Turn Over

She was wearing heels that were slowly starting to sink into the sand. She wobbled slightly and I offered to help her before she lost her balance, but she waved me off.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Can’t say that I do.” I smiled.

She didn’t fit in here. There was an airiness about her that contradicted the worn out buildings surrounding us. Her smile was bright, and I couldn’t help but notice her full lips.

“Do you live here? Maybe I could ask you a few questions instead.”

I shook my head. “No. Not me.”

She looked disappointed. “Are you visiting someone maybe?”

“No, I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, I guess I need to find Mr. Cratchett then. All these trailers look the same.”

I surveyed the trailer park. She was right. There wasn’t much to distinguish one from the other. “I’m headed back to my car over there. Why don’t I walk with you until you find Mr. Cratchett?”

“That’s all right. I can find him.” She adjusted her shoes in the sand again.

I shrugged. “Good luck, then.” I walked past her, descending from the dunes. I had seen enough to know I had to make this deal work. I didn’t know who else was bidding today, but I wanted this tract.

Opportunities like this seldom landed in my lap. The land had fallen out of probate after the owner died. He left it to his niece and nephew, but they had no interest in managing a trailer park. Lucky for me, they were ready to cash in their inheritance.

“Wait,” she called. “Do you know anything about the development of this land?”

I turned to face her. She was struggling with her hair again. “Are you a reporter or are you with the group out of Houston?” I asked.

“I don’t know the group from Houston. I’m Sydney Paige. I write for the News & Record. The online edition.”

“Ahh. That explains a lot.” I was slightly relieved she wasn’t part of the competition. I’d rather keep my interest under the radar.

“Such as?”

“Such as why a pretty girl like you would be hanging out in a place like this.”

Her lips flattened into a line of disapproval. “You have something against trailer parks?”

I stepped forward. “Did I say that?”

“It was implied.”

I chuckled. “Sounds like you practice interpretative journalism, Miss Paige.”

“Interpretative? Wow. Sounds like you just like to label people.”

I laughed. She was surprisingly quick with the retort.

“Good luck finding your story.” I continued toward my car.

She trailed behind a few paces, trying to keep up in her heels. “And you aren’t going to tell me who you are? Which company do you work for? You must be a part of the development deal.”

“There you go again interpreting.” I used the remote to unlock the door.

“You’re driving a sports car in a trailer park, wearing nice clothes. A suit. You don’t know anyone here, and you’re not visiting. This piece of land is in the midst of a bidding war. I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume you might be a part of that.”

I opened the car door. “Looks like you might be on to something. Very Nancy Drew of you.”