I bit my tongue. He had no idea just how fast a buck I needed to make. I wanted my house back. I wanted my restaurant open and running again. And if it meant bulldozing this place, well, that was just too bad.
“I’m a businesswoman,” I said. “And to stay in business, I have to make a profit. As far as I can see, the only way to do that is to rethink this business for the highest and best use.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Sorrentino said. “Are we done here? ’Cause I got a game to watch, and a motor to rewind.”
“I’m done,” I said. “And I’m sorry about the Breeze. I’m going to make some phone calls tomorrow and get the ball rolling. I’ll try to give you advance warning so you can find another place to live, but that’s about all I can promise.”
“Swell,” he said. He slumped down into an armchair facing the television and cranked up the volume. I was dismissed.
14
Weezie
Daniel was standing at my stove, sautéing onions when I walked in the back door. He turned and gave me a big grin. Jethro jumped up from his hiding place under the kitchen table and put his big paws on my chest, slathering my face with adoring slurps. Ah, the rewards of home.
When Jethro was done with his welcome, Daniel gave me his. Not nearly as sloppy, but just as deeply felt, I thought.
I stretched and yawned, then sank down onto one of the stripped pine chairs. “I’m whipped,” I said. “What’s for supper?”
“Meat loaf with garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, and squash casserole,” he said, switching off the heat under the frying pan. “I was just making some tomato gravy, so we should be ready to eat in fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I’ve been living off fast food for weeks. I’d kill for some fresh vegetables and anything that’s not fried or supersized. I leaned over and scratched Jethro behind the ears. “Not that I don’t love having my own private chef, but how come you’re in my kitchen instead of Guale’s?”
He sat down in the chair beside mine, then poured me a glass of cabernet. “Have you talked to BeBe yet?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why I shot back here in such a hurry. She sounded desperate. When I tried calling the house, I got a recording saying the number had been disconnected. What’s going on?”
“It’s a disaster,” Daniel said. “That new boyfriend of hers? Reddy, the playboy of the western world? Turns out he was a total fraud. Fake name, fake everything. He’s ripped her off, Weeze. Big-time. Sold her house, all her rental properties, cleaned out her bank account. Everything. She’s closed Guale because she can’t even make payroll.”
“Oh my God,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “How? I’ve only been gone two weeks. How could this happen? BeBe’s no dummy. How in the world?”
“Long story,” Daniel said, taking a sip of his own wine. “But the short answer is, she fell hard for this guy. And I met him. He’s slick. Real slick. I guess he sort of came to BeBe’s rescue when she was having problems with her rental properties, and she was so distracted with everything going on with her grandmother, she was grateful for his help. Your uncle James says the guy tricked her into signing a power-of-attorney document, and once he had that, he sold everything out from underneath her. Including the West Jones house and everything in it.”
“Oh my God.” It was boring and unimaginative, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Not her house. After she held on to it through both divorces. That house is everything to her. I can’t believe it. And the rental properties too? Is everything gone?”
“James says it’s pretty bad,” Daniel told me. “All the properties were sold to an out-of-town holding company. The bad thing is, James thinks they’re a legitimate company, and with BeBe’s signature on that power of attorney, the sale looks legal. He’s working on it, but in the meantime, I think she’s been sleeping in her car.”
“Daniel! What about her grandparents?”
“That’s the only good news. Her grandmother was released from the hospital yesterday. And they’ve got nurses coming in to look after her. I guess there really wasn’t any room over there.”
I gave his arm a not-so-playful punch. “Why didn’t you make her come over here?”
He shook his head. “I tried. You know BeBe. Hates to impose. Hates to ask for a favor. And she’s embarrassed as all get-out, especially since I tried to warn her about the guy but she wouldn’t listen. Basically told me to butt out.”
“What about the restaurant? He didn’t sell it too, did he?”
“He would have if he’d had the chance. As it is, BeBe closed down Guale the other night. Temporarily, she hopes. We all got our paychecks, but most of us aren’t cashing ’em. Everybody’s just kind of waiting around, to see if she can pull things back together again.”
“Can she? What’ll you do?” I asked. “I mean, your house and truck are paid for, I know. But what about long-term?”
He shrugged. “The news is on the street. Everybody in Savannah knows BeBe’s in trouble. I’ve had three or four phone calls already, offering jobs. I hate to take on anything permanent. Guale’s where I want to be. I’ve lined up some catering jobs, and BeBe says I can use the kitchen at Guale, so I’ll be all right for money. And a couple of the girls are going to waitress for me at the bigger parties. It’s BeBe I’m worried about.”
The oven timer buzzed, and he leaped up, potholder in hand. He took the still-sizzling meat loaf out of the oven and nimbly lifted it out of the pan and onto a waiting platter, pouring the tomato gravy over it.
Jethro stood up and poked his muzzle over the edge of the table. I didn’t blame him. The smells of home-cooked dinner filled the small kitchen and fogged the windows, and I was suddenly near tears, my emotions mixed up at being glad to be home, here, with this man, and this dog, who both loved me, and being distressed by my best friend’s plight.
