Savannah Breeze (13 page)

“But I'm not even Catholic,” I said, laughing despite the tears. “And you're not a priest anymore.”

“Thank the Lord,” James said fervently. “But I still have my faith. And you need to have faith too. We're going to set this right. We're going to find Roy Eugene Moseley, and get your money back. And we'll get the Breeze Inn thing straightened out too. Arrendale and his Sandcastle buddies don't have a legal leg to stand on with this option thing. It's all a house of cards. You'll see.”

“Hope so,” I said.

“I promise,” James said. “Now go take a walk on the beach. It'll make you feel better.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “Anyway, I can't take a walk right now. I've got a bathroom to scrub.”

“Walk first, scrub later,” James said firmly. “That bathroom isn't going anyplace.”

I put down the phone and, despite my best intentions, found myself staring out the window at the beach. The tide had gone out, and the sand was a dull battleship gray. A flock of seabirds skimmed low over the water, and I thought I could see a sailboat, way out in the sound, but they were the only signs of life in sight.

Maybe, I thought, James is right. My scuzzy bathroom could wait. The beach was right outside my back door. Even now, developers were circling around the Breeze Inn and Tybee Island like buzzards, trying to snap up even the smallest, most pathetic piece of beachfront property. Maybe I should go out, walk on the beach and get a sense of what was such a big deal to the rest of the world.

I found a plank
walkway that led me out over the dunes, and without giving it a second thought, peeled off my socks and sneakers.

The minute my toes hit the cold, damp sand, I started to regret my hasty decision to go barefoot.

Too late now, I thought, rolling up the hem of my blue jeans, and at the same time noting the sorry state of my toes. The jaunty red polish my manicurist had applied weeks ago was chipped and faded now, and my cheap sneakers had rubbed blisters on my toes. But a $25 pedicure was definitely no longer a line item in my personal budget.

I walked down to the water's edge and dug my toes into the damp gray sand, cringing a little, yet expecting something magical to happen.

Off in the distance, two sailboats glided across the horizon, and I could see the lights of a much larger boat, cruising in the direction of the Back River. Was it a yacht? Maybe a Sea Urchin, the kind my darling, diabolical lover preferred?

I bit my lip. Somewhere down in Florida, the suave sophisticate I'd known as Reddy Millbanks was charming some other deluded dame out of her panties. Was he wining and dining her with
my
money, while I ate canned soup and slept in a motel even the fleas had checked out of? Was Reddy sending
her
pink roses like the ones he'd sent me? I chewed at the inside of my cheek. Soon, I thought, it'll be payback time.

In the meantime, I vowed, I would take the pig's ear Reddy had left me and turn it into a cash cow. I'd done it with Guale, I'd done it with my investment properties, and I'd do it again, God willing. That last thought made me grin. Have faith, James had implored me. Might as well, since faith was currently the only capital I possessed.

The cry of a seagull suddenly echoed overhead, and I instinctively covered my head with my arms. At the last minute, the flock of birds veered away, out across the water. Maybe not getting pooped on was the only magic I was going to see that day. I turned and looked up and down the beach. To the north, I saw a black dog running back and forth along the shoreline, playing tag with the waves. I started walking in that direction.

As I walked, I marveled at how quiet the beach was this time of year. Just me, some seagulls, and one black dog. And, oh, yes, when the wind changed, the whine of a power saw and the rhythmic banging of hammers on nails. I shaded my eyes to see where the noise was coming from. There it was, a couple of hundred yards down the beach, rising just on the other side of the dunes, the plywood skeleton of a whole block of humongous houses. I counted rooftops and realized there were fourteen new houses going up on that one tiny strip of land. Four stories tall, they would blot out any bit of shoreline left on that part of the beach.

I kept walking. When I got close to the construction site, I heard a long, low, wolf whistle. “Hey,
chica!
” a male voice called out. “Whachu doin' tonight?”

“Painting!” I should have yelled back. “Wanna come over and help?” But I didn't. I kept on walking, with my head held high, acting as if I hadn't heard.

