Barefoot Season (23 page)

“You need to be in a group.”

The quietly spoken statement shattered the relaxing mood. Michelle’s body tensed and she instantly regretted the sandwich now sitting in her stomach.

“You’re a broken record. Go to hell.”

“Where I spend the night doesn’t change the facts. You’re still screaming.”

Shame and embarrassment surged, leaving her face hot. “If it’s a problem for you, I can move out.”

“I didn’t say it was a problem. I said you need to talk to someone about what happened.”

“You volunteering?” She glanced over at him.

He shrugged. “I’m just a guy with a boat. You need someone who can lead you through the process.”

“There’s no process,” she snapped. “There’s getting on with my life, which is what I’m doing.”

“It’ll be easier if you talk about it.”

“Why? How do you know that?”

“If you were doing so great on your own, you wouldn’t be having nightmares.”

Logic, she thought. Just like a man to use that against her.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not the one you have to convince.”

She turned toward him and glared. “I suppose you got into some kind of support group when you got back?”

“No. That’s one of the reasons my wife left me. I wasn’t much fun to live with. Then my grandfather died and I had the business and I couldn’t handle it. I went on a bender that lasted six months.”

She eyed the beer he held. “But you still drink.”

“Alcohol was the least of it, kid. I woke up in jail with absolutely no idea how I’d gotten there. It took me three hellish days to dry out and another six weeks to stop shaking from the withdrawal. I figured out I had a choice. I could deal with what I’d been through or I could turn into one of those guys living on the street.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “Hard to fit a forty-foot fishing boat into a shopping cart.”

“I’m not in danger of being homeless.”

“Probably not, but you are on the road to screwing up everything that matters to you. You were attacked. Your buddies were killed. You shot a man and it wasn’t from a safe distance. You saw into his eyes when he died. In that moment, when it’s you or him, it’s an easy decision. It’s only later you start to second-guess yourself.”

He was right, she thought, taking another swallow of the beer. She did second-guess herself, even as she knew she hadn’t had a choice. If only that girl hadn’t been there.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, not wanting to talk about her feelings to anyone.

She waited for him to say she had to do more than think, but he didn’t.

“You do this all the time,” she said. “Take in some wounded war vet. Then what? Send him on his way? Are you going to kick me out as soon as I can sleep through the night?”

Jared regarded her steadily. His dark eyes were unreadable. Probably for the best. She wanted him thinking that he wanted to see her naked. What he was probably thinking instead was that she was too much trouble and way too broken.

“I don’t kick anyone out,” he told her. “When you’re ready, you’ll leave.”

“That sounds almost spiritual.”

“Okay by me.”

Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her pocket and glanced around. “Where’s the cell tower?”

“Over there.” He pointed to a small rocky island north of them. She could see the metal structure reaching for the sky. “It’s there for Coast Guard and Search and Rescue. The local fishermen take advantage of it to call and say they’re on their way in.”

Her phone continued to ring.

She glanced at the screen and saw the number. Her father. She pushed the ignore button.

“One day you’re going to have to take that call,” Jared told her.

“You don’t know who it was.”

“I know you’re avoiding something. That never works. Eventually you have to face all your demons.”

“Kill or be killed?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light but failing.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“I can’t kill him.”

“You don’t have to. Sometimes staring a demon in the eye is enough.”

She wanted sex and he wanted to discuss demons. Talk about a perfect match. “More advice? You’re hardly my sensei and I’m not your little grasshopper.”

Jared laughed. “But I have much to teach.”

“Not to me you don’t.”

His humor faded. Something flashed through his eyes, something hot and hungry, but then it was gone so quickly, Michelle had a feeling she’d simply imagined it. Wishful thinking and all that.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, coming to his feet. “Ready to head back?”

Not really. Being out here, away from everything, made her feel whole. As if the broken bits were merely an inconvenience and not a permanent state of being.

“Sure,” she said. “Gonna let me drive?”

“No.”

She grinned. “Chicken.”

“When it comes to my boat? You bet.”

