Wipe Out

by Jeff Shelby

  Or, maybe, hoping for a piece of the motel pie, I thought.

  Rose reached out and touched Anne's arm. “I know that Mitchell cared about you,” she said, softening her tone. “I am not blind to that. But, please. Don't make any decisions without talking with me first. At the very least, I think I deserve that.” She removed her hand from Anne's arm and looked at me. “A pleasure.”

  Rose Henderson turned and walked away from us.

  FOURTEEN

  Anne threw her head back against the seat. “Why the hell would he leave the motel to me?”

  We were driving back toward the coffee shop on Mission where we'd left her car.

  “I'd assume he had a good reason,” I said, switching lanes. “Actually, I'm sure he had more than one reason. He probably had lots.”

  “Like what, though? I don't have any experience.”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. “That's not true. You know every aspect of that motel. You've done every job there, right?”

  She nodded. “I guess.”

  “So who else would be more qualified to run it?”

  “But I don't have any business experience,” she argued. “I know how to clean a room and paint, and how to fix the laundry machines when they break. But that isn't running the motel.” She looked out the window. “Running the motel is handling all of the money, the insurance, the property upkeep. I never did any of that. That was all Mitchell.”

  “He must've thought you were capable,” I said. “I don't think he would've entrusted you with it if he didn't believe you were.”

  She shrugged and looked out the window. “Rose was pissed.”

  I laughed. “That she was.”

  “I don't blame her,” Anne said. “Especially if she didn't know. If she thought it was going to be hers and then she found out it wasn't? I don't blame her at all for being angry.”

  “I guess,” I said. “Not sure now was the right time to get into it, though.”

  Anne leaned back in the passenger seat. “She accused me of having an affair with Mitchell a couple years ago.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Yep,” she said. “Stopped me in the parking lot one night and told me she knew what was going on between us. I think I was almost as shocked then as I was today.” She looked at me. “And to be clear, we were not having an affair.”

  “No need to clarify.”

  “Well, I had to clarify with her,” she said, shaking her head. “Mitchell has always been like a dad to me. I was appalled that she even thought that. I don't get angry very easily, but I did that day. Mitchell apologized to me the next day. I guess she told him about her confronting me. He felt terrible.”

  “I get the sense he may have done a lot of apologizing for her,” I said.

  “I don't know,” Anne said. “I think she just felt territorial about him. And the motel. I was always there and I think I was an easy target.” She looked out the window again. “I didn't show up as much after that.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Was my decision. I just didn't feel comfortable anymore. I felt like she was watching me.”

  “I guess maybe that explains why she might've been so pissed today.”

  “Probably thinks both Mitchell and I lied about having an affair,” she said, chuckling. “That we planned it all along.”

  “Grief can make people a little dumb,” I said.

  “She's not all terrible,” Anne said. “And she has been nice to me in the past. I don't want to make her out to be some villain she's not.”

  I swung us around from La Jolla Boulevard onto Mission. “I get it.”

  There was a moment of quiet. I’d turned the radio down so the only sound filling the car was the hum of the engine as we accelerated down Mission.

  Anne broke the silence. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Not my decision.”

  “I know. But I'm asking for your opinion. Please.”

  “The one thing I would not do is make a quick decision,” I told her. “I wouldn't let Rose or anyone else hurry you along. And I would talk to the attorney to find out more about the motel. The state of its finances and that kind of stuff.”

  “I know he was behind,” Anne said.

  “Behind?”

  “Just on paying bills and things like that,” she explained. “He'd put off making some repairs. It's tough competing with the condos and the new hotels.”

  I was sure that was true. “Then I'd make sure you have all of the most accurate financial information you can get your hands on before deciding anything.” I pulled to the curb behind her car. “I would do that first because that might give you some guidance.”

  She was still holding the envelope with Mitchell's letter to her, and she turned it over in her hands. “I'm not sure it matters much.”

  “How so?”

  “Everything I've ever tried, I've failed at,” Anne said, looking at the envelope. “Relationships, work, whatever. I've failed. I run things into the ground.”

  “I think you might be being a little hard on yourself.”

  “I'm not,” she said, shaking her head. “And I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm just stating the facts. If the motel was doing well, I'd probably find a way to crash and burn it. And if it's really struggling?” She shook her head again. “I'd be like the final nail in the coffin.”

  I watched the traffic ease past us on Mission. “Just get some information before you make any decisions.”

  She pushed open the door. “Thank you for taking me. And listening to all this.”

  “Of course.”

  “And for checking on the accident,” she said. “I feel stupid now.”

  “Don't. Better to know than not know.”

  She looked down the boulevard toward the motel that was now hers. “Yeah. It is. Thanks again.”

  I nodded and watched her walk toward her car. She walked around to the driver's side and got in. I watched as she put her head on the wheel for a moment, then started the engine. She checked the mirrors, then made a slow U-turn. She waved at me, smiled, and drove off.

