Beach Town

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Greer, you didn’t tell me your daddy was coming to the set today,” Zena bubbled. “I could have gotten him a director’s chair and put it under Bryce’s tent.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming myself,” Greer said.

  “Hi, honey,” Clint said, offering a shy smile. “Surprise!”

  “Could I talk to you a minute?” Greer said, taking him by the arm and steering him away from Zena’s curious stare.

  “Sure thing,” Clint said.

  She waited until they were several yards away from the barricades and the crowd of girls lined up there, hoping for a glimpse of Kregg.

  Greer could feel the sweat rolling down her cheeks, down her back, and between her breasts, but an odd chill settled itself in her chest.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked tersely.

  “Working, same as you.” He turned and pointed proudly at the police cruiser. “That’s my 1986 Crown Vic. My graphics guy finished your sheriff’s department logo yesterday, so I drove it over here today. I couldn’t believe it when I got the call from your transportation guy Monday, telling me they needed a picture car for Beach Town. What a coincidence, huh? They needed a Crown Vic, not too new, not older than mid-eighties, for a sheriff’s cruiser, and I got two of ’em. I said, ‘Hell, my daughter is working on that movie. Greer Hennessy.’ And that fella, he told me you’re the location manager and they think a lot of you. I almost never do the deliveries anymore. I leave that to my guy Wally. But there was no way I’d miss out on seeing where my kid is working. Not when you’re practically working in my backyard.”

  “Great. Now you’ve seen it, and now I have to get back to work,” Greer said.

  I sound like such a bitch, but I am a bitch. And he needs to go.

  “That’s it?” Clint pushed the baseball cap to the back of his head. He wasn’t cool enough to hide the hurt. “I thought maybe we could grab some lunch or something. It wouldn’t take long.”

  Greer felt the cold, clenching feeling in her chest. She could hear Lise’s voice: “Call him. What could it hurt?” It hurt a lot, seeing him.

  She sighed. “Why are you doing this? Do you really think after thirty years you can just show up in my life and everything will be all good and happy?”

  He took off his cap and turned it around and around in those big, chapped hands. The stubble on his weather-beaten cheeks was gray, and his hair was plastered to his head. “You showed up at my house. You did. I thought maybe … I don’t know. I guess I hoped maybe we could figure things out, between us. Maybe, if we spent some time together, you’d see I’m not such a bad guy.”

  “I don’t think you’re a bad guy,” Greer said, and even to her own ears that sounded like a lie. “I don’t think anything about you, because I don’t know you. And the reason I came to your house—the only reason—is I promised Lise I would see you. I still don’t understand why she wanted me to, but she did, and I did.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “Fair enough. You got work to do, I got work to do.” He turned and walked slowly back toward the barricade and his Crown Vic. He got a few yards away, then came back.

  He jammed the hat back on his head. “You want to hear something, Greer? Lise made me promise too. I told her you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me, but she said I had to try. Your mom and I had some good talks, those last few months. I wanted to come see her but she wouldn’t let me, said she didn’t want me to see her sick and skinny and old.”

  “Just go, please?” Greer swallowed hard and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  His gait was slow and bandy-legged, and he held his right arm stiffly out to one side, like a sailor who’d lost his sea legs. When he reached the barricades, Zena stopped, smiled widely, asked him something. He shook his head and kept on walking.

  * * *

  As soon as the casino scenes were shot, by midafternoon, Greer and Zena directed the move of all the equipment, trucks, and personnel to the nearby Veterans Park, where the call sheet dictated a 4:00 p.m. shoot time.

  As the day progressed, the crowds behind the barriers grew, until Greer estimated there were probably at least two hundred fans straining to catch a glimpse of Kregg and Adelyn.

  Twelve hours into the day, with no end in sight, Greer was in no mood for diplomacy when she spotted Kregg, in costume, toss a lit cigarette butt into a flower bed that the set dressers had just finished planting with multiple flats of daisies, geraniums, and ferns.

