Turn Over(79)

I heard a throat clear behind me.

“Ehhem.”

I turned to see a girl trying to tie brunette locks back into place. The wind was fierce at this end of the island. She stopped fidgeting with her hair clip and sunglasses.

“I’m looking for Arnie Cratchett. Do you know where he lives?” She pulled on the shoulder strap of her bag as if it gave her extra support. “I’ve knocked on at least ten doors.”

She was wearing heels that were slowly starting to sink into the sand. She wobbled slightly and I offered to help her before she lost her balance, but she waved me off.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Can’t say that I do.” I smiled.

She didn’t fit in here. There was an airiness about her that contradicted the worn out buildings surrounding us. Her smile was bright, and I couldn’t help but notice her full lips.

“Do you live here? Maybe I could ask you a few questions instead.”

I shook my head. “No. Not me.”

She looked disappointed. “Are you visiting someone maybe?”

“No, I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, I guess I need to find Mr. Cratchett then. All these trailers look the same.”

I surveyed the trailer park. She was right. There wasn’t much to distinguish one from the other. “I’m headed back to my car over there. Why don’t I walk with you until you find Mr. Cratchett?”

“That’s all right. I can find him.” She adjusted her shoes in the sand again.

I shrugged. “Good luck, then.” I walked past her, descending from the dunes. I had seen enough to know I had to make this deal work. I didn’t know who else was bidding today, but I wanted this tract.

Opportunities like this seldom landed in my lap. The land had fallen out of probate after the owner died. He left it to his niece and nephew, but they had no interest in managing a trailer park. Lucky for me, they were ready to cash in their inheritance.

“Wait,” she called. “Do you know anything about the development of this land?”

I turned to face her. She was struggling with her hair again. “Are you a reporter or are you with the group out of Houston?” I asked.

“I don’t know the group from Houston. I’m Sydney Paige. I write for the News & Record. The online edition.”

“Ahh. That explains a lot.” I was slightly relieved she wasn’t part of the competition. I’d rather keep my interest under the radar.

“Such as?”

“Such as why a pretty girl like you would be hanging out in a place like this.”

Her lips flattened into a line of disapproval. “You have something against trailer parks?”

I stepped forward. “Did I say that?”

“It was implied.”

I chuckled. “Sounds like you practice interpretative journalism, Miss Paige.”

“Interpretative? Wow. Sounds like you just like to label people.”

I laughed. She was surprisingly quick with the retort.

“Good luck finding your story.” I continued toward my car.

She trailed behind a few paces, trying to keep up in her heels. “And you aren’t going to tell me who you are? Which company do you work for? You must be a part of the development deal.”

“There you go again interpreting.” I used the remote to unlock the door.

“You’re driving a sports car in a trailer park, wearing nice clothes. A suit. You don’t know anyone here, and you’re not visiting. This piece of land is in the midst of a bidding war. I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume you might be a part of that.”

I opened the car door. “Looks like you might be on to something. Very Nancy Drew of you.”

“Would you like to comment on the land development? Do you know how many families are going to be displaced because of this?”

I rolled down the window. “I never said I was a part of your story, Miss Paige.”

She huffed. “I’m not that green.”

“How green would you say you are?” I shoved the key in the ignition. “You know on a scale of zero to ten. Maybe a two?” I pressed the center of my sunglasses between my eyes.

My question seemed to irritate her more. “I graduated in May from Longmire University at the top of my class. I have plenty of experience as a reporter.”

“Good school. And you ended up down here? Sorry about that.” I cranked the radio to drown out the rest of her questions. “Nice meeting you. Good luck with your story.” I put the car in drive.

“Wait. What’s your name?” She walked next to me as I circled an open spot to turn around.

I pretended not to hear her and pulled out of the gravel lot. She grew smaller in the mirror. Her face furrowed in frustration. Her hair still unmanageable. One of my policies was never talk to the press. It was a damn shame though, because that member of the press was possibly the most gorgeous reporter I had ever met.