Turn Over(81)

“Thank you for answering my questions. I might be back before this is all over.” I smiled weakly. “Would it be ok if I stopped by again?”

“Sure. No problem.”

The camper door opened and Lindy poked her head outside. “Mama, I’m still hungry.”

Shawna turned toward her daughter. “Well, let’s get something else for you to eat.”

I watched as she shuttled her inside and wondered what would happen to them when the construction crew rolled in here to level this place.

I bet the developer never thought about people like Shawna. People who worked hard just to put a roof over their child’s head. People who had made memories in this campground. First steps. First loves. It was all going to be plowed under.

Arnie Cratchett was waiting for me on his front stoop. He was wearing a pair of leather boots, dark denim jeans and a plaid shirt that looked like if it went through the washing machine one more time it would lose the last traces of color.

“I’ve been waiting for a reporter to get down here for two weeks. Two weeks.” He spit into a cup from the side of his mouth. His lower lip protruded with a heaping wad of tobacco.

“Hi, Mr. Cratchett. Nice to meet you. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. I’m Sydney.”

“Come on in. It’s too hot to sit outside.” He held the screen door for me.

I was relieved this interview would be inside. I was all for roughing the elements to get a story, but I was willing to try that on a cooler day.

Inside I could hear the air conditioner humming, and I stepped closer to feel the cold air blow from the ceiling vents. Arnie’s camper was neat and sparse. A pot of coffee was the only thing on the kitchen counter.

He scratched the patch of silver hair above his ears. “Why don’t you sit?”

“Thank you.” I sat in the chair closest to the vent. “I appreciate that you want to discuss the land development of Beach Combers Cove—”

“They are crooked crooks. A bunch of money hungry, unscrupulous, nasty, lying, selfish—”

It was my turn to interrupt him. I couldn’t report slanderous comments in a story. “Mr. Cratchett, I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about how long you’ve lived here.”

He waved his hand in the air. “No one wants to hear about that. What they need to know is about underhanded business deals happening in their own back yards.”

“I think our readers would like to hear your story.” I could tell this interview was going to be a struggle. “How did you organize the anti-development rally?”

“What they need to know is this island is being destroyed. Pretty soon the only piece of sand that’s going to be left is from what the wind blows in here. They’re tearing down the whole place.” His cheeks turned a deep crimson color. “This land is nothing like what it used to be.”

I tried to smile. “How many people would you say are a part of your organization?” I clicked the tip of my pen, waiting for his response.

He touched the plastic cup to his lips and I tried not to make a face when I heard him spit.

“I don’t keep track. Whoever is mad as hell like I am can join us.”

“But, Mr. Cratchett, you said you were going to organize a march through the island all the way to City Hall. Surely you have some idea if people are going to show up.”

“The problem here is greed. The filthy rich are doing what they always do.”

I sighed. Arnie rambled on about the atrocities of big business, never stopping to actually answer my questions.

After thirty minutes of listening to him explain how corrupt the developers were, I made an excuse of needing to return to the office to meet my deadline. There was a tiny bit of truth there.

I sat in my car, letting the air blow directly on my face. I was never going to get used to this kind of heat. I fished my phone out of my bag and called the office.

“Hey, Hannah. Is Alice in?”

The News & Record receptionist patched me through without responding.

“Alice,” my editor answered quickly.

“It’s Sydney. The development story isn’t really panning out. Mr. Cratchett is a cranky lunatic. We can’t use him. There’s no set date for a rally or march to City Hall.”

She huffed, “Then find another angle. Your deadline is coming up.”

I chewed on my lip. “I don’t know if there is a story here. I don’t know who the developers are yet. Maybe I should wait until the deal goes through, and then I could write about that.”

“You are the reporter. Find out who is making the bids. Talk to some of the developers. We need both sides of this. Go get the story.”