Pawleys Island Paradise boxset, Books 1 - 3

by Laurie Larsen

  “Okay.” She made some clicks on her computer. “Please state your name and town of residence.”

  He did, although he had an uneasy memory of doing something similar when he was arrested. The woman had a gorgeous face, but she sure wasn't doing anything to make him feel at ease with this interview process. Wouldn't a warm demeanor aid a reporter in coaxing more out of a person for a better story?

  “Tell me about your criminal record and why you were incarcerated.”

  He jerked a little at the question and wondered if she noticed. Way to get right at the tough stuff. “Uh, I was arrested for tax evasion, predatory lending and loan sharking.”

  She stared at him.

  “I served ten years and was released in August.”

  “You owned a construction company.”

  “No, not exactly. My dad owned the company. I worked for him.”

  “But the company, Harrison and Son, no longer exists. I looked for it on the internet.”

  He drew a shaky breath. “Right. The company went bankrupt.”

  “When you were in charge.”

  Her words couldn't have injured him more if she'd picked up a carving knife and plunged it into his chest. A tidal wave of pain and sting opened in his brain. Everything she'd said was accurate and there was so much more to the story. His big ambitions to take his dad's little handyman business and move into the big stuff — constructing new homes, big beach homes for high-dollar price tags — mansions for rich clients on the shoreline. He'd gone to college, gotten his business degree; he was equipped to improve his dad's company into something to be proud of.

  But it had gone terribly wrong. He'd gotten a few clients, but underbid the projects, much lower than his competitors. He'd won the jobs, but now had to operate on a shoestring budget. He still thought taking a loss on the first few houses would be a smart business strategy, then after their name and reputation were well known in Pawleys Island, he could raise prices. But it all went ugly, all went bad. Because of him. He had to lay off workers, he couldn't finish the jobs, clients sued him. He had no choice at the time but to get loans, no matter the source.

  He'd destroyed his dad's business and in the process, his family’s security and future.

  He rose to his feet, walked a few steps to the counter and leaned against it. He had to put a little distance between them. “Could we move on, please? Talk about the present? My new business?”

  “So you have a new business now.”

  He made an effort to shove the heavy stuff back where it belonged, in the background of his mind. “I'm just starting up. But I'm determined to do it right this time. Start small with appropriate pricing. My reputation will be all about high quality and innovation.”

  “Houses?”

  “No, no. Much smaller. Furniture. I build custom-made wooden furniture.”

  “Do you plan to get back into home construction someday?”

  “No. I don't.” He was feeling a little better now that the subject was one he was more comfortable with.

  “Because you failed at home construction?”

  He blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut. “If you don't mind, I'd like to focus on the present and the future. I'm done talking about my past. You understand?”

  “Can you hide from your mistakes that easily?”

  “Easy!” he spit out. “I spent a decade of my life serving my punishment for those mistakes. Not a moment of it was easy.”

  He paced to the other side of the kitchen, his fists clenched. Why was she being so hostile toward him?

  “And what about the victims of your crime? The people who worked for Harrison and Son who lost their jobs, through no fault of their own?”

  He took a deep breath and turned back to her with a calmer voice. “You're right. I'm not the only one to pay the consequences for my bad decisions. I have to live with that every moment of every day, for the rest of my life.”

  She nodded but didn't continue.

  A few moments passed. His heart rate had about returned to normal. “Look, I apologize for my outburst and for my defensiveness. I'm sure you didn't mean to do it, but you're really pushing my buttons here. My probation officer told me I wouldn't have to go into detail about my crime. Did he understand that wrong?”

  She was staring down at her laptop. She pushed it shut and slid it back into her bag. “This interview isn't going to happen today.” She stood and walked out of the kitchen.

  A part of him was relieved, but a part was apprehensive. This obviously hadn't gone well. What would he tell Neil? What would she tell Neil? He followed and caught up with her just as she was opening his front door.

  “Emma, please, wait.”

