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“We can’t—”
“Answer that. Don’t you think this is all a bit one sided? I’m supposed to give you all this information, but you guys give me squat in return?”
They ignore my concern, ask me a few more questions then go off to interview the rest of the café. Brittany takes this opportunity to find me in the kitchen. “This is awful! How could you let this happen?”
“Let what—you mean the dead guy? It’s not like I planned this.”
“Tara says she doesn’t want anything to do with us!” Tears fill Brittany’s eyes. “She’s going to recommend to the other producers that they pick Catfish Cove instead of us.”
“Guess I can’t blame her.”
“Can’t blame her! You sound like you don’t even care! This stint on the Cooking Channel was going to prove to everyone that… You do know what everyone in town is saying behind my back, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re saying the only reason I got the job with the Chamber of Commerce is because of Daddy’s influence.”
“Well—”
“I’ve busted my derriere for this city!” The tears flow faster now.
I hand Brittany a Kleenex. “Well of course I care. I want to win Battle of the Beach Eats just as much as anyone else.” Not to mention the twenty-five grand which I was practically counting on.
Brittany wipes her eyes. “Then we need to do something quick.”
“Like what? It’s not like I can undo finding a dead guy during my mid-morning break.”
Her face sets with determination. “We need to convince Tara that Whispering Bay is still her best option, which means we need to dig up some dirt on Catfish Cove. I checked out their chamber of commerce website the other day. Can you believe their city’s tagline is The Fishing Capital of the Southeast? Ha! Sorry, but America’s Safest City is so much better.”
After the events of the past few weeks, I’m not sure our city’s tagline is so accurate anymore, but the last thing I want to do right now is mention this to Brittany.
“Dig up dirt on Catfish Cove? So, all we have to do is find something worse than a dead body in the dumpster?”
“Now you’re getting the hang of it.”
“I was being sarcastic. I don’t think you can get worse than a murder in town.”
“Oh, it could be worse. We just have to find out what that is. We can do this!” Brittany says with all the enthusiasm of her former head cheerleading days. “We can still save our slot on Battle of the Beach Eats.”
“You think so?”
“I know so!” She reaches out and grabs me in a tight hug. “There’s no one else I’d rather go through a crisis with than you, Lucy. I’m so glad we’re best friends now!”
After what seems like forever, the suits let the customers go home. They finish taking pictures and collecting evidence and leave an unwanted “gift” in the form of yellow crime tape wrapped around the building and the parking lot. We might as well put up a big sign saying Stay Away—Something Bad Happened Here!
Sarah and I are told that the place has to remain closed until further notice, but “hopefully” we can reopen sometime next week. Most people would relish the time off, but between the loss of business and the bad press we’re surely going to get (because, hello, dead body in the dumpster!) things aren’t looking too well right now.
Add in the fact that I can no longer count on the chance I might have had for the twenty-five grand if we’d won Battle of the Beach Eats. Sure, Brittany thinks she can change Tara’s mind and still get us on the show, but c’mon, I have a more realistic view of life.
The Bistro on the Beach is doomed.
Or rather, my personal finances are. When Sarah and I bought this place six months ago, it was Whispering Bay’s most popular casual eatery. It still is, at least, I hope so, but the mortgage is humongous. I sunk everything I had into my share of the down payment and still had to borrow money from Will. Add in my credit card debt, and I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck.
Sarah and I are alone in the kitchen tidying up.
“Are you okay?” she asks cutting through the gloomy silence.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
