The Homewreckers(79)

“This right here is what might sell this house,” he conceded. “The dock house is okay too. Put some davits in and you could keep a couple boats out there.”

He turned and started to walk toward the house, but stopped in his tracks. “You want to know what worries me the most about this house? I know you too well, Hattie Kavanaugh. You wear your heart on your sleeve. And what do I always tell you?”

“Never fall in love with anything that can’t love you back,” Hattie said dutifully. “But you’re wrong this time. We’re going to do The Homewreckers, fix this house, and then flip it for a huge profit. That’s it.”



* * *



By the time they’d trekked up from the beach, most of the crew was gathered to watch as the ruined trailer was loaded onto a new flatbed. Hattie held her breath until the process was completed and the wrecker was slowly rumbling down the driveway.

“One down, two to go,” Cass said.

“My heart can’t take all this excitement,” Tug told them. “Zenobia called and needs me back at the office.”

Cass watched him walk away, still shaking his head. “What’s with him?”

“Nancy saw the pictures of me and Trae,” Hattie explained. “He thinks Trae’s a phony, and he never liked the Creedmores and thinks this house is a huge mistake.”

“Typical Tug,” Cass said. “The glass isn’t half-empty, it’s cracked and leaking.”

Hattie gave her a grateful smile. “Tell me things are going to get better.”

“They are. The container driver just called, he’s parked out on the street waiting for trailer number one to clear the area. In fifteen minutes, the old dumpster will be gone, and shortly after that, we’ll have a sparkly new one, and we can all get back to work.”



* * *



“I can’t stand to watch this.” Hattie stood on the front porch and watched as the third trailer of the day inched up the driveway with a dumpster loaded on the back.

“I can,” Mo said. He plucked his two-way radio from his waist and thumbed the on button. “Jack, get a camera set up to film it as they unload the new dumpster.”

“Really?” Hattie wrinkled her nose. “Won’t that be like watching paint dry?”

“No. People love to watch someone else’s disaster. We can use all this stuff on social media to build anticipation for the premiere. In fact, I need you and Trae out there right now.”

“But look at me,” she protested. “I’m in my own grubby jeans and T-shirt. Won’t Rebecca have a fit if you film me looking like this?”

“Keeping it real,” Mo said. “Go!”



* * *



With the cameras rolling, Hattie stood just in front of the splintered oak tree. Trae was stationed alongside the cab of the truck. “Ready?” he yelled.

“Yeah, bring her back! But this time, let’s take it slow.”

Trae motioned for the driver to begin backing. “Straighten it out some,” he called, walking alongside the driver. “A little to the left. That’s good. All right. Now, straight back.”

The trailer with the new dumpster inched backward, past the charred patch of land where the previous dumpster had stood.

“Keep coming,” Hattie called, waving her arms over her head. “You’ve got another fifty feet.”

“You’re good,” Trae told the driver.

“Ten more feet,” Hattie called.

The trailer kept backing.

“Almost there,” Trae coached.

“Whoa!” Hattie waved her arms over her head and stepped out of the way. The truck’s brakes squealed as it halted. Hydraulic arms began lifting the container.

A sickening crack sounded as the earth beneath the trailer’s wheels seemed to cave inward.

BOOM!

The container began to slide down the ramp and into a deepening pit in the grassy ground.

At first, Hattie was too shocked to move or speak. She took a few faltering steps forward, afraid that the earth beneath her feet would also collapse. The dumpster had come to rest, nose down, in some kind of concrete pit in the ground.

The truck driver was out of the cab now, and he and Trae stared at the scene in disbelief.

Mo’s cameraman moved forward, too, capturing the scene as it unfolded.

“What the hell is that?” Trae yelled, pointing at the pit.

“That,” the truck driver said, gingerly walking up to the edge, both hands clamped over his nose and mouth as he stared down into the abyss, “is a septic tank.”





42

Buried Secrets




Hattie gagged and staggered away as an overwhelming stench filled the air.

“Oh, hell no,” Leetha said loudly. “Momo, you know I did not sign up for this.”

“Oh my God,” Mo muttered. “And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.”

The cameraman looked at him for direction and he signaled for him to keep filming. “Get in there, man. It doesn’t get any grittier than this.”

Mo pointed at Hattie, who’d pulled her shirttail up to cover her nose. “Talk.”

Hattie dropped her shirttail and followed his direction. “That has to be the original septic tank on this property. I think the city ran sewer lines down Chatham Avenue years and years ago. At least we know it’s not, uh, active.” She turned to Cass.