  She stopped, but didn't look up. Now that he held her captive what would he say to her? He'd already apologized for the disaster this interview had become.

  “Do you still plan to use me for the article? Or move on to someone else? I honestly am fine either way.” He studied her as she thought it over. “I just want to do what's right and if you want my help, I'd be happy to cooperate. But I don't want a repeat of the way it went today.” He didn’t mean to be harsh, but he wouldn't allow her to insult him either.

  She turned to face him. “I'm afraid I've been unprofessional with you. I let my personal feelings get in the way of my job. I shouldn't have done that.”

  “Personal feelings?” Now he was confused. They'd never met, as far as he knew.

  She dug in her bag, pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “Give me two days to cool down and please call me. I'll let you know our next steps.”

  She slipped through the door and out of his house before he could say another word. He watched her stride across his yard, get into her car and drive away. He slid his gaze to the business card, a duplicate of the one Neil had given him. He looked at the name with new eyes: “Emma Jean Slotky, Feature Reporter.”

  Slotky. Slotky. The name sounded familiar. Why?

  Maybe it was time for a visit with his dad.

  * * *

  Emma flew off the little side street, drove a few blocks down, then pulled the car over. She needed to breathe and clear her head. She shoved the car in park and rested her head in her hands. What was she thinking? She'd never been so rude during an article interview before. She knew the ropes. Put them at ease, make them comfortable, engage them in a chat about common interests. That's how she got the most out of the interview subjects.

  Not insult the man, alienate him and aggressively question his answers.

  Not that he didn't deserve it. He'd caused her family all kinds of trouble when her dad got laid off. She would've loved to get eye to eye with Jeremy Harrison ten years ago and given him a piece of her mind, right up in his face. Yell and yell till it was all out and he'd never forget it.

  But not now, a decade later, when he was done with his prison sentence. He seemed to be trying to make a new start. Was that authentic, or just an act for the article? Darn, he seemed to be honestly rehabilitated, with a positive can-do attitude and the desire to do the right thing. Or, had he just manipulated her and his probation officer into believing he was? The evil Jeremy Harrison who lived in the Slotky family annals was capable of that deception, and so much more.

  She shook out the tension in her shoulders. She had a problem. She was assigned to write a compelling story, the feature article. That wasn't going to happen if she'd just as soon bite his head off. And what if Jeremy or his officer called Peggy and reported Emma’s unprofessional behavior? That definitely wouldn't do her career aspirations any good.

  She sighed and checked her reflection in the car's inside mirror. She dabbed at her face and fluffed up her hair. She'd have to cool down and consider her next move. She could very easily ask Brad to meet with him. She could still do the other two subjects, ask Brad to meet with Jeremy, then consolidate his story into hers. But Peggy had assigned this to her. She could assume Brad was equally loaded up with assignments. She didn't want to be the weak link,
and besides, with the budget troubles the magazine was having, they wouldn’t hesitate to fire her if she gave them a valid reason. And she couldn't afford to be fired due to poor performance.

  She needed to face this thing straight on.

  She leaned back in her seat and frowned. It really was an opportunity, if she looked at it the right way. Dad's lay-off had been a family tragedy for a long time. Now she was face to face with the guy who'd caused it.

  Maybe she'd been placed on this assignment for a reason. Maybe she was supposed to learn something from this. But what?

  She sat in her seat and tried the deep breathing exercises she’d learned in college when life handed her a little more than she could take. Stress was unavoidable, but it was nice to have a technique to deal with it. Some of her friends had a faith in God and prayed for help. Some did yoga. She breathed.

  In, out. In slowly, wait for ten seconds, out. Soon, her pulse was back to normal, her limbs no longer tingled and she felt marginally better. She pulled out her cell phone to see if she could reschedule the other two interviews to sooner and worry about Jeremy Harrison later.

  * * *

  Jeremy locked up his bungalow and shoved the key in his pocket. He smirked at his word choice. Bungalow was one of those words realtors used to make a place attractive. Sounded so much better than, a four walled square house smaller than a tin can. But he was grateful to his dad for letting him live there rent-free after Hank had moved into a big beach house with his new wife, Leslie.

