Chapter 8
COLT
Iwas enjoying my second cup of coffee, watching the waves, when my phone rang. It was one of the contractors, a local guy named Pete, who told me I needed to get down to the building. He wouldn’t tell me what it was but I could tell it was bad.
“Hey, I’ve got to go down to the site,” I shouted through the bathroom door.
Cody was taking the longest shower in the history of showers. He’d been out late. I wasn’t entirely sure he was in the shower alone. I didn’t want to get an eyeful by opening the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled the convertible up to the curb on Front Street and cut the engine. I smelled it immediately and almost put the top up. I didn’t want the stench seeping into the leather seats.
“Oh, shit,” I breathed against the back of my hand. Literally, shit.
I climbed out of the car and tried not to gag. I pulled my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose. It didn’t do much. Just filtered the stench.
I looked at the sidewalk that was covered in seaweed and dog shit. Could have been other shit. The sun was baking the piles of seaweed. It hung from the door handles and the window frames. It was piled against the foundation in thick, wet ropes that were already starting to cook in the heat.
With the amount of dog shit smeared on the windows and all around, it was like the vandal had worked as a pooper scooper for the last three years. How many dogs were in Surfside? There couldn’t be a single turd left. It was all here.
It was a statement. The kind of thing that required planning and commitment, and access to a truly remarkable number of dogs.
Pete was standing on the sidewalk with his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between amused and horrified. He had a bandana pulled up over his nose like an old west outlaw. Smart man. I wished I had one.
“Morning,” he said.
“When did this happen?”
“Sometime overnight.”
I walked a slow loop around the building, breathing through my mouth the best I could.
The vandalism was thorough. Whoever had done this had covered the full perimeter.
I spotted what looked like hand-lettered signs tucked into the seaweed on both sides of the entrance.
I leaned in close enough to read them without touching anything.
SURFSIDE IS NOT FOR SALE.
And on the other side: GO HOME.
I straightened up and looked out at Front Street. The morning foot traffic was already picking up. Tourists with coffee cups. Two old men on a bench sharing a newspaper. They were trying very hard to look like they weren’t gossiping about me and my building.
I should say I was surprised but I wasn’t. Not really. Small towns were never thrilled about development. They liked to keep things just the way they were. I didn’t expect them to be quite this pissed, though.
I heard a car before I saw it. The engine was a high-pitched whine. A sleek black sports car swung around the corner on two wheels.
Judd hopped out of the car and stopped when the smell hit him. He put his hand over his nose and mouth.
“What the hell?” he asked.
That wasn’t a question that was meant to be answered.
“Who did this?” he asked.
“We don’t know yet,” I said. “I just got here.”
“Locals,” he said like he was chewing on one of those very healthy turds.
His lips curled and he shook his head. He pulled his phone from his breast pocket.
“This is destruction of property. Harassment of a business. This is actionable. I’m calling my lawyer.
I’m going to sue the shit out of these people. ”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some human shit in these piles,” I muttered.
“This is bullshit!”
“Dog shit,” I muttered under my breath.
“Do these people really think this is going to stop me?”
“Judd, let’s not come in guns blazing,” I said. “We don’t need to make enemies. Let’s be calm and figure out a diplomatic way to handle this.”
“Do not tell me to calm down,” he said, already dialing.
He held the phone to his ear and started pacing the sidewalk.
“Dustin. Get me up to speed on what we can do about criminal mischief and harassment charges in a California coastal municipality. I’ll send you photos.
” He snapped several with his free hand, the phone pressed to his ear, his face getting darker by the second.
I stood back and let him go. He wasn’t going to listen to me. Guys like Judd were used to people just getting out of the way. And when he didn’t get his way, he threw a tantrum.
“What’s it like inside?” I asked Pete.
“They didn’t go in.”
“I guess they weren’t interested in breaking and entering,” I said.
“Yet,” he replied.
Judd finished his call and turned to me. “This is your town,” he said. The emphasis made it clear that in this moment, the connection was not a compliment. He was blaming me. That wasn’t a surprise.
“I haven’t been here in four years,” I reminded him.
“You vouched for this location. You told me the community would come around once they saw the economic benefit. You told me there would be some noise but nothing serious.” He gestured at the building. “Does this look like nothing serious to you, Colt?”
