The Weekenders (35 page)

“No! It's not like that.”

“You're not here to bid on the Holtzclaw place?”

“Well, yeah. It's an amazing property. There's nothing else like it on this part of the coast.”

“You don't plan to live in that house. You'll knock everything down and build a marina, and when you're done with that, you'll mow down the nature sanctuary.…”

“No, you're wrong,” Nate protested.

“No marina? On the widest part of the creek?”

“Hell yeah, there'll be a marina…”

“See?”

“Look,” Nate said. “You saw that room in there. There are a dozen or more guys waiting for the Belle Isle lots to come up. That's what they'll do with the land if they get it…”

“And I'm supposed to believe that you're different?”

“I
am
different,” Nate said. “That island is my home. My people have been on Belle Isle almost as long as yours.”

“There's a big difference,” Riley said heatedly. “My family came and they stayed. You? This is just another deal for you. You'll do your thing, then you'll head back to Silicon Valley.”

“You're wrong,” Nate said. “I don't know how to make you believe it, but you are.”

Riley looked at him with contempt. “God knows, I can't stop you. I don't even know if I want to try. Just do me a favor. Stay away from me and my family.”

 

40

She settled for a lunch of a candy bar from a vending machine and a tepid cup of free coffee from the hospitality table in the lobby.

By the time Riley got back to the conference room, it had cleared out enough to offer a seat on the back row, but she was too nervous to sit.

At 3 p.m. Colonel Fowlkes announced, “And now, we'll start with the parcels I think a lot of you have been waiting on. Folks, this is an extraordinary opportunity, in fact, I'd call it a once-in-a-lifetime chance to own a large tract of land on Belle Isle, which, as you may know, has been exclusively owned and developed by one family for nearly a hundred years.”

Riley saw several heads in the room turn and stare knowingly in her direction. She looked down at her catalog, unwilling to meet their curious eyes.

The auctioneer coughed discreetly. “Due to a tragic set of circumstances, these tracts are being auctioned off today, and you will note each parcel does have a minimum bid, as well as a ten percent buyer's premium.”

He placed a survey map on the easel. “This first item is a twelve-acre tract containing an as-is home, with ocean views on the island's beautiful north end. It has recently been rezoned for commercial development. The previous owner has already done some clearing of land, and word has it that there has been some interest in that land from a prominent national hotel chain. Now folks, we have a set minimum bid of three million, and I'll remind you that we will only be recognizing prequalified bidders for this lot. Everybody else, you're welcome to stay for the show.”

Nobody moved, but there was a ripple of laughter from the audience.

“All right. Looking for three million for oceanfront acreage. I said three, but I'd prefer four.” Four hands shot up. Riley recognized Nate's silhouette and his raised paddle.

“Now four. Good. Five is better.” One bidder dropped out, but three paddles stayed in the air. The bidders were Nate, a silver-haired man with a leather-wrapped ponytail and extravagant signet ring, and a man who looked to be Middle Eastern.

“Now six. I have six. Seven? Who'll give me seven million for a piece of paradise over there on Belle Isle?”

Ponytail man shook his head regretfully and lowered his paddle. Nate and the other bidder hung tight. The auctioneer acknowledged them with a nod.

“Go eight. We're talking prime oceanfront commercial property. I need eight.”

“Seven-five,” Nate called.

The Middle Eastern man shrugged and lowered his paddle, and the auctioneer hammered Nate's bid down at seven point five million.

Colonel Fowlkes beamed. “That's a great buy, buddy. Seven point five million, sold to number eight twenty-three.”

The rest of the island parcels sold quickly, and though the signet-ring man and the Middle Easterner bid vigorously, Nate managed to win the next three properties.

Riley had been keeping score, scribbling his purchase prices on her paddle, and by her estimate, Nate's buying spree had already cost him sixteen million, with the Holtzclaw property up next.

