She heard a horn toot from behind and looked in the rearview mirror. “Oh, Mak, that’s my camera crew. We’re headed into town.”
“Let me know right away if you see or hear from Hoffman,” Makarowicz said.
“I will,” Hattie promised. She felt that icy ripple start at the back of her neck again, but then Leetha, who was in the truck with the guys, beeped the horn again.
* * *
Lynn, the owner of Clutter, roamed through the tightly packed aisles of the consignment store, plucking lamps and paintings from displays, with Leetha and her camera crew squeezed in between a mountain of rolled-up Oriental carpets.
It was too hot to leave Ribsy in the truck, so he crouched near the front door, watching the goings-on with interest, thumping his tail every time Hattie spoke.
“Just don’t leave that door open,” Hattie warned. “He’s a flight risk.”
She pointed to an oversized pair of blue-and-white ginger jar lamps. “I want those for the console table in the living room.”
Lynn unrolled the corner of a jewel-toned Heriz rug and Hattie gave it a thumbs-up. “That’ll work in the dining room. What do you have for the living room? Trae’s looking for something big and bold to make a statement.” With the toe of her shoe, Lynn pointed to a lumpy bundle of reds, greens, and blues. “This is a palace-sized Kashan. The fringe is worn, but it won’t matter under a sofa.”
“Let’s do it,” Hattie said, consulting her list. “We need bedroom rugs, too. Blues and greens, and more earth tones for a larger nine-by-twelve. Do you have any dhurries?”
“Over there,” Lynn said, pointing to the front wall of the store. “I’ll get Johnny to take them out to the parking lot so you can unroll and choose which ones you want.”
“Good. Now. Art. Need a large statement piece to go over the fireplace, and maybe four or five other pieces for the living room.”
“Contemporary? Abstract? Traditional?” Lynn gestured toward the paintings and prints hung, gallery style, on every inch of wall space in the consignment shop.
“Knowing Trae, maybe something more oversized and contemporary for the fireplace.”
“We just got a huge new Bert John marsh scene,” Lynn said, pointing to a canvas leaning against the cash stand. “Really dreamy.”
“If this was my house, I’d totally buy that,” Hattie said. She turned to Leetha. “Can the guys shoot that? It’s my favorite piece I’ve seen.”
“We already did,” Leetha said.
“How about a grouping of these Chuck Scarborough collages?” Lynn asked. “He paints on the canvas, then adds bits of ephemera. His new series is beach-themed.”
“Definitely,” Hattie said, bending down to examine one. “These three will work in the dining room.”
“I’ve got a great Bellamy Murphy of palmetto fronds,” Lynn said, pointing to a large-scale canvas hanging on the back wall of the shop. “Just came in.”
“Fabulous,” Hattie said. “Someday I’ll own one of her pieces for my own place.”
“What else?” Lynn asked. “Accessories?”
“I need lots of books. Leather-bound if possible, but I’ll take whatever you’ve got. Coffee table books. Hmm. Maybe some giant hunks of coral or big specimen seashells? Candlesticks? Maybe some blue-and-white transferware platters for the walls above the bookshelves?”
Hattie read Trae’s list and within an hour they’d assembled a huge stack of goods and checked off almost everything.
“Six thirty,” Lynn announced. “Time to lock up and go home.”
Hattie gave the shop owner a quick hug. “You’re a lifesaver. You know Zenobia, our office manager, right? Will you send her an inventory of all this stuff we’ve borrowed?”
“Thirty days, correct? I can’t afford to have this much inventory out for any longer than that, Hattie.”
“Hopefully, the house will be sold much quicker than that, but yeah, it all comes back here by the end of next month.”
* * *
The drive back to Tybee took nearly an hour. Hattie spent the time thinking about how wrong she’d been to fly off the handle at Mo the previous night. But as wrong as it was to assume he’d leaked the story about her father, she decided she was right to regret sleeping with him.
Whether or not the network picked up Homewreckers for a second season was immaterial. She wasn’t at all sure she should repeat the experience again. Sleeping with a business associate was always a bad idea. Even if the business associate was kind and funny and loyal and a great kisser. Especially if he was a great kisser, because then, who knew—you might be tempted to keep sleeping with him and making the same mistake over and over again.