“It’s seaweed and dog shit,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “It’s messy and it smells terrible, but it’s not structural damage. Shovel and a hose and it’s fine.”
“It’s a message,” he snapped. “And I don’t receive messages. I send them.”
I wasn’t sure why he was pissed at me.
“Get this cleaned up,” he said through the open window. “And get me names. Someone in this town knows who did this. I want names.”
He turned on his heel, yanked open the door of the sports car, and dropped into the driver’s seat. He hit the gas, squealing his tires as he went too fast down a street filled with tourists.
I watched the car disappear around the bend at the far end of Front Street. The two old men on the bench were looking at me. Not at the building. At me. The back of my neck was hot and it had nothing to do with the sun.
Judd was walking a fine line. I wasn’t one of his employees. I really didn’t appreciate his tone.
I turned back to Pete. “Know a crew that’ll handle the cleanup?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Add it to the bill,” I said.
“You know, people around here don’t like the idea of losing the tranquility of the place.”
“I see that.”
He nodded but said nothing. I realized we might have another problem. “Pete, are you quitting?”
“No, I’m just letting you know it’s not great for business.”
“You’re getting grief for doing the job?”
He shrugged. “They don’t pay my bills. I need the work.”
I nodded. “Let me know if you have any trouble.”
I got in the car and drove back to the house.
The home gym was at the back of the house, tucked behind the laundry room with a view of the side yard that nobody ever looked at.
Dad had put it in during one of the renovations.
It wasn’t anything fancy—a rack of dumbbells, a bench, a cable machine, and a treadmill.
Cody was mid-set on the bench when I walked in. He racked the bar and sat up, chest heaving as he reached for the towel.
“Back already?” he said. “That was fast.”
“You need to hear this.”
“What happened?”
I told him what happened. He shook his head and wiped his face.
“Okay,” he said when I finished.
“That’s all you’ve got? Okay?”
“Are you really surprised?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again.
“Because I’m not,” he said. “I’m genuinely not.
You roll into a tight-knit beach town after four years, announce you’re building a cruise port and setting up a commercial headquarters on their main street, and you expected what?
A fruit basket?” He tilted his head. “Congratulations on the port, we love what you’re doing with the place. ”
“I expected the reaction to take longer than forty-eight hours. Or I don’t know, maybe a letter explaining why they don’t want it. Dog shit delivery doesn’t exactly express legit grievances.”
“Small towns rally when they feel threatened.” He picked up a water bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“And these people feel threatened, Colt. You have to understand that. This isn’t just noise.
We’ve been coming here long enough to know better.
Nothing has changed in twenty years. Why do you think that is? They will defend their town.”
“I know it’s not just noise.” I looked out at the side yard. “I’m going for a run.”
Cody looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s after nine. It’s going to be hot.”
“The beach won’t be packed yet.”
“You’re going to look for her,” he said.
“I’m going for a run. I’m not looking for anyone. I need to get rid of the stink clinging to my nose hairs. Ocean air will help.”
“On the exact stretch of beach where Summer Banks surfs every morning.” He set the water bottle down. “That’s a coincidence, right?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“I’m allowed to go to the beach. I don’t need permission.”
“She’s not going to want to see you,” he said. “You go out there and find her this morning, you’re walking into a wall of anger.” He paused. “A very justified wall.”
“Too fucking bad,” I said.
He stared at me.
“I mean that respectfully,” I added.
“You mean it like a man who’s about to do something dumb because he can’t help himself.”
“I need to talk to her. She knows everyone here.”
“You plan on interrogating her?”
“No, but I think she might be able to help me figure this out.”
“Leave it alone,” he warned. “You are mixing business with pleasure. That’s risky.”
“We’re not in a relationship,” I said. “There’s no mixing.”
“When it blows up, and it will blow up, I want it on record that I warned you.”
“Noted.” I pushed off the doorframe. “Enjoy your workout.”
“Enjoy your run.”
I changed into my running gear, laced my shoes, and let myself out through the back gate. The smell of the ocean was so much better than the smell I’d left on Front Street. I let it wash over me, taking deep breaths of salty air.
I told myself I wasn’t looking for her, but if I happened to see her, a little small talk wouldn’t hurt.