  “Hey,” she said, approaching him, as he slouched against a bench. “Please don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” He looked up from lighting another cigarette and appraised her with glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

  “That was a lit cigarette,” she said, leaning down and retrieving it. “There are trash barrels right over there.” She pointed to an area not more than five yards away.

  “Sorry!” he drawled, in a tone that conveyed the complete opposite sentiment. “Hey, uh, what happened to your cute little P.A.? I haven’t seen her around in a couple of days. And she doesn’t answer my texts. She like … disappeared.”

  Greer glanced discreetly around. Bryce and his assistant director and cameraman were huddled together on the opposite side of the park, blocking out their next shot.

  “Her uncle grounded her for life after he saw the topless photos of her with you on that Jet Ski on TMZ.”

  Kregg grinned. “Yeah. Girl has a rack on her, right?”

  Greer’s temper flared. “You’re a pig, you know that?”

  He blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, Kregg, that that cute little P.A., whose name is Allie? She’s only seventeen. A minor. Her uncle is the mayor. And his best friend is the chief of police. Right now he’s said that if he catches you anywhere near Allie Thibadeaux he will see to it that you end up not just in the jailhouse, but in the hospital.”

  “Christ,” Kregg muttered. “First Bryce, now you. Everybody should just chill. We were just messing around.”

  He exhaled and blew a smoke ring in her face, then pinched the butt and tossed it at her feet.

  “Find somebody your own age to play around with.” Greer bent down, picked up the still smoldering butt, and nimbly flicked it at his face. “And pick up your own friggin’ mess. I’m the location manager, not your maid.”

  38

  Sunday morning was finally, and inescapably, laundry day. Greer pushed the wobbly-wheeled Hometown Market shopping cart slowly down the corridor at the Silver Sands Motel. On her second trip between the motel’s laundry room and her own room, she spied Ginny Buckalew.

  Ginny was wearing a pair of shapeless white painter’s pants, a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and an ancient-looking canvas safari hat. She was standing outside her patio garden, whacking away at a palm tree with a pair of long-handled pruning shears.

  Her broad, pink face broke into a smile when she saw Greer approach.

  “Well hey there, Greer. You doing laundry for everybody in the whole motel?”

  Greer laughed ruefully. “It sure feels like it. This is every stitch of clothing I own.” She gestured at her own peculiar ensemble: a pair of jeans so old and faded they’d worn to the consistency of a crumpled Kleenex, and a black T-shirt from a long-forgotten TV series for which she’d scouted locations.

  “I’ve been putting off this day for three weeks, but now I am officially out of clothes.”

  “You’re not working today?”

  Greer leaned against the shopping cart. “Not supposed to be. But in between loads, I’ve been doing research on the computer.”

  “What kind of research?”

  “We need a military-looking building for a location this week. But everything I’ve come up with is either too far away or tied up in red tape.” She hesitated. “I was going to call Eb and ask him for suggestions, but I think he’s officially not talking to me.”

  Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile. “He’ll get over it. I will say that he’s been preoccup
ied the last few days with all this business about Jared.”

  “Oh-h-h. Can I ask? Is his brother really getting out of prison?”

  Ginny used her shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat from her brow, leaving a faint stripe of dirt on her forehead. Her gray eyes clouded over.

  “I’m afraid it’s true. The Department of Corrections website shows Jared’s status as prerelease, which means he could be released as early as this Wednesday. But our lawyer says it’s never really official until right up until the day.”

  “Has Eb talked to Jared?”

  “No. Inmates don’t have access to phones or e-mail, and the boys have been more or less estranged since Allie came to live with us.” She shook her head in dismay.

  “What will happen with the custody issue?”

  “Nobody seems to know. It’s so frustrating! Our lawyer doesn’t think a judge would award custody of Allie to Jared, but nothing is certain. All we can do is be prepared for the worst.”

  “How is Allie? We all miss having her on the set.”

