“Bullshit! You people sent some kind of mumbo jumbo letter to my senile cousin who thought it was an overdue light bill.”
“The owners of record were informed, by registered letter, at each step of this process, and the city posted the condemnation proceedings in the county’s legal organ, which is the Savannah Morning News.”
“Nobody reads that rag!” Holland Creedmore shouted. “How the hell was the rest of my family supposed to know what was going on in this fuckin’ banana republic you people are running out here?”
The clerk remained unruffled. “The condemnation signs were posted, as required by law, on your family’s property a year ago. If, at any point, any member of your family had initiated any kind of maintenance of that property, or paid the property taxes, the city would have halted the condemnation process.”
“My crazy cousin had the locks changed,” Holland said. “She and my father had some kind of feud. They haven’t spoken in years.”
“Unfortunate as that is, it doesn’t change the property owners’ responsibilities or their tax liabilities,” the clerk said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Creedmore, but the matter is out of my hands.”
Holland Creedmore cursed under his breath and stormed from the room. For the first time, Hattie noticed that the older man seemed to have already slipped away.
“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get this paperwork started,” the clerk told Hattie.
* * *
She signed forms and documents for what seemed like hours, but in real time only amounted to forty minutes. Each time she signed a document, the clerk stamped it with her heavy metal notary seal.
When it was over, the clerk slipped copies of the documents into a gray plastic envelope and handed it over to Hattie.
“Well, congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Hattie said, clutching the envelope to her chest.
“And you realize that, starting today, the clock is ticking on this transaction. Correct? The conditions of this federal grant are very specific. You have twelve months to complete the restoration of your property. I’ve given you the historic preservation guidelines your project will be required to meet. You’ll have to submit plans for your restoration within a week, before your building permit can be issued, and of course, after that, call for inspections at every phase of construction. The city’s code enforcement officer will be monitoring your progress.”
“I understand,” Hattie said.
The clerk handed her a key. “Good luck.”
* * *
Hattie climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck, her heart beating wildly.
What the hell did I just do? Did I really hock my engagement ring to buy a condemned house I’ve never stepped foot inside of? Did I actually just sign my life away in there, and promise to basically rebuild something without the slightest idea of how I’ll do that? Where the hell am I going to get the money?
Her phone vibrated, and she realized she’d forgotten to switch off the silent mode.
“Oh my God, Cass,” she said after picking up. “We got it. I was high bidder. I just bought a beach house for less than thirty thousand dollars!”
Cass was silent for a moment. “Jesus, take the wheel.”
Hattie unfastened the flap of the envelope holding the closing documents. “I know. You can’t believe all the paperwork I just signed. I had no idea there’d be this much red tape.”
There was a polite tap on the passenger side window. Holland Creedmore Jr. crossed around to the driver’s side window, with an apologetic smile.
“Hey? Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Call you back in a minute, Cass,” Hattie said. She ended the call.
“Hi,” she said, hesitantly. “What’s up?”
“Look, I realize I was, uh, kind of a horse’s ass in there and I just wanted to apologize.”
“That’s okay.”
He wrinkled his ruddy forehead as he studied her. “Hey, uh, I went to high school with a guy named Hank Kavanaugh. Any relation?”
“He was my husband.”
“Oh. Well, shit. I think we played Little League together. Wow. That was a damn shame. About the accident, I mean. Sorry.”
“Thanks.” Hattie started the truck. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hang on,” he said, keeping his hand on the door. “The thing is, that house never should have been sold. It was all a big mistake. Creedmores have owned it, like, forever.”
“But your family didn’t pay the taxes,” Hattie pointed out. “The lot is like a jungle. You can’t even see the house from the street. And the house is falling down. Like the clerk said, your family had a year to do something about it.”