As I got closer to the dog, I realized it was the same black Lab I'd seen that morning. He had the same red bandanna tied around his neck. Sitting on a blanket spread out, with the dunes to his back, was the same old man. Mercifully, he had on a shirt now, and a pair of blue nylon running shorts. A silver bicycle lay in the sand beside him.

“Are you all right?” I called out, picking up the pace. Maybe he'd fallen off the bike. Maybe he was injured, or disoriented.

“What's that?” he asked, turning his head toward me. “What'd you say?”

The old man's face was a mass of brown wrinkles. He had a neatly clipped white mustache, and up close, I could see the ropelike sinews of muscles beneath his tight white T-shirt. For an old dude, he was pretty buff.

I blushed. “I saw your bike there, and I thought maybe you needed help.”

He laughed. “Oh no, I'm fine, thanks just the same. Buddy saw a horseshoe crab in the waves there, and he stopped to investigate, so I decided to take a breather too.”

“Okay, then,” I said, turning away. “Have a nice night.”

“You too, young lady,” he said. “Haven't seen you around here before, and I know most of the regulars on the island. Especially the pretty ones. You visitin'?”

I thought about that. “Nope,” I said finally. “I live here. Just moved in.”

“Whereabouts?” he said, and then “If you don't mind my asking.”

“I don't mind,” I said. “I live at the Breeze Inn.”

His bright blue eyes widened. “Really. Thought the place was all closed up. Saw the signs about the new town houses. I figured that place was being torn down.”

I grimaced. “It's kind of complicated. The developers who put up that sign were sort of jumping the gun. I own the Breeze Inn, and I'm not planning on tearing it down. Not right away, that is.”

He nodded. “Glad to hear it.” Then he scrambled nimbly to his feet and extended his hand. His grip was firm. “Mikey Shannon.” He pointed toward the water. “And that's Buddy, the mighty horseshoe crab hunter.”

“BeBe Loudermilk,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“So you bought the old place from the Reeses, is that right?” he
asked. “I heard the kids wanted to unload the place, after their dad had that heart attack, but we didn't know what was going to happen until that billboard went up.”

“I own it now,” I said, deciding to skip over the fine points about how I'd come to be in possession of such a prize.

“Then I reckon Harry Sorrentino's working for you now?” Mikey asked.

I blinked. It was amazing how quickly news traveled on this little island. Much faster than downtown. Tybee was obviously hardwired for fast-access gossip.

“Well, yes,” I said finally. “Harry's helping me with repairs and things.”

“Single, are you?”

I laughed. “Does it show?”

He gestured toward my left hand. “No ring. I notice these kinds of things.”

“I see that.”

“Good fella, Harry. Best fisherman on the island. Shame about his boat though.”

“What happened to his boat?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. Harry hadn't exactly been forthcoming with a lot of details about how he made his livelihood.

“He didn't tell you?” Shannon asked. “All the fishermen out here had a terrible time of it last season. Three hurricanes in a row, the fish quit biting, and the charter business dried up too. And right when diesel prices went through the roof. The marina got a judgment against Harry for money he owed for fuel and ice and dock fees. Took the
Jitterbug
right out from under him. It's sitting up on blocks over there at Marsden Marina with a
FOR SALE
sign tacked to the bow. Damn shame for Harry.”

“Terrible,” I murmured.

“But a lucky break you got him working for you at the Breeze,” Shannon said. “He's right popular with all the local ladies,” he said
slyly, his strong white teeth shining in his nut-brown face. “You could do worse for yourself than Harry Sorrentino.”

I blushed. “I've got my hands pretty full taking on a new business, so I'm not really in the market for romance right now.”

“Smart,” the old man said, nodding. “Don't get your honey where you get your money, that's what I always say. Anyway, I imagine you'll have a lot to do getting the Breeze shaped up. I heard the kids kinda let the place go the past few years. Not that it was ever anything fancy.”

