Savannah Breeze (11 page)

He held up the half bottle of chardonnay. “No. You were drinking this. But you took all my beer out of my refrigerator.”

“Yes,” I said, again. “I did.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving a crop of brown spikes standing on end. “Let me ask you again. What the hell are you doing here?”

I pushed the recliner upright. “I came to tell you something. But you weren't here. I waited a long time, but it got late, and I was tired, so I fell asleep.”

“What gives you the right to just walk right in here?” he demanded. “What gives you the right to rifle through my belongings, help yourself to my clothes, and by God, what gives you the
right
to let all my beer get warm?”

I stood up and looked him right in the eye. “Not all of it,” I said. “There are still two bottles in the refrigerator. On the bottom shelf. Behind the soy milk.”

He turned abruptly and stalked into the kitchen. I heard things being shoved aside, and then the sound of clinking bottles, and then the pop and soft fizz of a bottle being opened.

And then he was right back in my face. He had a finger laced around the neck of one bottle. It was half empty. And he had the other bottle in his other hand.

“Let's try this again,” he said, taking a long pull from the bottle. “What the
fuck
do you think you're doing here?”

I was trying hard to remember the salient points of the speech I'd composed on the drive out to Tybee. But it was late, and I was woozy.

“I own this place,” I said.

“Unfortunately, I'm aware of that fact,” he said. He glanced at the half-empty wine bottle. “Are you drunk?” He frowned. “Oh. I get it. You're one of those downtown designer-drug types, right? Is that it? Well, I suggest you don't try to drive back to town, because the Thunderbolt cops will stop you, sure as hell, and throw your cute little ass in the clink. They just love catching drugged-out debs like you.”

“No!” I said, shrilly. “I don't do drugs. I had two glasses of wine. Hours ago. I'm just tired, that's all. I haven't been sleeping very well lately.”

“Boo-hoo,” he said. “Now, could you please go home? It's been a long night. I'm tired myself, and I've got a long day tomorrow.”

“I
am
home,” I said. “That's why I came out here. To tell you the situation. And explain my plan.”

“Plan?” He raised one eyebrow. The dog—Jeeves? The same furry white terrier type I'd seen the other day came trotting into the room. He barked one short, indignant bark, baring his teeth at me momentarily, before jumping into the recliner I'd just vacated. The dog turned once, twice, then snuggled itself down into the faded green upholstery, tucking its muzzle down into its paws with a sigh.

“Plan?” Harry leaned over and scratched the dog between its ears. “Why do I need to hear your plan, at midnight, in my living room?”

It was my turn to sigh. Clearly, he wasn't going to make this any easier for me.

“Look,” I started. “This is not how I wanted to do this. I came out here this afternoon, to tell you. Explain, really, why things have to change.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And why do they have to change?”

“Because this is about business,” I said, my face flushing, feeling myself going on the defensive. “The Breeze Inn is a business. It may not be a going concern right now. It may, in fact, be a piece-of-crap investment. But, nevertheless, this motel is sitting on a very valuable piece of oceanfront real estate.”

“I'm aware of that,” he said testily.

“Then you must also be aware of the situation I'm in. Through no fault of mine, some real estate developer has bought an option to develop this property. As I told you before, I had nothing to do with that. My lawyer is working to rectify the situation.”

“Your lawyer,” he said, smirking. “Why doesn't that make me feel any better?”

“The point is, until we straighten out that situation, I need to make the Breeze Inn into a profitable business.”

“And?”

I straightened my shoulders, suddenly aware that they were clad in
his
shirt. “I feel I need to live on-site. And supervise the renovations. Hands on. As it were.”

“Here?” He gestured around the room. “You think you're going to live here?”

“Well,” I hesitated. “Yes. That's why I came out here today. To tell you that I'll be moving in. And you'll be, um, moving out.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again, flattening out what he'd previously uprooted. He chewed the side of his jaw while he thought about things.

“The hell you say.”

“Yes.”

“Just like that.”

“Well, yes. I'm sorry. But there it is. I was thinking, you could move into another unit. Maybe number seven, the one I looked at yesterday. It's a little primitive, I'll admit. But you did say you had the toilets ordered, and the roof is done.”

“Are you nuts? I can't get that unit ready in less than a week. Any
way, what's your hurry? I told you, I've got things under control. Some plumbing, some roofing, paint. Ten days, it'll be ready to rent. Okay? Ten days. I swear.” He managed a lopsided grin.

“Hmmpph.” We both turned to stare at the recliner. Jeeves was sound asleep, sighing in his sleep. The sleep of the innocent, I thought.

“The thing is,” I said. “I'm moving in here. Right away.”

He stared at me, still not comprehending. “Here?”

“Right here,” I said. “Right now.”

Harry's eyes narrowed.
“You can't do that. You can't just stroll in here, unannounced, and toss me out. In the middle of the night.”

“It wasn't the middle of the night when I got here. It was still daylight. And you weren't around. I had no idea where you were.”

“It's none of your
business
where I was,” he said, his voice low. “I don't have to answer to you.”

The dog sat up suddenly, sniffing the air. Maybe he smelled blood.

