Page 27 of The Homewreckers
“Not in so many words,” she’d admitted.
“In the meantime, I’ve got a sure thing. A signed contract with HPTV, and a crew, and we’re ready to start filming as soon as you get your sassy ass down here.”
“No. Nuh-uh,” Taleetha had said. “Not even for you.”
“I’m gonna email you the talent reel I shot. You’ll love Hattie. Drives a pickup truck, runs the construction company with her father-in-law. She’s the real deal.”
“The answer is still no, Mo. But what’s the big rush with this new show?”
“I finally got a lucky break,” he’d said. “Krystee fromGoing Coastalis pregnant with twins and she’s on strict bed rest, which means the show is on hiatus for at least six months.”
“And that Wednesday night slot is up for grabs. Temporarily,” Taleetha had said thoughtfully.
Mo had seen an opening and jumped on it. “You know you want to do this show with me, Taleetha. You miss me. You miss us.”
She hadn’t denied it. “What about Becky the Bitch? What’s she gonna have to say about you hiring me?”
“Leave her to me,” Mo had said. “How soon can you get here?”
“To Savannah? I’m not even sure I know where that is.”
“You fly to Atlanta, then you get on a flight to Savannah. I’ll book your flight tonight. You can be here by Friday.”
She had let out a long sigh. “Okay, send me that talent reel and everything else you’ve got.”
The phone buzzed again, like an angry fly trapped against a window screen. Mo sighed.
Dealing with a workaholic like Becca sucked up all the oxygen in the room.
His phone buzzed again.
WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY HAVEN’T YOU ANSWERED ME?
He yawned and typed.
It’s only 3A.M.here. All good with the show. Talk tomorrow.
He lifted one hip and shoved the phone under the sofa cushion and fell instantly back to sleep.
13Winner Takes All
“Uh, hi. I’m here for the Creedmore house?”
A heavy plate-glass window separated her from the clerk who sat at a desk in the lobby of the Tybee City Hall. He was an older man, wearing a white polo shirt and a sour attitude. He looked up at Hattie over black-rimmed half-moon glasses that perched on the tip of his nose.
“What’s that?”
Hattie raised her voice. “The Creedmore house!” Two people who’d been loitering nearby, studying the notices on a large bulletin board, looked up, startled.
“What about it?”
“The city condemned that house, and I placed a sealed bid to buy it this morning. I was told that the bids would be unsealed at noon,” Hattie said.
“Back there. In the conference room.” He pointed to a door at the far end of the hall.
As Hattie started down the hall she noticed that both the people who’d been standing in the lobby were following her. One was a powerfully built man, late-thirties, she guessed, with blond, slicked-back hair and a thick mustache. He wore jeans and a light blue, rumpled oxford-cloth dress shirt, and he walked with a slight limp. The other man was much older, dressed in the same kind of work clothes Hattie wore on the job, a faded T-shirt, tan Carhartts, and steel-toed work boots.
Today, though, Hattie was dressed in black capris, and a black-and-white-striped blouse. She was even wearing lipstick. She wanted to make a good impression, as if to show city officials that she would be a good caretaker of that crumbling house a few blocks away.
