CHAPTER 6
C HAPTER 6
C urtis returned to his studio apartment in the island Ramada. The suites-motel stood two blocks from the ocean, partially renovated since the last hurricane struck Atlantic Beach. Curtis could have taken an oceanfront suite at the resort. He could have demanded a lot of things. They were all his due, but the Fortunate Harbor’s hostile manager had done his best to make Curtis feel utterly excluded. Which was why Curtis remained where he was. In a modest place between the shore and the bridge.
He showered and changed into T-shirt, shorts, and slaps, then drove to the Shark Shack, a family-run fish restaurant that had already become a personal favorite. Curtis worked through dinner, returned to his room, and spent another three hours preparing his three documents. The first was a summary on his work, the issues, the way forward. The second was a costing of what he was about to spend, and how much he wanted to set aside for the rebuild and purchase of equipment to put his plan into action.
A lot.
Both of those documents were running commentaries. He spent most evenings adding to their content. The third was different. Each night he parceled out the most important bits, distilling them down to as few words as possible. His two bosses, father and daughter, insisted on daily updates. These had to be less than one page in length. At first, Curtis had sweated and strained over this ironclad limitation. In time, though, he had learned to like it. This restriction forced him to decide what was absolutely crucial, and what could be held back. There in case they asked for more details. Questioned his moves. Insisted on placing his work under the corporate microscope. The first few years after he started his current role, these inspections happened a couple of times each week. Sometimes daily. Now, almost never.
It was well after midnight when he finished and sent off his daily report. Curtis had no idea when or if it would be read, and by whom. That used to worry him a lot. Now he accepted the invisible leash as just part of his job.
He stripped and slipped into bed, then lay on his back, studying the ceiling and reflecting on the incredible journey that had brought him here. Back to the place that had once shaped his entire world. The only home he ever wanted. His very own island paradise.
Curtis woke with the dawn hour. Sleep had been a reluctant friend since his life fragmented. He made coffee and a fresh-fruit smoothie, drank a mug of both, then went for a swim in the motel pool. Back inside, shower, another cup of the two brews, dress, and go. Rushing into his morning routine was another part of his new world. Keeping his internal state intact was easiest when he held to a common routine, a steady pace, despite the constant transitions his job required.
The sun crested the eastern palms as he drove past the resort hotel’s gated entry. Four employees were already working out front, picking up litter that had been dumped by passing locals. This was, Curtis knew, a daily routine and symptomatic of the problem he had been sent down to resolve.
Only today was different. Two of the employees were using shovels to scoop up what appeared to be fish entrails. Another used the portable water-truck to hose down the grassy verge. The sheriff’s car was parked under the neighboring palms. Colton Knox toyed with his sunglasses as the hotel manager stood with his back to the road and waved his arms as he talked. Colton’s gaze shifted long enough to watch Curtis pass.
Curtis continued north and pulled into the new beachfront public park. A few vans and SUVs were already there, most with empty surf racks. He rose from the car, recalling days when finding the best break defined the day’s most important component.
Atlantic Beach had once framed his world. There was nowhere else he wanted to be, nothing he required that the Crystal Coast could not supply. Curtis stood in the strengthening light and reflected on those distant times. Such memories belonged to a different man. He might as well have been watching them on the big screen, part of someone else’s drama.
The simple fact was, had he stayed he would never have met Lorna. There was nothing on earth, not even the tragic boundary that ended their time together, that could make him wish for a life that had never contained his late wife.
Six minutes later, the sheriff pulled in and parked beside his ride. Colton rose, settled his Stetson in place, and offered Curtis his hand. “I thought that was you, seated next to Rae at yesterday’s shindig.”
“Good to see you, Sheriff.”
“It’s Colton to you, son. Time doesn’t change that.” He had a cop’s gaze, tight and hard and penetrating. “Emma called and passed on the news about your late wife. Wanted to say how sorry I am.”
“Thanks.”
“Smart move, stopping by her place. She’ll make certain everybody who might otherwise pry will know to keep their yaps shut.” Colton might have smiled. “Including one particular lady who lives to dig.”
Curtis saw no need to reply.
The sheriff waved back in a southerly direction. “You’re working for the hotel?”
“The parent group.”
“Ah.” Colton nodded. “So the rumors are true.”
Curtis did not respond.
“Your sales team had their hands in the cookie jar.”
“Say I was to agree,” Curtis said. “How far would that go?”
“Son, the number of bombshell secrets I carry could sink the island.”
“In that case, local architects complained.”
“You’re talking about the Dixon father and daughter.”
“None other. They had two homes ready to start construction. Our former resort manager and his two sales staff refused to give final approval unless the Dixons offered an off-the-books commission. When the father complained, we turned to a detective agency we’ve used in the past, a retired FBI agent. He discovered the resort manager and his minions were also skimming funds off the initial land purchases.” Curtis pointed to the Lexus pulling into the lot. “And that’s all the time I have for dirt.”
