Greg Barnes stood alone, staring at the damage done to the Sand and Sea. The locksmith had come and gone, but what good was a new lock on the front door when the wall was an open invitation to the crooked and the curious?
He’d called his boss to report what had happened, and with any luck he’d be gone before Josh showed up.
He sighed. Sooner or later he’d have to talk with the man. He just preferred it to be later. After all, it was imperative he go to Home Depot over on the mainland for a couple of sheets of plywood to cover the hole. What if the weather turned? What if night fell and bad guys or nosy kids climbed in? His duty as a property manager demanded he leave ASAP.
As he tried to work up the energy to get in his pickup and drive to the store, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the lot. He sighed again as he watched the unfamiliar car park. Another nosy tweeter?
He rubbed his forehead. Much as he hated to admit it, he hurt, but no way would he go to a doctor. Too time consuming. Maybe he should stop and let Carrie tend his wounds. Somehow thinking of her concern for him made him feel a little less achy.
He studied the Escalade. Nice car, very nice car. Big. Shiny. New. Much classier than the Hummer that had shouted, “Notice me, notice me; I’m special and so’s my driver.” Of course anyone driving an Escalade wasn’t the retiring sort either.
He blinked as Josh Templeton, sleek and buffed, climbed out, sporting new dark glasses and an extra measure of attitude. Huh. Too late to run. And Greg would have to rethink that classier thing.
Josh strode across the lot, his hair moussed to perfection, his trousers sharply creased, the polish on his tasseled loafers getting dusty in the cinders and sand. He stopped beside Greg and studied the hole without a word, though he vibrated with anger. Even his jowls, developing in spite of his attempts to stay young forever, seemed to shimmy with fury.
Greg took a deep breath and waited with patience for the explosion. It was inevitable, and since he was the one standing here, he would be the one getting the blame. The fact that he hadn’t been the driver of the car would matter little to Josh.
Well, he could take it. He had no choice if he wanted to keep his job. On the bright side, Josh would be his boss for only two more days.
“What were you thinking, Barnes,” Josh snarled, “to let things get this out of hand?”
Greg took a minute until he trusted his voice. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. The blood, abrasions, cuts, and bruises aren’t all that major, though I was worried for a minute there when he drove straight at me.”
Josh scowled and waved the air as if brushing away a gnat. “Get over yourself. You’re fine. You screwed up. You might as well admit it.”
Greg sighed. What was the use? It was a good thing Scripture said to love one another, not like one another. He could behave properly toward Josh in an agape love, polite sort of way—his mother and Ginny had trained him well, as had the instructors at the police academy—but he couldn’t bring himself to like the man. At all. Sometimes it felt more like a case of loving your enemy.
“I did not screw up.” A bit of self-defense was appropriate. After all, he had Carrie and Blake, to say nothing of the tweeters, as witnesses.
Josh spun to him, mouth open to rebut.
Greg held up a hand. “I will not discuss culpability with you, Josh. I know what I know. I was here. You were not. Blake Winters was here too. Talk to him if you want an unbiased report.”
Josh looked around. “Where is he?”
The subtle thread of disbelief about Blake’s presence when the incident occurred angered Greg, but he held his temper. It wasn’t a war worth fighting. It was just Josh being his usual disagreeable self. “He left after the locksmith changed out the locks.”
“Like new locks are going to keep people out.” Josh swept his hand toward the hole. “It’s a highway through there.”
“It won’t be after I cover it.” Greg was proud of the even tone he managed.
Another car pulled into the lot, and a man Greg had never seen before climbed out, cell phone in hand.
“Wow! That’s impressive!” The man studied the hole. “They weren’t kidding.”
“They weren’t,” Greg agreed, knowing who “they” were.
“You okay?” the stranger asked, eying Greg’s scrapes and bruises.
A total stranger had more courtesy than his boss. How sad was that? “I’m okay.”
The man nodded. “Looks painful.”
“Who are you?” Josh demanded.
“Mac88. Who are you?”
Josh turned on Greg. “What kind of an idiot name is Mac88?”
Greg mentally rolled his eyes.
“Hey, buddy, watch your mouth.” Mac88 scowled at Josh.
“He’s a tweeter,” Greg explained. “Mac88 is his Twitter name.” Did that mean there were eighty-seven other Macs on Twitter or that he was born in 1988? Or on the eighth day of August, the eighth month?
Josh studied the lanky guy with the BlackBerry and sniffed. “I was right. He’s a twit.” And he turned his back.
Greg bit back a smile at Mac88’s outraged expression.
Josh resumed his rant. “You were in charge of this eviction; therefore, this is your fault, Barnes. I expect you to take care of all this mess. Get estimates on repairs, select the cheapest, and get this fixed by tomorrow.”
“It may take a bit longer, what with insurance and all.” To say nothing of contractors with previous commitments.
“Tomorrow!” Josh puffed out his chest, the very picture of self-importance. “The sale is finalized tomorrow, as you well know.” Josh was selling every property he owned, and he’d transferred the responsibility for the negotiations with the representative of a consortium of buyers to Greg. All Josh planned to do was show up tomorrow to sign on the dotted line—or lines, as the case may be—and collect his money.
Which explained the new Escalade. How like Josh, buying the pricey car before he had a check in hand. It seemed he’d never heard the one about “many a slip twixt cup and lip.”
“Fred will be in town early tomorrow,” Josh said as if he, not Greg, had been the one to work with Fred through the purchase process. “He’ll give you a call. Just make sure he shows at one for the meeting with my lawyers. I’ve got to go.”
And he climbed into his Escalade and went.
Greg breathed a sigh as the black car disappeared down the street. Josh always got on his nerves, had from the first time they met.
“He’s a real winner.” Mac88’s voice dripped with dislike. “I’m going to Carrie’s Café to see what’s happening there.”
Greg had never heard a more appealing plan.