighbors that we’ll be filming tomorrow on their block and asking for their cooperation. It also lets them know that, once we start, security won’t let any cars pass Mrs. Rambo’s house. So they’ll need to plan ahead and leave before or after we start filming, at nine o’clock.”

  “Okay,” Allie said.

  “Take this form over to our production office. It’s in the old bookstore downtown. You know the place, right?”

  Allie nodded eagerly.

  “Ask for Betty. I’ll let her know I’m sending you over. Ask her to make twenty or thirty copies of this letter. Then, take one of our golf carts and ride over to Manatee Street and hit every house on Mrs. Rambo’s block. Both sides of the street. Knock on doors, give them your sweetest smile, and tell them about the filming tomorrow morning, starting at nine.”

  “I can do that. I know a lot of people who live on that street.”

  “Excellent. Be polite, be deferential. My cell phone number is on the letter, and you can tell them they can call me, anytime, if they have questions or concerns.”

  “Cool. But what if some people are pissed off?”

  “Some people will be,” Greer assured her. “It’s my job to handle them. Zena, the assistant location manager, is over there now. Get her to give you the gift cards we had made up, for the pizza place. You’ll give one of those to every house on Mrs. Rambo’s block. As sort of a bribe.”

  “What should I do after that?”

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  Allie pulled an iPhone from the pocket of her shorts. Greer took it and programmed in her own cell number, then put Allie’s number in her own phone.

  “Call me. We’re going to need to move all the crew cars off that street, so I’ll probably get you to shuttle people from the base camp back over there, after they’ve moved their cars. Have you got all that?”

  “Yes,” Allie said.

  “One more thing,” Greer said gently. “I need for you to be really professional while you’re working for me.” She gave Allie a knowing look. “No messing around with the cast during working hours. You get me? If your being around the set is going to be a distraction for either you or Kregg, I’ll have to find somebody else to help out.”

  “I understand,” Allie said, looking her straight in the eye.

  “I’m taking kind of a chance with you, Allie. We don’t usually hire high school kids as P.A.s, but you seem more mature than most girls your age. And I can tell you’re a hard worker, so don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t,” Allie promised. “You’ll see.”

  29

  By the time Greer made it over to the city pier Vanessa Littrell was already unloading her arsenal of tools from the back of a red Jeep: pry bars, a hammer, a crowbar, and a huge, lethal-looking pair of bolt cutters.

  It was a blazing hot June afternoon. The city beach was crowded with families and teens lolling in the sand or swimming in the calm turquoise waters of the Gulf. Farther out in the surf, pleasure boats skimmed across the water, and on the horizon, three or four shrimp boats trolled back and forth, their nets lowered for fishing.

  Greer mopped perspiration from her neck and eyed the bolt cutters. “Do you think the city got your lawyer’s termination letter?”

  “I know they got the letter,” Vanessa said. “We sent everything certified mail. Anyway, I had a hot e-mail and a phone call from Eb an hour ago.”

  “How did he take the news?”

  Vanessa smiled sweetly. “I didn’t actually speak to him. If he has anything to say to me, he can say it to my attorney.” She grasped the thick padlock securing the chain-link gate.

  “Hold this for me, will you?”

  Vanessa’s jaw tightened in concentration as she clamped the tempered steel cutters around the padlock. Her biceps bulged as she squeezed the levers together. A few seconds later the lock fell to the concrete surface of the pier with a satisfying clunk.

  “Step one,” Vanessa said, as she pulled the gate open.

  The two women advanced toward the casino entryway, dodging overturned trash barrels, construction debris, and five years’ worth of seagull droppings.

  Vanessa stopped short in front of the entry, where vandals had spray painted graffiti greetings, declarations of love, and obscenities across the facade. Mounds of beer cans, glass shards, cigarette butts, and a bashed-in Styrofoam cooler had been swept up against the front wall by the wind.

  She leaned down, picked up a single discarded tennis shoe, and dropped it again with a snort of disgust.

  “How the hell did anybody get in here to do this?’

  “The same way I did, probably,” Greer suggested, pointing at the dilapidated boat landing on the north and south side of the casino. “Somebody was out here just last week. I was walking on the beach and looked out and saw lights from inside the building. I could hear a woman laughing, and music, and then somebody was setting off fireworks. I heard a boat engine leaving not long afterwards.”

  “Surprised they didn’t burn the whole place down,” Vanessa said.

  * * *

  Their footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged ballroom. Vanessa paced the wooden dance floor, hugging her arms tightly to her chest.

  “Does it bring back memories?” Greer asked.

  “Some.” Vanessa shook her head. “Roller-skating parties. Movies. Kid stuff. But the past is past. Look at it now. It’s a dump.” She pointed up at the ceiling, where chunks of falling plaster revealed expanses of lath, and at the bank of broken windows looking out on the Gulf.

  “You really don’t think this could all be restored?” Greer asked.

  “Oh sure. If you had millions and millions to flush down the toilet. But what’s the point? A community center? Let the city build one over by the park, on their own land.”

