Barefoot Season

by Susan Mallery

  The dates there made her frown. All the entries abruptly ended three months ago. What had—?

  Her mother’s death, she realized. Brenda had taken care of the bookkeeping for the inn. She would have been the one using the computer. Carly hadn’t, which meant what? That none of the bills had been paid? She remembered Carly having many flaws, but being irresponsible wasn’t one of them.

  She turned her attention to the paperwork stacked on the desk. She looked for a pile of bills but instead found a pad of paper with a neat, handwritten list.

  “April 17. Blackberry Island Water. $237.18.”

  The entries went back the three months and included two mortgage payments each month for different amounts. Michelle studied the list, recognizing the writing as Carly’s. So she had been paying bills, but by hand. She wasn’t sure if the other woman hadn’t used the computer because she didn’t know how or didn’t think she was supposed to.

  Michelle dug in the drawers and found the checkbook. Her mother’s writing jumped out at her, a rambling scrawl that contrasted with Carly’s smaller, neater entries. Michelle stared at the numbers, seeing the actual form of them rather than the amounts. She drew in a breath and braced herself for the inevitable.

  Inhale, exhale, and there it was.

  The subtle slam of a car hitting the side of a mountain. Guilt. It hit her from every direction, making her writhe in her seat as her breakfast turned from comfort food to something heavy in her stomach.

  Self-reproach mingled with shame, but the emotions were elusive. Because she and her mother hadn’t gotten along, because the other woman had blamed her for things that a teenager could never be responsible for, Michelle knew deep down inside she’d been glad she hadn’t been here at the end. And that being glad was wrong.

  It wasn’t that Brenda had been alone. Carly had been there, or as Brenda had referred to her in her infrequent emails, “the true daughter of my heart.” But Carly wasn’t family.

  Knowing in her head that ambivalence was the cause of the guilt didn’t make it any easier to endure.

  “Focus,” she told herself. The hangover had faded enough that the headache was nothing more than dull background noise. After ten years, who knew what kind of financial turmoil the inn had experienced. She would dig into the numbers and come up with a plan. The army had taught her to excel at logistics.

  She reached for the mouse, only to have the phone ring. The sharp sound cutting through silence caused her to jump. Her heart raced and a cold sweat instantly coated her body. Fear joined the ache in her hip and made her want to duck under the desk. Instead, she picked up the receiver.

  “Sanderson,” she said from long habit, then unclenched her teeth.

  “There’s a call for you on line one. Ellen Snow from Island Savings and Loan.”

  Carly’s voice was calm. Had Michelle only imagined the thrill of firing her the previous night?

  “You’re still here?”

  “So it seems. Did you want to take the call?”

  By way of answering, Michelle pushed the flashing button, disconnecting Carly and connecting the other call.

  “This is Michelle Sanderson. How can I help you?”

  “Michelle, how great to talk to you. I’m Ellen Snow from the bank. I don’t know if you remember me.”

  Michelle leaned back in her chair. “We went to school together.”

  Ellen laughed. “That’s right. I was a year behind you and my brother, Miles, was a year ahead.”

  The images were vague. Blond, she thought. Nordic. Miles had been popular, Ellen less so.

  “I remember,” Michelle said, going for polite rather than accurate.

  “I just want to say I think what you did is wonderful. Serving our country that way. This probably sounds strange, but thank you.”

  Michelle opened her mouth, then closed it.

  What was she supposed to say in return? Her reasons for joining had been far from altruistic, and now that she was back she wanted to slip into normal, to pretend it had never happened. Hardly actions worthy of thanks.

  “Ah, you’re welcome.”

  “Now that you’re home, I’m assuming you’re going to be taking over the inn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. As you may know, the bank has two notes on the property. A first and a second mortgage.” Ellen’s tone had shifted from friendly to business. “We should talk about them as soon as possible. Is ten-thirty good for you?”

  A second mortgage? When had that happened? At least it explained the second monthly payment, but why?

  She closed her eyes and saw the new roof, the larger restaurant, then swore silently. Her mother had been in charge—it was the gift that kept on giving.

  “Ten-thirty this morning?”

  “Yes. I have some time then.”

  It wasn’t as if Michelle had anything else to do. “I’ll be there.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  * * *

  Island Savings and Loan stood in the center of town. The once-thriving business district had been taken over by stores and restaurants that catered to tourists rather than locals. Most of the companies that served locals had been eased toward the outskirts of town, but the Savings and Loan stood where it had for nearly a hundred years.

