Page 19 of The Homewreckers
“Are y’all still out at Tybee?”
“Just getting ready to leave,” Hattie said.
“Did you find the house?”
“What’s left of it,” Cass said. “It’s a wreck. The city’s condemned it and it’s all boarded up. Guess you better go back to cold-calling real estate agents.”
“Maybe not. I been doing some snooping around. Talked to a lady who’s known Mavis Creedmore for years. That house was left to Mavis and her two younger cousins by their grandma. One cousin livesway up north and hasn’t been home in years, and the other, Holland Senior, lives in Ardsley Park. I guess his son is the boy who played football at Cardinal Mooney. Holland Senior was some kind of stockbroker, but he’s retired now.
“Mavis claims she had no idea about the liens, or that the house had been condemned, until one of the Tybee neighbors called her recently and asked why the family had let things go so bad out there. She’s hopping mad about the whole thing.”
“I’m surprised none of the family living in town ever asked her the same thing,” Hattie put in.
“Those Creedmores are bad to feud. Did y’all go in the house?”
“There’s a big no-trespassing sign nailed to the porch,” Cass protested. “But we looked in the windows. Ugh. The place is a teardown.”
“Hold on, now,” Zenobia said. “I called out to Tybee City Hall. Talked to a nice lady there named Carol Branch. The city condemned the property because neighbors were calling and complaining about it being an eyesore and a public nuisance.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Cass asked.
“In this case, it means the city just got some federal grant money to incentivize private investment in historic but distressed properties,” Zenobia said. “They’re gonna auction that house off through sealed bids. Starting price is twenty-eight thousand and change, which is the amount owed for back taxes and delinquency fees.”
“What?” Hattie shouted into the phone. “That’s crazy! A beachfront house on Tybee for under thirty thousand?”
“There’s a catch,” Zenobia cautioned. “More than one, actually. The buyer has to conform to all kinds of historic preservation regulations. The house has to keep to the same footprint, which means no additions. All changes to the exterior of the house have to be ‘sensitive to the historic nature of the original home,’ whatever that means.”
“We’ve done houses within Savannah’s historic district and dealt with those kinds of regs before,” Hattie said. “The rules are a pain in the butt, but it’s not impossible.”
“All work on the house has to pass city inspections. And the work has to be completed within twelve months,” Zenobia went on.
“What else did this Carol Branch say, Zen?”
“The feds require that the city advertise the house on their website for a month and the time’s up this week. Buyers have to submit a sealed bid to the city, with a certified check by noon this Thursday.”
“That’s the day after tomorrow,” Cass said. She looked over at Hattie. “Even if you were interested, where would you get that kind of money that fast?”
Hattie jingled her truck keys, a nervous habit she’d picked up from Hank. “Zen, how soon could we get into the house to take a look around?”
“You can’t. House is being sold as is.”
Cass waved a finger in Hattie’s face. “No. Do not do this. I know you think you’ve got something to prove, but this house is not the one. It’s got bad vibes.”
“There’s no such thing as bad vibes.” Hattie cranked the truck’s ignition.
9The Other Rebecca
Mo paced around the tiny living room of the carriage house he’d rented on Charlton Street. He’d found the place online, attracted principally by the location, in the downtown historic district, price—cheap by L.A. standards—and the fact that the place came with an off-street parking space.
He’d been alarmed when Rebecca called late the night before to say she’d be arriving in Savannah—today.
“Don’t worry. It’s all good news,” she’d assured him. “Tony loves your idea. In fact he loves it so much we want to fast-track everything. Can you set it up for me to meet your star? Tomorrow? She doesn’t have an agent, right?”
“Okay, that’s great,” he said, too startled to ask any more questions. “I should be able to set up a meet with Hattie. And no, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have an agent.”
“Perfect,” Rebecca said. “Shoot me the address where you’re staying. I’ll text you when my plane lands. Don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll just grab a cab.”
He heard a car pull into the lane behind the carriage house, went to the back door, and opened it.