Colton waved to Gloria Tanner as the realtor rose from her car. “You ask me, you’ve made a good choice, working with this lady. She’s solid as they come.”
“Glad you think so.”
The sheriff shook his hand a second time, started to turn away, then asked, “What exactly is your job here?”
Curtis nodded. It was the question he’d been hoping for. “I’m just your basic problem solver. In this case, it includes finding a way to bring the locals over to our side. You have any ideas on that score?”
Colton actually laughed. “You mean, other than closing your resort and burning down the hotel?”
“Preferably, yeah. I need to find some way to have the locals want us to stay. And grow. Any advice you can offer would be appreciated.”
“I owe your father my life,” Colton said. “That kind of debt never goes away. But don’t go asking for what I can’t give. Because my first reaction is, there’s no way in heaven or earth you’ll make that happen.” Colton pulled out a business card and his pen. “This is my home number and private cell. Come over one evening, we’ll grill some steaks.”
As Colton pulled from his parking space and started away, Gloria stepped up and asked, “Am I allowed to ask what that was all about?”
Curtis returned the sheriff’s departing wave. “Colton was just making me feel welcome. Sort of.”
* * *
Gloria Tanner opened the SUV’s rear gate, set her briefcase on a cardboard file box, and began setting out documents for Curtis to sign. The realtor showed a pleasant but no-nonsense manner that he found appealing. Curtis finished signing, listened as she explained the process they needed to follow in completing the sale, and filled out the deposit check.
That done, Curtis asked, “Mind if we take a look at another property?”
“My morning is booked. Will this afternoon do?” she replied.
“Now is better.” He pointed west. “It’s why I asked if we could meet here.”
“Are we talking a lookie-loo or a semi-definite?”
“It carries the same urgency as this purchase,” Curtis replied. “Another cash buy. To be completed immediately, if at all possible.”
“In that case, let me make a few calls and ask my junior associates to handle this other appointment.” She revealed a lovely smile, equal parts coquettish and excited. “You may wish to step away. My two young ladies tend to scream when I wreck their schedules.”
Instead, Curtis crossed the parking lot and took the dune crossover. He stopped by the lifeguard station, the construction so new he could still smell the fresh-cut timber. He checked his phone for messages and responded to a couple of emails. There was nothing from Amiya Morais, his immediate boss. Curtis took that as his signal to proceed. Full speed ahead.
The wind was gentle and blowing offshore. The waves were head-high and almost perfect, sizeable A-frames that broke in both directions, forming tubes that flowed from peak to shore. Curtis watched surfers gorge themselves on an early-morning feast and felt a thousand years old.
He was glad to be back in the Outer Banks, though he expected very little from his visit. His recollection of days spent on the Crystal Coast belonged to a different era, another man. The simple life he had known as a youth did not belong to the person he was now. These were someone else’s memories.
Gloria appeared beside him. “Do you surf?”
“I did. Long ago.”
She leaned back and pretended to give him a head-to-toe inspection. “You’re young and fit. You should go for it. There’s still time.”
“Not today, there isn’t.” He started back. “Mind if we take my car?”
Once they were underway, Curtis said, “Thanks for making time this morning.”
“I have a couple who’ve been dithering over a purchase, hoping they can drive down the price.” Her accent was down-home smooth, as if she delicately tasted each word. “All they’ve done is drive me and the seller around the bend. This morning was to have been our sixth visit to the property. With their lawyer this time, who at least is being paid by the hour. I might have intimated I was involved with another potential buyer.”
“Which you are,” Curtis said. “Just not to that same property. I hope.”
Her smile was impish. “That little item might have been lost in the conversation.”
He turned into the resort’s newly completed central road. A female guard stepped from the gatehouse, recognized his car, waved a half salute and opened the barrier. “Changing the subject. What can you tell me about Dixon and Dixon Architects?”
Gloria lost her grin. “So the rumors are true.”
Curtis took his time, pretending to inspect the four half-finished homes now lining the first lake. Beyond them, a landscaping crew was planting palms as a final ornament to their newly completed golf course. The first of three, if the resort ever grew to full capacity. Finally he replied, “Off the record?”
“We’re not covered by attorney-client privileges here. But we should be.”
“In that case, the answer is, our former estate manager and two salespeople were in it together.”
“I hope you skinned those three,” Gloria said. “Slowly.”
“No comment.”
“They were just one more reason why your project is loathed by so many local business people. You do realize they put roadblocks into any sale, particularly when an outside agent was involved.” When Curtis did not respond, she asked, “Is that why you’re here?”
He shrugged. “Tell me about the Dixons.”
“Emmett Dixon and his daughter, Blythe, stand head and shoulders above all the other regional firms.” Definite. “And they charge accordingly.”
“Can you set up an appointment with them?”
In response, she brought out her phone and began texting. “I’m glad Emma brought us together.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” Curtis replied.
* * *
As Gloria worked her phone, Curtis left the resort by way of a clay-packed road dating back to the early-twentieth-century settlers. The scrub to either side still held vestiges of their crops—native corn, yams, collards, tobacco, fruit trees gnarled and stunted with age.
