Build Me Up Read Free Page A

jobs like the one for Quinlan Bankhead. What kind of name was that, anyway? Sounded like something someone pulled out of a hat and stuck on the first pompous guy to walk by.
    The man was clearly used to getting whatever he pointed at, but he hadn’t gotten past the Historical Society. Ford grinned at the thought of Mr. High-and-Mighty having no choice but to hire a local instead of the fancy contractors he had lined up. The grin quickly faded as he reminded himself that he was that local.
    Apparently Bankhead was bringing in an architect or designer or whatever lame-ass title people put on themselves over in Tinseltown, and Ford was going to have to ‘liaise’ with the hack. Undoubtedly some bleached blonde bunny who only cared about rearranging furniture – or, rather, getting other people to do it for her.
    Well, she could point all she wanted, there was no way he was jumping through hoops for anyone. And there was no way he’d see his great-grandfather’s lighthouse torn down to make room for some jerk with too much money on his hands.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    TWO
     
     
     
     
     
    Kristen found the grocery store first. The impact of tourism could be clearly seen here in the displays of sunscreen, disposable cameras, hats with ‘Greenport’ stenciled on them and T-shirts depicting shellfish and seashells. In the more practical section, she found the batteries she needed to stock up on.
    She had one of those digital cameras that ran on batteries instead of being charged via USB. She needed to document her work every step of the way, and she’d found that it was far easier to carry around an extra set of batteries than to find a power outlet in a building undergoing construction.
    She also needed batteries for her alarm clock. Kristen had long ago discovered her affinity towards snoozing, and so in order not to oversleep, she would set at least three alarms every night.
    One wall was dedicated to libations of various kinds – water bottles in groups of six, wrapped in plastic; cases of beer piled high; soft drinks in cans arranged as six-, twelve- or twenty-four packs. There were also two refrigerators keeping individual drinks cold, and a group of kids were grabbing as many cans of soda as they could to deposit with their parents already at the checkout counter.
    Once the kids had cleared out, Kristen walked over to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids, it was just that she preferred to keep them at a safe distance. Like cats. Getting too close meant getting scratches and stained clothes. She liked her skin – and her clothes – just as they were.
    “Anything else?” the teenager behind the counter asked between her chewing. Kristen hoped it was gum and not tobacco.
    “No, thanks, I’m fine for now,” Kristen said and took out her wallet. The teenager stopped her chewing and simply gawked.
    “Is that- Is that a-“
    Kristen pulled out her credit card and handed it over. She liked nice things, but she’d left most of her designer bags at home. However, her long time friend and companion Monsieur Vuitton had come along for the ride. Right now, though, she wished she’d kept him hidden.
    The teenager didn’t seem to think ‘eww, another rich girl’, thank goodness. Instead, she looked longingly impressed. Better than disgust, but still not Kristen’s favorite look. Growing up in California to wealthy parents, Kristen had never really thought twice about the stuff she wore or owned. She’d gone to private school, and then roomed with an exclusive sorority while she was in college.
    “Here you go,” the girl said as she handed back Kristen’s credit card and the little plastic bag containing her purchases, now even brandishing a smile. “See you around.”
    “Thanks,” Kristen returned the smile and headed out of the little store. Chances were she would see the teenager around, given that she’d be in this town for a whole year. She must get online