Beach Town by Mary Kay Andrews Page B

sipped her wine, and savored the sweet crabmeat and buttery, salty potatoes.
    The room began to clear out, and soon, even though it was barely nine o’clock, Greer realized she was the only diner still eating. But she was determined not to cut short her only night out on the town.
    She glanced out the window at the alley just outside and spied the young hostess.
    The girl was standing under a streetlight, having what looked like a fairly heated conversation with a young man who looked about her age.
    He was muscular looking, tanned, with short, spiky dark hair and dressed in a white T-shirt, navy baseball pants, and cleats, and to Greer’s eyes it looked like he and the girl were having a fight. At one point he grabbed the girl’s arm, but she quickly wrested it away from him.
    There was another sharp exchange and the girl stalked off, while the baseball player stood for a moment, watching her go.
    â€œYoung love,” Greer murmured, returning to her dinner.
    She was just finishing up her crab when a shadow fell over the table. Eb Thibadeaux stood looking down at her.
    â€œI thought that was you,” Eb Thibadeaux said.
    â€œYep,” Greer agreed. “It’s me.”
    â€œI just finished dinner at the bar,” he said, glancing at her nearly empty plate. “You had the soft-shells? Great choice.”
    â€œBest ever,” Greer said. She was feeling surprisingly mellow—maybe because of the wine, maybe because she’d finally had a decent dinner. “Care to join me?” she asked. “If I can manage to flag down the waitress, I’m going to get coffee.”
    â€œI’ll get her,” he said, and turning toward the hostess stand, he called, “Allie?”
    The waitress hustled over to the table, her face flushed.
    â€œHi, Uncle Eb.”
    â€œCould you bring the lady a cup of coffee? And I’ll have a Fat Tire, okay?”
    â€œNo problem,” the girl said.
    Greer watched her speed in the direction of the bar.
    â€œThat’s your niece? Allie?”
    â€œYep, that’s our Allie.”
    â€œPretty girl,” Greer said.
    â€œToo pretty.” He frowned.
    â€œProbably has a lot of boyfriends, huh?”
    â€œJust one that I know of.”
    â€œThe baseball player? I saw them a minute ago, standing outside. It looked like they were having words.”
    â€œGreat,” Eb said, looking gloomy. “Now she’ll be in one of her moods all week. Bart’s not a bad kid. He’s the catcher on the high school team. And a senior, which I’m not crazy about. Allie’s a year younger.”
    Allie arrived back at the table, carefully placing Eb’s beer on the table in front of him and a cup of coffee at Greer’s place.
    â€œThanks, kiddo,” Eb said. “Kind of quiet tonight, huh?”
    Allie nodded. “If nobody else shows up in the next fifteen minutes, Rebecca says I can go ahead and clock out.”
    â€œYou going out with Bart tonight?”
    â€œNo way,” she said scornfully. “I’ll probably just go hang out over at Tristin’s house for a while.” She paused. “If that’s okay with you.”
    Eb gave his niece an appraising look. “Are Tristin’s parents home tonight? I can call and check, you know.”
    Allie rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “God! Yes, they’re home. You can call and check all you like. Jeez. It was just that one time. Can you please cut me some slack?”
    â€œYeah. I’ll cut you some slack when you’re twenty-one,” Eb said.
    The girl scowled, then flounced away.
    â€œGod help me, she looks just like Amanda when she does that,” Eb said softly, shaking his head.
    â€œAmanda. Is that her mom?”
    â€œAfraid so.” He sipped his beer.
    â€œAnd is Amanda your sister?”
    â€œThankfully, no.” He set his glass down abruptly. “As screwed up as the Thibadeaux family is,