Summer Rental by Mary Kay Andrews Page A

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    Subject: Garage guy
    Dear Ellis: Ty Bazemore is harmless. He tells me he makes a living day trading, but maybe that’s just a cover story for an international white-slaver. (Just kidding. Mostly.)

    “Hey, you guys,” Ellis said, putting her iPhone back into the protective plastic pocket of her beach bag. “Mr. Culpepper says that guy above the garage is a day trader. That’s why he stays up all night.”
    “Interesting,” Julia said. “I wonder if he literally stays up all night?”
    “Julia!” Ellis said, not really shocked.
    “Mmm,” Dorie said drowsily. She was stretched out facedown on her canvas-covered chaise. Her fingers trailed in the sand, and her body was slick with suntan lotion and perspiration. “What time is it? I think I can only take fifteen more minutes on my stomach.”
    “It’s three o’clock,” Julia said, propping herself on one elbow to assess her friend’s tanning progress. “You’ve only been like that for fifteen minutes, and you already look like a boiled lobster. I swear, Dorie, you are the whitest white girl I have ever known.”
    “Mmm,” Dorie said. Moments later, she was softly snoring.
    “Such a party animal,” Julia said. “Come on, Ellis. I’m bored. Walk down the beach with me, okay?”
    Ellis glanced down at their sleeping friend. “Should we just leave her like that? She is getting pretty burnt.”
    Julia took a beach towel from her bag and gently draped it over Dorie’s motionless body. “She’ll be fine,” Julia said. She slung her beach bag over her shoulder. “Let’s walk down to that ice cream shack near the pier. I’m starved.”
    Ellis pulled her cover-up over her bathing suit, tucked some money into the pocket, and, as a second thought, added her phone.
    Julia, who never missed anything, rolled her eyes. “Another thing I don’t miss about living in the States! You people and your mania for your mobiles. Do you ever go anywhere without that thing? Can’t you just relax? At least while we’re together?”
    Four days of living in close quarters with Julia had taught Ellis to shrug off her friend’s caustic comments. “What about you?” she countered. “Don’t you supermodels have to keep in touch with your agencies to find out about bookings or whatever you call it?”
    “I am so not a supermodel,” Julia said. “Anyway, I told the agency I was taking the month off.” She picked up the pace, and with her long lean legs had soon left Ellis a couple yards behind.
    “Wait up,” Ellis called, nearly sprinting to catch up with her friend. “I thought this used to be your busy time,” she said.
    “Things change,” Julia said. “Anyway, I’m on vacay.”
    Ellis followed Julia up towards the boardwalk crossover and was walking as fast as she could, but even though she wore flip-flops the flour-fine sand scorched her feet.
    “I thought I was doing a pretty good job of relaxing. As for worrying—well, I can’t help it. I’m thirty-four years old. I’ve had some kind of a job since I was fourteen years old. I’ve been in banking since Daddy helped me get my first job at Savannah Bank when I was seventeen. Now, well, I just don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
    “Nobody knows what’s going to happen next, ever,” Julia said, gesturing wildly with her hands. “That’s my whole point, Ellis. You’ve got no control over anything, so why not just sit back and take life as it comes?”
    Now it was Ellis’s turn to roll her eyes. “That’s fine for you to say. I mean, I know you’re not an heiress or anything, but at least you’ve got a nice inheritance to live on. And work that you can do anytime, anywhere. You’ve been all over the world. And let’s face it, you’ve got Booker. Me? I’ve lived in three places in my life: Savannah, Charlotte, and Philly. And I’ve got me. And Mama. Daddy left her just enough to live on, if she’s really careful. And she’s not. It’ll be me taking care