5. Margot
FIVE
Margot
I clutched the paper in my hand, drawing it downward as I stared at three rows of piers and boat slips in front of me. I slid my sunglasses off my nose, and planted them on top of my head, as if that would make the view any different. This disaster did not look like the photo I’d been given. It didn’t match the written description or the one planted in my memory either. If I hadn’t known where I was going, I would have thought I had taken a wrong turn.
What in the hell had happened to the Blue Heron Marina? When had things gotten so bad? Why didn’t I know half of it had fallen in the water?
I gawked at the sunken shrimp boat near the entrance to the creek. The entire marina was a boating ghost town. I tiptoed toward the first pier and shrieked when the pressure from my foot made the wood start to crack. I tried to turn back. Too late. My foot was instantly in a hole of mud and muck. Minnows swam around my ankles.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I wiggled my toes inside my shoe. I could feel everything. Thank God, I hadn’t broken them. I took my time pulling my leg between the broken slats on the pier. Water dripped from my shoes. I emptied the drudge, turning my nose up at what spilled out.
I wanted to crumple on the gravel parking lot, land on my knees, and scream. But no one would hear, only the gulls squawking overhead and maybe the man in overalls gutting a fish. I wandered back to my car.
“Margot?” I jumped at the sound of another voice, interrupting my moment of shock and despair.
“Y-yes,” I managed to squeak out as I turned to face the intrusion. Did whoever it was see that one of my legs was soaked? That I was coated in nasty marsh mud?
I didn’t expect to stand eye-to-eye with a man in a full suit, not in this kind of heat. Certainly did not expect to stare at Dean Waters.
“I can’t believe it’s you. This is strange seeing you like this. I was your uncle’s attorney. Did he mention me?”
I shook my head still trying to digest the new look on my ex-summer boyfriend.
Dean continued, “I’m sorry about what happened with Walt. My condolences to you. And the rest of your family, of course.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t want to tell him I was the only one left. There was no one else to pass sympathies to in my family tree.
“It wasn’t easy finding you in New York. It took a few days.”
There had to be a better place to talk than in the middle of the parking lot where the sun blazed down on us. I wiped the perspiration across my forehead, making it worse instead of better. My dark blond hair wasn’t used to the humidity either.
“Is there somewhere with AC?” I asked.
He pointed me toward a building near the boat put-in. “Let’s see if the house is cooler,” he suggested.
That was the house?
Dean had a key and turned the double locks, before letting us inside. I was struck by stale air and an oppressive heat from the closed windows and stagnant air.
“Hold on. Wait right here.” Dean vanished into the narrow hallway. I heard the gears on the AC unit begin to crank before it quickly sputtered out. He returned. “That’s going to need to be replaced.”
I cringed at the thought of having to deal with anything mechanical.
“Maybe the porch?”
I followed him outside beneath the overhang. The back porch was the same length as the house. There was a ceiling fan and a slight breeze off the creek. I tried to ignore the rips in the screen and the number of spiderwebs.
“Sit.” Dean pointed to a wicker chair.
“Th-this isn’t what I thought it was going to be.”
“I sent the financials,” he argued. “I didn’t leave anything out.”
I held up the photo still clutched in my palm. I shoved it toward him. “You didn’t send an updated picture.”
His brow furrowed. “Not my place. I’m responsible for reports. Data. Documents.” He slid a stack of folders across the rusted table. “Like these.”
“What is this?” I lifted the top one. My eyes bulged. “Taxes?”
Dean nodded. “Yes, there are back taxes on the property. Along with a list of creditors who are going to expect some form of payment. They’ll give you some time to mourn and get your affairs in order, but you’ll need to pay them.”
I shook my head. “But, it’s not my debt. This isn’t my problem. How can they expect me to pay for something I just found out I inherited? I didn’t even know Uncle Walt had died.” I hadn’t meant to let that last admission out.
Dean continued. “This is the list of creditors.” He flipped a file around. “And here’s the last bank statement.”
I blinked. I inhaled too sharply, collecting a full breath of dust and pollen. I began to cough without stopping. Dean rushed to find water.
“Thank you,” I croaked. I needed more than water. “There’s a negative number in this account. There has to be another one.”
He smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Margot. This is the only one.”
“I don’t want the Blue Heron.” If I rejected my uncle’s will, maybe I could make this nightmare go away.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Dean explained. “Aren’t you a writer now?”
The question made my stomach lurch. I felt the acid rise in my throat. How did I answer that? Did I tell him I was a writer until I hit ultimate failure? Or did I just leave that part out and pretend I had a book in the works that would hit the bestseller list?
I nodded silently.
“This could be a good place for a writer to write.”
“I didn’t come to Marshoak Island to write. I came because you didn’t give me another choice. What do I do with all of this? Without the money to make things right?” I looked up at him.
Dean sighed. “You have two options.”
I waited for the answers. “Yes?”
“Sell the Blue Heron and pay off the taxes and creditors. I think that’s probably your best choice. It’s prime waterfront property. You’ll have investors in here tomorrow if you decide to sell. I could probably even help and line up a few for you.”
“Or?”
“Open it back up. Get the marina running again and see if you can turn a profit here. Something your uncle never figured out how to do.”
I t had been hours since Dean had dropped off the bills, taxes, and the bomb. He thought I had options. Instead, it felt as if my uncle’s death had put me in a cage. Sure, there were bars I could see through, but no way out until I dealt with the marina.
I found a few cleaning supplies in the laundry closet. Enough to wipe down the kitchen counters and the upstairs bathroom. I discovered a few sets of sheets and fluffed them in the dryer. Sleeping in the cottage wasn’t my first choice, but I was in dire financial straits. I couldn’t waste money on a hotel.
Only one night ago, I had packed everything I owned and spent the last night in my New York apartment. Tonight, I was listening to cicadas on Marshoak Island, North Carolina with the windows wide open. I hadn’t found a fan. I’d have to go into town tomorrow and pick up a few supplies.
I heard the ding of my phone. It was a text from Dean.
I hope you get some sleep tonight. Let me know if you need anything.
My frustration and aggravation at him kept me from texting back. I didn’t care. Part of me blamed him for this mess I was in. The only thing I could be grateful for was that he didn’t bring up my last summer on Marshoak. Maybe he had matured or maybe it didn’t have the same impact on him it had on me the past seven years. I turned the phone to silent and tried to find a position to sleep in where my skin wasn’t sticking together.
I made a mental list of everything I would need to pick up at the store tomorrow.
I heard a crack of thunder like the end of a whip hitting concrete. Oh shit. The small cottage rattled as a storm began to kick up off the coast. I wondered what kind of mess it would create for me and if the roof would still be on in the morning.