Beach Town (33 page)

“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 doors 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?”

“I can,” Eb said.

*   *   *

The conversation in the truck on the drive back to the motel was short and businesslike. Greer kept sneaking sideways glances at Eb, hoping to see some softening in his demeanor. But his jaw was set and his eyes stared straight ahead at the blacktop road.

Finally, out of desperation, she decided to try to bridge the widening gulf between them. “We really miss Allie on the set. Ginny says she's giving you guys the silent treatment.”

“If she thinks I'll fold on this, she doesn't know me very well.”

“Just FYI, Bryce had a talk with Kregg. And so did I. He's gotten the message to stay away from her.”

“He'd better have,” Eb said.

He swung the truck into the Silver Sands parking lot and pulled around to the parking space in front of her motel room.

“Okay,” she said helplessly. “Um, thanks again for setting it up so I could see the armory. That's a huge load off my mind.” She hesitated, then put a hand on his arm. “I really appreciate it, Eb.”

He shrugged. “It's a business deal. The county can use the money. And I'll get a small commission, which will help, with all the attorney's fees it looks like we'll be racking up.”

She sensed a tiny sliver of daylight between them.

“Family issues can suck the life right out of you, right? My mother's been dead for more than two months, but it seems like, even from the grave, she won't let go.”

“Hard to believe anybody could get somebody like you under their thumb.”

“You never met Lise. If they gave Academy Awards for button pushing, she'd have a shelf full of naked golden men.”

“What's she pushing your buttons about?”

Greer shook her head. “Never mind. You've got problems of your own. You don't want to hear my drama.”

“Try me.”

“It's complicated.”

“I'm an engineer. And a real estate broker. And a politician. And I own a supermarket. I can do complicated.”

“You're not just saying that to be nice?”

“I'm not all that nice,” he reminded her. “In fact, Ginny says I was a real asshole to you.”

“You kinda were, but I guess I deserved it.”

“How about if I make it up to you and buy you lunch?”

“It's nearly three o'clock,” Greer said.

“Have you had lunch?”

“No. And I'm getting pretty sick of eating Pop-Tarts and watching one of the three television channels in my room.”

“Okay. We can call it early dinner if you want.” He shook his head. “Dammit, I keep forgetting it's Sunday. The only decent place that's open is the Inn, and I don't feel like having Allie giving the both of us the evil eye while we eat. How about if I cook?”

“You cook?”

“I'm a great cook. Okay, I'm a decent cook. And one of my buddies just brought me a couple quarts of headed-out Gulf pinks.”

“Is that a fish?”

“Shrimp. Trust me, you'll like it. I'll head home and make some calls to set up your deal for the armory. Come over in about forty-five minutes, if you want.”

“I want,” Greer assured him.

 

39

Greer wound her way through the cramped aisles of the Hometown Market and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She rapped cautiously on the door of the apartment, and from inside heard the sound of enthusiastic barking.

“Come on in,” Eb hollered. “It's open.”

Gunter met her inside the door. He barked and pawed at her ankles, and when Greer bent down to scratch the elderly dachshund's ears, his entire body wriggled in delight. “Hey, buddy,” she cooed. “Long time no see.”

“Don't pick him up,” Eb called from the kitchen.

She looked down at the floor and, sure enough, spotted a telltale puddle. She walked into the kitchen, where she found her host standing at the sink, peeling shrimp.

“Too late.” She set down the six-pack of craft beer she'd picked up on the way to the market and snagged a handful of paper towels.

After she'd wiped up the mess, she returned to the kitchen, with Gunter at her heels. She peeked over Eb's shoulder at the dishpan full of shrimp.

“Those are some big Gulf pinks.”

“And they're right off the boat.” He nodded toward the beer. “Thanks for that. My hands are kinda shrimpy right now. Wanna open one for me?”

She twisted the metal cap off one of the bottles and handed it to him, then helped herself to another before stowing the rest in the fridge and taking a seat at the counter.

“Need any help?”

“Not right this minute.”

Eb Thibadeaux moved from one task to another with ease and efficiency, chopping a slab of thick bacon and tossing it into a large skillet, which he placed on the stove's front burner. While the bacon sizzled, he diced an onion and a green bell pepper, along with some celery and garlic, occasionally turning back to the skillet to poke at the bacon with a wooden spoon.