“It's a work in progress,” I agreed. Just then Buddy trotted up and dropped a large brown horseshoe crab right on my foot.

“Oh!” I blurted out, hopping backward in a hurry. To show his appreciation for my appreciation, the dog picked that moment to shake himself dry, showering me with a mist of ice-cold saltwater.

“Buddy!” Mikey said sharply. “Sit!”

The dog sat and bowed his head in shame.

“Sorry,” Mikey said. He picked up a beach towel from his blanket and started dabbing me dry with it.

“It's all right,” I said. “I was about to head back up to the motel anyway. I'll dry off when I get there.”

“Bad dog,” Mikey said, shaking a finger in the dog's face. “You scared off the first pretty girl I've hit on all day.”

“Surely not the first,” I said, looking at my watch. “I saw you running on the beach early this morning. You've had all day to practice your smooth moves.”

He grinned again. “It's slow this time of year. Say, what are you doing for dinner? Why don't you let me buy you a burger at Fannie's?”

“Another time,” I said.

“You a vegan or something?” he persisted. “Because you can get a salad there too. Or crab cakes. Or pasta.”

“I'm a red-blooded meat eater,” I assured him. “But I've got a lot of work to do tonight. I'm trying to get some of the units ready to
rent for St. Patrick's Day. And, as you guessed, they really are a big mess. Give me a rain check?”

“Absolutely,” Shannon said. “I'll drop by the Breeze and see how it's going.”

“Better watch out,” I said. “I might just put you to work.”

“Deal,” Mikey Shannon said. He looked out at the water. “You'd better get going, if you're headed back to the Breeze. Take the Seventeenth Street boardwalk and go back along Butler. It gets dark out here in a hurry.”

I nodded in agreement and headed in the direction he'd pointed. The temperature was dropping, and my feet were freezing in the cold sand. When I got to the boardwalk, I sat down and put on my socks and shoes, grateful to have them dry, if sandy, again.

The Seventeenth Street boardwalk ended at Tybrisa, a narrow road lined on both sides with a Super 8 motel, an ice-cream shop, and bars and restaurants and souvenir shops, including the ancient T. S. Chu's department store.

At five o'clock, only a few cars were parked along Tybrisa, but one of them was a ratty old wood-sided Vista Cruiser station wagon. There couldn't have been two of them on Tybee.

I walked nonchalantly past the wagon, glancing inside to confirm my suspicions. A big sack of dog food lay in the back, along with a plastic five-gallon paint bucket.

So this was where Harry spent his afternoons and evenings. I glanced furtively up and down the row of businesses, wondering which one the wagon's owner was parked inside. I looked over at Doc's Bar, whose window proclaimed “Since 1948.” A little terrier jumped up and down, barking and scratching at the plate-glass door.

Busted.

A moment later, the door opened and Jeeves ran out onto the sidewalk, barking an excited greeting.

“I think he likes you,” Harry said, standing in the open doorway.

“He'll get over it,” I said, bending down to scratch the dog's ears.

“How's the painting coming?” Harry asked.

“Okay,” I said, suddenly tongue-tied and shy. “I was just taking a little break. Guess I'll get back to it. I want to put at least one coat of paint on the floor tonight.”

He nodded. “See ya.”

Damnit. Why did that dog have to blow my cover?

“Hey,” Harry called. “You wanna come in for a beer or something?”

“No thanks,” I called back over my shoulder, picking up my pace. “Getting dark. And I didn't bring a flashlight.”

“Whatever.” He whistled for Jeeves, and the two of them went back inside.

While I went home to paint and fume.

By whining,
begging, cajoling, and making dire predictions about our future love life, I managed to get Daniel over to my house for dinner that night. I did mention that Mama was making dinner. I omitted the fact that her notorious tuna-noodle casserole was on the menu.

“Come at six,” I instructed when he called.

“Six? That's barbaric. Nobody eats dinner at six o'clock.”