  “Hello? Anybody home?”

  Bryce Levy strolled into the ballroom, followed by his screenwriter, Terry Bodenhimer, and Alex the art director.

  “Unbelievable!” Bryce shouted, turning 360 degrees to take it all in. “Terr! Alex! What did I tell you? Is this place unbelievable or what?”

  “Fantastic,” Alex agreed. He whipped his phone from the pocket of his jeans and began snapping photographs. “It’s so … authentic.”

  Terry Bodenhimer walked slowly around the perimeter of the ballroom. He stood in front of the snack bar, looking up at the painted menu board. He climbed the steps to the elevated bandstand, then sat abruptly on the floor, his legs dangling over the edge. He ran both hands through his long, graying hair and closed his eyes tightly.

  “Terry?” Bryce looked at Greer, then Vanessa, and winked. He approached the bandstand cautiously, looking up at the prone screenwriter.

  “Terr? Buddy? What’s happening?” The voice was soft, coaxing.

  “I’m thinking,” Terry said, lying on his back, eyes still closed.

  “About the script?”

  “No. About my hemorrhoi
ds. Yes, I’m thinking about the script. This place, it changes everything. Everything. Go away, okay? I’m in the moment here.”

  “Let’s go walk around the outside,” Greer said in a hushed voice. “Let me show you the patio, and the boat landing.”

  * * *

  They were huddled together under the meager shade of the patio awning, discussing the logistics of filming, when Bodenhimer emerged into the sunlight.

  “Let’s go,” he told Bryce.

  “Go where?”

  “Back to the house. I’ve got it now.” He tapped his forehead with his forefinger. “It’s all up here. The whole frigging story. Nick’s ambiguity about returning home after deployment. He’s seen war, you know? Death. He’s not the same guy. Danielle? She’s changed too. She’s not the sweet girl he left behind. Hell, she was never sweet. Lying, scheming, cheating little bitch.”

  “Wait.” Bryce looked confused. “The wife is cheating on him? Where is this going?”

  “Danielle? She’s hooked up with the sheriff. Oh yeah. They’re in it together. Trying to make it look like Nick’s losing his mind. They’re gaslighting him.”

  “Oh-ka-a-ay,” Bryce said slowly. “What’s the motive?”

  “Sex. Money. Greed. Same evil shit as always,” Terry said grimly.

  “Money? I thought Nick was down on his luck.”

  “He was. He was estranged from his family. But now … His old man died while he was away. Nick’s torn. He doesn’t want his old man’s blood money. But Danielle does. She wants the money, and she wants the sheriff. And the only way to get both of them is to get rid of Nick.”

  “I’m liking it,” Bryce said. “But let me ask you this. An ending. Is there an ending in sight? I mean, you said we needed to blow something up, right?”

  “Right here.” Bodenhimer waved his arm at the casino. “It all goes down right here.” He stomped the concrete with his boot. “Some epic shit. A car chase. Helicopters. And then—an explosion. Boom! It’s gonna make Die Hard look like Toy Story.”

  He clamped a hand over Greer’s shoulder. “This place here? Awesome. A game changer. Not gonna lie to you. I was struggling. Lost in the wilderness. But this place? It’s like, suddenly the fog clears and the universe hands you the answer you’ve been seeking. And it was here all along.”

  He turned and gestured toward the casino. “Right here.”

  “Uh, well. That’s good news,” Greer said.

  Bodenhimer squeezed her shoulder for emphasis.

  “Let’s go,” he told Bryce. “I gotta get all this down on paper before my head explodes.”

  Bryce shot Greer a thumbs-up. “Great stuff. Let’s get the crews over here and start cleaning it up so we can start construction. Stephen will let you know what he needs.”

  * * *

  Vanessa and Greer watched while Bryce, Bodenhimer, and Alex climbed onto the waiting golf cart driven by Bryce’s assistant.

  “Did you understand any of that?” Vanessa asked, as she gathered up her tools.

  “Not really.”

  “So, that guy Terry. He hasn’t even finished writing the script yet? But you’re here, shooting? How does that work?”

  “Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t,” Greer said. “That’s the film business.”

  “Crazy. Did you get the lease agreement we e-mailed you?”

  “The company’s lawyer is looking it over. So far, they haven’t raised any red flags. Like Bryce said, we’re going to start working on building the set out right away. I know for sure they’ll want to get started cleaning it up and painting out all the graffiti. In the meantime, if it’s okay with you, I’ll get a new lock for the gate. And we’ll see about posting a security guard to keep away the vandals and partiers.”

  “I love it,” Vanessa chuckled. “Cleaning and painting and building, just to blow it all up in a few short weeks.”

  * * *

  Greer thought they were about to make a clean getaway. She was helping Vanessa load her wrecking tools back into the Jeep when she spotted Eb Thibadeaux’s lanky figure striding down the pier in their direction. She sucked in her breath.

  Vanessa saw him too. “Wonder what took him so long?”

