Under the Boardwalk

by Amie Denman

  “But...”

  “Dad kept tight control of the books.”

  Evie snapped her glasses into their case. “Think Mom knew about this?”

  “No.”

  “How could he live with her and not tell her?”

  “You know how he was. Always on to the next idea, the next plan, the bigger and better ride. Probably thinking the new idea would pay off every time.”

  Evie joined her brother at the window. “Optimistic,” she whispered, “but dangerous.”

  Jack crinkled his forehead. “I don’t get it. Several accountants work for us in the main office. How could they not know?”

  “They probably did,” Evie said. “But accountants keep their mouths shut. It’s the number one rule they teach us in school. Otherwise they wouldn’t have a job for long.”

  Jack grinned. “Does this mean you’re not telling me how Aunt Augusta’s bakeries are doing?”

  “Do you want to know?”

  “A little.”

  Evie rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling you anything. Unless, of course, you’d consider disclosing the nature of your relationship with Gus.”

  “Can’t.”

  Evie smirked, one side of her mouth lifting. “Or won’t? Mom saw her van in your driveway a few nights ago. You should tell me everything.”

  “Can’t,” Jack said. “Because I don’t know. Did Mom also tell you she stayed precisely five minutes?”

  Evie laughed. “I guess your garage-sale bachelor pad didn’t appeal to her.”

  Something clunked against Jack’s front door. He opened it and leaned out. “Newspaper. I was hoping it was the pizza guy. Almost afraid to read the paper these days.”

  He unrolled it on the counter and saw a huge headline. Front page. Above the fold. Starlight Point Officially Handed Off to Next Generation, New Owners Mum on Future Plans.

  “How close can a reporter get to the truth?” Evie asked.

  “It’s not the truth that tends to hurt you. It’s the speculation. The Bayside Reflections loves to run articles on Starlight Point. The family curse.”

  “But most of the time it helps us. Even bad PR is still PR,” Evie pointed out.

  “We need to try to shape it, though. How about inviting them for a feature piece? Something light, interesting, unique,” Jack said.

  The doorbell rang again and Jack greeted the pizza guy, paying him and taking the large steaming box to the counter. He set it directly on the newspaper. Evie grabbed plates and a soda and helped herself.

  “How about the STRIPE?” she asked.

  “The stupid STRIPE has probably tortured half the people in Bayside. Anyone who ever worked for us. It’s been driving me nuts for years.”

  “But in a good way. People have funny memories of the program. And it could be your friend right now. Have the paper do a feature on this year’s improvement plan.

  Jack bit off a huge chunk of pizza and glared at his sister.

  “Think about it,” Evie said. “It’s a great story. Gus is a local girl who came home and started her own business. She’s one of our most successful lease vendors from what I’ve seen so far—and I’m still not giving you details about that—and she’d give a great interview. Plus—” Evie paused “—everyone loves birthday cake.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Mom could be featured, too. She’s an interesting and sympathetic character. She could talk about all the STRIPEs over the years. The paper could interview past employees and maybe dig up some real success stories.”

  “I still haven’t used my conversational Spanish or knitting skills,” Jack said.

  “Give it time. The season has only just started.”

  They made a dent in the large pizza as they talked through financial and marketing plans. As it got closer to ten o’clock, Evie announced she was headed in to collect the cash boxes from all the bakeshops and close them up for the night.

  “Doesn’t she usually do that? Except for Mondays?” Jack asked.

  Evie smirked. “Very observant. And yes, she does. But she said she was going home early tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Since it’s none of my business, I didn’t ask.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GUS HAD THOUGHT sweet treats would help, but she’d lost control of the meeting about five minutes after it started. Almost twenty lease vendors sat on chairs pulled into a messy half circle in the front room of her shop. She’d considered holding the meeting in the workroom, but flowers and delicate decorations for a Saturday wedding were spread over the worktables. If they were damaged—or eaten—she couldn’t remake them. Time was a valuable commodity this summer.

  Besides, she had nothing to hide. She could host a meeting of the Starlight Point lease vendors on her own private property if she wanted to. It wasn’t as if they were planning a crime. They were strategizing about their contracts and bottom lines. They had no exact plans—just a vague idea that they needed to join forces.

  “You’ve been getting cozy with Jack Hamilton,” Tosha said, her tone implying a gentle warning. “From what I hear.”

  “Cozy?” Gus said, feeling the charged atmosphere shift. “I’m the one who shot him with a rubber band.” She tried to imply a casual coolness she was afraid she couldn’t pull off. She had already given Jack too much this summer: a hug, a ride home, a private cake-decorating lesson. She’d have a hard time explaining any of these things, and especially her feelings, if this group decided to push her on it.

  “Things can change,” Tosha said.

  Gus stood behind the counter, where she doled out leftover pastries. “One thing hasn’t changed,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly. “We’re all working hard to make a living and deserve honest treatment. Believe me, I’m just as upset today as I was the day I read that contract and realized someone had changed the rules on us.”

