Barefoot Season (6 page)

“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

T
he 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.

Today she walked through the store, stopping to touch her favorite pieces, aware she was telling them she might be gone soon. As if the carving of an orca breaching and surrounded by spray would miss her.

The front door opened and the attached bell tinkled. She turned and saw Leonard Daniels walking toward her.

“Hi, Carly.”

“Morning, Leonard.”

Leonard was their resident ornithologist, specializing in the Puget Sound crane. He was here on a grant that paid for his room at the inn. They generally had two or three scientists at any one time.

Tall and thin, with dark-rimmed glasses and pale skin, despite his time outdoors, Leonard personified the phrase “geeky scientist.” He favored plaid and khakis, inevitably had binoculars around his neck and a small netbook computer under one arm.

He crossed to her, his gait more energetic than usual. “We have eggs.”

She knew enough to understand he didn’t mean the breakfast variety. “Already?”

He nodded. “Two in the first nest I found and one in the other. Within a week I’ll have enough data to determine a potential chick population.” His dark eyes brightened with excitement. “I’m hoping this is the third growth year. If it is, then we can finally look at taking the cranes off the endangered list.”

He paused, as if expecting her to share his joy.

“That’s great, Leonard.”

“I know. We should celebrate.”

“It’s kind of early in the day.”

He pushed up his glasses, then looked at his watch. “Oh, right. Okay. I’m going back to work.”

He left the store.

She watched him go, hoping he wasn’t going to try to change the nature of their relationship. He was a paying guest and she’d always been friendly to him but the last thing she wanted in her life was a man. Men were trouble. It had taken her a while to figure that out but she wasn’t going to forget the lesson now.

There hadn’t been anyone in her life since Allen had abandoned her. Over ten years. Sure, it would be great to have hot sex with a guy, but aside from that, she didn’t need the aggravation.

She turned back to mental inventory, only to have Wendy, one of the servers, come in. Wendy worked the breakfast shift at the restaurant. She had three kids and a husband who worked nights. He got the kids off to school when he got home from his job and she took over until he got up in the late afternoon. They spent their evenings together, before he left and she went to bed.

Wendy was reliable and the guests liked her—which made her someone Carly didn’t want to lose.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Wendy wrinkled her nose. “Damaris got in my face this morning, which I can handle, but she came out and yelled at one of the customers, which I didn’t like. Jeez, what’s up with her? She gets in these moods. The guy wanted an egg-white omelet. She told him no special orders. When he said it was for his heart, she told him that his being fat wasn’t her fault.”

Carly felt her mouth drop open. “Please say you’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. Most of the time she’s fine, but every now and then she gets in a mood and takes it out on customers. You’ll talk to her?”

Carly wanted to say no. This was the sort of thing Brenda handled. The other woman had actually enjoyed taking Damaris on. If it had been up to Carly, Damaris would have been let go years ago. Firing the temperamental cook had been on her to-do list, just as soon as she got her shares of the inn. Now she wasn’t sure if she had a job, let alone the authority to fire anyone.

“I’ll talk to her,” she said, knowing she owed that to Wendy.

“Thanks. I’m heading home. Have a good one.”

“You, too.”

Carly had nearly an hour to fume and worry before Ann showed up to work in the gift shop. Not sure what she was going to say, she walked through the inn to the restaurant kitchen. Damaris sat on a stool, her cell phone to her ear. When she saw Carly, she frowned before saying she had to hang up.

“You know he was a big, fat guy. Do you think one egg-white omelet is going to make a difference?”

So much for idle chitchat, Carly thought. “He’s a customer.”

“The customer isn’t always right. Most of the time the customer doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I made the omelet. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

“Your job is to cook their food. Being rude and critical doesn’t help our business.”

“Our business?” Damaris raised her eyebrows. “It’s Michelle’s business, not yours.”

“I’m speaking as an employee. We have a responsibility to do our best. That’s what we’re paid to do.” Carly could feel her face heating. She’d never been very good at hiding when she was upset. “Do you think Michelle would have been proud of your actions? That she would be happy about what happened?”

