He’d forgotten how much he’d missed the unsinkable Taleetha Carr. “I might have a job for you, that’s what’s up.”
Taleetha hadn’t missed a beat. “Not HPTV, right? You know I love you, but I am not working for Rebecca Sanzone again.”
“You’d be working for me,” he’d protested.
“And you’re working for her.”
“I work for myself,” Mo had said. “Anyway, can we talk business for a minute? I’m on this crazy-fast time track, and I really need you, Leetha. Just hear me out before you say no.”
“I’ll listen, but that’s not gonna change my mind,” she’d relented.
He’d explained about meeting Hattie Kavanaugh, and how he’d gotten the spark of an idea for a show set in Savannah.
“Have you ever been here?” he’d asked. “It’s hauntingly beautiful. The history, all these incredible pre–Civil War homes, the flowers and the trees and the Spanish moss…”
“And the rednecks waving all those Confederate flags? Did you forget about them?”
“No. I mean, yeah, I admit there’s still some of that, but Savannah’s so much more than that. Anyway, we need to start shooting by early next week. I need you, Leetha.”
“Next week? Baby, this might come as a news flash for you, but I’ve got a job.”
“Taleetha Carr, are you cheating on me?”
“Hell yes. A girl’s got to work, you know. Cole Ryder’s got a development deal for a show he’s calling Dumpster Divas, about a group of L.A. chicks who make a living picking up trash and recycling and reselling it.”
“In development,” Mo had said. “Has any network said yes?”
“Not in so many words,” she’d admitted.
“In the meantime, I’ve got a sure thing. A signed contract with HPTV, and a crew, and we’re ready to start filming as soon as you get your sassy ass down here.”
“No. Nuh-uh,” Taleetha had said. “Not even for you.”
“I’m gonna email you the talent reel I shot. You’ll love Hattie. Drives a pickup truck, runs the construction company with her father-in-law. She’s the real deal.”
“The answer is still no, Mo. But what’s the big rush with this new show?”
“I finally got a lucky break,” he’d said. “Krystee from Going Coastal is pregnant with twins and she’s on strict bed rest, which means the show is on hiatus for at least six months.”
“And that Wednesday night slot is up for grabs. Temporarily,” Taleetha had said thoughtfully.
Mo had seen an opening and jumped on it. “You know you want to do this show with me, Taleetha. You miss me. You miss us.”
She hadn’t denied it. “What about Becky the Bitch? What’s she gonna have to say about you hiring me?”
“Leave her to me,” Mo had said. “How soon can you get here?”
“To Savannah? I’m not even sure I know where that is.”
“You fly to Atlanta, then you get on a flight to Savannah. I’ll book your flight tonight. You can be here by Friday.”
She had let out a long sigh. “Okay, send me that talent reel and everything else you’ve got.”
* * *
The phone buzzed again, like an angry fly trapped against a window screen. Mo sighed.
Dealing with a workaholic like Becca sucked up all the oxygen in the room.
His phone buzzed again.
WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY HAVEN’T YOU ANSWERED ME?
He yawned and typed.
It’s only 3 A.M. here. All good with the show. Talk tomorrow.
He lifted one hip and shoved the phone under the sofa cushion and fell instantly back to sleep.
13
Winner Takes All
“Uh, hi. I’m here for the Creedmore house?”
A heavy plate-glass window separated her from the clerk who sat at a desk in the lobby of the Tybee City Hall. He was an older man, wearing a white polo shirt and a sour attitude. He looked up at Hattie over black-rimmed half-moon glasses that perched on the tip of his nose.
“What’s that?”
Hattie raised her voice. “The Creedmore house!” Two people who’d been loitering nearby, studying the notices on a large bulletin board, looked up, startled.
“What about it?”
“The city condemned that house, and I placed a sealed bid to buy it this morning. I was told that the bids would be unsealed at noon,” Hattie said.
“Back there. In the conference room.” He pointed to a door at the far end of the hall.