  The mayor wasted no time with formalities. He barely acknowledged Greer, saving his ire for Vanessa.

  “I see you’ve been busy breaking and entering.”

  “It’s not breaking and entering if you own the property, which I do. The city’s rights as a tenant are terminated, Eb. The minute the casino ceased to be used for its stated intent, the minute the city boarded it up, they nullified our agreement. You know real estate law as well as I do.”

  “This isn’t the end of it. We’ll ask a judge for a temporary restraining order.”

  “But you won’t get it. Why waste time and taxpayer dollars—my taxpayer dollars, by the way—fighting a losing battle?”

  He fixed both women with a cold stare. “And what happens after this movie gets made? After you’ve blown up a landmark and made a fast buck and we’re left with an empty crater at the end of the city pier?”

  “We’ll see,” Vanessa said. “For years now I’ve had to turn away developers because the property was tied up. Now it’s mine again. I’ll put out some feelers, and then I’ll start entertaining offers.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Nothing on this pier can be developed without the city’s approval, you know.”

  “And you’d block me, just out of spite.”

  “Not out of spite. The pier and the casino are the centerpiece in our master plan for redeveloping the waterfront. I have an absolute obligation to my constituents to see to it that we have an attractive, viable, environmentally sensitive building on this pier.”

  Vanessa smiled prettily. “I’d be happy to entertain an offer from the city to buy the casino outright, you know. At a current, fair market price, of course.”

  “I just bet you would be,” Eb said. He shook his head and frowned. “I really don’t understand you, Vanessa. The casino—that’s not just a Cypress Key landmark. It’s your heritage. Your great-grandfather built it, your grandfather and father built it up and kept it going. And you’d destroy all that and walk away. Because why? You’re greedy? Bored? Which is it?”

  “None of the above. And don’t even try to make me feel guilty about my motives, Eb Thibadeaux.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know guilt doesn’t work on you.”

  “Damn straight,” Vanessa shot back. “I’m a businesswoman. I’m on my own in this world now, in case you haven’t noticed it. If I have an investment that’s not performing, I do my best to turn it around. And if I can’t turn it around, I sell. That casino?” She flapped her hand in the direction of the pier. “It’s not my flesh and blood. My family is cold and in the grave. The way I see it? Their monument is a headstone. Everything else is negotiable.”

  She slammed the tailgate of the Jeep, got in the driver’s seat, and drove away.

  30

  Eb Thibadeaux muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Then he stooped down to pick up the snapped padlock Vanessa had left behind. Without a word or a backward glance, he started walking back down the pier in the direction of city hall.

  His gait was so long, his pace so hurried, that Greer had to break into a trot to catch up to the mayor.

  “That’s it? You’re not even gonna yell at me?”

  “Nothing left to say.”

  “I just … I just hate it when somebody hates me.” She was out of breath.

  That slowed him down a step. “Why do you care? Like you said, it’s just a job to you. Your job is to get films made. It’s not like you’re running for Miss Congeniality.”

  “Sandra Bullock. I really liked her in that, even though the plot was totally improbable.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “Sorry. Movie stuff. I care what people think about me because I’m a chronic people pleaser. It’s what allows me to do what I do. I
make connections, get strangers to trust me…”

  “And then you go to bed with them.”

  Greer felt as though she’d been slapped. “I guess I deserved that,” she said finally.

  “No.” Eb sighed. “That was a rotten thing to say. My mother would say I was raised better than that. I’m angry at Vanessa, and I took it out on you, which is unfair.”

  “You’re still pissed about the other night, right?”

  “The other night? Yeah. That I do take very personally.”

  Greer’s face flushed.

  “I don’t regret anything about being with you that night,” he said, his tone even. “Except for the way it ended.”

  “And this is why it was a bad idea for us to get together. It complicates an already complicated situation, with the casino and everything else. I just think maybe it’s not a good idea for me to get involved with anybody right now. I’ve got issues.…”

  “Oh Jesus. You’ve got issues? Do you know anybody who doesn’t have issues? Look at me. It didn’t take you a week to figure out that I have a messiah complex.”

  “Wait. Ginny told you I said that? That was said in strictest confidence.”

  “What can I say? Blood is thicker than water. My aunt doesn’t miss a trick. Ginny figured out I was interested in you, and she wanted to give me a heads-up that you had a pretty low opinion of me.”

  Greer sighed. “This conversation is going nowhere.”

  “Strictly out of curiosity, what issues do you have that would preclude you from having a relationship?”

  “I can’t get into all that right now. I’ve got to get back to the set. Can we please just drop this discussion and agree to a friendly truce?”

  “Humor me.”

  “My last boyfriend left me because he said I cared more about my work than I did about him.”

  “Sounds like a selfish prick, if you ask me.”

  “And I have trust issues. Big-time. Sawyer cheated on me. Repeatedly. The last time, I was in Puerto Rico for three weeks, scouting locations for a sci-fi flick, so he started sleeping with his analyst, who helped him rationalize his cheating by telling him that he could never fully commit to me until he explored his attraction to other women.”