“Soph, you’re the boss. Shouldn’t you be learning to run the place, not waiting tables?”
“I’m not going to be waiting tables all the time.” At least I didn’t think I would be. “I’m just helping out because Brady needed this afternoon off. As a boss, I’m sure I’ll have to fill in wherever and whenever I’m needed.”
Oliver shuddered dramatically. “Well, that sounds awful.”
Oliver hated waiting tables. He refused to do the work that everyone associated with out-of-work actors. Fortunately, I had worked at a diner for a few months, so I at least knew what I was doing today. I probably shouldn’t mention to Dean that I’d actually been fired from that job for spilling a glass of orange juice on a kid’s head.
I adjusted my hair again, bringing up the camera on my phone to check it again.
Oliver stood up and came around the kitchen counter. He put his hands on my shoulders and forced me to look at him. “Soph, you just need to remember you can do this. You can.”
I pulled in a deep, calming breath, then hugged him. “You’re right. Today, my role is the new owner of Steamy’s, who also happens to be helping out her staff by waiting tables. I’ve got this.”
“You do.”
I nodded with determination. “What are you going to do today?”
“I’m going to go explore the town.”
My determination deflated. I would so much rather do that. No, I scolded myself, I was doing exactly what I moved here to do. And I’d have plenty of time to explore Friendship Harbor.
“Okay, scope out all the coolest places so we can check them out together later,” I said, keeping my attitude positive.
“I will, and I’ll feed Jack and let him out in his pen.”
“Perfect,” I gave him another hug, then straightened and held my hands out to my side. “How do I look?”
He assessed my plain, white tee shirt, black skinny jeans and hot pink Converse sneakers. “Ready to take on McSteamy and the world.”
I smiled, then headed to the door, then called back, “And keep your ears open for any gossip about Cliff.”
“You know I love some good gossip.”
Five
At the bottom of the stairs, I debated whether to go outside and enter the pub through the guest entrance or through the door that led to the pub’s office and back room.
“I am the boss,” I said aloud as if saying the words aloud would make me feel more confident. And actually, it seemed to work. I headed to the door that was paneled and painted white like most of the doors in the house.
I turned the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked, but it turned easily in my hand. I peeked inside. The space was definitely an office with two wooden desks that had seen better days against two of the walls. On the desks were computers that looked as if they were purchased in the early 2000s. Gray boxy monitors and tower cases hummed loudly with tangled wires coming out of every port like they were on life support. Papers were stacked in messy piles and there were coffee cups filled with pens and other office supplies on each desk. I wandered over and picked up some of the papers placed there. Delivery invoices for food and alcohol. Other bills that had been marked with scrawling, male writing as paid. Dean’s handwriting, I suspected.
Aside from that, the room was relatively bare. The white walls were devoid of any decorations, except for a round clock that reminded me of a school room clock and a dry erase board with the employees’ upcoming shifts written in black. I walked over to it and saw all the employees I’d met already. Dean, Brandy, Chad, and Jimmy. There were a few other names. Dave, Janelle, and Marnie, but from the looks of their schedules, they were all part-time.
This space really needed some sprucing up. It was downright depressing, honestly. I would have to fix that. I started by picking up the red dry erase marker and drawing some flowers around the edge of the scheduling. Then I added some green stems and leaves. It seemed a waste not to use some of the other colors, after all. I stepped back, pleased with my work.
Then I added under the schedule in blue ink, “Team work makes the dream work.” There. That was so much more inviting than just a plain, old schedule.
I moved to the open door on the other side of the room. It led into a storage area. This space was the polar opposite of the starkness I’d just seen. In fact, this was semi-organized chaos.
Boxes of liquors and beers lined one side of the room. On metal shelves, there were cans and boxes and bins of food supplies and drink mixers. There was extra glassware and dishes. Away from the food and drinks, in the corner were rags and brooms and mops resting in yellow industrial buckets.
In that same area were a line of lockers for the employees to store their personal items. I saw Brandy had labeled hers with a glittery name tag and some artwork that must have been made by her son. I smiled. I liked her right away, and this confirmed why. She was fun. She was positive.
“You’re here.”
I turned to see Dean in the doorway, all signs of the almost friendly guy from last night gone and replaced by the cool, unreadable dude I first met. Great. Not fun.
“I am here.” I smiled, determined to stay positive. I’ll win you over yet, Surly McSteamy.
“I’m not sure if it sets a good precedent for the boss to be late for her own shift.”
I knew he was trying to put me in my place, but his words had the opposite effect. “You just called me boss.” I grinned, but then looked appropriately contrite. After all, he was right. “But your point is taken. You’re right. I won’t be late again.” To be fair, I hadn’t even realized I was late, but I suspected bosses didn’t make excuses either.
His emotionless expression slipped, a glimpse of irritation flashed in his golden eyes, then it was gone. He tossed me an apron, which I caught right before it fell to the ground. I shook it out, put the strap over my head and tied the strings around my waist.
“A four top just sat down by the window,” he said, holding out an order pad and pitcher of water. I suppose I should be glad he didn’t lob those at me too. “Please tell me you have actually waited tables before.”
