Carolina Booty

by T. Lynn Ocean

  Pointing at the raccoon, I narrowed my eyes. “I’m here to recover the mascara she swiped. Took it right out of my makeup bag. It came from the Clarins counter, you know. That stuff’s not cheap.”

  He put Bandit on the floor before squeezing me tight. “Need your room again?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You paying the same rate as before?” he teased.

  “Zero works for me.”

  Chuckling, he carried in my overnight bag and asked if I’d been tracking the hurricane.

  I hadn’t watched television news or read a paper in weeks. Not even my coveted Sunday Atlanta Journal-Constitution. “Hurricane?”

  “Hailey. She’s almost a cat-three and growing. Moving fast. Formed in the South Atlantic and nearly hit Cuba before turning toward the states. Yesterday, forecasters said it would hit land somewhere between Little River and Beaufort. Which is basically the entire South Carolina Coast.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  “The projected path tightened up last night and we’re still right in the middle of it.”

  “I had no idea. I haven’t been keeping up with the news lately.”

  “Could hit as soon as Monday afternoon, if it doesn’t stall,” Pop said. “You might ought to head back tomorrow. Eat a good breakfast and get back on the road early tomorrow. No matter where she makes landfall, we’re going to have some nasty weather.”

  “Trying to get rid of me already?”

  We went inside and Pop let Bandit climb back onto his shoulder. “Course not. Just that most sane people head away from a storm. Not straight into it.”

  “So it’s definitely going to hit Rumton?”

  “No way to know,” he said. “Usually can’t tell exactly where a storm will run ashore ‘til the last few hours. You just keep an eye on it and get ready.”

  I stretched and dropped into a chair. “Well, I’m not leaving in the morning. I just got here!” I knew hurricanes were serious stuff, but I’d been through severe storms before. How bad could it be?

  Studying the kitchen, I realized that things were messy to the point of being near trashed. Broken and stacked on the floor, drawers had been pulled from their slots. Ripped, the kitchen curtain hung sideways from its rod. Big broken jars of flour and sugar and other cooking ingredients had been swept up and were piled into a cardboard box. And propped in a corner, as though for easy retrieval, a shotgun stood on its barrel with the stock pointed up.

  “It looks Hurricane Hailey already hit,” I said. “What happened?”

  Pop shrugged at the mess. “Somebody wanted something more than I did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Carrying two glasses of sweet tea, Pop joined me at the table. “I think you city dwellers call it a break-in.”

  Shocked, I leaned forward and almost knocked over the tea. “Somebody broke in your house? When? How?”

  “Not a true break-in, I reckon, since my doors weren’t locked. But somebody walked in and sifted through the house while I was o’er at Millie’s. Day after you left.”

  “What did they steal?”

  “Nothing, far as I can tell,” Pop said, looking tired. “Sure made a mess, though.”

  Pop had no ideas on who’d come into his house and rummaged around, or what they were looking for. The police chief said there wasn’t much to be done, other than write up a report. But everyone knew about it and the whole town was on alert for a trespasser. Lester did his part by putting a full page ad in the Rumton Review, which offered a reward for any information. Billy got the newsletter out on time for a change, and Pop slid it across the table for me to see.

  I read the ad and my throat soured with distaste. “It’s a campaign message.”

  Pop frowned and his green eye went dark. “Don’t know why he’s bothering to campaign for mayor. People ‘round here have already voted him in. They’re just waiting for the election to make it official.”

  Flush nosed up to Pop and laid his large head on the leg that wasn’t occupied by Bandit. It was as though the animals sensed his distress and tried to comfort him.

  An hour later, we nursed the same ice teas and our topic of conversation remained on Lester. I’d passed along the information from Chuck’s background check and Pop, while disturbed, wasn’t shocked. We tossed possible scenarios back and forth, brainstorming. Finally Pop asked what my boss thought about it all.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t told him. And nobody knows I’m here, except Sheila. I took the day off.”