  I really hadn't known what to tell her. I hated to think that the motel might go to someone who didn't care about it, but I knew that might be the most likely scenario. I did hope she'd find out as much about it before she made a decision, though. She owed that to Mitchell.

  I hoped she'd at least do that for him.

  FIFTEEN

  “What do you think she should do?” I asked.

  It was the next morning and Carter and I were bobbing on the water, in between sets. We'd been out for about two hours and I'd been filling him in on Anne and the motel and what had happened the previous afternoon.

  “Sell it,” he said, scooping the ocean into his hands. “Dude. Do you know how much that must be worth?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, sitting upright on my board. “Of course. A ton.”

  “Like, nine tons.”

  “Whatever. A lot. I get it. But he didn't leave it to her just to sell. Can you imagine the motel not being there?”

  “Can you imagine having something like that worth eight figures and you don't even consider unloading it?” Carter asked.

  It was a fair question. I knew the value of the land alone would be insane. I didn't know what Anne's financial situation was, but it was hard to think she wouldn't benefit from a multimillion-dollar sale.

  But I had a hard time reconciling that Mitchell Henderson would leave her the motel just to have her turn around and sell it. If that had been his plan, he could've left it to his wife. But he left it to the one person he felt cared about it the same way he did.

  “Look, I get it,” Carter said, splashing water over the top of his board. “The motel is an icon and so was Mitchell. It's a lot of responsibility. But I'm not sure how the motel hangs on forever. She doesn't have a ton of money to pour into it, I'm sure. So does she leverage herself and try to keep it afloat, to the point that whatever debt she rac
ks up will only be taken care of by selling it and losing out on what it might've brought her? Or do you just cut ties now and walk away? Do something else with the money that Mitchell might appreciate?”

  “You sound like a banker.”

  “Yeah, but I don't dress like one.”

  “True.” I tapped the top of the fiberglass board and watched another small set move in to our right. “I guess. I just think that was kind of a shitty burden to dump on her.”

  “Not if he wanted her to have the money.”

  I ran a hand through my wet hair. “She doesn't seem like someone who cares much about money.”

  “Everyone cares about money, dude,” Carter said, swiveling to his belly and paddling. “Everyone.”

  A small wave picked him up and carried him to the shore.

  I lay down on the board, paddled hard to my right, and managed to find a small, fat wave to take me in, thinking about money and who cared about it.

  Carter was standing in ankle-deep water, his board tucked under his massive arm, his eyes on the beach, when I reached him.

  “Well, well,” he said, shaking the water from his head. “Looks like she wants another chance with me after all.”

  I stood up from the water. “What?”

  He nodded toward the beach.

  The redheaded woman was back, walking from the steps to the sand, board under her arm.

  I plucked my board from the water. “Seriously? You're gonna do this again?”

  He grinned. “Gotta give the ladies what they want?”

  I shook my head and followed him up the sand.

  “Missed me?” Carter said, smiling at her.

  She smiled back and stuck her board in the sand. “Like I miss cancer.”

  “Weird that you miss cancer.”

  “I don't,” she said. “It was a joke.”

  “I know,” he said. “Now I'm joking.”

  She looked at me. “Again, I have to ask. No one else to hang around with, Superman?”

  “He's like a stray dog,” I said. “Won't go away.”

  “Or a rash,” she said.

  “Or that.”

  Carter's grin faded. “I'm not used to being rejected.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Now you're hurting my feelings,” he said. “That's just mean.”

  “I'll get over it,” she said, then stripping out of the yellow T-shirt to reveal a bright green rashguard. “But I got a question for Superman.”

  Carter raised an eyebrow and looked at me.

  She unbuttoned the denim shorts and let them fall to her ankles. She wore bikini bottoms that matched the rashguard and made her eyes almost emerald. She kicked the shorts off and set her hands on her hips. “You wanna have dinner with me tonight?”

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Carter muttered, shaking his head.

  “I was a bit rude to you the other day,” she said. “You must have the patience of a saint to hang around with Godzilla here. And I really like food. Figure those things earn you a dinner invitation.”

  “An invitation,” I said. “I gather these aren't handed out too frequently.”

  She swept all of her red hair over to the side. It was a gesture that was becoming oddly familiar.

  And attractive.

  “Few and far between,” she said, squinting at me.

  “You know I wasn't trying to earn an invitation, right?” I said.

  For the first time, she appeared to not have an answer ready for me.

  “Sure,” I said. “Invitation accepted.”

  “I'm gonna be sick,” Carter muttered.

  “Cool,” she said, picking her board up from the sand. “I'll meet you at the top of the stairs. Six?”

  I nodded.

  She headed toward the water.

  “You gonna tell me your name?” I shouted to her.

  She turned around and backpedaled toward the ocean, her hair swirling around her face.

  “Sure,” she said, grinning. “If dinner's good.”

  SIXTEEN

  “Garbage,” Carter said, as we trudged up the stairs from the beach. “Complete garbage.”

