The Chesapeake Diaries Series (246 page)

“There are some very fine ones on the market,” Sophie told her.

“I like my coffee. Strong and dark. But it makes me sick to my stomach these days. This herbal stuff …” She shrugged. “But whatcha gonna do?”

“How much longer will you be getting treatments?” Sophie asked, not sure what questions would be too personal, what might make Shelby uncomfortable.

“Till they tell me I can stop.” She shrugged again. “Look, I’m fifty-seven years old and I have had one hell of a good ride in this life. I’ll do what I have to do to keep it all going—I mean, I won’t give up without a damned good fight—but I got nothing to complain about. Like I said, I’ve had a good life. That’s more than a lot of folks can say.”

Sophie nodded, grateful when the waitress served her water and Shelby’s tea because it gave her a moment to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Now, what brings you back to Shelby’s? You said you wanted to pick my brain about something?”

“I do.” Sophie took a sip of water, then put the glass on the chipped tabletop. “I need your advice.”

“About …?”

“About running a restaurant.”

Shelby raised an eyebrow. “Who wants to run a restaurant?”

“I do.”

“You went to law school to be a lawyer, right?”

Sophie nodded. “I did. And I like being a lawyer. But the best job I ever had was right here.”

“You were a short-order cook.” Shelby was frowning. “You didn’t need to go to law school to do that.”

“I went to law school because everyone expected
me to. I became a lawyer because that’s what people in my family do.”

“They don’t become short-order cooks.”

“Not until now.”

Shelby sighed. “So you want, what, to go back to cooking?”

“In my own restaurant.”

“No offense, hon, but what do you know about owning a restaurant?”

“Very little. That’s why I’m here.” Sophie tucked her hair behind her ear. “The place I’m looking at is very small. Maybe a dozen tables. I’m thinking about a relatively limited and simple menu, breakfast and lunch only.”

“How do you plan on making any money serving two meals a day?”

“The restaurant is in a small town that gets a lot of tourist trade, it’s right next door to a bait shop that does a lot of business, and it’s a stone’s throw from Dallas MacGregor’s new film studio.”

“Dallas MacGregor, the movie star?”

When Sophie nodded, Shelby said, “She moved to some small town in Delaware or Jersey. I read about it in
People
.”

“Maryland,” Sophie told her. “St. Dennis, Maryland. My brother lives there, and soon, I will, too.”

“This a done deal?”

“Not yet,” Sophie admitted. “Right now it’s still in the dream phase. But when the place comes up for sale, I want to be ready.”

“So what is it that you think I can tell you?”

“You’ve been in the business for a long time …”

Shelby nodded. “Since I was twenty-two and my husband
and I bought the place from his uncle. Scrapped together every penny we could get our hands on, but we did it.”

“I figured you’ve learned a few things in all that time. Maybe you’d be willing to give me a few pointers.”

Shelby played with her tea bag for a moment.

“Okay, so you want a crash course in making a go at it? You want to know what I’ve learned over the past thirty-five years?” When Sophie nodded, Shelby said, “You start taking notes, because I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Sophie looked in her bag for her iPad, then decided to go old school with a pad and pen. She wasn’t as fast a typist as Shelby was a talker.

“Okay,” she told the older woman. “Shoot.”

“First of all, you gotta know your place, every inch of it. First thing in the morning, you stand in the doorway and check it out. The floor and tables are clean and the flowers on every table are fresh. Did the kid who sat at the table near the window lick the glass and leave a smear? Make sure it’s been wiped off.” Shelby drummed a finger on the tabletop. “Most important thing: the customer is always right. Cliché, right? It’s always true, no matter what. No one, but no one in your place argues with a customer. Something isn’t making them happy? It’s the job of every employee in your place to make them happy. That is rule number one. You cannot be a success if anyone leaves your restaurant unhappy with the food or the service or anything else. Without your customers, you have no business. Never forget that. Especially,” she pointed at Sophie, “if your business is small. Your
restaurant’s success will depend on your repeat customers. Treat them like royalty.”

“Okay.” Sophie wrote furiously. “Got it.”

“You might have real celebrities in your place from time to time, that close to the studio, but everyone who comes in wants to feel like a celebrity, like they are special. They want to be waited on and fussed over just a little. You know how good it feels to walk into an establishment—restaurant, bar, coffee shop, whatever—and people remember your name.” She pointed her spoon at the pad on which Sophie took notes. “Write that down. Get to know your customers’ names and call them by name.”

Sophie nodded.

“Now, the food. What are you planning on offering?”

“Breakfast fare, the usual …”

“What’s usual?” Shelby stopped her.

“Eggs, omelets, cereal …” Sophie realized Shelby was staring at her. “What?”

“Small place, small menu. Unless you’re planning on hiring a staff the size of mine, you need to limit what you’re going to put on that menu.”

“What would you do?”

“I’d do just a few staple items—maybe eggs two or three ways, toast, potatoes, sausage, bacon. Forget the cold cereals and offer oatmeal. No guy going out on a boat at five in the morning wants to eat cold cereal, trust me, and most of them aren’t looking for fruit and yogurt at that hour of the day. But, since hopefully you’re also going to be bringing in the studio people, you have early-bird specials for the fishermen, then later in the morning, maybe around seven
or eight or so, you start offering something lighter, like the fruit and yogurt, maybe a little homemade granola. But nothing fancy. You won’t have time for fancy,” Shelby warned. “You need to stick to the basics. But then, have a special on the menu—pancakes one day, waffles another, omelets, whatever. But make that the same day every week, follow?”

“Ham Omelet Monday. Pancake Wednesday.”

