Beach Town (11 page)

She glanced out the window at the alley just outside and spied the young hostess.

The girl was standing under a streetlight, having what looked like a fairly heated conversation with a young man who looked about her age.

He was muscular looking, tanned, with short, spiky dark hair and dressed in a white T-shirt, navy baseball pants, and cleats, and to Greer's eyes it looked like he and the girl were having a fight. At one point he grabbed the girl's arm, but she quickly wrested it away from him.

There was another sharp exchange and the girl stalked off, while the baseball player stood for a moment, watching her go.

“Young love,” Greer murmured, returning to her dinner.

She was just finishing up her crab when a shadow fell over the table. Eb Thibadeaux stood looking down at her.

“I thought that was you,” Eb Thibadeaux said.

“Yep,” Greer agreed. “It's me.”

“I just finished dinner at the bar,” he said, glancing at her nearly empty plate. “You had the soft-shells? Great choice.”

“Best ever,” Greer said. She was feeling surprisingly mellow—maybe because of the wine, maybe because she'd finally had a decent dinner. “Care to join me?” she asked. “If I can manage to flag down the waitress, I'm going to get coffee.”

“I'll get her,” he said, and turning toward the hostess stand, he called, “Allie?”

The waitress hustled over to the table, her face flushed.

“Hi, Uncle Eb.”

“Could you bring the lady a cup of coffee? And I'll have a Fat Tire, okay?”

“No problem,” the girl said.

Greer watched her speed in the direction of the bar.

“That's your niece? Allie?”

“Yep, that's our Allie.”

“Pretty girl,” Greer said.

“Too pretty.” He frowned.

“Probably has a lot of boyfriends, huh?”

“Just one that I know of.”

“The baseball player? I saw them a minute ago, standing outside. It looked like they were having words.”

“Great,” Eb said, looking gloomy. “Now she'll be in one of her moods all week. Bart's not a bad kid. He's the catcher on the high school team. And a senior, which I'm not crazy about. Allie's a year younger.”

Allie arrived back at the table, carefully placing Eb's beer on the table in front of him and a cup of coffee at Greer's place.

“Thanks, kiddo,” Eb said. “Kind of quiet tonight, huh?”

Allie nodded. “If nobody else shows up in the next fifteen minutes, Rebecca says I can go ahead and clock out.”

“You going out with Bart tonight?”

“No way,” she said scornfully. “I'll probably just go hang out over at Tristin's house for a while.” She paused. “If that's okay with you.”

Eb gave his niece an appraising look. “Are Tristin's parents home tonight? I can call and check, you know.”

Allie rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “God! Yes, they're home. You can call and check all you like. Jeez. It was just that one time. Can you please cut me some slack?”

“Yeah. I'll cut you some slack when you're twenty-one,” Eb said.

The girl scowled, then flounced away.

“God help me, she looks just like Amanda when she does that,” Eb said softly, shaking his head.

“Amanda. Is that her mom?”

“Afraid so.” He sipped his beer.

“And is Amanda your sister?”

“Thankfully, no.” He set his glass down abruptly. “As screwed up as the Thibadeaux family is, I'm proud to say that Amanda is not blood kin. She's my sister-in-law. Well, ex.”

Allie was back.

“Okay, Rebecca says she'll close everything down, so I'm going over to Triss's now. A bunch of other girls are coming too, and we're going to sleep over. Triss's mom says it's all right with her. And you can call her if you don't believe me.”

“Don't worry, I will,” Eb said. “And if Chief Bottoms sees any carloads of girls joyriding around town in a certain red Camaro, she knows to call me, too. Understand?”

“Whatever,” Allie rolled her eyes again, then leaned in and gave her uncle a quick peck on the cheek. “G'night, boss man.”

 

12

Greer studied Eb Thibadeaux over the rim of her coffee cup. He still needed a shave, but tonight he was somewhat dressed up, and he looked, she allowed, fairly presentable in a pale blue oxford cloth button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves and navy slacks. She'd noticed when he walked that he wore loafers but no socks. This, she guessed, was the equivalent of black tie in Cypress Key.