  Pop’s forehead wrinkled in worry. “What ‘bout your job? When Aaron finds out you went behind his back, and you didn’t share what you found out…;”

  Pop was right. It wouldn’t sit well with my boss. I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t made a stupid move. “It should be okay. I did take a vacation day. And my personal time is mine to do whatever I want. My visit has nothing whatsoever to do with the pro bono project. I seriously want that Clarins mascara back!”

  He shook his head and the green eye sparkled. “Whate’er you say.”

  “I’m amazed every time I look at your eye. It’s very cool.”

  “Aye. And I’m amazed at yours.”

  I was confused. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not twitching anymore.” He got to the end of his tea and chewed a piece of ice. “The first time you got to town, it looked like your face ‘twas in a convulsion, much as your eye tic came and went. After the first week, I didn’t notice it too much. Now, it’s gone altogether.”

  I had to laugh at his reference to a convulsion. My left eyelid always got a tic when I stressed over something. But I hadn’t noticed it lately, so maybe he was right. Maybe it was gone for good. Odd, because there’d been more stress in my life post-Rumton than pre-Rumton. Reflexively, my hand went to my face and I rubbed my eye, just below the brow bone. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”

  He shrugged, asked if I was hungry. As usual, I was, and he pulled a plate of leftover meatloaf from the refrigerator. In perfect timing, Millie dropped by with a homemade lemon pie just as Pop served me a plate of food. Surprise pushed her eyebrows up when she spotted me. I told her I was visiting Pop, and not in town on official Shine business. She shrugged, like it made no difference to her either way, but I could tell she wondered what brought me back to town.

  “If you just happen to talk with Aaron, please don’t—”

  She waved off my concern. “Your whereabouts is safe with me. I don’t hear from my nephew much anymore, no how. But why are you here?”

  Through bites of fried meatloaf sandwich and dill potato salad, I told her everything I’d discovered about Lester. Her eyes got big and she stopped breathing to concentrate on the information.

  When her body reminded her to breath, she suddenly inhaled. “I know Pop isn’t a fan of Lester’s. Now I’m not, either.” Her eyes moved to Pop. “I guess you got a better sense about people than me, Cuddles.”

  I gave Pop a look and, grinning, he answered with a mini shrug. I giggled, he made a funny face, and soon we both laughed uncontrollably. I may have spit out a chunk of meatloaf – totally unlike a Shine Advertising professional. I was definitely on my own time.

  “What’s so funny?” Millie demanded.

  “Cu-Cud-Cuddles!” I managed to get out. “That’s a huge change from what you used to call him. Pompous Pop!”

  “Well he has a nickname for me, too,” Millie said.

  Pop nodded. “Right-o, Maddie.”

  “It’s short for Mad Millie.” She beamed at him, pleased rather than offended.

  With Flush leading the way, we took a walk and debated what I should do. I could put the word out about Lester by telling a few people at Bull’s place, and let the grapevine take over. Or I could gather residents together for an informal meeting, and confront Lester outright, publicly. Or I could do nothing, and quietly hire an investigator to get enough dirt on Lester to shut him down. Option A would be easy, option B woul
d be risky, and option C would take both money and time. All three courses of action could put me in hot water with Shine Advertising and PR. The partners were all about teamwork. Individualism and creativity were rewarded, but renegades were not tolerated.

  “Council votes on selling the waterway property after second reading, tonight,” Pop said. “Might be best if you go to the council meeting and say your piece there. Or, I could do it for you, to keep you out of the doghouse with Aaron.”

  “Oh, no! I forgot there’s already been a first reading. I can’t believe how quickly things are moving.”

  Millie took Pop’s hand and, without consciously trying to, they began stepping in unison, like an old married couple, comfortable with each other’s habits. “Aye,” Pop agreed. “Unusual for anything to happen quick, ‘round here.”

