by Rula Sinara
“What do you mean...something good?”
“It’s pretty clear she’s taken with you, too. Maybe if you plied her with some compliments, she’d drop a hint or two about her customers’ favorite menu items. And we could rustle up some similar recipes.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute, here. That’s way too James Bond for me, pal. You know as well as anyone that my face is an open book. Even if I was willing to go all double agent for you—and I’m not—I could never pull off something like that. Besides, why are you worried? The Right Note is a diner. This isn’t. No competition.”
“Says you.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll do it.”
Sam laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Torry cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, guys, but there’s a young lady here to see you, Sam.”
Epps stepped out from behind him. “Hi, Captain Marshall. If you aren’t busy, I wonder if I could have a moment of your time.”
Every time his dad had caught him red-handed at one sort of boyhood mischief or another, he’d say “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” That was how Epps looked right now.
“We’re about to go onstage,” he told her.
She glanced around. “And play to an empty room? Ugh. That’s gotta be a major bummer.”
Mark frowned at her. “We’ll just consider it a dress rehearsal.”
Epps gave his paternal tone a second’s worth of consideration before facing Sam again. “Do you mind if I hang around? I’d like to talk to you between sets.”
He had a notion to tell her he minded—minded a lot. Instead, he gave the G key of his MacCubbin Sitka guitar a tweak, then ran a thumb over the bronze-wound strings.
“Nice,” Mark said, strumming his Epiphone Hummingbird. “What say we organize a dueling-guitars night, see which one the audience likes best.”
Sam’s fingers flew over the fret board as he worked out a short lick of their opening number. “You’re on, pal.”
Epps applauded, then beamed up at him, resembling every groupie who’d stood at the foot of the stage, their wide, bright eyes making it known that they’d do just about anything to gain the attention of the Marks Brothers. If Finn had gazed at him that way, Sam would be in trouble. Big trouble.
Days ago, Epps had hinted at needing a tutor to help with the math and memorization portions of the upcoming exam. That very afternoon, Sam had sought out his captain’s advice. It had taken a full minute for the man to list all of Epps’s high-ranking department relatives. If Sam agreed to help her—and the sessions proved successful—he might earn a few brownie points. But if things went sideways? Well, an unhappy Epps meant an unhappy family. A well-connected, powerful, unhappy family. Next day, he’d made it clear that one-on-one sessions wouldn’t be fair to the others. Not clear enough, evidently. Tonight, he’d nip it in the bud. The biggest challenge? Saying no without hurting or embarrassing her.
“So it’s okay if I stay, then?”
Sam sent her a careful, controlled smile. “If you were my kid, I wouldn’t want you out this late on a stormy night, but I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Are you sure?” Mark gave her a quick once-over. “’Cause after that lukewarm review, last thing we need is the cops marching in here, writing up citations and doling out fines because we’re serving underage kids.”
“Forget that article,” Sam advised. “Most people won’t even read it, and the few who do won’t let it keep them away. It’s apples and oranges, remember? And you can quit worrying about the Age Police showing up, too. Epps here is one of my new recruits.”
“That’s right. And Captain Marshall knows I’m of age because I had to include a copy of my birth certificate with my application to the academy.” Epps giggled. “Which way to the ladies room?”
Mark pointed and, once she was out of earshot, said, “I don’t know how you do it, dude.” He glanced in the direction Epps had gone. “Old, young, married, single—women fall all over themselves when you’re around.”
All but one. “You’re crazy.”
“Hmph. If you were a real friend, you’d tell me your secret.”
Sam had known Mark long enough to realize the futility of arguing the point. So he faked a big laugh. “This is the perfect example of the old ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you’ scenario.”
“Oh, man,” Torry said. “It’s gettin’ deep in here.” He backpedaled toward the hall. “If you need me, I’ll be in the office, changing into my waders.”
The men’s laughter echoed through the club.
“What’s so funny?” Epps asked as she returned to the stage area.
“Private joke. Guy stuff,” Sam said by way of explanation.
The adoring glint in her eyes reminded him how essential it was to set her straight tonight.
What were the chances that someday Finn would look at him this way?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“CAN YOU BELIEVE this wind?”
“The rain is falling sideways!”
“You don’t think we’re in for another 2010, do you?”
Ciara, Bean and Ted stood side by side at the window, staring out at the street.
Rowdy used a meat mallet to hammer on the service counter. “Get away from that window, you bunch o’ goofballs. If this storm spins into a tornado like it did in ’98...”
The trio exchanged worried glances.
“You’ll be safe back here, washing up this mountain of dishes. And there’s a shipment of canned goods to unbox and shelve. Don’t make me count to ten, or—”
Finn watched all three hustle into the kitchen and get right to work, smiling because they knew as well as she did that Rowdy’s paternal glare was 100 percent bark, zero percent bite.
Jimmy stopped loading the dishwasher. “What happens if he gets to ten?”
“You ride that conveyor belt,” Rowdy answered. “And get the insubordination washed outta ya, that’s what!”
Ciara laughed. “You’re such a big silly, Rowdy. Everyone knows—everyone knows Jimmy can’t fit through that machine.”