  “Not someone,” Hank said, “Jack Hamilton.” He looked more serious than usual, probably because he wasn’t wearing his ketchup-and-mustard-stained apron.

  Gus nodded, conceding that point, although the more she knew of Jack, the more she suspected he was hiding something. What was behind his decision to go back on his father’s contracts and to be so guarded about it?

  “So, what are we gonna do? It’s June seventh already and none of us’ve done nothing,” Bernie said. “We still gonna be sittin’ on our hands on the Fourth of July?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Tosha said. “We need to talk about what we can do. If anything.”

  “Read today’s paper?” Hank asked. “Big article about how the estate finally got settled by the lawyers. Mrs. Hamilton handed the whole thing over to the three kids. Lock, stock and barrel.”

  “Lucky kids,” someone grumbled.

  Gus put cookies on a wide tray. She flashed back to June’s comment and wondered if the three kids did feel lucky. Taking on a massive family business right before the season opened—and the unexpected death of their father—wasn’t necessarily a stroke of luck. Evie talked to Gus every day, reviewing the accounts of Aunt Augusta’s three locations at the Point, but she didn’t reveal many personal details. Virginia talked to Aunt Augusta frequently, but Gus suspected no family financial secrets traded hands. The Hamiltons were a closemouthed group when it came to their beloved Starlight Point.

  Many of the vendors had been spending their summers at the Point for years, so there were no personal attacks on the Hamiltons. But their own businesses were on the line, and their families were depending on them. Something had to give.

  “One of us should make an appointment with Jack. Set up a meeting about renegotiating our contracts,” Bernie said. Twelve voices jumped in to agree. But Gus said nothing, attracting the notice of Bernie.

  “You don’t thi
nk so, Gus? You like handing over that extra cash?”

  “I feel the same way you do, but I can’t see that we’ll have any success just asking for the contract to be reopened.”

  She heard the grumbles. Someone pushed back a chair, which squeaked loudly on the tile floor.

  “We signed contracts,” Gus continued. “Binding both sides. He’s not obligated to renegotiate any more than we would be.”

  “But we want to,” Hank said.

  “But he doesn’t have to.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Bernie asked.

  “Ours. But I’m being realistic.” She stood in front of the crowd, having delivered the cookies but not finding an empty chair. Her face felt hot and she talked with her hands as she tried to argue reason even while questioning her own motives.

  “What can we bring to the table?” she asked. “Do we counteroffer? Make some promises?”

  “Make some threats,” someone grumbled.

  “What kind of counteroffer?” Tosha asked.

  Gus toyed with her apron strings. It was a Thursday night, and she still wore the Starlight Point apron she’d put on that morning at the Midway Bakery. Long day. And looking at this crowd, it was going to be longer.

  “Well, for example, we could ask him to remove the flat fee in exchange for a larger percentage of profits.”

  “Or vice versa,” someone suggested.

  “Possibly. We’d have to take a survey and figure out what would benefit our group most. Another idea is to ask for a reduction of next year’s fees,” Gus suggested. She tried to keep her voice level and reasonable.

  “If we come back,” Hank said.

  More murmuring and whispering followed that statement.

  “I’m curious,” Gus said. “Are your sales this year comparable to previous years? This is my first summer, as you know, so I’ve got nothing to compare it to.”

  Uncomfortable glances shifted from chair to chair.

  “Well?” Gus said. “I’m not asking for numbers, but a ballpark idea.”

  “I’ll say it,” Tosha said. “Mine are actually a shade better. So far.”

  “Than last year?”

  “Than I’ve ever done,” Tosha said.

  “Wow.”

  “Me, too,” Bernie said. A few others nodded agreement.

  “I’m not going to the bank with a wheelbarrow full of money,” Hank acknowledged, “but I’m sure not doing worse than usual.”

  “Good weather so far this year,” Bernie said. “We get a rainy spell and our profits will sag like an old lady’s...” Tosha shot him a look and he clammed up.

  Everyone was silent a minute. Gus still stood at the front of the group. Their chairs all faced her, and she alone could look out the front window. So she was the only one who saw a man standing just outside the circle of light cast by the bulb over her door. A tall man. A very tall man. Gus froze, guilt clutching her lungs and stealing her voice.

  “You okay, Gus?” Tosha asked.

  She looked at Tosha then back to the place where Jack had stood. He was gone. Clammy coolness spread down her neck, fanned across her back and down her arms. She pictured Jack’s perspective of the scene in her shop. A late-night meeting across the water from Starlight Point. A mob of lease vendors—many of whom he would surely recognize even from the back. Most important, her. Standing in front of the group as if she were holding court.

  What would he think? She shook her head and refocused on the circle of vendors. What did it matter what he thought? They weren’t saying anything about him or their contracts that wasn’t true. And just what was he doing out there anyway? Spying on them? On her?