“Mama and Daddy believe in the early bird,” I said. “It gives Daddy's digestive tract more time to process things before he turns in at nine. And don't forget, bring wine, lots of wine,” I whispered from the living room, while my mother bustled around the kitchen. “And dessert. Chocolate would be highly appreciated.”

“What's she fixing?” Daniel asked. “Should I bring white or red?”

“Bring something that partners well with awful, bordering on inedible,” I said. He sighed the sigh of St. Daniel the Martyred. “How much longer is she going to be staying there? You just barely got home before she moved in. I miss you.”

“You're horny,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Don't feel like the Lone Ranger. I have needs too, you know.”

“Maybe you could just talk dirty to me on the phone,” he suggested.

“No way. She'd probably listen in on the kitchen extension. I've got a better idea. You just show up here and follow my lead. And did I mention the wine part?”

At six on the dot, he rang the doorbell. Daniel has his own key, of course, but we were still trying to keep up proprieties, for my mother's sake.

“I'll get it, Mama,” I said, meeting him on the front stoop. I gave him a long, hard, passionate kiss, with a playful little groin pat as a lagniappe.

“Don't.” He groaned, pressing me closer. “I'm not a man to be toyed with.”

“Later,” I promised. “Did you bring the wine?”

He held up a brown-paper shopping bag. “Don't I always?”

“Hi, Mrs. Foley,” Daniel said, going inside and giving my mother a dutiful peck on the cheek. “Mmm. What smells so delicious?”

She patted Daniel on the top of his head, as she always did. “Oh, stop. It's just my plain old tuna-noodle casserole. Although I did sprinkle crushed-up salt-and-vinegar potato chips on top, this time, for a little extra crunch.”

“Can't wait,” he said, swallowing hard.

After Mama said grace, we both made a valiant effort at pushing the casserole around on our plates, in between copious helpings of tossed salad and French bread.

“So, Daniel,” Mama said, sliding a second huge spoonful of casserole onto his plate, “How is the restaurant business going?”

I gave him a warning kick under the table. He put his hand on my thigh.

“A little slow right now,” he said, hiding a clump of food under a lettuce leaf. “We're uh, doing some remodeling at the restaurant, so we're temporarily closed.”

“You're out of work?” She clutched her throat with a look of abject horror.

“It's all right, Mama,” I assured her. “It's just a temporary thing. Daniel already has a bunch of catering jobs lined up. He'll be fine.”

She shook her head and tsk-tsked. “I remember, one time, when you were just a baby, Weezie, your father had plantar's warts, and he
couldn't walk his route for weeks. But the post office paid him, just the same. That's the thing about a good government job,” she added, nodding her head in a meaningful way. “You can always depend on it.”

“Daniel has more job offers than he can take,” I said. “Skilled chefs are always in demand. He's even had job offers from Jacksonville and Charleston and Atlanta.”

“I suppose,” she said airily. “Now, Daniel, if things don't look up, you should give Weezie's daddy a call. He still has a lot of pull with the postal service. Anyway, the benefits for a family man are the best around. Medical, dental. And all those federal holidays too! And no night work. You could be home with your wife and babies by five o'clock every day, like Weezie's daddy always was.”

“Mama!” I said. “Stop that right this minute.”

“What?” she said, acting all innocent. “I spoiled something?”

Daniel, bless him, reached across the table, took my hand in his, and squeezed it. He also squeezed my thigh, while he was at it. “Well, thanks. I'll keep all that in mind, Mrs. Foley, in case things don't pan out with the restaurant business.”

“Oh, call me Marian,” Mama said. “We're practically family.”

“I couldn't,” Daniel said.

“Mama Marian, then,” she said, beaming first at him, and then at me.

I decided to change the topic of conversation, and quickly.

“By the way, Daniel, I talked to BeBe today,” I said, hopping up and scraping the leftovers into the garbage disposal. “She needs me to take a load of furniture out to the Breeze Inn for her. She's just about got the first unit ready to move into.”

I sliced up the Mississippi mud pie Daniel had brought, and carried it and three jadeite dessert plates to the table.

