The Homewreckers(126)

When they were gone, Trae began ripping the paper from the barstools.

“It’s just a reflex with you, isn’t it?” she asked.

“What?” He balled up the paper and started on the next chair.

“Hitting on pretty women. I bet you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

“Oh, I realize it. You know the old saying, right? You don’t shoot, you don’t score.” He looked up and flashed her the same grin. Briefly.

“Don’t waste the wattage on me,” Hattie said. “That ship has sailed. Tell me about the furniture. Did everything you ordered arrive?”

The grin faded. “No. I haven’t done a real inventory, but a lot of the stuff is still backordered. I mean, the case goods and upholstery are here. The living and dining room furniture, most of the bedroom stuff, and soft goods. But I don’t have lamps or art, or rugs, or any accessories. And since all of this stuff is on loan from vendors who’re doing this as a favor to me, I can’t really call ’em up and bitch about what wasn’t on the truck. So I’m kind of screwed.”

A part of Hattie wanted to gloat about his predicament. But there was no time. They had just one more day before Mo’s crew would shoot the big reveal, and the only way the house would be ready was if they worked together.

“Okay, let’s put what you do have in place in each room. Do you have a list of what you still need? And rug sizes?”

“I can make one,” Trae said. “But what good will that do?”

“There are two kick-ass consignment shops in Savannah, and I’m friends with the owners of both. I’ll call and see if they’d be willing to loan us stuff for the shoot.”

He looked at her with obvious suspicion. “Didn’t you just tell me this morning, in no uncertain terms, that I was never to speak or look at you again? Why would you want to help me out like that?”

Hattie took a deep breath. “As Carolyn just pointed out, the faster we get this house styled and photographed and listed, the faster I can get my money out of it. So give me your list, okay? And leave Carolyn alone. She’s married. Also, I think I owe you an apology. For the Jada Watkins thing. It looks like I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“Wait!” Trae cupped a hand to his ear. “Could you repeat that last part? A little louder? I want to make sure I heard it correctly, because it sounded like you, eating crow.”

Hattie leaned in. “I said, ‘Fuck you, Trae. Fuck you very much.’”



* * *



Five minutes later, she tracked Trae down as he was hauling a mattress and box spring up the stairs. “Okay, so I think we can get everything we need at Clutter. And Leetha wants to send the camera crew along to shoot some B-roll. How soon can you leave?”

“Leave? Are you nuts? We’ve barely started unloading the moving van. I’ll be at least another two hours.”

“No good,” Hattie said. “They usually close at five on Fridays, but Lynn agreed to stay open longer, in return for on-screen credit. It’s now or never. If you want, I can go without you.”

“You?” His expression was incredulous.

“Yes, me. I’ve been staging and styling houses for years, Trae. But if you’re not willing to rely on my taste, that’s okay.” She started back down the staircase.

“Wait!” He set the edge of the box spring down on the top stair tread. “Okay, I’m out of options. The list is on the island in the kitchen. Text me pictures of what you’re getting, okay?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Trae. You’re just gonna have to trust me this time.”





67

The Disappearing Act




Detective Makarowicz pulled into the driveway at the Chatham Avenue house as Hattie was about to turn onto the street. He backed up until his driver’s side window was parallel to hers.

“What happened to our off-duty cop?” Hattie asked, gesturing toward the shoulder of the road where the patrol car had been parked on previous days.

Ribsy, who was riding shotgun, clambered onto her lap and stuck his head out the window to greet the cop.

“Good boy,” Makarowicz said.

“This is Ribsy,” Hattie said. “Now, what about our cop?”

“It’s summer, you know. Tourist season. Chief wants every man on duty, which means we can’t spare anyone for this. Anyway, looks like the sightseers have all lost interest in you.”

“Was that what you were coming to see me about?”

“No,” Mak said, his expression troubled. “Your friend is in the wind.”

“Which friend?”

“Davis Hoffman. I’ve been trying to track him down for questioning, but he’s gone. Not at the jewelry store, not at his house. I’m running out of places to look.”

Hattie felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. “Have you talked to his ex-wife?”

“Elise Hoffman claims she’s been looking for him too. He’s not answering his phone.”

“What about his mom? When I saw him a couple days ago, he said she’d asked him to come out to their house here to cut the grass.”

Makarowicz had a pained expression on his face. “Mrs. Hoffman was not what I’d call forthcoming about her son’s whereabouts.”