Beach Town Read Online Free PDF Page A

degree. When the grass of the courtyard gave way to the white sand beach, Greer abandoned her shoes.
    The moon was half full, but the skies were clear and a light breeze raised small whitecaps on the waves lapping at the shore. She rolled up her pants-legs and waded into the lukewarm water, digging into the sand with her toes.
    â€œFeels good, doesn’t it?”
    She turned to find the source of the voice, and gradually noticed a small orange glow coming from the shade of a banana palm. As she grew closer, Greer recognized the motel owner. She was seated at a picnic table, her head wreathed with a thin plume of cheap-smelling tobacco smoke.
    Ginny Buckalew tapped the ash from a skinny brown cigar into a plastic ashtray. A box of Swisher Sweets rested on the table, along with a cell phone.
    â€œHow was dinner?”
    â€œPretty good,” Greer said. “I took your advice and went to Captain Jack’s.”
    â€œSmart girl.” Ginny nodded at the bench opposite hers. “Have a seat?”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYou being from California, I guess you probably don’t smoke,” the old lady observed, before inhaling deeply.
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œMe neither. As far as my family knows, anyway.”
    Greer laughed politely. The two women sat silently in the dark, staring off at the navy blue sky.
    â€œWhat’re you doing here, all the way from California, anyway?”
    â€œI’m a film location scout,” Greer said. “I’ve been all over the Panhandle the past few days, looking for just the right old-timey beach town.”
    â€œAnd you picked Cypress Key? Why not Destin, or Panama City? Or Sarasota? It’s on down the coast a way, but people seem to like it.”
    â€œI found this place by accident,” Greer admitted. “But it’s perfect for what we need. No high-rises, no outlet malls or miniature golf courses. No golden arches. The director who hired me? I’ve been taking pictures all over town today, e-mailing them to him. He’s crazy for Cypress Key.”
    â€œAnd so you want to make a movie here?” Ginny shook her head. “I like it, but then I’ve never lived anyplace else. We get folks who come back every year, but they’re mostly fishermen, some snowbirds who come down for the winter from up North, a few families.” She nodded toward the shoreline. “That’s the only real stretch of beach on the island. Most tourists, they’re looking for something bigger, flashier.”
    â€œThis director doesn’t want flashy for his movie,” Greer said. She looked out at the beach, then turned on the bench and gestured at the turquoise glow in the motel courtyard. “He wants this.”
    â€œWhat? A Hollywood movie guy wants to stay here? At the Silver Sands?”
    â€œI’m guessing he’ll end up renting a house on the island. But he loves the look of the motel. So Old Florida. He wants to shoot part of the movie here, at your motel.”
    Ginny narrowed her eyes and exhaled another stream of smoke. “And you’d pay for that, right?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œWhat about my guests? They might not like being in a movie.”
    â€œWe’d rent out the whole place from you, for as long as it takes to shoot the film,” Greer said.
    â€œHow long would that be?”
    â€œI haven’t actually seen the shooting schedule,” Greer said. “But from what the director has told me, it would probably be about six weeks, give or take. Starting next week.”
    â€œI’ve got forty two rooms here,” Ginny said.
    â€œWe’ll rent ’em all. Probably most of the crew and maybe a few cast members, too, would stay here.”
    â€œThis time of year, rack rate for some of the bigger rooms is ninety dollars a night,” Ginny warned.
    Greer smiled. She’d counted the number of cars in the parking lot. Only six cars other than her own