  “So everyone has come together to push through an ordinance to sell off land. I may not know much about real estate, but I do know that land is one of the most valuable assets that an individual or in this case, a town, can own. This is crazy.” Feeling way out of my league, I sighed. “I should have obtained a schedule of all public sessions when I first got here, instead of aimlessly roaming about. Why wasn’t I more organized in my approach?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Pop consoled me. “You had no way to see what Lester was up to. It’s obvious he’s had his sights on Rumton for some time now.”

  “But what if the council won’t listen to me? They wouldn’t last time I tried to reason with them.”

  “True. Lester got everybody worked up. But on the bright side, at least he’s gotten them interested enough in something to rally for a cause.” Pop put his fingertips together while he thought about things. “Might be a good thing. Folks ‘round here haven’t come together over an issue in a long while. Years. You just need to aim their collective energy in a different direction.”

  “I don’t have a direction for them. That’s the whole problem! I don’t want them to sell to Lester, but I don’t have an alternative yet.”

  Pop shrugged. “Maybe all that brainstorming you did might mesh out to a real idea for revitalizing Rumton. What you came ‘ere for to begin with.”

  I looked at my watch. It was already four-thirty. “What time is the meeting?”

  “Five-thirty.”

  We got back to Pop’s house and, while I figured out what I wanted to say to the council, we dug in to Millie’s lemon pie. The filling was creamy and tart, and the sweet meringue topping was superb. It was the best lemon pie I’d ever eaten. Savoring each bite, I considered discussing the situation with Aaron before I did anything. But there wasn’t time. I considered calling Justin for advice. But he’d probably just chalk it all up to an overactive imagination and my ego. Either way, when word got back to my boss that I’d spoken out against Lester, I’d be in trouble. I could very well lose my job. I had some savings. But I enjoyed working for Shine and had always been a star performer. I couldn’t imagine being fired. I’d never been fired from anything.

  I thought about taking Pop up on his offer to deliver the news, but third-hand information wouldn’t pack the same punch. Besides, I wanted to see the reaction on Lester’s face, just for the satisfaction. He’d swatted me away, like a pesky fly, but soon he’d know that I wasn’t through buzzing around in his business. Scooping up the last bite of pie, I decided I’d deal with the consequences at Shine Advertising and PR later. Worrying about it now wouldn’t help a thing. Using Pop’s new fax machine, I made copies of some detail sheets that I’d printed at home and prepared my plan of attack.

  The movie house lobby was less crowded than the last time I’d been there. Sitting in the ticket window, Amy surfed the internet on her dialup connection. Waiting for a page to load, she looked up and waved when we walked by. Since the break-in at his house, Pop told me, they’d been keeping the police station open later in the evenings. But there was no purpose to that, in his opinion, since anyone who needed the police chief just called him at home or knocked on his door.

  In the theater, Councilwoman Delores called the meeting to order. The mayor pro tem, she took over Riley’s role when he died. A smattering of people occupied the first few rows of seats, but it was nothing close the crowd on hand for last week’s court session with the judge. Everyone supported the council’s intention to sell off town assets, so there was no need for them to attend. We slipped into seats near the aisle and I scoped out the rows to see who had come. A few volunteer firefighters who worked the concession stand hung out in the back of the theater, along with the police chief. Elwood and Gladys sat with five or six of their neighbors. Holding a notepad and pen, Billy was present to take notes in his official capacity of Rumton Review reporter. Walter and a few of his bar buddies sat clumped together. Chin on her chest, Gertrude dozed next to them. And in the front row, Lester relaxed, arms outstretched and resting on the chair backs beside him.

  The only item on the agenda was the land sale, which meant town leaders scheduled the meeting solely to accommodate Lester. Council was intent on pushing it through quickly. They’d already obtained independent appraisals, which came in at a ridiculously low estimate that averaged a mere six thousand dollars per acre. The town also publicly offered the parcel for sale, but received no bids, a fact I found hard to believe. During discussion, or rather, brainwashed testimonials, Lester sat quietly, nodding. He had the smug look of a puppeteer as he controlled the strings of his marionettes.