I set the table for two, and Daniel poured more wine.
“Have you seen her today?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I think she’s avoiding me.”
I took my fork and laid it sideways on the mound of mashed potatoes on my plate, allowing a river of tomato gravy to flow onto it from the slab of meat loaf. I nearly swooned after the first taste. When Daniel wasn’t looking, I snuck a chunk of meat to Jethro, who did the dog version of a swoon, flopping onto his back and rolling around on the floor in utter ecstasy.
“Well, she can’t avoid me,” I said, tucking into my meal. “I’m gonna track her down and drag her back here if it kills me. Right after I finish my supper.”
“Right after?” Daniel said, lifting one eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks.” He put his hand on my thigh, under the table. Jethro licked his hand and my thigh.
“Well, maybe after that,” I said.
Daniel smiled.
“And after you help me unload the U-Haul and get everything into the carriage house,” I added. “Wait till you see all the stuff I bought in St. Pete. And since you’re not really working, maybe you can help me repaint the window backdrop tomorrow, after we get BeBe squared away. I’m doing vintage Florida, and I’ve got it all planned out….”
15
The good news was that Grandmama was out of the hospital and back at their cottage at the retirement home. The bad news was that I was living there too, and with no job to go to, no home of my own, I was slowly going stark, raving bonkers.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped up to get it, happy for any distraction.
“Babe!” Weezie stepped inside and folded me into a hug.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
I gave my head a slight warning shake.
“Who’s that at the door?” Grandmama asked, craning her neck. “If it’s that kid selling magazines, run him off. I don’t need no more magazines.”
“It’s me, Weezie, Mrs. Loudermilk,” Weezie said, holding out a small, prettily wrapped package. “I’m sorry I didn’t get over to see you in the hospital, but I’ve been out of town.”
Grandmama smiled angelically up at Weezie, and tore the wrapping from the package, revealing a box of Russell Stover milk chocolates. “Isn’t that nice?” she said, patting Weezie’s hand. “If I wadn’t diabetic, these would sure taste good.”
Weezie’s face fell so fast, I had to laugh. “It’s okay, Weezie,” I told her. “Granddaddy loves chocolate. He’ll take care of these.”
“I forgot,” Weezie said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Loudermilk. I’ll bring you another present, I promise.”
“Never mind,” I told Weezie. “It’s awful hot in here. Let’s go outside for a walk.”
“But—” Weezie started to protest.
I took her by the arm and guided her outside. The sun was shining, and the fresh air felt wonderful after days of being cooped up in that apartment with the smell of Granddaddy’s Wild Root Oil and Grandmama’s creamed tuna on toast, which was all she claimed she could eat after her hospital stay.
I sat on the bumper of my Lexus and leaned back, letting the sun beat down on my face.
“Thank God you came over,” I told Weezie, closing my eyes. “Those two are driving me nuts with their bickering. I love ’em to pieces, but I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. That sofa bed has springs sticking up out of it, and the mattress is all mildewy. Granddaddy clears his throat for twenty minutes every morning and night, and it sounds like he’s goin’ to cough up a big old hairball or something. And she’s just as bad. She hums! All the time. Off-key humming. It’s like Chinese water torture, Weezie.”
“I know what you mean,” Weezie said. “My daddy jingles the change in his pocket until I think I’ll lose my mind. And Mama reads everything out loud. Every story in the paper. Every sign you pass in the car.”
I nodded agreement. “I’m going stir crazy without something to do. I’m seriously thinking about taking a job at McDonald’s, just to get away from Ma and Pa Kettle in there.”
“It’s bad, I know,” Weezie said, leaning back on the hood beside me. “I talked to Uncle James this morning. He told me about Reddy and everything.”
“Some shit, huh?”
“It sucks,” Weezie said. “You should have called me sooner, BeBe.”
“Nothing you could do,” I said. “Nothing anybody can do until I track the bastard down and get my money back.”
“I’ve got a little money,” Weezie said. “The shop’s doing really well now, and it’s all because of you.”
“No,” I said flatly. “Don’t even start. I am not taking money from you. I got myself into this, and I’ll get myself out.”
“How?” Weezie asked. “James says the company that bought your houses is being a total prick.”
“He’ll figure that part out,” I said, sounding more confident than I really felt. “Anyway, I’ve still got the Breeze Inn.”
“That motel out at Tybee?” Weezie sounded dubious.
“It’s a wreck,” I agreed. “But I’ve checked around. Land prices out there have skyrocketed. The motel sits on more than an acre. The lot alone should bring way over a million.”
“Daniel says there’s somebody living there,” Weezie said. “A charter-boat captain. He used to buy fish from him sometimes, for Guale. Harry something?”
“Sorrentino. Harry Sorrentino. He reminds me of Cap’n Crunch,” I said dismissively. “He says he had a deal with the previous owner. Supposed to be the resident manager and caretaker. But he’s been living there rent free for three months, and the place is in terrible shape, as far as I can tell. I’ve told him he can stay until I sell the place, but that shouldn’t take long.”
