Page 17 of The Homewreckers
“When’s the last time you were out here?” Cass demanded.
Hattie’s laugh trailed off. “You know… now that you say that, I guess it’s been awhile.”
“This is a waste of time,” Cass muttered. “I know you feel snake-bit by Midtown, but I bet if we made some calls to some real estate agents, we could find a hip-pocket listing. You know? One that hasn’t gone online yet?”
“Maybe. But as long as we’re here, let’s take a look.”
They drove past Tybrisa Street, with its one-block-long strip of bars, souvenir shops, and ice cream parlors, following Butler until it dead-ended into Chatham Avenue at the far south end of the island.
Hattie peered out the window as she rolled slowly up the street. She pointed at a real estate sign posted at the gate of a rambling wood-frame house. “Damn. Look at the size of this place. Cass, can you look it up?”
“On it,” Cass replied, scrolling through the Tybee Island real estate listings on her phone. She laughed. “This one’s a cool $2.3 million. The lot’s over an acre and the listing says it can be subdivided into four lots.”
“Obviously not the Creedmores’ house,” Hattie said.
Half a block away, Cass pointed at a weather-beaten wooden sign nearly obscured by a clump of palmettos.
“Can you make out what that sign says?”
Hattie pulled the truck onto the weedy shoulder of the road.
“Um, I think maybe it’s something with aCand anM?”
“This has to be it,” Cass said. “The house across the street is fifteen twenty-four. I guess this is what used to be the driveway?”
A narrow sandy path was barely visible through the screen of overgrown scrub pines, palmettos, and wax myrtles. Hattie stepped over a rotted tree branch and into a tunnel of green. She glanced over her shoulder at Cass, who was standing, motionless, with both hands on her hips.
“You gonna just stand there?”
“Who, me? Do I look like a girl who wants to go hiking back in some godforsaken, snake-infested jungle like that there?”
Hattie shrugged. “Okay, I’ll go by myself.” She set off through the underbrush, kicking at morning glory vines creeping across the path and batting away low-hanging branches.
“Damn it,” she heard Cass mutter. “Hold on, okay? Let me just cut me a snake stick.”
8This Property Condemned
Hattie picked up a snake stick of her own and the two women moved slowly through the thick tangles, using their sticks to push aside the greenery.
“There’s gotta be a house back here somewhere, right?” Hattie asked, brushing a cobweb from her face.
“I mean, unless Mom gave us the wrong address. Who knew a lot could be this deep?” Cass said.
When they were a hundred yards from where they’d parked the car, they emerged from the path into a clearing. The house, or what was left of it, loomed before them.
“Holy shit,” Hattie breathed.
The house had once been white, but over the years the wind, salt air, and time itself had wiped away all but the faintest traces of paint. It was two stories, as advertised, but the second-story roof was topped with a faded blue plastic tarp. A screened porch was wrapped around the second floor, but the screens were shredded and flapping in the mild afternoon breeze.
“It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story they made us read in high school,” Cass said. “‘The Fall of the House of Usher.’ I guess this is ‘The Fall of the House of Creedmore.’”
“Make that Creepmore,” Hattie said. She took a few steps toward the house and stopped in her tracks and pointed. “Uh-oh.”
A stout-looking two-by-four had been nailed across the rickety-looking steps to the front porch. Nailed to the board was a sign with black lettering on a yellow background.
NO TRESPASSING, CONDEMNED PROPERTY—POSTED, CITY OF TYBEE ISLAND.
Cass touched her arm. “Okay, that’s enough for me. This house isn’t a teardown, it’s a fall-down. Let’s go. I saw a gelato shop back there on Tybrisa. Seaside Sweets. My treat.”