  Michelle parked in front, then walked through the glass doors—one of the few concessions to modern times. The rest of the building was brick, with hardwood floors and a mural completed in the 1940s.

  There was no security guard, and if she ignored the high-tech cameras mounted on the walls, she could almost pretend she was a kid again, going to the bank with her dad.

  An older woman stood in front of a lone teller. Otherwise, there didn’t seem to be any other customers. Michelle glanced around at the offices lining the walls, then walked toward the one with Ellen’s name stenciled on a wood-and-glass door.

  She knocked on the open door.

  Ellen looked up, then smiled and stood. “Michelle, thanks so much for coming in. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  She did her best not to limp as she entered the small space. Her T-shirt and cargo pants had seemed fine back at the inn, but here, with Ellen, she felt underdressed and grubby.

  The other woman was as thin as she’d been back in high school. Long blond hair hung past her shoulders. Hazel eyes were framed with discreet makeup. Pearls, probably real, sat on top of a light green twin set. Low heels and a black knee-length pencil skirt completely Ellen’s “I’m a banker, trust me” look.

  As Michelle took the offered seat, she tried to remember if she’d bothered to comb her hair that morning. She’d showered, so she was clean, but her lone concession to grooming had been to brush her teeth.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your mother,” Ellen said gently, waiting until Michelle sat before resuming her place behind her desk and leaning forward. “It must have been difficult for you. I heard you’d been injured around the same time. It’s not fair, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Ellen sighed. “The loss and being hurt. Now this.” She motioned to the slim file on her desk.

  Michelle stared at the closed folder. “What do you mean?”

  The other woman pressed her lips together, as if considering her words. “Have you had a chance to go through the finances of the inn?”

  Michelle regretted leaving the vodka bottle in her motel room. Right now a drink seemed like a smart move. “No. I’d only been in a few minutes when you called.”

  “Then let me bring you up to speed.” She opened the file. “I really hate to be the one to tell you about this. I wish it could wait.” She paused.

  Michelle felt the familiar sensation of something crawling on her skin. “Just say whatever it is.”

  “The inn is in trouble. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I know you just got home and need time to readjust, but we have a loan advisory board. The new regulations are so strict. Back in the day I�
�d have more control. I’m so sorry.”

  Maybe it was a lack of sleep, but Michelle would swear the other woman had just given an explanation that hadn’t made anything more clear.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The loans on the inn. There are two mortgages, both delinquent. I’m afraid we’re talking about foreclosure.”

  Michelle shot to her feet, ignored the stabbing agony in her hips. “What? That’s not possible. How can you say that?”

  “I’m afraid I can say it because it’s the truth. The last three payments were made on time, but they were only for current amounts. There are months of back payments on both mortgages. With penalties and interest.”

  Michelle sank back into the chair. The pain in her hip radiated out like light from the sun. It burned through her, making it difficult to concentrate.

  “We own the inn outright. Maybe my mom took out a loan to pay for the renovations, but how much can it be?”

  Ellen handed her a single sheet of paper with two loan balances. They totaled nearly half a million dollars. The amount in arrears was nearly thirty thousand.

  Michelle dropped the paper on the desk and sucked in air. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Not even her mother would be so irresponsible.

  “I think most of the money went into renovations,” Ellen said gently. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but Brenda spent money more easily than she should have. The first mortgage payments were often late. When she approached me about a second mortgage, I wasn’t sure I could get it through the committee. I really had to convince them to give her the loan.” She sighed. “Which makes this mess partially my fault. From your reaction, I’m guessing you didn’t know.”

  “No. She never said anything. The inn was held in trust until I was twenty-five. By then, I was gone and she continued to run things.” Into the ground, she thought bitterly, wondering how much of the money she’d blown on things for herself. Clothes and jewelry. New cars.

  She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t take it all in. Once she’d seen the renovations, she’d thought there might be a few bills to deal with, but nothing like this.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  “That depends on you. This business has been in your family for a long time. Letting it go will be difficult.”

  “I’m not selling.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Ellen said, her voice sympathetic. “The back payments are problematic. I know Brenda kept up the insurance, but there may also be back taxes. Even with the summer tourists coming, you won’t make a dent in what’s owed. If you funnel all the money into what’s overdue, how will you survive the winter? It’s prime property. I’ve been approached by several interested parties. You could walk away with a lot of money, Michelle. Start over somewhere else.”

  “No.” The word came instinctively. “No, I won’t sell. There has to be another way. I have money.”

  “Half a million dollars?”