“Look,” I said. “This is getting us nowhere. It's late. I'm tired, you're tired. Why don't you just go bunk with a friend tonight, and then tomorrow, you can start getting unit seven ready to move into.”

“No way,” he said, turning on his heel and heading for the kitchen. I watched him, speechless. Was he going to get another beer? A knife maybe?

“You can't bully me, you know,” I called after him. “Better men than you have tried, and failed. So just face it. I'm here, and I'm staying.”

He clomped back across the room toward me, his arms loaded with folded sheets, a pillow, and a blanket, which he thrust, unceremoniously, into my arms.

“You wanna stay, fine,” he said. “The bedroom's taken. I see you figured out how to work the woodstove. If I were you, I'd stoke it up a little more before turning in. It's supposed to get down to forty tonight, and there's no insulation in these walls. See you in the morning.”

Before I could say anything, he was gone, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Moments later I heard the rasp of a bolt sliding into place.

“Hey!” I called after him. “We're not done here.”

“I am.”

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hammering on the bedroom door, demanding that he vacate it. For tonight, and tonight only, I would sleep out here. I turned toward the recliner.

Jeeves sat straight up and bared his teeth, a low growl emanating from the back of his throat. “Okay,” I said, backing away. “I get the message. I'll try the sofa.”

After shoving as many logs into the stove as I could, I spread the sheets and blankets out on the sofa and tried to make myself comfortable, which was a laugh. The sofa looked like something Weezie would have put in a beach house, one of those three-seater rattan numbers, with a narrow seat and three pitifully thin foam-rubber cushions. I turned this way and that, wedged myself against the back, and, finally, exhausted, fell asleep.

Minutes later, it seemed, I heard water running. I opened one eye, then closed it again. It was still pitch-black outside. I'd taken off my watch, but surely it couldn't be much more than two in the morning. Cold. It was cold as a tomb in the room. I pulled the thin woolen blanket over my head and tried to burrow down into the sheets for warmth. I prayed that Harry Sorrentino would come out and stoke up the fire again. Or offer me another blanket. Or better yet, the bedroom. I'd seen a small kerosene heater in there the night before. That bedroom would be toasty warm by now.

I sat up and pulled the blanket around my shoulders. The bedroom door was ajar, and the bathroom door was closed. Puffs of steam escaped under the door. Pale purple light struggled through the glass panes of the French doors. Could it be sunrise, already? I got up, wrapped the blanket around myself, papoose style, then padded over to the doors to look outside.

A stand of beach myrtles, palmettos, and wind-sculpted pines stood out in sharp contrast to the white of the dunes beyond. Off in the distance, I could see the silver of the Atlantic, through a fringe of waving sea oats, illuminated by the slowly rising sun.

I stared out at the peaceful scene. Could this be Tybee? Standing here, staring out at that small, barren stretch of seascape, I could have been on my own private island.

As I watched, a small, stooped figure came marching rapidly down the beach. His bare, bony brown chest gleamed in the gathering sunlight, as did his completely bald head. Long, bony arms pumped at his sides. He wore a skimpy blue Speedo bathing suit, and nothing else except for a set of headphones. I shivered involuntarily. As the old man jogged, his head swung from side to side, and now, an ancient black Labrador retriever came bounding along behind him, crashing joyfully through the surf.

The bathroom door opened then, and Harry Sorrentino emerged in a cloud of steam. His hair was damp, he wore weathered blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. His face was red and I could see a place on his chin where he'd nicked himself shaving.

“So you're up,” he said, nodding in my direction. He strode over to the front door, held it ajar, and gave a sharp whistle. “Jeeves!” he called.

The terrier sat up, blinked, and stretched.

“Come on, boy,” Harry called. “Let's go pee.”

I hurried in the direction of the vacated bathroom, thinking it was the first good idea I'd heard from him.

By the time I'd showered and changed, it was fully daylight. The worn wooden walls of the cabin were bathed in the morning sun, and the fire in the little woodstove was crackling merrily. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and frying bacon wafted from the kitchen. Harry stood at the stove, his back to me, and Jeeves beside him, tail thumping on the floor, obviously waiting for breakfast to be served.

The sheets and blankets on the rattan sofa had disappeared. It was
as if he'd deliberately obliterated any sign of my existence there the night before.

I stowed my stuff back in the Winn-Dixie bag, which he'd pointedly set beside the front door.

“Coffee?” He slid a full mug down the kitchen counter in my general direction.

I wasn't too proud to take it, seizing it eagerly between my hands and inhaling the rich smell.

“We need to talk,” I said, between sips.

“I've said what I need to say,” he said, flipping strips of bacon onto a paper-towel-covered platter. “I had a deal. I've put in hundreds of hours on this place and not been paid a damn dime. It may not look like much to you, but when I moved in over here, there was no hot-water heater. The roof leaked like a sieve, the foundation was about to cave in, the wiring was shot, and all the plumbing was rusted through. I've fixed all that and more. Now you waltz in here, say the deal's off. New owner, new plan. Your new plan leaves me out in the cold and I don't like it worth a damn.”

“I said you could stay on here,” I started.