  As he walked by his old pickup truck, he patted it, making a solid thud sound. One of the perks of not paying rent was his ability to save up and buy this old truck. It was older than dirt and had over 150K on it, but the price was right. To give it a break tonight and to get a little exercise himself, he'd walk over to his dad's. Nothing on Pawleys Island was that far.

  Growing up in a tourist beach town had mostly perks and few disadvantages. He and his sisters had been raised in the sand, surf and sun. Barefoot, swimsuit-clad, suntanned kids out on the beach from dawn till dusk, then back in only long enough to eat dinner and grab a jacket, then back out with a flashlight to look for crabs digging holes in the sand. By bedtime they were so exhausted, they plunged into sleep to rest up for more magic the next day. It was an idyllic, enchanted and captivating childhood.

  He knew the town like the back of his hand, so after twenty minutes of walking and a few turns, he started down the gravel beach road that boasted, among other large rental homes, The Old Gray Barn. His new stepmom had a long history with the house, having stayed there every summer of her childhood and formed so many fond memories there. At the beginning of this summer, she'd taken a pilgrimage to Pawleys and re-discovered the meaningful house. She became part of the Harrison family, both figuratively and literally, when she married Jeremy’s dad and they bought the Barn together. Dad knew it had been lovingly cared for over the years because he'd done the lions' share of the repairs and maintenance himself, through his handyman business. The house had survived Hurricane Hugo in 1989 completely intact, despite the neighboring houses on either side being destroyed. It was a solid old girl, and now, had the perfect owners who appreciated her rustic beauty.

  Reaching the house, he trotted up the front steps onto a wooden deck that boasted half a dozen rocking chairs. The house rested on stilts to allow the high tide to flow underneath it nightly. He rapped on the front door, then, remembering his dad's repeated invitation, opened the door and shouted, “Dad? Leslie?” Inner turmoil warred. Sure, Hank was his dad, however, he and Leslie were still newlyweds after all, and by letting himself in, Jeremy could be walking into an unwelcome surprise.

  “Jeremy? Out on the porch. Come on back.”

  Jeremy walked through the combination great room/dining room, across plain scuffed wooden floors, swept clean and scattered with throw rugs. On the opposite wall he opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the screened porch, which featured an ocean front view and more wooden rocking chairs where family and friends could rock, watch the ocean and listen to the waves.

  “What a nice surprise,” Leslie said as she rose and gave him a quick embrace and kiss on the cheek.

  His dad waved from his chair, not bothering to get up. “Want an iced tea, son?”

  “No, that's okay.” It was an automatic response, but truth was, after the longish walk he was sort of thirsty.

  Leslie gestured toward a chair. “Make yourself comfortable. We have the pitcher here. Let me just get another glass in case you change your mind.”

  She patted his shoulder on her way by and his heart swelled. Leslie was a breath of fresh air, and just what this sad, practically destroyed family needed. He'd ruined so much that was good about the Harrisons and although he'd paid his debt to society, his imprisonment would never come close to restoring the family to how it was, or how it would be flourishing now without his errors.

  He sank into the chair next to his dad. He couldn't be happier that his dad had found happiness, finally.

  “Hey Dad, how's it going today?”

  Hank nodded. “Can't complain. Working over in Litchfield this week and next. Bunch of condos that need kitchen renovations. Countertops, cabinets.”

  “Sounds like a lot of heavy lifting. Do you have help?”

  “Yeah, I do. I hired a helper for this job. Young guy with a much better back than I got.”

  Jeremy smiled. “Gotta keep yourself fresh in the evenings for your new bride, huh?”

  Hank swatted his son's arm and they both chuckled, just in time for Leslie to return. She handed Jeremy the glass. He helped himself to the tea and had gulped almost a full glass before he looked up and saw both Hank and Leslie staring at him, amused. “Sorry. Guess I was thirsty after all.”

