For a moment, he saw red.
“Fuck.”
The accompanying story was breathless and riddled with hyperbole and sly insinuation. The gist of it was that Trae was shooting a new hit HPTV reality show called Homewreckers, and that he and his costar, a lovely but unknown local talent, were already getting along “like a house on fire.”
“Mo! Are you looking at the photos? How did you even manage this?”
He closed the browser window. “It wasn’t hard. You were right. The chemistry was there, all I had to do was light the match.”
“That’s the idea! Listen, I’ve already called Andrea in PR to alert her. We’re going to pitch this story to every outlet in the country: People, The Today Show, Headline Hollywood, Entertainment Weekly, Good Morning America…”
“And don’t forget The National Enquirer,” Mo said.
“Yes! Of course! Those supermarket tabloids aim squarely at our demographic.”
“I was kidding.”
“I’m not,” Rebecca said. “Also, what’s this about a fire at the house? You didn’t actually start a fire as a publicity stunt, did you? I mean, I’m not saying that’s a bad idea, but for insurance purposes…”
“What fire?”
She sighed. “Mo, don’t you even have Google Alerts? There was some kind of fire there last night. All I got was a brief digest item, but I think it was on your local news there.”
Mo walked into the living room and turned on the television, switching channels until he found one that wasn’t talking about the capture of a ten-foot alligator in a local family’s swimming pool.
“And up next, fire threatens the restoration of a historic home on Tybee Island.” His eyes widened as he viewed orange flames billowing into the night sky. Another shot showed the Creedmore house from the front, with smoke pouring from the rear of the house.
The newscaster was the same guy with the slicked-back hair who’d showed up at the house after the discovery of Lanier Ragan’s wallet. Aaron something.
“Fire officials say the blaze was discovered around nine thirty last night. It apparently started in a dumpster, and came dangerously close to the vacant hundred-year-old house. Fortunately, members of the Tybee Fire Department quickly brought the flames under control. The cause of the fire is under investigation. An alert neighbor sent us this video, but we’ll be following up in our six o’clock news hour.”
“Jesus! Rebecca. I gotta go.”
“All right, but keep me posted. Honest to God, Mo, this story just gets better by the minute. I’ll call Tony later, because I think this means we ramp up a major fall preview campaign.”
He texted Hattie. No answer. He got dressed, found his car keys, went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Face like an unmade bed.” He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Orson Welles.”
30
After the Fire
It was Ribsy who nudged her awake just after six the next morning. He jumped onto the bed and began pawing at her back. When she turned over, he planted his entire body on her chest, resting the top of his head just under her chin.
“Ughhhh.” She gently pushed his face away. “Dude, your breath!”
That’s when she noticed her phone, which she’d switched to silent before falling into bed only five hours earlier. The screen was flashing with text notifications.
Two were from Cass, two were from Mo, and one was from Trae.
Cass: 5:42 A.M. OMG. Were you really swapping spit with Ashtray in public?
Cass: 5:45 A.M. What the hell? There was a fire at the house? Call me. NOW.
Mo: 5:36 A.M. Hey. If you and Trae are going to go viral, a warning would be appreciated.
Hattie sat up in bed after reading them. “Viral?”
Mo’s next text, sent only five minutes before she woke up, echoed Cass’s. CALL ME.
The phone vibrated in her hand. Mo.
“There was a fire? And you didn’t think to let me know?”
Hattie rubbed her eyes. “How did you even hear about the fire?”
“Rebecca got an alert on her phone and called. And I just saw it on the news.”
“It’s on the news? Geez. It was in the dumpster. We caught it just in time, and the house is still standing,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate a call at one in the morning, which is when I got home.”
“You can call me anytime if it’s about the show,” Mo said. “Just how bad is it?”