“Right. Day-of-the-week specials. Now, lunch is a different thing, but basics. Burgers, BLTs, grilled cheese. But again, a special every day. Chili in the winter, a nice quiche in the spring. Some sort of comfort food every day. I want to say it again: you won’t have time for fancy, so you have to make sure that everything you serve is worth coming back for. Everything has to be simple, but it has to be the best in its class, you follow? Burgers from the best beef you can get your hands on, applewood-smoked bacon, fresh salads. Everything homemade, Sophie. Find someone local who sells homegrown produce and you’ve got it made.” Shelby winked. “Those film types will love it if you serve an heirloom tomato salad.”

Sophie immediately thought of Clay Madison. “A friend of my brother’s has an organic farm and I’m pretty sure he sells to restaurants in town.”

“That’s what you want, hon’.”

“And I think they’re selling eggs from their chickens now, too …”

“Perfect. But don’t forget your desserts. If you don’t have time to bake, find someone who can. You don’t need to have more than two or three things on hand, but everyone likes a little sweet something now and then.”

“The woman my brother is marrying has a little bakery in town. Cupcakes …”

“There you go, then. Pretty cupcakes would be perfect. Then maybe some fruit tarts or pies or something along that line in season. And something chocolate, like brownies, maybe. That’s all you need to have.” Shelby crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the booth. “You do those few things and your little restaurant might have a fighting chance. Not to discourage you, but you need to know that most of the new restaurants that open fail within twelve to thirty-six months.”

“That won’t be me.” Sophie closed her notebook. “If I do this, it will not fail.”

“Well, now, I’d bet some of my good, hard-earned money on that, Sophie Enright.” Shelby smiled. “I surely would. But while we’re on the subject of money, let’s talk about how many employees you’re going to need, and how you’re going to pay them …”

Chapter 12

Determined to make every minute count, Sophie gave her all to the job at hand. There were a lot of files to be passed on, some of which she’d handled from day one, and as eager as she may have been to leave, she felt a real responsibility to the victims whose cases had been assigned to her. Even though work was consuming much of her time, in the back of her mind the question was always there: what was Enid Walsh going to do with the property on River Road?

Down to less than two weeks till her last day, she was in the office early every morning and worked late every night. On her second-to-last Thursday, she was wrapping up a meeting with two other ADAs when she checked messages on her phone.

There was one.

“Sophie, this is Violet Finneran calling. I have some news regarding that project we talked about. If you could give me a call back before nine this evening, I’d like to chat with you.”

It was almost six by the time the meeting ended and she was able to return the call. Hoping that Violet
was still at the office, Sophie hit redial and waited impatiently for the call to be answered.

“Violet, hello. It’s Sophie.” She went for casual, hoping to mask the fact that she was all but hyperventilating.

“Hello, dear. I’m glad you were able to get back to me today. We may have a
situation
on our hands.” Violet sounded rushed, excited even.

“What kind of situation?” Sophie frowned. She’d assumed that the call was about the vacant restaurant.

“Well, I told you I’d speak to Enid Walsh, and I did. She called me early in the week and told me that she’d decided that selling the River Road property was the right thing for her to do.”

Sophie silently pumped the air.
Yes!
“Did she say how much she would be asking for it?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear. The appraiser didn’t get out there until yesterday and he didn’t drop off his report until this morning.” Violet gave Sophie the appraised value of the property.

“Ouch.” Sophie grimaced. “That’s more than I thought it would be.”

“But it is fair value, and they are expecting the property’s worth will increase over the next few years, what with Dallas’s studio right up the road. Of course, it’s hard to put a price on potential.”

“True.” Sophie’s heart began to sink. There was no way she could raise that much money on her own.

“The asking price may be somewhat negotiable, but there is another situation that might interest you.”

That word—
situation
—again. “What’s that, Violet?”

“Someone else has expressed an interest in making an offer on the property.”

“What?” That brought Sophie out of the funk she was starting to slide into. “Who?”

“A client of Paul Dunlap’s.” Violet went on to explain, “He’s a relatively new Realtor in St. Dennis, so I’m thinking his client isn’t local. All the locals use Hamilton Forbes for their real estate transactions.”

Sophie felt blindsided, stunned. It had never occurred to her that someone else might be coveting that same piece of real estate.

“Sophie? Are you still there, dear?”

“I’m here, Violet. I’m just … surprised, I guess. I didn’t think anyone else noticed the place. It’s so overgrown and … well, that was naïve on my part, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know that an actual offer has been made, and I don’t know who the other interested party might be, but I wanted to give you the information so that if you wanted to make an offer, you could do so. Be first through the door, so to speak.”

“I really appreciate the call, Violet.” Sophie sighed. There was no way this was going to happen. “But there’s no way I can make an offer right now. I won’t have any cash for a down payment until my condo settles in May, and even then, I’ll be short. I can make up the difference with my savings, but there won’t be a dime left for the repairs and renovations and some new equipment. Without all that, there isn’t going to be a restaurant.”

“So you definitely intended to open a restaurant there,” Violet said thoughtfully.

“Yes.”

“With what experience, may I ask?”

Sophie told her about her summers working as a cook, and about her conversation with Shelby. “So I haven’t owned a restaurant before, but I know what to do in the kitchen and I’ve gotten some good advice from someone who’s been in business for many years. I believe I could have done this. I believe I would have been good at it.”

“Tell me, what sort of restaurant did you have in mind?”

“Nothing very big, and nothing very fancy.”
Not that it matters now
, Sophie thought, though it was nice of Violet to ask. “More of a café, just early breakfast and lunch.”

“Why just the two?” Violet pressed.