The Homewreckers(50)

Trae vacated the chair but not the trailer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Lisa start work on Hattie’s hair. He was dressed in artfully faded jeans and a white cotton T-shirt just tight enough to show off his toned physique, and had a rolled-up newspaper tucked under his arm.

“Another story in today’s paper about the wallet-in-the-wall lady,” he said.

“What’s it say?”

Trae unrolled the paper and tried to hand it to her.

“Just tell me what it says, okay?”

“It’s about that Tybee cop who came out here the other day. Says he’s officially taken over the investigation from the Savannah cops. Nice mention of us in here, too. They even spelled my name right. Yours too.”

“I guess that’s a good thing,” Hattie said.

“How did your interview go with the reporter?” he asked.

“Okay. It wasn’t like there was a lot I could tell her about finding the wallet.”

“But you were with her for quite awhile,” he commented. “I’m just curious why this is such a big story, what? Sixteen years later?”

Hattie watched her reflection in the mirror as Lisa deftly wove her hair into French braids, loosening some strands, then using the end of her comb to pick out some wispy bangs.

“Seventeen years. Lanier was special to a lot of people. Yeah, it’s been years since she vanished, but that makes it all the more puzzling. Where did she go? What happened to her?”

“Well, you knew her. What do you think happened?”

“Like Cass said, nothing good. I don’t believe she ran off and left her little kid behind. Molly, that’s the reporter, has heard all the rumors—that Lanier was having an affair. Which was the rumor going around way back when we were still in high school…”

The trailer door opened and Cass stepped inside. “Hey, Lisa, Mo says you want to jazz me up for my scene this morning?”

“Yup,” Lisa said. “I’ll get to you as soon as I finish with Hattie. Your outfit’s over in wardrobe if you want to get dressed first.”

“Nooo,” Cass protested. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She was wearing a faded olive-green T-shirt, baggy cargo shorts that fell just below her knees, and high-top Converse sneakers.

Trae shot Hattie a look. “Where shall we start? First off, Cassandra…”

“It’s Cassidy.”

“Okay, Cassidy. No offense, but there’s a homeless woman hanging out at the gas station on the corner who wants her clothes back. What you’re wearing is aggressively ugly.”

Hattie cleared her throat. “Ignore Trae. I think what he means is, that outfit, while comfortable, and practical, doesn’t exactly play up your best assets.”

“Cass, don’t worry,” Lisa said. “Jodi showed me your outfit. It’s just skinny jeans and a T-shirt. You’ve got a cute butt on you. So why not play it up?”

“Maybe I don’t want to play it up because I don’t want any of these pervy subs getting the wrong idea,” Cass said, still pouting.

“I promise, it’s nothing provocative or revealing,” Lisa said.



* * *



Cass was back in five minutes, wearing the slim-fit jeans and a short-sleeved coral-colored T-shirt with a V-neck.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Trae said, appreciatively. “Pants that actually fit, plus that color’s great on you, whereas that putrid green? Not so much.”

“So now you’re a fashion expert, too?” Cass asked.

“Just a designer with an innate color sense,” he said.

“He might be obnoxious, but he’s right,” Hattie said. “Sorry.”

The trailer door opened and Gage, Mo’s assistant, stuck his head inside. “Hattie? Trae? We’re ready for you inside the house.”



* * *



With the cameras rolling, Trae dipped a brush in the first can of paint and applied it to a section of siding on the front of the house. He looked over at Hattie. “What do you think?”

She shook her head. “Too bright. That aqua would be great on one of the mid-century concrete block cottages on the island, but it’s not right for a house this old.”

He nodded and opened the next can, but Hattie stopped him. “Ew. No.”

“But it’s a historic color,” he protested. “Swiss mocha.”

“Tastes great in coffee, but who wants brown at the beach? Definitely not.”

He held up the next can. “White. I’ve noticed a lot of wood-frame houses from this era are painted a stark white. This shade is a little softer, and we can do something interesting on the trim and shutters. Maybe a dark Charleston green.”

She watched as he brushed the paint onto the siding, then stood back and studied it.

“Technically, it’s right for the period, but it’s sort of boring, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” Trae said. “And that’s why I saved the best for last.”

He popped the top of the last can of paint with a dramatic “Ta-da! I give you Tybee Beach Glass!”

Without waiting for her comment, he painted a wide swath of clapboard siding.