Free Shadows on the Sand by Gayle Roper

over on the mainland for a couple of sheets of plywood to cover the hole. What if the weather turned? What if night fell and bad guys or nosy kids climbed in? His duty as a property manager demanded he leave ASAP.
    As he tried to work up the energy to get in his pickup and drive to the store, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the lot. He sighed again as he watched the unfamiliar car park. Another nosy tweeter?
    He rubbed his forehead. Much as he hated to admit it, he hurt, but no way would he go to a doctor. Too time consuming. Maybe he should stop and let Carrie tend his wounds. Somehow thinking of her concern for him made him feel a little less achy.
    He studied the Escalade. Nice car,
very
nice car. Big. Shiny. New. Much classier than the Hummer that had shouted,
“Notice me, notice me; I’m special and so’s my driver.”
Of course anyone driving an Escalade wasn’t the retiring sort either.
    He blinked as Josh Templeton, sleek and buffed, climbed out, sportingnew dark glasses and an extra measure of attitude. Huh. Too late to run. And Greg would have to rethink that classier thing.
    Josh strode across the lot, his hair moussed to perfection, his trousers sharply creased, the polish on his tasseled loafers getting dusty in the cinders and sand. He stopped beside Greg and studied the hole without a word, though he vibrated with anger. Even his jowls, developing in spite of his attempts to stay young forever, seemed to shimmy with fury.
    Greg took a deep breath and waited with patience for the explosion. It was inevitable, and since he was the one standing here, he would be the one getting the blame. The fact that he hadn’t been the driver of the car would matter little to Josh.
    Well, he could take it. He had no choice if he wanted to keep his job. On the bright side, Josh would be his boss for only two more days.
    “What were you thinking, Barnes,” Josh snarled, “to let things get this out of hand?”
    Greg took a minute until he trusted his voice. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. The blood, abrasions, cuts, and bruises aren’t all that major, though I was worried for a minute there when he drove straight at me.”
    Josh scowled and waved the air as if brushing away a gnat. “Get over yourself. You’re fine. You screwed up. You might as well admit it.”
    Greg sighed. What was the use? It was a good thing Scripture said to
love
one another, not
like
one another. He could behave properly toward Josh in an agape love, polite sort of way—his mother and Ginny had trained him well, as had the instructors at the police academy—but he couldn’t bring himself to like the man. At all. Sometimes it felt more like a case of loving your enemy.
    “I did not screw up.” A bit of self-defense was appropriate. After all, he had Carrie and Blake, to say nothing of the tweeters, as witnesses.
    Josh spun to him, mouth open to rebut.
    Greg held up a hand. “I will not discuss culpability with you, Josh. I know what I know. I was here. You were not. Blake Winters was here too. Talk to him if you want an unbiased report.”
    Josh looked around. “Where is he?”
    The subtle thread of disbelief about Blake’s presence when the incident occurred angered Greg, but he held his temper. It wasn’t a war worth fighting. It was just Josh being his usual disagreeable self. “He left after the locksmith changed out the locks.”
    “Like new locks are going to keep people out.” Josh swept his hand toward the hole. “It’s a highway through there.”
    “It won’t be after I cover it.” Greg was proud of the even tone he managed.
    Another car pulled into the lot, and a man Greg had never seen before climbed out, cell phone in hand.
    “Wow! That’s impressive!” The man studied the hole. “They weren’t kidding.”
    “They weren’t,” Greg agreed, knowing who “they” were.
    “You okay?” the stranger asked, eying Greg’s scrapes and bruises.
    A total stranger had more courtesy than his boss. How sad was