Page 12 of The Hampton Beach Café
A discarded soda can rattled in the wind, and Frances kicked at it, missing.
Her last hope had been Mr. Jeremy, a contract lawyer with the firm whose reputation of viciousness in the courtroom had saved them millions over the years and if he thought there was no hope for her, then she really was up the creek without a paddle.
A twinge of guilt made her pause. She turned and picked up the soda can she had missed with her foot. Looking around, though, she couldn’t see a trash can, and the last thing she really wanted to be doing was carrying a filthy piece of trash around with her. In her search for somewhere to deposit the can, she realized where she was and that she had seen a recycling sign the other day.
“Even better,” she said out loud.
Lucinda was right. She was always happier when she had a mission to focus on––even if it was looking for a garbage can. It would take a lot more than recycling to get her through this, though. A divorce she could probably handle…probably. Having to find a new place, sure. She had been resigned to having to move from her position at Crawford International eventually but to have it forced on her? To be forcibly bought out in such a conceptually dodgy way? Just the thought of it made her stomach twist.
The recycling station was ugly––blue painted metal, and a boring governmental sign explaining the fines for littering. Frances rolled her eyes and dumped the soda can inside. What a way to make people not want to pay attention––make it look like there’s a cost to recycling.
It was Cherry Street that the station was located on, less than a hundred yards from Lockwood’s candy shop. Peering up the street towards the shop, Frances saw a small crowd around it. They seemed to be filing in the side gate to the garden.
Cocking her head to one side, Frances wondered if the garden was still the same as when she was a teenager. She and Alex had spent a good many hours in that backyard playing as kids, then hanging out when they became teenagers and thought they were far too cool to play anymore.
The sign in the street said, ‘Inspections Welcome,’ so why not go and inspect? It would be grounding, she decided, and definitely not sticking her head in the sand and ignoring what just happened.
EIGHT
The garden was not what she remembered at all. Her heart sank as she absentmindedly took the pamphlet handed to her by the land agent.
“Name?”
Frances barely heard them––the grass was dead, and patches of dirt showed through the worst spots.
“Frances Crawford,” she said on autopilot.
Wooden pallets piled with trash lined the back fence, the same back fence she and Alex had hopped over to get to their first party where there would be beer.
Far too young,she thought.
“Address?”
“Huh? Why do you need my address?”
The land agent all but rolled his eyes. “Because a lot of time wasters come to these things, and having a bit of accountability is usually enough to scare off nosy jerks just coming for a snoop.”
So much for inspections. Welcome. It seemed much more like ‘inspections tolerated at best.’
“So, are you here to participate?”
Seriously, what kind of customer service was this? He wasn’t wrong, she guessed. She was there to snoop, after all. However, she did not want him to know that or admit to it in front of the large crowd waiting for her to finish up. So instead, she nodded in what she hoped was an understanding way and gave her address.
“Great, thanks. Have you been to a liquidation auction before?”
Had he asked the other people coming in these questions? Frances wanted to lie and say yes, but if she was honest, it would be good to understand a little more about real estate in general before she had to figure it out back in LA.
“No…” she said, “…the first time.”
“Page four. Move on in so I can get these other people checked in.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she smiled and moved on. So much for helping her out.
The crowd was gathering around a small podium where a tall woman with a shock of gold-tinged coiled hair piled on top of her head stood, flicking through paper notes. Her deep brown skin was perfectly complemented by the gorgeous blue suit she wore, and Frances found herself wanting to ask where the woman got it before realizing that she probably shouldn’t be buying more clothes considering her current situation.
“So, first timer, huh?”
A male voice next to her startled her.