  “You've long ignored the fact that I'm better looking than you,” I said. “About time you faced the facts.”

  “I wonder if she has a vision problem,” he said, ignoring me. “Maybe she has a vision problem.”

  I chuckled. I was taken aback that the woman had asked me out, but was more enjoying the fact that it upset Carter as much as it did. She'd taken me by surprise and I'd said yes just as much to spite him as to actually go to dinner with her.

  We reached the top of the stairs, turned the corner, and we both stopped.

  Anne was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of our house, her phone pressed to her ear. She glanced in our direction, did a double take, pulled the phone from her ear, and walked quickly toward us. I could tell by her expression—worried, harried, something along those lines—that something was wrong.

  “I was trying to call you,” she said, her voice shaking. “Both of you.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “We were out in the water. What's going on?”

  She promptly burst into tears, her entire body shaking.

  Carter looked at me.

  I shrugged, unsure of what to do.

  After a moment, Anne wiped hard at her eyes and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just...I don't know what to do.”

  “About what?” Carter asked.

  She took another deep breath and seemed on the verge of tears again. “Last night. My tires were slashed. In my driveway. I didn't think much of it. Stuff happens. But I also got a call.”

  “A call?” I asked.

  She nodded. “From some guy. He said he's one of the developers that wanted to buy the motel. No idea how he got my number, but he knew Mitchell left it to me. I couldn't get two words in. He just kept telling me I needed to sell it to him. And quickly, before things went bad.”

  “Went bad?” I asked. “Like how?”

  “He didn't say,” she said. Her hands were shaking at her sides, almost as much as her voice. “Just said I shouldn't wait. And that I'd be dumb to sell it to anyone but him.” She frowned. “I didn't think much of it at first. I mean, he was a total jerk, but whatever. But then I woke up in the middle of the night and I heard something outside. I looked out the window and I saw someone running away. I didn't even know if they'd been at my house. I went out this morning and I saw the tires.”

  “And you thought it was weird after the phone call,” Carter said.

  She nodded. “Yes. Very. I don't know if I'm being paranoid or what. But then I started thinking about how he said things would go bad and it just freaked me the hell out.” She took another deep breath, her chest heaving. “I didn't know if I should call the police or what. So I called you guys, but didn't get an answer. So I got in my car and came over.” She held up her hands. “And now I just feel unbelievably stupid standing here, telling you all this.”

  “Not stupid at all,” I said. “One question. You said you drove over. Is the car already fixed? Tires replaced already?”

  “What?” she asked. And then my question must have registered because her expression cleared. “No, I have a loaner. Just for today. I called AAA and they towed the car to the dealer. I got one there.”

  That made sense, especially if she had places to be and didn’t want to wait around for her car to be fixed. I pointed to the house. “Let's go in and get you some coffee.”

  We walked back to the house and I quickly made a pot. I poured her a cup and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. I tossed one to Carter when he emerged from his room in dry shorts and a T-shirt. I went and changed into my clothes and they were sitting on the couch when I came back out.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, when I sat down across from her. She cupped the mug in her hands. “I feel like I've totally overreacted.”

  “D
on't apologize,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “It's fine.”

  She stared into the coffee. “I'm just overwhelmed, I think.”

  “That's understandable,” I said. “A lot thrown at you in the last 24 hours. I'd be overwhelmed, too.”

  “Not me,” Carter said.

  She looked at him and he smiled. She laughed and shook her head.

  “Tell me more about the phone call,” I said.

  She took a nervous drink from the coffee and then set the mug on the table. “Was about nine last night, I think? My phone rang as I was getting ready for bed. Or at least, trying, because I didn't think I was going to be able to sleep. So it rang and the number was blocked, but I answered anyway. And it was this guy. He said he understood I'd just obtained ownership of the motel.”

  “What was his name?” I asked.

  “I don't know,” she said. “And I know. Stupid. But I was so caught off-guard, I never even asked.”

  “And he didn't offer it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay,” I said. “So he called and said he knew The Blue Wave was yours now.”

  “Yeah,” Anne said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He sort of talked right over me, telling me he knew that I was now the sole owner of the motel and he was going to have paperwork done and sent to me for the sale. He was telling me the sale could occur fast, he'd make sure there were no seller fees on my end, he just kept going on.” She picked up the coffee again. “I finally cut him off and said I wasn't interested at this time because I just didn't know what else to tell him. Then he said if he were me, he'd talk to an attorney before I found myself in a position I didn't want to be in. Said he'd be in touch and hung up.” She shook her head. “And it was the way he said that last part. Being in a position I didn't want to be in. He didn't mean it in a nice way. But now I'm listening to myself and it sounds like I'm freaking out over a jerky salesman.”

  “Be different if your tires were fine,” Carter said, glancing at me.

  I nodded. “Putting them both together would give anyone a weird feeling. Don't beat yourself up over it.”