“I have,” I said proudly.
“Of course you have. Isn’t that the true profession of all actors?”
I managed a small laugh through my gritted teeth. I really wish I understood this guy. But I wasn’t going to let him get to me. I was here to learn about the pub. Meet some of the locals.
And as tempted as I was to yank the pad and water out of his hands, I politely took them and headed in the direction he indicated with a bob of his head. The pub was relatively quiet. Just the one table and two other patrons seated at the bar. So it didn’t seem like my tardiness was much of a problem.
Not thinking like a boss, I told myself. Every good boss starts by being a good worker. I smiled brightly and approached the table. The wooden table was seated by a group of women who all looked as if they were in their mid-thirties and clearly out for a girls’ lunch. Their chatter and laughter helped me to feel less flustered.
“Hello, ladies, how are you today?”
The group fell silent, four sets of eyes roaming over me, and while not unfriendly, their perusal drove away what little peace I’d just gained.
“Are you the one with the killer llama?” one of them asked. The others waited expectantly for my answer.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, too caught off guard to know how to react. Finally, I managed. “Um, I do have a llama, but—”
“Knock it off, Michelle,” a voice said from behind me. I turned to see a willowy blonde, who appeared to be about the same age as the women at the table, slip down from a barstool at the end of the bar and stroll toward me. Actually, it was more like a saunter, her hips swaying with each step. She stopped right beside me and glared at the table of friends. “You totally know that she inherited Sunny LaFleur’s llama. Stop being so rude.”
“I was just curious,” the woman who was presumably Michelle said, raising a perfectly arched and t
inted brow. One of the other women nodded.
“No, you were just being a trifling wench.” The blonde hooked her arm through mine and led me away from the table back to the bar. Only to stop again, and look back at the table over her shoulder. “Oh, by the way, Michelle, you might want to ask Joe why his truck was parked outside Dawn Farrington’s house again. I doubt she’s getting her furnace serviced in August.”
Michelle sputtered out an insult, and the foursome started talking again. This time there was no laughter.
“Th-thank you,” I mumbled, not sure exactly what had just happened. But I quickly got the gist that this woman was someone who I didn’t want to cross. There was a hardness in her blue eyes that belied her pretty smile.
“Happy to help. Especially with those witches. If you want to see who the mean girls turn into after high school, there they are. I’m Jessica, by the way.” She offered me her hand, her fingers long and elegant and her nails perfectly manicured.
I accepted, noting that my own nails could use a little attention. “Sophie.”
“Join me for a drink. I hate to drink alone.” She gestured to the wooden stool beside her.
“Oh, I can’t. Not while I’m working.” As I said that, I saw Dean head toward the table of women, water glasses in hand.
“It looks like Dean has things under control. He usually does.”
I didn’t know what to make of that comment, but it did seem to be true.
“At least sit for a minute,” she said again.
I hesitated, then perched on the edge of the stool. “Okay. Just for a minute.”
Jessica smiled, then took a sip of the red wine in front of her. “I heard you just arrived in town. How do you like it so far?”
I made a face at that. “Well, it started out fantastic. For about an hour. Then poor Cliff and well...it seems like everyone knows about that already.”
I expected her to brush my comment off, but instead she chuckled. “Rocky start for you or not, your arrival is the most excitement this boring, little town has had in years.”
I made a face. “That’s definitely a dubious honor.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “You can’t blame yourself. I heard Cliff’s death was just a terrible accident. Unless something has changed?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s what the sheriff believes. Just a freak accident.”
“I wonder if Sheriff Pelletier will change his mind about that.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He definitely thinks it’s an open-and-shut case.”
She studied me, her blue eyes searching. “And you don’t believe that?”
“I—” Something told me to keep my doubts to myself. Since I didn’t have any definitive proof that it was foul play, it was best not to share anything. “I can’t imagine it could be anything but an awful accident. Did you know Cliff? He seemed like such a nice man.”
Jessica nodded. “Everyone in town knew him, but I’m not sure ‘nice’ was necessarily the word most people used to describe him.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide my curiosity. I wondered if she was going to tell me that same thing Dean had. That sweet, old Cliff was a player. Again, I had a hard time picturing the elderly, slightly stooped man as a womanizer. Although he did have that twinkle in his eyes, and he certainly was doing something to stay so jaunty.
“Oh, he was definitely a bit of a con artist. You know, didn’t have any problems using people to get what he wanted.” She lifted her glass and drained the rest of the red liquid.
“Really?” It seemed Cliff had quite the reputation. Goes to show you couldn’t really know someone. Certainly not from meeting them for only an hour or so.
Just then, Dean appeared, setting another glass of wine in front of her. Their eyes met, although neither of them smiled. In fact, I saw a flash of dislike cross both of their faces. Dean walked away, disappearing into the kitchen. Interesting. What was their issue with each other? Although I was seriously starting to wonder if Dean liked anyone. Somehow, that idea made me feel a little better. Maybe it really wasn’t just me.
“So I also heard you are an actress,” she said after taking a sip of her new wine.
