Half the campers were rusted from years of salty winds. Weeds struggled to grow through the sand. The picnic tables under the pavilion had more splinters than smooth spots. It looked like there used to be a swing set next to the charcoal grills, but all that was left was a cracked yellow slide. It was a dump.
This little tract of land was at the opposite end of the island from where the Palm stood. It was littered with trailers, campers, and dissembled Jeeps. Beach towels blew on a clothesline rigged between two boats. I walked toward the dunes.
I could see it. This was going to be the Texas beach resort destination. It wouldn't be like the others on the island, shuttling college kids in and out through a revolving door. It would have year-round high occupancy numbers. A spa. A five-star restaurant. I would develop it and after a year of being the premiere vacation spot I would sell it at the top of the market. Yes, this was going to be the deal of a lifetime.
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.
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."