“You’re really going to tear it down?” Weezie asked, her voice wistful. I knew that tone of voice. Weezie thinks anything that’s old and run-down is a treasure beyond price. “Daniel and I ride our bikes past the Breeze Inn sometimes. It could be awful cute, fixed up. You could do it totally retro, with old rattan furniture—”
“Don’t start,” I warned her. “It’s just awful, period. Anyway, I don’t have the money to fix it up. And I have no interest in Tybee Island. Besides, it’s not as if I have a choice. The sooner I sell the Breeze Inn, the sooner I can reopen Guale and get my life back on track.”
“I’ve always wanted to see what the units look like inside. Hey,” she said, brightening. “Maybe there’s some stuff you could salvage and sell. Like old pedestal sinks or tubs or kitchen cabinets. I’ve always got customers looking for that kind of stuff.”
“Doubtful,” I said. “I’ve seen the inside of the manager’s unit. It’s tacky as hell.”
“We should take a look,” Weezie insisted. “Come on. Let’s ride out to Tybee and take a look.”
“Why not?” I said, though still unconvinced. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do around here. The visiting nurse should be over in a little while to help Grandmama with her bath and meds. And Granddaddy’s glued to the television. What the hell. Let’s go.”
We took Weezie’s truck, at her insistence. “Just in case there’s something worth salvaging now,” she reasoned.
I was in a much better mood on this trip to Tybee. For one thing, the sun was shining and I wasn’t locked in that tiny apartment with my crazy grandparents. But mostly, it was good just to be riding shotgun in that beat-up old truck with my best friend, who almost had me believing things were looking up. Weezie popped a disc in the CD player, and we left the windows down, singing along with Sheryl Crow and bopping along without a care in the world.
My good mood lasted only about thirty minutes, the time it took to drive out to Tybee Island, and to pull up to the parking lot at the Breeze Inn, which was all but obliterated from view by a huge new billboard.
COMING SOON!
THE SANDCASTLE
14 LUXURY OCEANFRONT VILLAS
Pre-construction Prices Starting at $600,000
Listed Exclusively by Sandcastle Realty Associates
My mouth literally hung open in dumb surprise.
“Hey!” Weezie said. “You didn’t tell me you’d already made a deal to sell the place.”
“I haven’t,” I said, staring up at the sign. I pulled out my cell phone and started to dial the number listed at the bottom of the billboard. “I don’t know anything about this.”
The phone rang, and an answering machine picked up. I left a message saying only that it was urgent I talk to somebody about the new Sandcastle villas. Then I called James Foley. While I waited for his assistant, Janet, to put him on the line, Weezie and I got out of the truck and started walking toward the manager’s office.
Harry Sorrentino met us halfway there, his eyes blazing.
“Hey!” he shouted at me. “What’s the fuckin’ idea?”
“Excuse me?” I said. “I’m on the phone here, as you can see.”
“What? Selling off one of your exclusive oceanfront villas? You are some piece of work, lady, you know that?”
Weezie blushed and turned away.
“BeBe?” James came on the line. “Janet says you’ve got an emergency. What’s the problem?”
I covered the phone with my hand and stared Sorrentino down. “Just a minute.”
“James, I’m out at the Breeze Inn. There’s a huge billboard out in front of it for something called the Sandcastle. It’s offering oceanfront villas starting at $600,000.”
“Christ,” James said softly. “What else does the sign say?”
“Just something about exclusive listings by Sandcastle Realty. There’s a phone number. I called it, but I got an answering machine. I left a message, telling them it was urgent that they call me back.”
“Give me the number,” James said. “I’ll have Janet look into it. And I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
“How can this happen?” I asked, getting panicky. “I mean, you said I own the place, free and clear. So how can something like this happen?”
“I don’t know,” James said. “But calm down. We’ll get it straightened out.”
I
flipped the phone shut.
Harry Sorrentino stood defiantly in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?”
I sighed. “That was my lawyer. There’s been some kind of misunderstanding. He’s going to figure out what’s going on. But I have no idea who these Sandcastle people are, or how they think they can just put up a sign on my property.”
“Right,” Sorrentino said. “Some jackleg just showed up here and nailed up a sign without your permission. After you swore you’d give me plenty of notice and time to find a new place and a new job. You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true,” Weezie said, butting in. “She had no idea this was going to happen. We were just coming out today to look around the place. BeBe hasn’t made any kind of deal yet. She wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“The guys that put up that sign told me they expect to start demolition early next week,” Sorrentino said. “How the hell am I going to find a place to live that soon?”
“Listen, Harry,” I said. “Watch my lips. Nobody is tearing anything down until I say so. Just chill out, will you?”
“Easy for you to say,” Sorrentino muttered, turning to walk back toward the motel. “You’ve got a place to stay. Nobody jerking you around.”
“Like hell,” I said, but softly, under my breath. “Hey,” I called after him.
“What now?” He didn’t even turn around.
“I need the keys to the other units. I want to check out the whole property.”
He disappeared inside the manager’s office, and a minute later came out with a huge, old-fashioned ring of keys, which he tossed in my direction.
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