  “I’m sure she misses being there as well. But she’s not speaking to me or Eb. It’s the old silent treatment. I used it on my mother, may she rest in peace, and I’m sure you used it on yours.”

  “Definitely,” Greer agreed.

  “She’s just so angry! It’s not like Allie. She works her shift at the Inn, comes home, and goes right to her room here.

  “She doesn’t see her girlfriends?”

  “No. Not even Tristin, her best friend.” Ginny sighed. “I wish Eb would let up a little. But he’s just as stubborn as she is.”

  “I hate this, for her and for you guys,” Greer said. “I feel responsible for allowing Allie to get mixed up with that character.”

  “It’s not your fault. You had good intentions. Anyway, you mentioned you need to find—what? A military base? Maybe I could help with that.”

  “I’d love to hear any suggestions.”

  Ginny set her pruning shears on top of a wheelbarrow full of faded palm fronds. “Well … there’s the old Cross City Army Airfield, that’s not too far from here. It used to be a pilot training base during World War II, but I heard they knocked down all the old barracks and hangars. Maybe the only thing that’s left is the airstrip.”

  “Interesting, but I need an actual building for the film.”

  “What about the old National Guard Armory, over in Ducktown?”

  “That sounds promising,” Greer said.

  “It’s been closed for years and years, since our local Guard unit was folded up into the unit in Gainesville. You can see the main building on Ducktown Road. It’s concrete block, nearly covered over with kudzu. And there used to be an old, rusty tank parked out front, but I haven’t been over that way in a long time.”

  “Even better. You say it’s closed? Who owns the building?”

  “I’m guessing the county does. Eb would know. I’ll call him.”

  “Oh no,” Greer said, but Ginny was already headed back into her apartment.

  She emerged a couple of minutes later, holding out her phone. “Here. He wants to talk to you.” Ginny went back into the apartment, a not-so-subtle signal that Greer could speak to her nephew in private.

  “Hi there,” Greer said. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother,” Eb said. If his voice wasn’t exactly warm, it also wasn’t anywhere near as arctic as it had been during their last encounter.

  “Gin says you might be interested in the Ducktown National Guard Armory?”

  “Maybe. Her description sounds intriguing. Can you tell me anything about it?”

  “The county actually owns the property, and it’s been for sale for a while. I’m looking at their surplus real estate website description right now. Hmm. Sits on three acres, most of which is floodplain, which is why nobody wants to buy. This says the parcel includes the eighty-thousand-square-foot armory building, a vehicle maintenance barn with bays, and three other outbuildings.”

  “Wow. That could be exactly what I’m looking for. Can you send me a link to that website? I might take a ride over there this afternoon.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “I can do better than that. If you want, I’ll take you to Ducktown myself.”

  “Really?” Greer couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. “Thanks, but I don’t want to take up your Sunday. If you just send me the link—”

  “It’s not a bother. From the photos, the place is in really bad shape. I realize you’re no stranger to breaking and entering, but it’s probably not safe to wander around there by yourself.”

  “Ha-ha,” Greer said weakly. “Okay, if you’re sure you don’t mind. This is part of yet another last-minute script change, and I promised Bryce I’d have something for him by tomorrow.”

  “How soon can you be ready?”

  Greer looked down at her ensemble, and back at the shopping cart full of clean but unfolded laundry. “Give me twenty minutes?”

  * * *

  Eb pulled his truck onto the shoulder of the narrow two-lane blacktop called Ducktown Road. Beyond a narrow stretch of newly mown grass and a dank-looking drainage ditch was a chain-link fence with a faded FOR SALE sign.

  Just beyond the fence sat the tank Ginny had mentioned. It was rusting and nearly covered over with flourishing green kudzu vines. Just beyond that rose a boxy, flat-roofed building. A thick tangle of bamboo, vines, and sapling trees obscured her view of the rest of the property.

  “The tank is awesome,” Greer exclaimed, jumping down from the truck. “Just the right touch of military might.” She eyed the fence. “But how do we get in?”