  When it was time for public input, I raised my hand, and once Councilwoman Delores recognized me, pushed my shoulders back and walked to the front of the theater, forcing myself to tune out the basketball of nerves in my stomach. Lester’s face flashed a look of surprise that instantaneously morphed into anger. But I’d done my homework and was prepared to give the presentation of a lifetime. I’d probably be in hot water later, at work, but saving a small town had become bigger than a simple job assignment. It had become personal.

  “I’m no longer here on behalf of my company, which you all know to be Shine Advertising and PR,” I began, “but rather, I am here as a concerned individual. And I’d like to explain to you why selling this parcel of land to Lester Spear, whom you know as Lester Smoak, would be a tremendous mistake.”

  A collective murmur came from the sparse audience, and I couldn’t resist turning around to catch Lester’s expression after he heard his real name uttered. Hatred emanated from his eyes, which oddly, induced a small thrill in me.

  I paused to let my opening sentence sink in, and decided to save the best for last. The dirt on Lester could wait. I started by questioning the council’s appraisal and listing methodology. I already knew which appraisers they’d used, because Millie was friends with Delores and obtained copies of the paperwork. Handing each council member a list of every company in coastal South Carolina that specialized in commercial land appraisals, I explained that the market value estimates the town obtained were flawed. None of their appraisers were specialists in commercial land, and in fact, one of the three I’d tried to contact had a disconnected phone number and was already out of business.

  Next, I explained that to get the best price for any sizeable parcel of land, the town would need to list it for sale with a real estate company, who in turn would advertise it statewide and in some instances, nationwide. At the minimum, it would go into an MLS or multiple listing system and on the internet, for viewing by any number of investors with money to spend. I passed out another handout, to the council and the audience. It showed the selling price and dates of comparable plots of land in the Carolinas.

  “We might do things a little different than yer used to, but nothing was done improper-like,” Rusty said when I’d finished. “The point is, we feel it’s a fair price.” The other men nodded, their minds already made up on how they would vote. But I could see that Delores thought about what I’d said.

  I smiled. “I certainly did not mean to insinuate anything was done improperly. I just wanted to bring it to your at
tention that you might be selling yourselves short. Way short. Imagine what you could do with an additional six or seven hundred thousand dollars. I’d be willing to bet you could get that much more, if you marketed the property, rather than just taking the first offer you got.”

  “They don’t wish to market the property, Miss Parker,” Lester said tightly, standing up. “That’s the whole point. The people of this town don’t want to sell to a big land developer who will put up ugly condominiums. They don’t want traffic and noise and criminal activity. By selling to me, they know the integrity of their town is protected.”

  I turned to face him. “And what exactly are you planning to do with the property?”

  Frowning, he shook his head side to side, as though disappointed in me. It was an intimidation tactic. “Miss Parker, city living has made you cynical. I have no immediate plans for the land, other than to do a little duck hunting.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind signing a legal agreement to restrict what you can do with the property?”

  He laughed but it came out as a snort. “Land use restriction agreements aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. Any good lawyer can get around one of those.”

  I smiled, slow and calculating. It was time to sling my mud. “Gosh, Mr. Spear, you seem to know an awful lot about land development for just an old eccentric.”

  Lester’s hand clenched into a fist at his side. I continued before he had a chance to say anything. “That’s probably because you own a land development company, which specializes in master planned communities,” I said very slowly and very loudly, to make sure everyone – even Gertrude – heard me clearly. Awake and sitting forward in her theater seat, she hung on my every word. In fact, my entire small audience appeared to be listening with rapt attention.

  I handed out a third sheet that outlined what Chuck learned about Lester’s company, including names and locations of the master-planned communities he’d started. Before Lester had a chance to backtalk his way out of that reveal, Delores took the bait.

  “Why do you keep calling him Spear instead of Smoak?”