The Homewreckers(107)

Hattie didn’t bother to hide her exasperation. “You want me to pull the painters off the front of the house? I thought you said that was a priority.”

“I did, but we’ve had a change of plans. The marketing people got a company that makes decking from recycled plastics to donate all the materials to redo that old dock but we need to start shooting the rebuild ASAP, because they want to use footage of the finished product in their upcoming commercials. Cool, huh?”

“For real? I didn’t even have the dock repairs scheduled because I knew it wouldn’t fit in our budget. That’s awesome.”

“But we need the back of the house to look great, because it’ll be included in the shoot.”

“Better talk to Cass about it,” Hattie said.

Leetha raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you Cass’s boss?”

“Talk to Cass, tell her you discussed it with me. You can also ask her to check with the cops to see if we can get the old septic tank pit filled. I don’t like looking at it any more than you do.”

“Cool.”

“What’s my revised call time for today?” Hattie asked.

“Not until late afternoon,” Leetha said. “We’ll shoot Trae in the upstairs bathroom and bedroom in a little while; they’re too small for two people anyway.”

“Good. I’m going to run into town, but I’ll be back after lunch.”



* * *



Zenobia Pelletier sat at her desk in the small Kavanaugh & Son office.

“Hey, Zen,” Hattie said, approaching the office manager’s huge metal tanker desk. “Tug said there’s somebody here to see me?”

“Mhmm,” Zenobia said, not pausing or looking up. “She’s back there in his office. Looks like she’s been sucking on a lemon.”

“Great. Just what I need today. More confrontation.”

Tug’s office was little more than a glorified closet overflowing with detritus Zenobia wanted out of her eyesight.

The woman sitting in the chair opposite Tug’s desk had her back to Hattie, but something in her erect posture and the way she held her head rang a faint bell of recognition.

“Hi,” Hattie said. The woman turned slowly. She had shoulder-length blond hair, a long, narrow, heart-shaped face with a pointed chin, and, as Zenobia had warned, a sour expression.

“Elise? This is a surprise.”

Elise Hoffman’s lips turned up slightly. Hattie hadn’t seen Davis’s wife in several years. She was thinner than she remembered, and much blonder. Maybe she’d had some work done around the eyes?

“Hi, Hattie,” Elise said. “Listen, I just dropped by to have a little heart-to-heart with you.”

“About what?”

“Davis.”

“What about him? Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay,” Elise said. “My brilliant ex-husband somehow found a way to run his family’s jewelry store into the ground. Turns out he sold our building to an ‘investor’ who since sold the whole block to a developer from Atlanta, who in turn has now tripled the rent on Heritage Jewelers. Davis is behind on child support and behind on alimony and God knows how much money he owes people that I don’t know about.”

“Oh my God,” Hattie said. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. Me too. So, what I want to know, and why I came here to see you today is this—how the fuck does he write you a check for forty thousand when he can’t pay for our child’s preschool tuition?”

Elise picked up her Louis Vuitton pocketbook and fished around inside until she found what she was looking for. A single piece of paper. She waved it at Hattie. “And don’t bother denying it. I’ve got the proof right here.”

It was a copy of the receipt Davis had given her for her engagement ring.

“Where did you get this?” Hattie was stunned, then furious. “This was a confidential business arrangement between Davis and me.”

“I’ll just bet.” Elise crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “To answer your question, the judge ordered him to show me the books. One of the first red flags I see is a payment for forty thousand made to Hattie Kavanaugh.”

“Stop it, Elise. There is absolutely nothing going on between your ex-husband and me. But even if there was, it wouldn’t be any of your concern.”

“If it has to do with money, it actually is my concern,” Elise said. Even though she was frowning, her forehead and face remained immobile. Botox?

Hattie looked down at her ringless hands. They were clean, but she badly needed a manicure, unlike Elise, whose nails were flawless and painted a very pale shade of lavender.

“Okay. Here it is. I pawned my engagement ring. So that I could buy a house to flip.”

“Ohhhh. Right. The old Creedmore house. Two doors down from Granny Hoffman’s beach house. How very convenient for both of you.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I needed cash. Davis appraised my engagement ring, and made me a fair offer of a loan, which I intend to repay as soon as I flip the house on Tybee.”

Elise’s upper lip puckered in disbelief. “Right. Like Hank Kavanaugh’s shanty Irish family could ever afford a ring worth anything close to that kind of money. Just tell me this. How long has Davis been in your pants?”