  He held out a key. “I stopped by the assistant county manager’s house before I picked you up.”

  He joined her on the shoulder of the road, where the grass and weeds were knee high. “When I was a kid, it was considered big fun to come over here and spray paint the tank with obscenities. Just as soon as we got done, the Guard would repaint it Army drab green. All those layers of paint are probably the only thing holding it together.”

  He handed her a can of insect repellent. “Here. Better give yourself a good coating. I doubt the county’s mosquito control trucks bother to come over here. Plus, there are probably wood ticks.”

  “Ticks?” She grabbed the can and nearly emptied it on every inch of her own exposed flesh.

  “I thought you love nature,” Eb said dryly.

  “I draw the line at insects that want to suck my blood.”

  She walked over to the fence and started snapping photos with her phone, while Eb dealt with the padlock. He swung the gate open, but when Greer started through it he grabbed her by the shoulder. “Just a minute.”

  He went to the truck and came back with a sturdy walking stick and a heavy-duty flashlight. “Snakes,” he said, in answer to Greer’s puzzled look.

  “You’re just saying that to scare me,” she said, but she hung back a few steps as he beat the shrubbery with the stick while they advanced on the armory building.

  She quickly forgot about the threat of bloodsucking bugs and poisonous snakes as her mind switched into location scout mode.

  “Have to get a landscape crew in here to cut back all the overgrowth,” she muttered, as bamboo branches slapped her face and arms. “Would the county be okay with that?”

  “They’d probably send in their own crews to do it, if the money’s right,” Eb said. “The place is sitting here empty. The county manager told me he’d be happy to make a deal, which I’ve been authorized to broker.”

  Greer nodded. “Can we see the inside?”

  He brandished another set of keys and fiddled for a few moments before opening the heavy steel double doors on the brick building.

  He stepped inside and Greer followed. The air was rank with the smell of mildew and dust. Eb played the flashlight over the walls. They were in a sort of entry hall, off of which were half a dozen doors that led to small offices. A second set of steel double doo
rs hung partially open, leading to a huge room that resembled a high school gym.

  They walked around the room, with Eb shining the flashlight and Greer snapping more photos. “It’s pretty dark, but this is good enough to give Bryce an idea of what’s here,” Greer said.

  “According to the county’s website, the vehicle maintenance barn is back here,” Eb said, unlocking yet another door at the rear of the assembly hall.

  They walked out onto a cracked gravel parking lot grown over with more weeds and saplings.

  “That’s the maintenance barn,” Eb said, pointing to a long, low, concrete block building with a flat roof.

  He yanked on a set of steel double doors, which finally rolled open with an echoing squeal. They stepped inside and Eb played the flashlight around bare block walls streaked with decades of grease and dirt. A dusty green Army jeep on rotted tires squatted in the corner.

  “Perfect,” Greer said, snapping pictures of the exterior. “Not that I’ve ever seen an ammo dump, but if I had, this would look like it.”

  She glanced around at a vast, overgrown field that stretched out for what looked like two or three acres. “Plenty of room to get all the trailers and equipment in here, too. No neighbors to complain about a night shoot. It’s better than I could have hoped for.”

  Eb nodded. “Seen enough, then?”

  “Yep. Did your guy have an idea of what kind of fee he’s hoping for?”

  “He didn’t, but I’m thinking a flat fee. How’s five thousand?”

  “And the county will come in and mow and clear the grounds?”

  “Yes. What’s your time frame?”

  Greer laughed. “According to Bryce, we need it immediately. According to him, everything has to happen immediately. But as far as I know, the shoots at the casino and Manatee Street should take most of this week. But in the meantime, if the set dressers and painters and art department can start getting in here ASAP, that would be great.”

  “I don’t think that’s a problem. I’ll let my guy know he has a deal, so he can get the county’s landscaping crews over here.”

  “Great. I’ll e-mail you our standard leasing agreement. Can you take it from there?”