“No. You said I had to move out. As of last night. Offered to let me live in one of the other units, when I've already told you it'll take me at least a week to get one of 'em ready to move into.” He turned and gave me a sardonic smile. “Mighty white of you.”

He flipped a piece of bacon in the dog's direction and Jeeves leaped up and caught it in midair.

I frowned. “That can't be good for him.”

“You let me worry about what's good for my dog,” Harry snapped. “We were getting along fine until you showed up here.”

I started to say something, but thought better of it.

“Anyway, as you say, you do own the place now. And if you want to move in out here, although I don't understand why you'd want to, there's nothing I can do to stop you. Which leaves me and Jeeves here out in the cold. Nothing I can do about it. The Reeses and I didn't
have any kind of a contract, just an oral agreement, which we both know isn't binding in any kind of court of law.”

He turned the burner off and pushed the frying pan to the back of the stove, then walked over to the table and got a piece of paper, which he brusquely handed me.

“What's this?”

“Just a statement of what I'm owed,” he said, going back to the stove to pour himself a mug of coffee. “Skilled workmen get fourteen dollars an hour, anyplace out here they want to work. I only billed you for ten an hour. The difference is what I'd have paid in rent to stay here. The way I figure it, with what I've paid out for materials and what I'm owed for labor, figure twenty hours a week, for six months, it comes out to around $4,800.”

I stared down at the piece of paper and then up at him.

“This is the way you figure it,” I said, taking a deep breath.

“That's right,” he said. “Pay me what I'm owed and I'm out of here.”

“Forty-eight hundred dollars,” I repeated.

“Might not be a lot to you, but it's a living wage to me,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Moving into a new place, I'll have to pay first and last month's rent, utility deposits. Have to get somebody to help me move all my furniture.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around. “Your furniture?”

“Yes, ma'am. All this stuff is mine. The place was empty when I moved in. Except for the pigeons.” He gave me a malicious grin then. “And the mice.”

“Mice?”

“Mostly. Jeeves here took care of the one rat we saw.” He slid two pieces of whole-wheat bread into the toaster and pushed down the lever.

I was trying hard to keep a poker face. I would not give him the satisfaction of screaming, “
Eek!
a mouse,” and heading for the hills. “I'm glad Jeeves was on the job. I think mice are kinda cute, but it
would be bad for business if word got out on the island that we had a rat problem.”

“We?”

I sighed. His poker face was at least as good as mine. I was fairly sure the Savannah gossip mill was already churning with stories of BeBe Loudermilk's comeuppance. After all, Guale was closed, and my house had been sold. But this was Tybee, after all, and with any luck, Harry Sorrentino didn't know anybody in my rarified social circle. Still, I didn't know how much he knew about me, or about my dire financial straits. I had no intention of telling him that I didn't have $4,800 to pay him in back wages. And I certainly didn't intend to let him know that the Breeze Inn was truly my last resort.

“Good help's hard to get, I know,” I said. “I'm not disputing that you've done the work, and you're owed compensation. And maybe I've been unreasonable about the living arrangement here. Surely we can come up with some kind of compromise. One that would allow you to continue living here on the property, and getting on with the repairs, but at the same time allow me to put all my capital into completing the repairs so we can start getting this business in the black.”

He picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers, broke off a piece and flipped it to Jeeves, then ate the other half. My stomach growled. I was starving.

“What kind of compromise did you have in mind?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Which of the units is the closest to being ready to occupy?”

“Number two's pretty far along,” he admitted. “The roof's done. Wiring's sound. Have to get the new hot-water heater hooked up. All those units have the old-timey built-in space heaters, but they're pretty simple, so I'm assuming it'll work. Other than that, it's just a matter of a lot of elbow grease.”

“Fine,” I said, finishing my coffee. “I've got elbow grease to spare. I'll get started this morning. How soon can you get the hot-water heater hooked up?”

“Soon as you buy one,” he said. The toast popped up then. He folded a piece in half and slid in a couple of slices of bacon, then extended the sandwich toward me. “Breakfast, ma'am?”

He made himself a sandwich too, and we stood there in the kitchen, with our backs against the counter, chewing in companionable silence.

When we were done, I took some paper towels and wiped out the cast-iron skillet, then set it on the back burner. There was one slice of bacon on the platter. I looked at Sorrentino, and at Jeeves, who was sniffing around on the floor in hopes of seconds.

“Just one more piece,” Harry said, nodding approval. “Bacon makes him fart.”

I made a face, but knelt down and fed the dog the last bits of our breakfast. He nearly licked the skin off my fingertips in appreciation.

“All right,” I said, after I'd wiped down the countertops and stove. “Guess you'd better give me a look at unit two.”

“In a minute,” he said, digging in his pocket. He brought out a penny and held it up for me to see.

“What's that for?”

“I'll flip you for it,” he announced. “Heads I stay here, tails I move into unit two.”

“No deal.”

He pocketed the coin and headed for the door. “See you around.”

I knew when I was beaten. “Never mind.”

He made a big show of producing the coin again and flipping it into the air, then slapping it on the backside of his left hand.

I made a mental note to call Weezie as soon as possible. I was going to need some furniture in a hurry to move into unit two.