Now the colonel went into overdrive. “Friends, this next lot has no equal in this state, maybe the whole coast. I'm talking about the Holtzclaw property, a pristine fifty-acre parcel with a one-hundred-year-old farmstead, barn, and the best part, a thousand feet of prime, deep-water frontage on Fiddler's Creek, a fifteen-minute boat ride from the ocean. I don't need to tell you how rarely something like this comes on the market, but I'm gonna anyway. Minimum bid is six million.”

Bidders who'd stayed on the sidelines earlier suddenly came awake. “All right then, who's gonna steal this for six million?” the colonel yelled. Eight or nine paddles shot up.

“Let's go six. Now seven. Now eight. You betcha. Eight is chump change for a property like this.”

Three bidders stayed in; Nate, ponytail man, and a woman Riley hadn't noticed before, with a long mane of dark hair and an armful of jangly gold bracelets.

“I need nine million. And that's peanuts, y'all. This land is appraised at sixteen million, without any improvements at all.”

“Nine,” Nate called. The other bidders dropped out.

“Sold to number eight twenty-three,” the auctioneer announced.

Riley added Nate's latest purchase to his total, a breathtaking twenty-five million.

The next three parcels were small zero-lot-line lots scattered around the village, and Nate stayed out of the bidding, allowing the dark-haired woman to scoop them up for less than ten thousand apiece.

Riley scarcely paid attention to the bidding. Her palms were starting to sweat because the next lot up was her own house.

The colonel put an enlarged real estate listing photo of the house on his easel.

“This is a one-of-a-kind home, mid-island, oceanfront. Custom-built for an executive of Belle Isle Enterprises, designed by a fancy New York architect whose name I can't pronounce. Now, friends, you've seen the catalog description, but that doesn't do this home justice. This is easily a two-million-dollar home on the very desirable Sand Dollar Lane, but we're going to start crazy low at four hundred.”

“Dollars?” a man with a sweat-stained tractor cap called, earning a round of laughter.

“Hey, buddy,” the colonel called. “I do the jokes here. It's four hundred thousand, American dollars. Who's gonna start us out?”

Riley looked around, and to her dismay, eight paddles popped up. Hers was the last to be raised.

“I see you guys know value,” the colonel said. “Four ten. Now four fifteen. Now four twenty, now four twenty-five.” Three or four paddles dropped out, but there were still three other bidders besides Riley, whose heart was racing.

“Four thirty. Four forty, four forty-five,” he called. “Who'll stay with me at four fifty?”

One bidder shook her head and lowered her paddle.

The colonel had hit his stride. “Four fifty-five, now four sixty, four sixty-five, now four seventy, and seventy-five…”

Riley was afraid she might hyperventilate. Every muscle in her body was tensed. Roo's check was for exactly five hundred and fifty thousand—but with the buyer's premium tacked on, she could only go as high as five hundred.

“I've got four eighty, gimme four eighty-five, now four ninety.” Riley's eyes were riveted to the competition–the dark-haired woman and an older man with a large bald spot on the back of his head.

“Drop out, drop out, drop out,” she whispered. “Please drop out.”

“Four ninety-five,” the auctioneer called. But the other paddles stayed in the air. “Five hundred,” the auctioneer shouted, “now five-oh-five.”

Riley left her paddle on the chair and fled the room. She couldn't bear to see who would win her house away from her.

 

41

Ed Godchaux's face lit up when he saw Riley trudge onto the upper deck of the ferry.

“Riley!” he called, patting the bench beside him. “What were you doing in town?”

She took a seat beside her best friend's husband, and her mood lifted—infinitesimally. “Parrish didn't tell you?”

“We've been missing each other all day. What's going on?”

Before Riley could answer, they heard a familiar voice.

“Riley, Ed! The gang's all here.”

Scott dropped down on the bench beside them, and the five-minute horn blasted. “Whew! Made it in the nick of time.”

“Doing some shopping in town?” Scott asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Riley said. “Unfortunately, I'm coming home empty-handed.”

“What were you looking for?” Ed asked.

“My house.”

“Oh, shit,” Scott said. “The auction. Was that today?”

“Afraid so,” Riley said.

Scott snapped his fingers. “That's right. Billy told me Roo stepped in with an amazing contribution. But no go?”