“Daniel made this pie himself,” I told Mama proudly. “It's his own recipe. They sell this in the restaurant for eight dollars a slice.”

“Hmm,” Mama said.

Daniel slid the pieces of pie onto the plates and passed them
around. “It sounds like she's really whipping that motel into shape. If anybody can do it, it's BeBe.”

“Daniel,” Mama said, pausing between bites of pie, “did you know that Joseph and I honeymooned at the Breeze Inn?”

“No, I didn't,” he said. “What year was that?”

“Nineteen-sixty,” she said promptly. “But I got a terrible yeast infection that week, so Joseph had to take me to the doctor after only three days, and we'd already paid ahead of time for the whole week, twelve dollars a night too! And that nasty manager, I forget his name, wouldn't give us a refund, so then we left on Thursday.”

“Mama, stop!” I cried. “You're grossing us out!”

“What?” she said. “Daniel's a grown man. He needs to understand that these things happen to a woman once she starts having intimate relations.”

Daniel choked so hard I had to get up and pound him on the back.

“It's the pie,” Mama said sympathetically, handing him a glass of wine. “I wasn't going to say anything, but that crust was just a little on the dry side. Next time, maybe you could pick up one of those good Mrs. Smith's chocolate-cream pies.”

“Mrs. Smith's,” he managed to croak. “I'll make a note of it.”

Mama begrudgingly allowed us to clean up the kitchen, so while she went off to watch
Wheel of Fortune,
we dumped the rest of the tuna casserole into the trash, double-bagged it, and finished cleaning up the dishes.

“What's all this about taking furniture to BeBe?” Daniel asked.

“She really does need furniture for her unit at the motel,” I said. “But I figure, if we take it out there tonight, I can just tell Mama that by the time we finished unloading, I was too tired to drive home, so I just spent the night with BeBe.”

“BeBe? Why would you do that?”

“Idiot! It's all a ruse. I'll be checking into the Stipanek Sheraton.”

“I like it,” he said, a slow grin developing. “Just you and me and the moonlight.”

“As soon as we take the furniture over to BeBe's. And set it up. And see if she needs any help.”

“Help?”

“The place is a disaster, Daniel. I can't just abandon her. She needs me.”

“I need you,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

“But in a different way. Be an angel now, and help me load up.”

At seven-thirty, we pulled into the parking lot at the Breeze Inn. Although BeBe's Lexus was the only car in the lot, the
NO VACANCY
sign was blinking off and on. Unit two's doors and windows were wide open and ablaze with lights.

I honked the horn, and a minute later, BeBe appeared in the doorway. Her appearance was shocking, to say the least. Her blond curls peeked out from beneath a red stocking cap, and she wore faded blue overalls covered with white paint splatters. There were dark circles under her eyes, and I realized with a start that it was the first time—ever, in all our years of friendship—that I'd seen her without makeup. Still, she gave a jaunty wave of her long-handled paint roller when she saw us.

“Hey!” she called out. “Did y'all bring your paintbrushes?”

“Better,” I said, hopping out from the passenger side of the truck. “Wait till you see the darling dinette set—”

“And pizza,” Daniel added, bringing out the cardboard box from Vinnie VanGo's, and waving it under her nose. “And wine. We brought you a really big bottle of wine.”

“My angels,” BeBe said fervently. “But about those paintbrushes—”

“Later,” Daniel said. “First we eat.”

“But I thought Weezie's mama was cooking dinner tonight,” BeBe said.

“Exactly,” Daniel said. “Which is why we stopped at Vinnie's. Here. You hold the pizza while I get your dining-room table. Where's it going?”

“Nowhere, just yet,” BeBe said, grimacing. “I'm in paint hell. The walls are done, and the first coat is dry on the floors, but it's going to take at least three coats.”

“Looks like the manager's office, then,” I said, glancing around the parking lot. “And where is the manager, pray tell? I thought he was supposed to be helping you fix up the place.”

“Mr. Sorrentino is very busy right now,” BeBe said. “Warming a stool over at Doc's Bar.”