  “Of course not, but don’t I just have to get the loan current and then keep making payments? I have savings. I didn’t spend much of my salary and there are bonuses for overseas deployments.”

  Her instinct was to offer all that she had, but she held back. After all, there might be other pressing bills. The income or property taxes Ellen had mentioned or vendors who couldn’t be put off.

  She started to stand, but forced herself to stay seated. She knew that once she stood she would bolt, running until all this was behind her. And then what? She would have to come back. Better to just get it over with.

  “I can pay at least half the back mortgages amounts by tomorrow. Maybe more. I have to figure things out.” She scooted to the front of her chair and stared at the other woman. “Come on. You said it yourself. I’ve been off protecting our country. That has to count for something.” Complete crap, she thought. But possibly useful crap.

  Ellen sighed. “I would love to say yes. I’m on your side, Michelle. You have to believe me. These new rules are so frustrating. I know what you’re capable of. But it’s not just about the money.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Management of the inn.”

  “I’ll be running things.”

  “That’s what the committee is afraid of.”

  “What? I know what I’m doing. I’ve worked there for years. In high school, I took care of everything. You know that. I never went out with my friends or played sports or anything. After high school I worked full-time at the inn.” Unfairness made her want to throw something. “Dammit, I got my degree in hotel management while I was gone. I know how to manage the inn.”

  Ellen nodded. “I know. I agree completely. I remember how you’d always be working during school.” Her mouth twisted into a smile. “My mother used you as an example for Miles and me. How you were so responsible and we weren’t. It was a little annoying.”

  “So why doesn’t that count?”

  “It does, with me. Not with the committee. Brenda was required to come in for quarterly meetings. She talked about Carly. How Carly took care of things. How the inn wouldn’t survive without Carly. Unfortunately, they believed her. Since your mother passed, Carly’s been paying the bills.”

  The hits kept on coming, Michelle thought bitterly. “You’re saying they would trust Carly over me? She can’t even use the computer. She’s—” Michelle swallowed the rest of what she wanted to say. Ranting wouldn’t help her case.

  “I know you and Carly have a difficult past.”

  Difficult didn’t begin to describe it. “So the committee, whoever they are, doesn’t trust me, but if Carly runs things, then I have a shot at keeping the inn?”

  Ellen nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to sell. They didn’t believe me, but then they’re not one of us. I consider you a friend. The last thing I want is another local business shut down. I’m tired of outsiders running things around here. I pleaded your case last week and they’ve agreed to the following concessions.”

  She handed Michelle another piece of paper.

  The list was short. The back payments had to be made within sixty days. All accounts with vendors had to be current by the end of the month. The inn had to maintain an eighty-five-percent occupancy rate through the summer, pass all inspections and stay current on the mortgage payments. The last item on the list was the one that made her hip ache the worst.

  Carly Williams was to agree to stay on for at least two years.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellen said. “It’s the best I could do. I know how you feel about her. I have to admit, I’m not her biggest fan, either. She took advantage of you being gone and she used your mom. She’s even wearing her jewelry. It’s awful.”

  Ten years in the army had taught her to follow orders, whether or not they made sense or she wanted to. She could argue, she could scream, but unless there was a winning lottery ticket worth half a million dollars in a drawer in her desk back in her office at the inn, she was screwed.

  “I’m not losing the inn,” she said. “My dad might have been a first-class bastard, but he left it to me and I’m going to keep it. I’ll do what I have to.”

  “You can have a couple of days to think about it,” Ellen told her. “There’s still the interested buyer.”

  “I don’t have to think about it. I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it.”

  “Even work with Carly?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’ll be difficult.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Six

  The Shop at Blackberry Island Inn was one of Carly’s favorite places. The space had been added nearly two years ago and was slowly building a loyal customer base. Big windows allowed in light, even on the gloomiest days, while the custom shelves and racks provided plenty of display space.

  The store sold the usual kitschy island mementos—magnets, mugs and key chains done in both blackberry and daisy motifs. But there was also a section devoted to local artists and a display of unique china
. Brenda had insisted on a doll collection, which Carly didn’t love. They’d both chosen the books of island history and pictures.

  Mornings were often slow at the shop, but the lunch crowd at the restaurant brought in customers. Carly used the quiet time to dust, check inventory and organize invoices. After getting Gabby off to school, she manned the front desk of the inn, checking out guests and making sure the cleaning staff was ready to go. In the late morning, she would return to the front desk to check in those arriving, handle correspondence and talk to vendors. The couple of hours she spent in the store a few times a week were as close to “me time” as she ever got.