He appeared to be studying her too.

“You look kinda nice tonight,” he offered.

“Was that a compliment? It sounded semi-complimentary.”

“It was definitely a compliment. I like your dress. You've got good legs, you know?

Greer tugged self-consciously at her hem and decided to change the subject.

“Do you mind if I ask where Allie's parents are?”

“I don't mind. Like I said, Jared, my brother, and Amanda are divorced. They split up years ago. I'm not real sure where Amanda is these days. Her folks are both dead. She drifts in and out of town, and sees Allie when it suits her. To tell you the truth, I think Allie's a little bit relieved when her mom isn't around.”

“And Jared?”

“Jared.” He took a long drink of beer.

“My older brother Jared is currently a guest of the State of Florida at the Starke correctional institution.”

“Oh.” Common sense, or decency, suggested she should drop this line of questioning. But now she was curious. And Eb didn't seem disinclined to shut her down. “That's a prison?”

“It is. If you're inclined to visit, it's in the northeast corner of the state. But I'm going to guess the state isn't going to encourage you to scout it for a movie location.”

“Nope. Usually we only shoot at abandoned prisons. And then we blow them up.”

“Touch
é
.” He smiled. “Would you like to know what Jared's in for? That's what everybody wants to know.”

“If you don't mind telling me.”

“I don't mind,” Eb said. “Jared is currently incarcerated for possession with intent to distribute Schedule II narcotics.”

“Oh.”

“He was running a pill mill,” Eb said abruptly. “OxyContin, Percocet, Darvocet. Whatever kind of pocket rockets you wanted, my big brother was happy to prescribe.”

Greer's eyes widened. “He was a doctor?”

“No, but he was good at pretending. Jared graduated from an offshore medical school in Spain, did some kind of residency in the British Virgin Islands, but never quite managed to pass his boards in the States. Which never stopped him from practicing medicine.”

Eb tapped the side of his half-empty beer glass. “He's quite a resourceful guy, my brother.”

She was at a loss for words. “I hear there's a big black market for pain pills. It's quite a racket back in California.”

“It's quite a racket in Florida, too,” Eb said. “Big business, baby. Which is why hucksters like Jared get into it.”

“But if he never passed his state boards, how did he get certified to practice medicine?”

“He was never certified. After he failed his state boards a second time, Jared was working as an EMT in Jacksonville. By that time, he and Amanda were split up. She had custody of Allie and was still living in Cypress Key, but Jared had bigger plans. In Jacksonville he met a guy—I think he was officially an ear, nose, and throat doc who was up for charges up North somewhere. Some kind of sexual harassment thing. They hooked up, and this doc suggested that they become partners in a promising new enterprise. They opened a string of these ‘pain clinics' in small towns in north Florida—places where they figured the local cops weren't sophisticated enough to figure out what they were up to.”

“And they got caught,” Greer said.

“Yes they did. The local cops might not have noticed, but a couple of pharmacists got suspicious about the number of controlled substance scrips being written by these little clinics. They tipped off the FDLE, that's the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, and the FDLE sent in a couple of undercover narcs, who visited Jared and his buddy and made it plain they were looking to score Oxy. Bam! Now Jared is looking fine in an orange jumpsuit.”

“And you're raising his daughter.”

“Well. Ginny and I are raising her. It takes a village, you know. Or so I hear.”

“She seems like a nice girl,” Greer said.

“Allie's great. Got her head on straight, despite her screwed-up parents, which is a major miracle. She makes pretty good grades in school, and she's been waitressing since she was fifteen, trying to save up for her first car.”

“How did you happen to become her guardian? Her grandparents aren't in the picture anymore?”

“Like I said, Amanda's parents are gone. My folks are both retired and in their seventies. They live in one of those retirement villages near Ocala. Dad has Alzheimer's, and there's no way my mom could handle a teenager. So that leaves me and Ginny.”

He smiled. “Poor girl.”

“You can't be doing that bad a job. You said yourself she's a good kid, works hard, and makes decent grades. How long have you had her?”