  Hank settled back into comfortable silence, the sound of the early evening waves surrounding them all.

  “So,” Jeremy said, “I had an appointment with Neil this week.”

  “Things going well?” Leslie asked.

  “Sure, yeah. In fact, Neil asked me to take part in a project about success stories, people who make a good transition to society after incarceration.”

  “That sounds like an honor, to me.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Let's not go that far. But yeah, he picked three of his offenders to be interviewed for a magazine article and one was me. In fact, Dad, I wanted to run a name by you. The reporter came by to interview me and her name sounded familiar. Does Slotky ring any bells to you?”

  Hank studied him for a moment, then said, “Sure. Gary Slotky? He was one of my seasonal help for the handyman business before we expanded. Had him at least eight, nine years. Once you started building up the home construction piece, you hired him on full-time.” Hank rubbed his chin. “Seems to me he had some kind of specialty skill you needed for homes. Dry wall? Or roofing? Something like that.”

  Jeremy took a long breath. “Did he have a family, do you remember, Dad?”

  Hank squinted. “Yeah, couple a kids, if I remember right. Daughters. Or maybe just one.”

  “Teenagers?”

  “Could be.”

  “You don't remember any names, do you?”

  Hank shook his head. “Why?”

  Jeremy dug in his pocket for the business card and handed it to him. “The reporter seemed to have a chip on her shoulder from the moment she stepped in the house. An attitude, you know? Pressing on a bruise type of questions, never let anything drop, and asking pointed questions about the victims of my crime. It surprised the heck out of me, considering the article's about rehabilitation and making a success.”

  Hank read the card. “Emma Slotky.” He shrugged and handed the card back. “Could be Gary's daughter. Slotky's not that common a name. Want to do a search for her on Leslie's laptop?”

  He was tempted, but decided not to. He was most likely going to see her again and he could just ask her. Apologize to her personally, take responsibility for his actions. Again and again in his freedom, he faced dis
crimination against ex-cons. This was no different. Best to deal with it with understanding and patience, knowing that if he was in her spot, he'd be angry too.

  “So Jeremy, why don't you stay for dinner? We've got plenty.”

  It didn't take much convincing. Between Leslie's invitation, his own empty cupboard at home and the smell of beef stew on the stove and biscuits in the oven, his stomach's growling left him little room to argue.

  Chapter Three

  Emma pulled off Route 17 onto two-lane Milltown Road. Traveling just twelve miles away from the neon lights and tourism of her hometown, Myrtle Beach, made a world of difference. More peaceful, secluded, quiet. More in her element, away from the hustle bustle and the omnipresent traffic.

  She'd been coming here since she was eight. That was the age she'd fallen so head over heels horse-crazy that her parents agreed to let her take riding lessons. Probably just to shut her up. Grieders' Stables, halfway between Garden City and Murrell's Inlet became her home away from home. The moment she emerged from the car on that first day, she knew she belonged. A mid-sized mongrel dog ran out to greet her. A prissy, scaredy-cat girl would've screamed and run but Emma knew the dog was welcoming her. On the walk from the small gravel parking lot to the arena and barn, she spied a peacock. The first time she'd ever seen one in person, it displayed his tail for her and she was mesmerized forever.

  But the horses. Chica the Palomino, Maggie the black half-thoroughbred and Junior, the huge gray gelding. They didn't belong to her, but they might as well have because she gave over her heart and commitment to them on Day One. It was Mom and Dad's expectation that to help pay for lessons, she'd work in the stalls. She gained a 360-degree education in the care and maintenance of her new favorite animals. She fed them proper measurements of oats, hay and water. She measured their vitamin supplements and made sure they swallowed them down. She learned every aspect of grooming, from bathing to brushing to picking the hooves and braiding the manes. And of course, the mucking. Horse stalls got rank pretty fast and there were always stalls that needed mucking out. She'd been nine when she took over that job. It wasn't her favorite, but hey, it was part of the package and she never really minded it. She even got to tolerate the smell.