Smiling, Finn went back to the stack of invoices on her desk. Oh, how she loved the people who’d become more family than employees! She and Ciara might not have the most normal parents in the world, but they had a whole lot of other things to be thankful for. A roof over their heads. Overstuffed closets. More than enough to eat. And a thriving business that would—
An earsplitting crash drowned out the kitchen sounds, followed by the unmistakable tinkle of glass shattering.
“I knew they should’ve cut down that old tree!” Rowdy shouted.
“What?” Finn was on her feet and beside him in an instant, staring, slack-jawed, at the still-dripping leaves and branches that filled the entire right side of The Right Note.
Rowdy ordered the diners and staff to stay put, then dialed 911.
Finn glanced around. At still-spinning red-vinyl stools, bent at awkward angles near the snack bar. At bench seats and tables torn from the bolts securing them to the black-and-white-tiled floor. At shards of glass and bits of metal that glittered like diamonds all around her feet. At the neon signs—one designed to resemble a staff and music notes above the words The Right Note Cafe, another that sputtered and buzzed in its futile effort to say Welcome—that hung precariously from their anchors.
Half a dozen customers had decided to wait out the storm in the diner.
“Is everyone all right?” Finn asked.
Nodding, they huddled in The Right Note’s far corner.
“That guy doesn’t look so hot,” Rowdy whispered.
Sure enough, an elderly gent stumbled from his booth.
“Call 911 again,” she whispered back. “He could have a heart condition or something.”
As Rowdy dialed, she put an arm around the man. “Better stay put until the EMTs get here,” she said.
“I’m fine,” he growled, waving her away.
Clearly he wasn’t, as evidenced by his halting, unsteady gait.
Finn guided him back into his booth. “Please, sir, just sit tight. I wouldn’t want you to trip over any of this...” She gestured toward the tree and debris.
He fumbled through his pockets, then cursed under his breath. “Now, where’s that infernal cell phone? I want to call my daughter, let her know I’ll be late.”
She glanced around, saw it in the middle of the table. Finn was about to hand it to him when she noticed his dilated pupils. Pete had insisted that she take CPR classes, so Finn recognized the symptoms of shock: trembling, cool yet clammy skin, bluish fingernails and lips.
“Here’s your phone,” she said. “Would you like me to call her for you?”
Rowdy draped a tablecloth over the man’s shoulders as the red-and-blue strobes of emergency vehicles whirled around the diner’s interior. A moment later, the place filled with first responders.
A burly firefighter approached. “What’s up?” he asked Finn.
She described the man’s symptoms.
“Good job. Thanks. Everybody else okay?”
She looked toward the out-of-town guests huddled in the opposite corner. “Yes, scared, but everyone’s all right.”
He squatted and signaled the nearest paramedic.
“Okay if I get those people into the back room?” she asked, pointing to the rest of her diners.
“Bob!” he bellowed. “Okay if these folks head to the back?” In a softer voice, he told Finn, “He’s just checking for structural damage. Wouldn’t want the ceiling to cave in on you.”
Bob moved closer. “Things look okay out here.” Using his ballpoint as a pointer, he asked, “Gas stove back there?”
“Yes...”
“Just let me make sure the connections are intact and there are no leaks before anybody goes anywhere.”
After poking and prodding, he gave the thumbs-up sign, and Finn waved her customers closer.
“Let’s get some dessert into you,” she said, guiding them to the big stainless table in the storeroom. “What’s your pleasure? Cake? Ice cream? Pie?”
“That’s very kind of you,” a young woman said, “but my husband and I would rather get back to our hotel.”
Members of the other family agreed. “Thanks for the offer, though,” the dad said. “Hope you’ll be back in business soon. We’ve enjoyed all our meals here.”
A cop approached and suggested they leave through the back door. Finn rounded up a few of the umbrellas left behind by former diners and passed them out.
“Sorry for the disturbance,” she said, grinning as they departed.
“Wasn’t your fault,” the mom said.
“Guess even the mighty oak has its limits,” the young woman’s husband said.
“You might want to round up some plywood,” the cop suggested. “And call your insurance agent.”
Finn exhaled a shaky sigh. He was right.
“A city inspector will come by in the next day or two, let you know what he thinks needs to be fixed.” He handed her a business card. “If you get Rick Martin, tell him I said hello.”
Frank Martin, the card said.
“He’s my brother. A real straight arrow. He won’t make reopening any harder than it has to be.”
Finn pocketed the card. “Thanks, Officer Martin.”
An hour later, the engine of a tow truck churned as it dragged the tree from the diner. One by one, the emergency vehicles drove off, leaving Finn and the staff to contemplate their next steps. They came together in a group hug.
“We’re all safe,” she told them. “That’s the most important thing. Once we clean up this mess, things will look a lot better.”
“She’s right,” Rowdy said. “So let’s get crackin’.” He disengaged from the huddle and meted out assignments. “Bean, grab a broom. Jimmy, you get the dustpan. Ciara, you bring the trash can over here so—”
“No, I think you should all go home. Get some rest, and we’ll talk about who does what tomorrow, okay?”