Gloria announced, “The Dixons aren’t available until seven this evening.”
“Tell them that’s fine. Will you join us?”
“Delighted.” A few moments later, she stowed her phone, looked up, and realized, “You’re taking me to the Barrett estate.”
“I am indeed.”
“How do you know this road?”
The real answer was, he and Rae had walked this way for years. Back when the former owners had all moved away, and they could pretend the waterfront land was theirs alone. Rae always colored their walks with myths of bygone eras. All he said was “I’ve been down here a couple of times surveying the property adjacent to ours.”
“Are you the resort’s new manager?”
“More like a stopgap. I’ll help resolve some issues, then be on my way.”
Even on his third visit, seeing the home came as a shock. All but the garage, lager, and entry foyer stood on ten-foot pilings. It was the largest structure on stilts Curtis had ever seen. “What is this, five thousand feet under air?”
“Closer to six and a half would be my guess,” Gloria replied. “That is, if the a/c system still worked.”
The house was a tragic wreck. The three pilings supporting the northeastern corner had pulled completely free of the structure and now dangled like drunken flagpoles. Those beneath the vast waterfront patio were in similar condition. A sizeable portion of the structure was dangerously close to collapse. All but three of the windows facing their way were covered with plywood.
Curtis asked, “What do you know about the property?”
“Other than the house is pretty much a complete ruin, not a lot. Oh, I suppose with enough money the place could be repaired.”
“I don’t want the house.”
“So this is not your idea of a future holiday home. Just waiting for a splash of paint and a decorator’s touch.”
“Not now, not ever.”
“Let me make some calls.” A delicate pause; then, “Just to be clear, you’re treating this as another urgent issue?”
“I’d like to make an all-cash offer. Today, if possible. Which means I also need a reliable assessment of its value.”
“The best appraiser in the county is a pal. I can probably get him to do an urgent survey, if you’re willing to pay extra for him putting everything aside.”
“Whatever it costs.”
“In that case, leave it with me.”
* * *
Curtis returned Gloria to her car, then drove to the resort office.
Behind the main gatehouse was a sizeable structure containing two glass-fronted offices and a large lobby with a model of the completed resort. Between the two buildings was a parking area for staff, a minibus, and six charging stations for golf carts. Visitors with or without appointments could not enter the property until the resort manager or a salesperson accompanied them. The electric carts and bus all bore the resort logo.
Curtis spent the day fielding issues with contractors and architects. When he had arrived three days ago and announced the former manager and salespeople were no longer involved, no one had expressed surprise or regret. Which was all the confirmation Curtis needed that they were right to let the trio go.
Two of the builders and their architects stopped by personally. The issues they raised did not require face time. Curtis knew they simply wanted to see if the resort was just changing people and not policy. Their expressions said clear as day, they were not putting up with more of the same. He did not try to explain or apologize. He simply responded to their concerns, doing his best to show that the situation was different. Permanently.
At five that afternoon, Gloria texted that she had information on the property and suggested they meet for a drink prior to seeing the Dixons. She named a bar Curtis did not recognize. He texted back, confirming, and locked up. But once in the car, he decided to take the long way around.
He drove back down the old packed-clay road, pulled into the Barrett drive, and walked down to the waterfront.
The entire property was lined with a bulkhead as battered as the home. The three piers all had missing planks. The central one had been nearly demolished by recent storms. It tilted and flowed like an incoming wave. Curtis knew the story of how the latest hurricane had made landfall south of Wilmington. Then just as the Crystal Coast breathed a sigh of relief, the storm swung around and took aim. The diminished storm passed just north of Beaufort, but when it reached the island’s Fort Macon Park, it slowed. The eye rested directly over Barrett’s home for almost two hours, long enough to wreak havoc on it and the neighboring park.
Curtis watched the sun begin its western retreat, turning the inland waterway into a shield of burnished gold. Ever since his arrival, he had been stopped in his tracks by such moments, when the region’s beauty sought to awaken his heart.
He had no strong feelings about it, one way or the other. Very little had managed to impact him at a deep level. So much of who he was remained trapped in the amber of loss. He knew there were changes on the wind. He no longer feared the sudden strike of grief, brought on by the unexpected encounter with a happy family or a laughing child or a couple in love. These days, he had grown accustomed to simply feeling nothing at all.
And yet at moments like this, surrounded by the simple beauty of another Carolina dusk, he wondered if there was any chance of new beginnings.
When his boss had initially asked if he would take charge of this situation, Curtis had started to decline. So much of who he was, and what he had endured, started here. He had not been ordered down. Instead, his two bosses, father and daughter, simply asked. Could he possibly come and try to make things right with their first-ever North American project? Those exact words. Make things right. He had not wanted to come. And yet . . .
He breathed the tangy flavors of brackish water and springtime blossoms, of wild blackberries and magnolia trees in full bloom. And wondered if there was such a thing as healing. Or starting over. Even for someone like him.