Damaris stood and crossed to Carly. The cook was about five inches shorter, but much broader and more willing to be aggressive.

“Don’t you tell me my job, missy. I was cooking before you were born. She’s back now. How long do you think before she fires you?”

Less time than Damaris knew, Carly thought, knowing she had no power, no position of strength.

“You were wrong and you know you were wrong. Not just because it’s bad customer service, but because it was rude. Whatever you think of me, saying things like that won’t help the business. You claim to care about Michelle but your actions are hurting her.”

Damaris smiled. “Uh-huh? And who do you think is going to be here at the end of the day? Me or you?”

A question Carly didn’t want to answer. She turned and left the kitchen.

Frustration gnawed at her. Anger made her want to lash out. Maybe she should go ahead and leave. Start over somewhere else. Have a real life that wasn’t dependent on forces she couldn’t control and people who lied. People like Brenda.

She stopped in the hallway, needing a second to get control of herself and calm down.

“Why did you do this?” she asked out loud, knowing there wasn’t going to be an answer. Carly wasn’t a big believer in the dead coming back and having a conversation, and even if they could, she doubted Brenda would bother.

She’d been used by Brenda. At times the other woman had been sympathetic, even kind. But in the end, she’d only cared about herself. Now Carly had nothing. Her carefully hoarded emergency fund held all of sixteen hundred dollars. Barely enough to cover a deposit on a small apartment, let alone rent. Not to mention living expenses while she looked for work. She doubted Michelle would fire her and then give her a recommendation, which meant getting a decent job would be beyond difficult.

Which left what? Being homeless? Public assistance?

Her eyes burned. She sucked in a breath and told herself she wasn’t going to give in to tears. Not yet. Not when there could be a bigger crisis brewing.

She squared her shoulders; she would get through this. She’d gotten through plenty. She was strong and a hard worker and she had Gabby. Besides, ice cream had been on sale so she’d bought a quart. If necessary, she could have a sugar-based pity party later.

She walked into the main room of the inn and found an older couple standing by the window. They weren’t guests, so she wondered if they were hoping to get a room. She had three available, at least for tonight. The biggest of them had a balcony and a view.

“Hello,” she said, smiling automatically. “Can I help you?”

The couple was casually but expensively dressed. More island chic than big-city vacationers. He was tall, she shorter, both fit with blond hair and tans.

They turned to her.

“Seth Farley,” the man said. “This is my wife, Pauline. Do you have a moment? Could we talk somewhere private?”

They didn’t look like salespeople or vendors. She’d been careful to pay all the inn’s bills, so they weren’t after money. Lawyers seemed unlikely.

“Sure. Let’s go in here.”

The “here” was a small conference room set aside for business guests.

When they were seated around the large table, she offered them coffee.

“No, thanks,” Seth told her. “I’ll get right to the point. My wife and I are psychologists. We’ve been in practice together for nearly twenty-five years. We have a program for married couples interested in working on their relationships. I won’t go into all the details, but we get together with two or three couples at a time for three days. We’ve been holding our retreats in Seattle, but we think that getting out of the city might help couples more fully immerse in their therapy. We’ve investigated several places and are interested in your inn.”

“Oh.” Carly brightened. Returning guests were always welcome. “This is our only meeting room, though. We don’t have conference rooms like traditional hotels.”

“We don’t need a space for the seminars themselves,” Pauline told her. “We have that taken care of. We’re looking for housing for our clients. Three rooms Tuesday through Thursday from the middle of May through late September.”

Summer was their busiest time, she thought. While the weekends were always full, there were usually rooms available midweek. Having guaranteed bookings for that many weeks would be great.

“I would have to check our availability,” she said, then remembered there was more. “And talk to the owner.”

Seth drew his eyebrows together. “I thought you were one of them.”

So did I.

“No,” she said brightly. “But I’ve worked here for ten years, so I’m confident your clients would enjoy their stay. Let me get the dates from you along with your card. I’ll check the reservations and speak with the owner, then get back to you by the end of the week. How’s that?”

“Perfect.”