I smiled. “Was an actress. I’ve decided to take a break. Maybe permanently.”
She sighed longingly. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave a lifestyle like that. And to live in Hollywood.” She shook her head. “I’d never leave.”
I could see her in Hollywood. Long, blonde hair, beautiful skin with perfectly applied makeup. The nails. Even her clothing, a simple pale pink blouse and fitted, black, pencil skirt, looked expensive and very L.A. I thought of my own mother. Jessica was edgier, and of course younger, but both their vibes just oozed money.
A large diamond ring glittered on her finger. I noticed her fingernails again. Pale pink to match her shirt. Pale pink like the one Oliver discovered at Cliff’s death site. But Jessica was not the type to wear press-on nails. I snickered silently. Oh no, she was on some manicurist’s schedule for her bi-weekly appointment as we spoke.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, expecting her to say lawyer or something equally professional.
She paused, her wine glass halfway to her rosy lips. “Oh, I do this and that. Mainly, I like to help people. I help a lot of the older people in town.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. But maybe she came from money and just chose to help others because she’d been so fortunate. Or maybe there was money to be made in eldercare. The elderly were living longer and did need the help. But I really couldn’t picture this woman, helping some old person prepare meals or get in and out of the tub. Although, I shouldn’t really judge her just on looks. Look at what I was discovering about charming, old Cliff. And she had jumped in to help me. “That’s really nice.”
She nodded. “It’s very rewarding.”
Behind me, I heard the pub door open. “Well, I guess that’s my sign to get back to work. But it was really great to meet you. I hope to see you again.”
“Oh you’ll see me. I rarely miss Tuesday, Two for One night. That’s this town’s idea of a wild time.” She raised her glass as a goodbye.
Several people came in all at once, and I found myself busy. Thankfully, waiting tables was like riding a bike. Of course, I wasn’t that great at riding a bike, either.
I didn’t even notice when Jessica left, but I did notice when the table of busybody women left. And even though they didn’t attempt to talk with me again, I was thankful when they were gone. Fortunately none of the other patrons felt the need to ask me awkward questions. I did notice a few curious looks, but I chose to believe that had more to do with a new face in the pub and less to do with Cliff's death. Even Dean, while back to his distant self, seemed to appreciate my help. I supposed that was basically friendly for him.
But my luck didn’t last.
I heard the door open and glanced over to see an older woman, this short, white hair and a tall, thin frame, step into the pub. And right behind her was...oh no.
“Oh no,” Karen said loudly as soon as she saw me. “I told you I didn’t want to come here and I definitely do not want to if she’s actually working here.”
“Really, Karen? Really?” the older woman admonished in a low voice. She shot her a warning look, and to my surprise, Karen snapped her mouth shut and trailed behind her up to the bar. The older woman greeted Dean, and they started discussing something that I couldn’t hear. I tried. Then gave up and I finished taking an order from a group of young guys, who’d clearly just gotten off work doing construction or other physical job, if their dusty clothes and the dirt under their nails were any indication. Again, I avoided the temptation to eavesdrop as I headed past the bar to put in the order. Or it might have been the stronger desire to avoid Karen’s deadly stare.
“Jimmy,” I called over the fans and fryers and tinny blare of oldies on an ancient boombox. “I need two seafood nachos and an order of extra-hot wings, please.”
Jimmy grunted, which seemed to be his only form of communication.
“It’s getting hot back here,” I said, mainly to see if I could get any other response from him. Nope. Just another grunt. I shook my head, laughing to myself. Jimmy might be as tough to win over as Dean.
Still amused, I turned only to run straight into Dean, my body slamming against his and the top of my head bumping his chin.
“I’m sorry,” I said, automatically reaching up to touch his jaw where I’d hit him. Our eyes met and his hand shot up to catch mine, moving it away from his face. Heat snaked up my neck to my cheeks, and I immediately felt awkward for doing something so personal. I stepped back, needing space between us.
He also took a step back too, but I was fairly certain it wasn’t due to embarrassment and unwanted awareness. It was far more likely that he was concerned about further injuries.
“Sorry,” I repeated.
“No worries. I actually came back here to talk with you.”
Uh-oh. I wasn’t sure what I’d done. In fact, things had been going pretty well. I only dropped one beer, which didn’t even spill on anyone. And I might have dumped a cup of fish chowder on myself and had to get a new apron. I glanced down at myself at a still slightly visible splotch on my T-shirt. But they were both victimless crimes, so I was seeing my day as a success.
“Is everything okay? Did someone complain?”
“No,” he said instantly. “You’re doing fine. In fact, several people have mentioned they thought you were very nice.”
I blinked, never expecting him to share a compliment with me. “I am nice.”
“I never said you weren’t. But you don’t have to be right now.”
I frowned. “I’m not following.”
“Karen Grenier and her mother, Frances Robichaud, want to talk to you about having a ‘celebration of life’ gathering here after Cliff’s funeral. And Karen is making it very clear she isn’t exactly your biggest fan. Which I guess is understandable, given the circumstances. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea. She is not a nice woman on the best of days.”
Murder Drama With Your Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries Book 1) Page 6