He considered the question. “She's seventeen now, and she came to live with Gin and me when she was thirteen, I guess. Nearly four years. It's not always hearts and flowers. I wouldn't wish a teenage girl on my worst enemy.”

“And yet?” The question hung in the air.

“She has her moments,” Eb admitted. He looked around the empty dining room and spotted the manager, Rebecca, counting out the cash register. He motioned to her and she came over.

“Rebecca, is it too late for another beer for me?” He glanced at Greer. “You want another coffee? Or some kind of after-dinner drink?”

“I can do that,” Rebecca said. Turning to Greer, she asked, “Anything?”

“Maybe a sambuca?”

“Be right back,” Rebecca said.

*   *   *

While they were waiting for their drinks, Eb tried to analyze why he was feeling this nagging attraction for Greer Hennessy, who was already becoming a major annoyance in his life.

She was beautiful, yes, but not in an obvious way. He liked her thick mane of curly, dark blond hair, especially the way she was wearing it tonight, falling loose around her shoulders. She had wide, intelligent brown eyes that seemed to take in everything, a generous mouth, and a genuine smile. Greer wasn't a fussy girly-girl but she knew how to dress, and he especially liked the way her skin glowed against the white cotton dress she was wearing tonight, and the way the loosely tied drawstring neckline kept slipping dangerously off her shoulder.

Their drinks arrived, along with their checks. Greer handed Rebecca her credit card, and Eb sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “So. You've heard enough of my dysfunctional family history. Tell me about you. How'd a nice girl like you get in a racket like this? I mean, movie location scout—is that something you study in college?”

“On this project I'm actually location manager as well as scout. I guess you could say it's a job I was born to do.”

“How's that?”

“I grew up in L.A. Which is still very much a company town. I'm the third generation in my family to be in the business. My grandmother started out as a bit player in the late forties and ended up working as a seamstress in studio costume departments. My mom was an actress, mostly television.”

“And your father?” Eb asked. “Was he in the business too?”

Her smile dimmed a little. “I guess. He was a stuntman. But my mother was the one who pushed me into the business. One day she mentioned that they were looking for a location to shoot a scene at her character's kid's school, and I volunteered to get the principal of my elementary school to allow them to shoot in our cafeteria. I got paid a hundred dollar finder's fee. After that, I was hooked.”

“You were never interested in acting? You're certainly pretty enough.”

“Thanks, but no, I'm not pretty enough. Just pretty doesn't cut it in the business. You've got to be beautiful. The camera has to love you. And you have to love it back. Seeing how hard my mom had to work at
getting
work over the years, and then worrying about aging? That life never appealed to me.”

“Would I have heard of your mom? I mean, is she famous?”

“She certainly thought so,” Greer said wryly. “She died a couple months ago. Her name was Lise Grant. She played the mom for a couple seasons in an eighties sitcom called
The Neighborhood Menace.
”

Eb scrunched up his face, searching his memory bank. “Sorry. About your mom and the fact that I don't think I ever saw her show.”

“Thanks,” Greer said. “I guess I got my real start ten years ago, working as a production assistant on a music video shoot.”

“Which is what?”

“A P.A. is a glorified gofer. They do whatever needs doing, from fetching coffee to driving another crew member to running errands. The pay is crap, but you meet a lot of people, and if you're willing to do anything, and work under any circumstances, you can work your way up the ladder. That's what I did, and that's how I ended up here in Cypress Key, scouting for
Beach Town.
”

“You never really told me exactly how you found us,” Eb reminded her. “We're not exactly on the beaten path.”

“Sometimes I just get a vibe for a place and I know it's right. And when I drove into Cypress Key and saw the pier, and the casino, I knew.”

“Are you and Vanessa Littrell now conspiring against me?”

“I wouldn't call it a conspiracy,” Greer said, choosing her words carefully. “Let's just say we agree that you're all wrong on the matter of the casino. Seriously wrong. The city isn't using the place, and face it, it's crumbling, even as we speak. But if you'll allow us to use it for the film we'll pay you enough in fees that you'll be able to get a start on a new building on the city's own land. One that people can actually use.”