One by one, they agreed.
“I’ll go upstairs,” Ciara offered. “And make us—make us some tea. That always calms you down.”
“That’s a great idea.” Finn hugged her tight. “But don’t make mine just yet. I need to call our insurance agent.”
“You won’t be too long, will you?”
She checked her watch. “I hope not, but if I’m not there by ten, you go ahead and get into bed, okay?”
Ciara popped a noisy kiss to Finn’s cheek. “Okay. Love you, big sister!”
“Love you more!”
It was a game they’d played for years. Ciara had no way of knowing how much Finn meant every word.
When Ciara was gone, Rowdy asked, “What can I do for you, kiddo?”
“You can go home and put your feet up. Something tells me there will be plenty for you to do tomorrow.”
“No way I’m leaving you here alone with that gaping hole in the wall. Anyone with a mind to raid the cash box could just waltz right in and—”
Sam entered, as if summoned by a fairy godmother.
“Holy debris, Batman,” he said. “What happened in here?”
After Rowdy brought him up to speed, Sam got on his phone and, pacing, spoke quietly into the mouthpiece.
“Mark and the guys will be here in a few minutes,” he said, hanging up. “They’ll bring everything we need to close up this wall.”
Glass crunched under his boots as he paced, checking out the damage.
“We?”
Sam stopped walking and turned to face her. Finn blamed the events of the past hour—and not his caring expression—for her accelerated heartbeat.
“Of course we.” He gestured toward the gap. “Not even a superwoman like you can fix this all by yourself.”
“Superwoman, indeed,” she huffed. But he was right, of course, and rather than admit it, Finn said, “I’m surprised you heard the sirens over your blaring music.”
He grinned, and her heart thumped harder still.
“I’ll have you know,” Sam said, cocking an eyebrow, “we do not blare. We merely test the limits of the noise code. Things were slow tonight, and I heard the alert on my cell. Recognized the address and came right over.”
Finn was suddenly thirsty. Very thirsty. She went into the kitchen and fetched two bottles of water from the walk-in cooler. “So you’re still in the loop with the fire department?” she asked, handing one to him.
“Thanks.” He unscrewed the cap. “And yeah, I guess you could say that.”
She held out the second bottle to Rowdy, but he declined it. “Sounds like you’re pretty well set, here. If it’s okay, I think I’ll take you up on your offer to head home early.”
“Feel free to sleep in,” she told him. “There’s no point in going to the farmer’s market at the crack of dawn.”
The big man gave her a sideways hug. “Y’know, I might just do that...if I remember how to sleep past four!”
The place fell silent, save for the drip-drip-drip of rain plopping into the puddles just outside the broken window.
“I’ve seen a lot of destruction,” Sam said. “This looks way worse than it is. It’ll take some time, but you’ll be back in business before you know it.”
“And we’ll help,” Torry said, leading the parade of band members, each toting a four-by-eight-foot sheet of plywood.
“This stuff was left over from when we redid the bathrooms,” Mark said. “So don’t look at me like that. You’re doing us a favor, getting it out of the way.”
&nb
sp; Regardless of where it came from, Finn intended to repay Mark for every last sheet. Mark and Sam, she corrected herself, since he was an owner now.
While the men hammered and sawed, boarding up the opening, Finn shoved aside stools, tables and benches and swept up glass and bits of metal and plastic that had held the big window in place. Already she could see that Sam had been right. It would take time and patience, but the diner would be good as new before long.
The Right Note had been providing for her since Pete had hired her at the tender age of fourteen. When he’d learned that the Learys were facing eviction, he’d given her a raise, more than enough to keep the wolf from the door while her parents spent the rent money on recording studios, drugs and alcohol. Two weeks after Ciara’s release from the hospital—and three days before Finn’s eighteenth birthday—Misty and Connor had left in the middle of the night. Gig in Chi-town, their note had said. Be good girls while we’re gone! Connor had signed Daddy, though neither she nor Ciara had used the term in years, and left two hundred dollars on the table. He hadn’t provided a phone number, address or the name of the club that had hired them. Two months later, when Pete found out what they’d done, he’d moved her and Ciara into the upstairs apartment. And when the Learys returned eight months after that, expecting to pick up where they’d left off, he’d made it clear they would not.
“Good ol’ Pete,” she muttered, remembering the tongue-lashing he’d given her folks.
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
“Oh, nothing.” She faked a grin. Stop looking so sympathetic, Sam Marshall, she thought, or I’ll lose it. Finn hated few things more than blubbering in front of people, strangers in particular.
What would Pete say if he were here? “Look for the silver lining, cupcake. There’s always a silver lining.” Her eyes misted with tears. Oh, how she missed him!
“Well, we’re done,” Torry said, rapping on the plywood wall. “That’ll hold ya until your insurance agent cuts you a check.”
“Thanks, guys. You’re all entitled to free meals just as soon as we’re open for business.”
Torry took her aside. “Are you crazy, offering this motley crew free food? They’ll eat clean through to the kitchen, and you’ll have to start all over again!”