Twenty-One

M
emorial weekend was as busy as Carly had hoped. With every room full and the town overflowing with tourists, there wasn’t a moment to breathe, let alone think. If she wasn’t getting fresh towels, she was recommending restaurants, making reservations and organizing walking tours.

Gabby was spending the day with a friend and her family. Tomorrow she would hang with Robert in the morning, and Brittany, her favorite sitter, would come over for the afternoon. Monday there was a special all-day program through the city park department that Gabby was finally old enough to attend.

“This is perfect,” Mrs. Mitchell said as she took the map Carly offered. “We just love coming here. Last year we stayed at a dreadful little motel down the road. Every time we walked past your inn we were so upset we hadn’t made reservations here.”

“We’re happy to have you this weekend,” Carly told her. “If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more memorable, please let any of us know.”

“We will.” The couple turned away, then Mrs. Mitchell swung back. “Is there a plant nursery nearby? I just love your daisies. Can I buy some like them?”

“Sure.” Carly gave her the name, then waved as the couple left.

Michelle walked up to the desk. “I heard that.”

“Not everyone hates the daisies.”

“There are also people who think wrestling is a real sport and not entertainment.”

Carly held up both her hands, palms facing Michelle. “I don’t care what you say—I’m having a great weekend. We’re full, our guests are lovely and they’re spending lots of money at both the restaurant and the gift shop. I’m in my Zen place and I’m staying there.”

“Aren’t you cheerful.”

“I try.”

“I’m sure the guests appreciate it. What are our reservations like for the next couple of weeks? I was thinking that Sam might prefer staying here.”

Carly circled around the desk and went to the computer. “We’re full on the weekend. Otherwise, we have at least one room open during the week.”

Michelle drew in a breath. “Okay. I don’t think I want to kick out a guest with a reservation.”

Carly busied herself with the jar of pens on the counter. “So, um, Sam seems nice.”

“He is. I met him four, maybe five years ago. There was a fight in a bar and he was breaking it up. Someone pulled me in and Sam got between me and the punch.”

“Romantic,” Carly said, studying her and hoping for clues as to their relationship now.

“Not exactly, but it showed he was a great guy. I trust him with my back.”

“What about the rest of you?” Carly asked before she could stop herself.

“Not so much. We had a thing once. But we’re better off friends. And as interesting as he is, I have something else to talk about.”

“Sure. What?”

Michelle slapped several sheets of paper down next to the keyboard. “There’s a problem with the restaurant.”

“What do you mean? It’s doing great. It’s full every morning.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. We have thirty-two tables. So at the very least, there should be thirty-two receipts for breakfast. But some tables get used more than once. Guests come in early or late. So I’m thinking we should have about forty-five, maybe forty-eight receipts.”

“That makes sense.”

Michelle pointed to a list of receipt tickets. “Yesterday there were exactly thirty-two. The same with the day before.”

Carly’s restaurant experience consisted of acting as a hostess from time to time and refilling coffee cups. Brenda had been the one who had handled the restaurant. The few times Carly had tried to figure out what was going on, Damaris had made it clear she was overstepping her bounds.

“I’ve gone over a month’s worth of receipts,” Michelle said. “We never have more tickets than we have tables. I can’t believe there’s never any turnover.”

“Who hands out the tickets to the servers? Or do they just grab them?”

“Isabella takes care of it.”

“You should talk to her.”

“I can’t. She’s Damaris’s daughter-in-law. Damaris would never let anything bad happen at the restaurant. She cares about me and she cares about the inn.”

Carly couldn’t argue that Damaris cared about Michelle. That was obvious, but it looked as if someone was stealing.

“Maybe Damaris doesn’t know. Maybe it’s not Isabella. Even though she’s supposed to hand out the tickets, maybe she doesn’t. They could be in a stack somewhere. That would make it easy for one or more of the servers to be involved. Any server could be keeping the tickets when customers pay cash.”

Michelle nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. I should—” She stared behind Carly. “I’ll be right back.”

Carly turned and saw Isabella walking across the front pathway. Michelle headed toward her. Carly glanced around and saw the lobby and front room were empty, so she followed Michelle outside.

