Turn Over(80)

2





Sydney





This was fucking awesome. I was standing in a trailer park, bits of dust and sand clouding the air around me. That guy was a part of this. Sexy smile or not, I knew he had some sort of angle.

I had met his type before. Smug. Arrogant. Rich. Athletic as hell. Bad. Very bad.

I turned to face the cluster of campers in front of me. Arnie Cratchett was somewhere in this maze.

I felt a trickle of perspiration roll down my neck as I knocked on the next door. I had already canvassed one row of homes.

There was a pink stroller parked next to the stairs along with a set of plastic sand buckets and shovels.

A woman cracked the door. “Yes?” She was wearing a white T-shirt with the Pancake House logo scrawled across the front. Her light brown eyes matched her hair.

“Hi. I’m looking for Arnie Cratchett. Does he live here?”

“Arnie’s next door.” She pointed to the trailer one over. A little girl, probably five years old peeked between her mother’s legs.

“Hi.” I waved.

She started to giggle.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve knocked on all these doors.”

“No problem. Hey, are you that reporter he’s been talking about?”

“I guess so.” I realized Arnie could have talked to multiple reporters.

“Well, I’d like to say that whoever the assholes are,” she stopped and covered her daughter’s ears with her palms. “The ones tearing this place down should be ashamed of themselves for what they’re doing. Where are we supposed to go?”

I pulled my reporter’s pad from my bag. “Would it be ok if I asked you a few questions about the development?”

“Sure. Let me get Lindy settled with a snack. Hold on.”

I waited in the front yard of the camper. I didn’t know how long I could stand being outside in the sun, but it wasn’t as if I could invite myself in.

A few minutes later the mom stepped outside. “She’s set up watching a Mickey Mouse show. We have exactly twenty minutes.”

I smiled. “She’s cute. She reminds me of my niece.” I pushed down the knot that formed whenever I thought about my sister and Gracie.

“Yeah, but a handful. I don’t even want to think what moving is going to do to her.”

She cranked the handle on a beach umbrella and propped up two chairs. I slid into the seat next to her, grateful for the slivers of shade.

“I’m Shawna Douglas.” She reached a hand toward me.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sydney Paige with the News & Record. How long have you and Lindy been here?”

“Since she was born. My parents left me this place. It was our summer vacation spot when I was a kid, but I live here year-round now with Lindy. It’s not much, but it works for us.”

I noticed her left hand was bare. “Is it only you two?”

She nodded. “Yeah, her father has never been in the picture. He left as soon as he found out I was pregnant. I had to drop out of college to support us. If it wasn’t for this place I don’t know how we’d have a roof over our heads.”

I scribbled the quote on my notepad while she continued to talk. There were portions of her story that were familiar to me. It was an eerie familiar. I forced myself to focus on Shawna. This wasn’t about Hailey. Not this time.

“All I have to pay is the rent for the land and a few utilities. It’s a good deal for me. I work at the Pancake House. It’s all I can afford. I should have known something this good could never last.”

“What is your plan when the development starts?”

She pulled on the side of the chair, tugging at a piece of vinyl that had come loose. “Is it a done deal? Do you know for sure it’s going to be sold?”

I shook my head. “I only know that the land is for sale for the first time in eighty years. There are multiple bidders who have been invited to participate in a closed auction. It hasn’t sold yet, but it looks like there are plenty of interested parties.”

“Bastards,” she muttered.

“Do you know where you and Lindy will move?” The question wasn’t for the story. I wanted to know where she would go with her curly-headed daughter.

“I’ll figure something out. I always do. But she’s supposed to start school in Port Isabel in the fall, and I don’t want that to change. Her life shouldn’t be uprooted because of greed. That’s what this is you know? Greed.”

It wasn’t my place to comment on the story. I was here to find the facts, or in this case present the human interest side of facts. I doubted Shawn’s story would make a bit of difference to the family selling the land. I rose, feeling the beads of sweat sticking behind my knees.