Linda’s mouth opened.
She stared at the screen. She read the message again to make sure she’d read it right the first time. The bakery booth at the festival. The booth her mother had run every summer for years. The booth Tom hadn’t taken since two years after her mother’s death.
A knock at the door made her look up.
Martin stepped through and frowned at the look on her face. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Look at this,” Linda answered, turning the phone around so he could read the screen.
Martin read it. His eyebrows shot up. “He’s taking the booth?” he asked.
“He’s taking the booth.” Linda nodded, blowing out a breath.
“Isn’t it a bit late to be setting up a booth?” Martin’s brow crinkled.
“He seems to think they can do it.” Linda shrugged.
“Well, good for them,” Martin remarked, and the small warmth in his voice surprised her. He pulled the door closed behind him and set a small stack of leather ledgers down on the desk.
Linda eyed them. “Are you joking?” she asked, pointing to the books.
“What?” Martin looked at her questioningly.
“Why on earth haven’t these been computerized?” She picked one up and winced as she flipped through it.
Martin let out a small laugh. “George doesn’t even have a mobile phone,” he reminded her, pointing to the landline on the corner of the desk. “He still uses that outdated monstrosity.”
“I know.” Linda shook her head in despair.
“Do you know what it took for me, Maggie, and Tom to get him to use a computer at all?” Martin pointed to the computer.
“I can imagine,” Linda sympathized. “But seriously, these need to be on a system. Even just the basic accounting software.”
“Give me the go-ahead, and I’ll do it gladly,” Martin offered.
“Here’s the go-ahead.” Linda gave her permission. “It needs to be done like yesterday.”
“Consider it done,” Martin told her.
She pulled the lower drawer open, hauled out the stack of unpaid bills she’d found two days ago, and pushed them across the desk toward him. The cream envelope from the development company stayed where it was for now. She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet.
“Did you know about these?” she asked.
Martin’s eyes widened in horror as he leafed through the first few. “No,” he answered slowly. “I suspected, but I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.” He kept turning pages. “George told us he was managing the cash flow,” he continued. “He told us the bookings would carry through the off-season. He told us the suppliers were being paid on a rolling basis. None of this is true.”
“I know.” Linda nodded.
“Stubborn old fool.” Martin hissed.
Martin set the bills down and leaned back. His expression showed Linda that he was trying very hard to stay neutral about something that was making him very angry.
Linda drew a deep breath. “Be honest with me,” she said. “How bad is it really?”
Martin let the question sit for a moment. Then he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk.
“Bad,” he replied. “George has mortgaged the hotel to the hilt over the last three years. The first mortgage was reasonable. The second was less so. The third was taken out last winter and was a mistake on every level.”
“A third mortgage,” Linda gasped.
