The Homewreckers(49)

“It should. The framing crew was out here ’til almost midnight last night. The camera crew rigged them up stage lights so they could see. I told the guys not to come in until ten this morning. I’m afraid we’ll burn ’em out if we keep working them this hard.”

Hattie walked to the edge of the porch and shaded her eyes as she searched the morning clouds for some good news. When she heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, she turned her head to see a city-issued white pickup rolling slowly toward the house.

“Uh-oh.” Cass stood by her side. “Is that the code cop again?”

“Inspector Gadget, defender of trash trees,” Hattie confirmed. “Now what?”

Rice was obviously worked up. His mustache was twitching as he marched toward the porch, his hand extended with another slip of paper.

“Miss Kavanaugh?”

She nodded. “Is there a problem?”

“Your neighbors certainly think there’s a problem. We’ve had multiple calls and complaints about you people, hammering and sawing, operating power tools and carrying on until all hours of the night. And those klieg lights, or whatever you call them, shining in people’s windows. Are you aware that the city has a noise ordinance?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” Hattie said.

“I suggest you check the city website. Quiet hours are to be observed from 10 P.M. until 7 A.M.,” he said, handing her the citation. “That’s a two-hundred-dollar fine.” He looked around the porch with interest.

“That reminds me. I don’t see your filming permit posted anywhere. Do you even have one?”

“We have one,” Cass volunteered. “It’s taped on the door of our construction trailer.”

“It’s supposed to be prominently displayed at the entrance to the project,” Rice snapped. He turned and stalked back to his city vehicle.

Hattie squinted, trying to read the tiny print on the citation. “I wonder who keeps siccing the cops on us?”

“Like he said, the neighbors,” Cass said. “Most of these houses on this street have been in the same family for generations. These folks are old and set in their ways.”

“Or maybe it’s not just the neighbors,” Hattie mused. “Maybe Little Holl is still pissed at me for buying this place. Maybe he’s making trouble to get even with me.”

“Entitled white assholes like Junior are used to getting their way.”

Hattie folded the citation and tucked it in her pocket. “Whoever it is, we can’t afford to keep getting these citations. The first time he was out here, Inspector Gadget threatened to close us down if we don’t toe the line. Tell the crews, Cass. No more working past ten. And in the meantime, I guess I’ll walk up and down the block and try a little fence-mending.”





26

A Shift in Attitude




“Hattie!” Davis Hoffman pulled alongside her as she was walking into Chu’s convenience store to pay for gas.

It was early morning, not even eight. “Hi, Davis,” she said, walking over to his car, a black Mercedes convertible. “Are you slumming out here on Tybee?”

“Checking on the house for my mom,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Hey, I saw that article in the newspaper about you finding Lanier Ragan’s wallet. You didn’t tell me you were buying the old Creedmore place. Wow! If I’d known it was going on the market, I would have bought it myself. It’s only two doors down from ours. I guess we’re neighbors now.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” she told him. “The place is a disaster. And speaking of neighbors, we’re in hot water with them. Someone has reported us, twice, to the city code inspector’s office.”

“Oh man, what’d you do?” Davis asked, leaning out the car window.

“It’s all just nit-picky bullshit stuff,” she assured him, “but the fines are killing me.”

“Anything I can do?” he asked. “I know most of the folks on the block.”

“That’s okay. I apologized and dropped off gift baskets. In the meantime, I better go. We’ve got a tight shooting schedule today.”

“Can’t wait to see what you’re doing with the place,” Davis said. “I’d love a tour.”

“I’ll call you,” Hattie promised. “Soon.”



* * *



Trae was sitting in the makeup chair, a plastic cape tied around his neck, when Hattie arrived in the trailer. He was simultaneously scrolling through the emails on his phone, flirting with Lisa, and critiquing her work as the hair and makeup artist skillfully applied highlighter to his cheeks and chin, and patted tinted concealer under his eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, flashing Hattie one of his hundred-watt smiles.

“Be right with you, Hattie,” Lisa said. She picked up an electric razor. “I just want to sharpen up these sideburns a little.”

“Not too sharp,” Trae cautioned. “I kinda like that natural look.”

Hattie guffawed. “Natural? You’re currently wearing more makeup and hair product than I wore to prom.”

“Yeah, but who wore it better?”

“All done!” Lisa whisked the cape from his shoulders and gestured to Hattie. “Next.”