Page 150 of The Homewreckers
Leetha grimaced. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
With the house to herself, Hattie turned on her Pandora playlist, a mixture of classic ’90s rock and current country music. She sped around the house with Ribsy following close at her heels, styling bookshelves, hanging art, making beds, and unpacking dishes and kitchen accessories. She documented her progress by taking cellphone photos of each room. It was after ten o’clock by the time she dropped down onto one of the rattan barstools, and looked around.
Carolyn Meyers had said the kitchen alone could sell the house, and while Hattie actually thought the porches, especially the upstairs one with the view out to the river, were her favorite features here, she had to admit the kitchen was stellar.
She was already having seller’s remorse, for sacrificing this great old cabinet for the island. And she’d probably never again find a matched set of oversized brass ship’s lanterns like the ones hanging here.
It was always like this for Hattie when she finished rehabbing an old house; a mixture of pride, exhaustion, and regret. She shrugged it off and reminded herself that there would be more old houses and more salvaged house parts.
Hattie picked up her phone and began texting the photos of the house to Mo.
Ribsy went to the back door and began scratching.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I guess maybe you do need to pee. Let’s do that, then we’ll call it a night. Big day tomorrow, right, pal?”
She found his retractable leash and clipped it to his collar. Her phone rang as she was opening the back door. It was Mo.
“Hey. You’re not still at the house, are you?”
Ribsy was straining at the leash, desperate to get outside.
“Yeah. Hang on. I’m just taking Ribsy outside to pee.” She closed the back door and walked off the porch, letting out enough leash to allow the dog to make it to the nearest oak.
The sun had been down for hours now, and a breeze ruffled the oak leaves and rustled the sawgrass palmetto fronds. As she inhaled, the scent of salt water and marsh mud filled her lungs. The moon was nearly full, and Hattie stood for a moment, drinking in the vision of the silvery white orb reflected on the dark waters of the Back River. She’d been so busy these past few weeks she hadn’t taken the time to stop and appreciate the luminous beauty of this stretch of the island. But the view didn’t impress Ribsy, who was intently sniffing at something in the clump of azaleas at the foot of that oak tree.
“The photos look fantastic,” Mo said.
“I hope Rebecca approved.”
“She hasn’t seen them. I dropped her off at her hotel and then went straight back to my place because I had a call with a guy out on the coast.” He hesitated. “I’m working on putting together a proposal for another project.”
“Good for you.” Hattie wasn’t interested in hearing about Mo Lopez’s next project. He’d be on the next flight to California as soon as they wrapped upThe Homewreckers.
“Is Trae still there with you?”
“You’re kidding, right? He left along with everyone else. Said it was past cocktail hour.”
“Asshole,” Mo muttered. “So you’re there by yourself? Jesus! It’s nearly eleven. You’ve got an early call tomorrow, you know. There’s something I need to talk to you about.…”
Suddenly, Ribsy lifted his head, sniffed, and bolted toward the boat shed.
“Whoa,” Hattie shouted, nearly dropping the phone. “I’ll call you back. Ribsy’s on the run.”
69The Pit and the Pendulum
Ribsy tugged at the leash, and Hattie let out some more slack. This was typical of Ribsy. If she let him out in the backyard by himself, he was content to trot away and do his job. But put him on a leash, and he’d wander and explore, especially here at the beach, where there were so many strange and enticing things to discover.
“Come on, dude,” Hattie called. “Let’s get this over with. Mom’s ready for bed.”
Ribsy lifted his snout and sniffed, his ears pricking up at the same time. Then he bounded away, running out the slack in the line while Hattie ran to keep up. “Ribsy! Stay!”
The dog ignored her, racing toward the seawall and yanking Hattie along in his wake.
“Ribsy! NO! Back! Back!”
Ahead, she saw a flash of white streaking from beneath a huge clump of ferns, and realized her dog was hot on the trail of one of the hundreds of feral cats that populated the island.
“Ribsy! Ribsy!” she screamed. A sane person would have let the dog go, but Ribsy, when motivated, was a speed demon and natural-born hunter and she couldn’t bear to think what would happen if he caught up to his quarry.