  Gus leaned against the low counter by the cash register. “Do we have a plan?” she asked.

  “I liked your ideas,” Bernie said. “Go to Jack with an offer that evens the deal for us and he gets to save face.”

  “Second that,” someone said.

  “Everyone agree?” Gus asked.

  Heads nodded; positive-sounding grunts followed.

  “So we just have to decide two things. Exactly what do we want to offer and who are we going to send?”

  “Gotta look at my books to decide the first question,” Hank said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So, we’ll meet again in a week to decide? Same time, same place?” Gus asked.

  “Sounds good,” Tosha said.

  People got up, some of them slowly, from the hard chairs. Long days on their feet at the Point were physically and emotionally exhausting. Gus understood. She was bone-tired every night, and sometimes thoughts of her bank loan crowded much-needed sleep out of her mind.

  She sent her fellow vendors home with extra cookies. Five different people invited her to a bar around the corner where they were getting together and having a drink. Even though she relished belonging to the group, she declined. It was late. She wanted to climb the three floors to her loft and slip into bed before her brain started working out scenarios and renegotiating techniques. Maybe she could trick herself into sleeping if she refused to even think until tomorrow.

  * * *

  JACK’S CAR, THE battered SUV that few people would suspect him of driving, sat a few blocks down from Gus’s bakery. He’d told himself he just wanted to see who was at this late-night meeting. A glimpse of the room confirmed his paranoia. It was the lease vendors, and Gus captained the ship. He’d heard raised voices, even through the windows, and retreated to his car before they saw him and came after him.

  Downtown Bayside was dark and quiet on Thursday night. He watched people leave her shop, most of them munching cookies and looking satisfied. Maybe it would have been worth crashing the party. The vendors walked in groups to cars, laughing, sharing rides. Last summer, he would have joined them, had a beer at the bar around the corner. They would never have viewed him as an adversary or worse.

  Things were different now.

  Jack closed his eyes, thinking of his father. He sunk into the seat, leaning his head on the headrest. His eyes burned under the closed lids. Just tired, he told himself. He had no time for tears. He sunk deeper into the seat. He’d rest just a few minutes before driving home and trying to sleep.

  Tapping awakened him. Quiet tapping, a bird at his bedroom window. He was in his blue bedroom in his parents’ house, a Spider-Man pillow under his cheek. He was dreaming of a little bird. The tapping got louder and more insistent. The bird wanted him to wake up.

  “Jack,” the bird said. A talking bird? Who knew his name?

  “Jack, wake up.” The bird in his dream was now a tall woman with cascading brown hair and a wide smile. He opened his eyes, turning toward the voice. Gus Murphy wore an old sweatshirt, her hair a wild mess. She was not smiling.

  Jack pushed the button to lower the window, but the car wasn’t running, so it didn’t work. He was in a fog, trying to think of how to get the window down so Gus would stop knocking and let him go back to sleep.

  Gus wrinkled her forehead, walked around the front of his car, jerked open the passenger door and got in.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Sleeping?”

  “In your car. On my street. Is this some kind of a stakeout?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “So you were watching me. You were spying on my meeting with the vendors.”

  Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to think of something sensible to say that wouldn’t get him in worse trouble.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Three o’clock in the morning.”

  Jack thought about that a minute, trying to remember the last time he’d been out this late. Or this early.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? I thought bakers
got up really early.”

  “They do. But I got tired of worrying about you out here.”

  “You were worried about me?”

  Gus gently slapped Jack’s cheek. “Are you awake yet?”

  “I think there’s a good chance I might be dreaming.”

  “You’re not. I saw you watching us through the window during our meeting.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “None of your business.”

  Jack took a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would restore his brain function. “Considering you’re all working at my business, I might be interested.”

  “At your business. Not for your business.”

  “Okay.”

  Gus huffed out a breath. “We had things to discuss.”

  “Plotting an overthrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack leaned back and closed his eyes. “I surrender. You can have it all.”

  He waited for something to happen, afraid to open his eyes. Gus would either take him at his word and relieve him of the burden of Starlight Point, or she would slap him back to his senses. Perhaps she’d offer him cake.

  “You’re a lucky man, Jack Hamilton,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes. “Tell me why I’m so lucky.”

  “I saw you spying on us and didn’t rat you out to all my fellow vendors. I saw your car sitting here at midnight, one o’clock and the hours since. And I didn’t call the police and tell them there was a drunk man sleeping in his car outside my loft, making me feel threatened.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “But it would have been great entertainment to watch you go through a field sobriety test three floors below me. I doubt you could walk a straight line right now.”

  “That’s because my eyes are glued shut from being so tired I fell asleep in my car.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “So tell me,” Jack said, turning in his seat and leaning close. He was gratified to note that she didn’t shrink back against her door. “Why else am I so very lucky?”