Our ratesarelow, much lower than what other places nearby charge—lower than what we charged even a few years ago—but it was the only thing I could think of to keep the inn at least half full during the summer. We’re at $200 a night when other places start around $500 during the high season. Four hundred a night for an open-ended stay?
My heart starts beating a little faster as I take in the final line of the email.
Full disclosure: I’m also willing to pay a little more because there’s a chance my presence there might spook the locals; I’ll be looking into the death of Landon Fitzroy, so there’s a true crime element to this book (in case you find such things distasteful!).
I almost laugh. My phone is currently loaded up with podcasts with titles likeAnd Then They Were GoneorTwo Girls, One Murder. Datelineis in heavy rotation on the tiny TV in my Airstream. Immediately, I can see that the death of this Landon Fitzroy would make for a good story. The storm, the mystery surrounding his injuries, the scandal with the teenage mistress…
Hell, that might be more than a book. That might be a Netflix series that launches a thousand Reddit theories. And where there are true crime nerds, there might just be money.
So no, I don’t find true crime distasteful, but I do wonder: Do I want my family business to become famous for its connection to a notorious death?
I nearly snort at myself. Worrying about the morality of the whole thing is for people whodon’thave three maxed-out credit cards and a repayment plan with the IRS.
And even if the book comes to fuck all, the money he’s offering for his stay might just help keep us afloat through the offseason.
So yeah. After months—years, really—of bad news, even this little glimmer is shiny enough for me, and as I reply to August Fletcher’s email, I realize I’m smiling.
EXCLUSIVE!!!
HOW “LO” CAN YOU GO?
Dixieland Delight Lo Bailey’s OWN WORDS on the night she met Governor’s Son (and MARRIED MAN) Landon Fitzroy in a Gulf Coast DIVE BAR.
The blond beauty was BARELY LEGAL when she took up with beloved heir to Alabama political dynasty.
Fitzroy was nearly TWICE HER AGE and married to former MISS ALABAMA, Alison Carleton-Fitzroy.
Acquitted of his murder, LO-LITA is still St. Medard’s Bay’s SCARLET WOMAN.
Mrs. Carleton-Fitzroy “devastated, HUMILIATED, and in seclusion at this time,” say friends.
Read Lo Bailey’s SHAMELESS ACCOUNT of how the torrid affair began from her OWN DIARIES.
National Enquirer, January 13, 1985
I can’t tell you about meeting Landon Fitzroy until I tell you what it was like to grow up as the prettiest girl in a very small town.
You’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you?
That’s fine, I get it. No one wants to hear a rich person bitch about a goddamn thing, and no one wants a pretty girl whining about how hard it is to have heads turn when she walks by. It’s that whole “Oh no, my diamond shoes are too dang tight!” thing, right? So I’m not complaining—this face is the reason I’m here, doing this book. But you need to understand that when I was growing up, it was… well, lonely, I guess.
Actually, you know what? Let me tell you a little story.
I went to my school’s homecoming dance in the ninth grade—this would’ve been around ’79—and I didn’t even go with a date. Just a couple of girlfriends because the thing about being the Prettiest Girl in Your Small Town is that boys your age are scared plum todeathof you, and you’re scared plum to death of the men—and they were alwaysmen, baby, believe that—whoareinterested in you. So I didn’t actually get asked on dates, at least not ones I’d want to go on.
But I was happy going to the dance with Ellen and Frieda since they were two of the only girls in town who genuinely seemed to like me. Ellen’s family ran the Sand Dollar Inn, St. Medard’s Bay’s only hotel, and while I now know that the place was almost always in the red, back then it seemed so respectable to me. My own mom ran a fucking souvenir shop sellingthetackiest plastic shit you’ve ever seen, and Frieda’s family lived in a trailer off a sandy bit of road just outside town, so trust me, Ellen Chambers was high-class as far as we were concerned.
Anyway, we’ll talk more about them later. Right now I want to tell you about how at that dance, Tim Murphy, this jackass senior, tried to pull me into the boys’ bathroom. I can still hear the song that was playing faintly from the gym—“Love Will Keep Us Together.”
I still hate that fucking song.
Anyway, I was just getting water from the fountain outside the gym when he was there all of a sudden, his hands surprisingly strong, chin bristled, mouth tasting like fucking corn chips as he tried to kiss me, his voice in my ear saying,It’s just a kiss, come on…
The whole thing lasted maybe thirty seconds. I got a knee up fast, plus a couple of kids came spilling out of the gym, shouting along with the music, and that distracted him enough to let me pull away.
And right now you’re probably thinking,Some pimply-faced teenager tried to kiss you, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?
Maybe you do, maybe you don’t—I don’t really care either way. But I need you to understand that it wasn’t fucking Tim Murphy and his marauding tongue that made me understand that looking the way I did might not always be a good thing.