“Nope. I had to drop out when the bidding reached five hundred thousand, because there was a ten percent buyer's premium.”

“How much did it end up selling for?” Ed asked.

The ferry's horn blasted again, and they moved slowly away from the dock. Riley glanced discreetly around and was thankful not to see Nate. He was probably still back at the auction, buying up every last square inch of the island.

“I don't know. After I'd reached my limit and there were still two others bidding, I didn't have the heart to stick around. All I knew was I didn't have enough.”

“God, honey, I'm sorry,” Scott said. “I know you're heartbroken. Again.”

She shrugged. “I don't mind so much for myself. But Maggy had her heart set on it. She thinks of that house as the embodiment of her dad. We had a talk this morning, and I did warn her that I might not be successful, but I just don't know how she'll take the news.”

“Maggy's a bright kid. She'll understand,” Scott said.

“Hope so. Anyway, as my dad used to say, it's Friday afternoon and the sun is officially over the yardarm. I think I'm more than ready for an adult beverage. Can I get you guys anything?”

“Let me go,” Ed said, half-standing.

“Tell you what, if you buy, I'll fly,” Riley said.

“I'd love a beer,” Ed said.

“Make it two.” Scott handed her a twenty-dollar bill, and Riley made her way downstairs.

The main cabin was typically crowded for a Friday, and it seemed that most of the passengers had the same idea as Riley. She had two beers and a plastic cup of wine clutched in both hands and was about to return to her seat when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Riley!” The voice was all too familiar. Andrea Payne, aka Belle Isle Barbie.

“Hello, Andrea,” Riley said. She could feel her molars grinding already.

Andrea's Botox-frozen face folded into an expression so sad it would have been comic in any other setting.

“Oh, my gosh,” she said, hugging Riley close, causing her to spill half an inch of wine on herself. “I guess you didn't see me at the auction earlier. Graham and I decided at the last minute to bid on one of those building lots in the village. Can you believe we got ours for less than ten thousand? But my heart just went out to you, you poor thing, when I saw that you had to drop out of the bidding for your house. That must have been devastating. And then when it sold right after you left, for just over five hundred thousand! You were so, so close. I can't even imagine how that must have felt.”

“It would have felt pretty shitty if I'd hung around to see it,” Riley agreed. She leaned in close. “But Andrea? Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything!” Andrea exclaimed.

“Could you kindly fuck off?”

Andrea's eyes goggled. “I beg your pardon?”

Riley raised her voice so there could be no mistake about her sentiment.

“I said, fuck off!”

Heads turned. Riley smiled serenely and made her way back to the top deck.

*   *   *

Evelyn, Roo, and Maggy were waiting in the ferry parking lot.

“Did you get our house back?” Maggy asked, catching sight of her mother and bouncing up and down on the rear seat with Banks clutched tightly in her lap. “Can we go in tonight?”

Riley sat down and wrapped her arms around her daughter's waist. “Honey, I'm so sorry. We just didn't have enough money.”

Maggy lowered her head, but Riley could see her bottom lip was quivering, and her eyes welled up with tears. “It's all right, Mom. I know you tried.”

“I did, sweetie. And Aunt Roo was so wonderful to help us out, but we just came up short.”

“Oh, Riley,” Roo said. “I don't know what to say. That's just dreadful.”

“Maybe the other person won't really have enough to buy the house. Maybe they'll back out,” Evelyn said hopefully.

“I don't think so. All the bidders had to present proof of funds before they'd issue us a bidding number,” Riley said.

“Well, whoever it is that did buy it, we'll never speak to them,” Roo said.

“They'll be shunned on this island,” Evelyn agreed. “Totally shut out of book club, supper club, mahjong, bridge club, garden club…”

“And poker club,” Roo added. “We will make them rue the day they messed with the Nolan women.”

“And if they have kids,” Maggy said ominously, “I'll…”

“You'll be nice to them. We'll all be nice to whoever buys Sand Dollar Lane,” Riley said firmly. “We had some wonderful family times there, and nobody can take that away from us. But it was just a house. We'll get another house, and we'll make new memories. Right?”