Isabella had moved toward Michelle. Her dark hair gleamed in the sunlight and she was smiling.

“We’re having a barbecue tonight and I’m marinating ribs. I need to run home and turn them.” She laughed. “Ten minutes. I only need ten minutes.”

“You’re allowed to take a break,” Michelle told her. “Don’t worry about it. But before you go, I have a question.”

“Sure.”

“It’s about the restaurant tickets.”

“The ones the servers use for their orders?”

“Yes. Those. How does that work? Do you hand them out?”

Carly was watching Isabella. She would swear the other woman stiffened at the question, although her smile stayed in place.

“Yes. They’re kept in the supply room off the kitchen. I get them every morning.”

“Are they logged in? Do you know which server has which numbers?”

The smile faded. “No. I just leave them in a stack by my station. The servers take them as they need them. Why?”

“Just asking. The number of tables served every day. How much turnover is there?”

“Not much. Sometimes we’re busy and we use a table more than once. More at breakfast than at lunch.”

Isabella looked annoyed and Michelle seemed to be searching for the next question. Carly took a step forward.

“Do you keep track of the beginning and ending numbers on the tickets? Is there a log?”

Isabella frowned at her, then turned to Michelle, making it clear who she was willing to talk to. “There’s no log. It’s never been a problem. Why are you asking all this?”

“You ring up all the orders?” Carly asked. “You’re the only one who has access to the cash register?”

Isabella pressed her lips together. Color blossomed on her cheeks. “What are you saying?” She glared at Michelle. “Is Carly my new boss? Can she talk to me like this? I thought I worked for you, not her.”

Now it was Carly’s turn to get offended. “There have been some irregularities with the receipts in the restaurant.”

Isabella’s eyes widened. “Are you accusing me of stealing? I would never do that. I close out the cash register the way I always have.” Her mouth began to tremble. “I can’t believe this. What has she been saying about me? I do a good job. Ask Damaris. We’ve been here, working for you, Michelle. Taking care of things.”

Carly wanted to point out she’d been doing the same, but knew it was an irrelevant point. The issue at hand was the missing receipts.

“I know you have,” Michelle said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What?” Carly glared at her. “You’re sorry? Someone might be stealing and you’re apologizing?”

“It’s not Isabella.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know Damaris.” She patted the other woman’s arm. “You need to go check your ribs.”

Isabella nodded and hurried off.

Carly waited until she was out of earshot. “Are you crazy? She says it’s not her, and you believe her? Just like that? What if she’s lying?”

“She’s not.”

“Oh, I see. All your military training has made you an expert on liars? She admitted she’s the only one with access to the cash register.”

“It’s not exactly a bank vault,” Michelle snapped. “There’s a key that you have to turn. That’s it. Anyone could get into it.”

“Maybe once in a while. But you’re saying there’s a pattern of missing receipts. If someone is doing that, wouldn’t Isabella notice?”

“Not if the servers are destroying the receipts of the people who pay cash. If someone leaves money without needing change, there wouldn’t be a trail. Once the order is filled in the kitchen, the copy of the ticket goes out with the plate.”

“Then there needs to be a change in the system. You need a way to cross-check the receipts. They get signed in and out. Then we’ll have a consecutive numbering system and it will be easy to figure out if tickets have been used without being paid for.”

Michelle glanced out toward the water, then back at the inn. “It’s not Isabella. Damaris would never let her hurt me.”

“Which means putting some checks and balances in place shouldn’t hurt her feelings.”

She knew the right answer was for Michelle to say this was business and hurting someone’s feelings was immaterial. But the regular rules didn’t apply to Damaris.

“Do you want me to take care of coming up with a system?” Carly asked.

“I’ll do it,” Michelle said, turning toward the inn. “It’ll be better if it comes from me.”

“It’s not like you to wimp out,” Carly said, wanting to stomp her foot. “You’re tougher than this.”

Michelle didn’t bother to look back at her. “Everyone gets to have a bad day.”