Whisper Beach (24 page)

“There's that place that was written up in the paper, over in Asbury,” Hal said.

“What place?”

“I forget the name of it. Google it. Fancy schmancy.”

“Well, I might, but we're not going to dinner, we're going to a party.”

“Who's having a party that we didn't hear about?”

“Suze's mother is having a cocktail party.”

Hal laughed, laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bar stool.

Even Joe was amused.

“What do you think is so funny?”

“Where is it? At the country club? You can bet it won't be held in Mike's party room.”

“At her parents' house.”

“Oh Lord, that's worse. Wipe your feet before you go inside. They probably have white carpet to identify the wannabes from the elite.”

“Give the guy a break,” Joe said, fighting a grin. The idea of Jerry at Suze Turner's mansion was pretty out there. The idea of Jerry conversing with a Ph.D. in English was even more far-fetched. And the idea of Jerry in a room with a bunch of society people was downright daunting.

Hal recovered himself long enough to gasp out. “Don't ask for beer; they'll be drinking fancy wine. And don't talk with your mouth full of food.”

“I know that.”

“Don't let this Neanderthal give you a hard time,” Joe said. “You've got a lot of class.”

“Well, listen to Mr. Suave and Sophisticated here,” Mike said.

“Aw hell, Joe, the only class I got is when I went to one at school. And that wasn't all that often. I probably shoulda said no, but hell, she's kinda hot, you know. And I always liked her, you know, just liked, but I thought what the hell.”

“Don't listen to us,” Joe said. “We're just razzing you. You'll be fine.”

Mike scooped up their empty mugs and wiped the bar. “You got something nice to wear?”

“Like a suit?” Hal added.

“Yeah, my church suit, but it's got some mustard on it from the funeral repast.”

Mike shook his head and slid them another round of beers, followed by an epithet that made the three of them turn around.

Bud was standing in the doorway.

“I swear if he starts something with you guys, I'm calling the cops and filing a complaint against all of you.”

“Want me to sneak out the back door?” Joe asked.

“Hell, no. I want him to get a grip. Damn if he doesn't come in here every night looking for Dana. And every night I throw him out. Man, if she even stuck her nose in here, I'd tell her to run and keep running.” Mike paused. “But she ain't been in. Just in case you're wondering.”

Bud walked across the room, headed right for the three of them. Joe braced himself for whatever Bud was wielding tonight. This time if Bud punched him, Joe would go down and let him keep hitting him until somebody pulled him off.

Then Joe would file a complaint. It was time to get the bozo off the streets before he killed someone.

“You seen her, Joe?”

Joe slowly shook his head.

Bud looked from Hal to Jerry. “How about you two?”

“No, Bud,” Hal said. “I haven't seen her.”

“You know I haven't,” Jerry said. “I've been on the same schedule as you have this week.”

“She didn't come in, Mike?”

Mike shook his head. “Nobody knows where she is, and you sure as hell better not break up my place again, or you'll be looking at the world from the wrong side of a jail cell.”

Joe shot Mike a look that said
don't provoke him
.

But Bud just huffed out a sigh. “I know where she is. She don't want to come back.”

“Bud,” Joe warned.

“I'm not gonna cause any trouble.”

Yeah, right,
Joe thought. He didn't want to deal with Bud and his problems tonight. He hadn't even wanted to be here, but hunger had done him in in the end. It was fast food or Mike's.

Maybe he should have gone for the fast food, but he'd been thinking about Van since she'd left and somehow thinking about her while eating a Big Mac just didn't cut it. He chose Mike's, had just finished a steak dinner, and was enjoying the feeling of a full stomach. And he would have been out of here and home by now, alone but thinking of Van and being sappy, if Jerry hadn't told them about his upcoming date.

Now he was stuck with Bud and his baggage. “Hey, Bud,” Joe said as affably as he could muster. “Take my place. I've got to get going. Gotta close up the marina tomorrow.” Too late he realized he shouldn't have brought up the marina. It was bound to lead Bud to the clam diggers. But Bud seemed oblivious.

“See you guys. Have a good time, Jerry, and for Godsake, make sure your tie doesn't have spots on it before you go.”

“Eff you, Joe,” Jerry said. “I'd win a fashion show over you any day.”

Hal laughed. “I'd come out on top of both of you. Couple of slobs.”

So while Hal and Jerry traded insults and Bud sat down, Joe got the hell out.

I
T WAS DARK
when Van finally returned to Dorie's.

“Where have you been?” Suze asked when she opened the front door.

“How come my key didn't work?” Van countered.

“Dorie had to throw the bolt. We've had such excitement.” Suze opened the door wider and looked over Van's head out into the night.

“What kind of excitement?”

“‘Cataracts and hurricanes have stormed our kitchen door.' I paraphrase. Shakespeare. Not really my period.”

“That's fine, now tell me in commoner English.”

“Bud was here looking for Dana. He was not happy. Dorie went after him with a kitchen knife.”

“Please tell me you're kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Then please tell me he still has all his body parts.”

“Yes, unfortunately. I was hoping for a display of barbaric punishment.” Suze grinned. “Abelard and Heloise style. Come on in. We saved you some dinner and I'll fix you a cosmo. We're celebrating girl power with pink drinks tonight.”

“I think I'll start with a glass of water and then you can tell me all about it.” Van headed for the kitchen.

Suze followed her. “Want me to nuke you some chicken and mashed potatoes?”

“Sounds great, but I can nuke potatoes. One of my best cooking skills.”

Suze relaxed. “So you're okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Because you took off, but I, for one, wasn't worried that you might not come back.”

“You weren't?”

“Hell, no; your laptop and complete schedule for the next eighteen months was open on your writing desk.”

“I just needed to think things through.” She glanced out the door to make sure they were alone. “I went to see Joe.”

“Dorie said she thought you might.”

“How? No, don't tell me. Clairvoyant.”

“So what happened?” Suze asked, getting a plate of chicken out of the fridge. “Is that old black magic still there?”

“You better watch out; your classical literary allusions are slipping. ‘That Old Black Magic' was a pop song.”

“Ha. I have very catholic tastes. I mean that in the universal sense.”

“Suze?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I think you should start practicing cocktail conversation, especially if you're taking Jerry Corso.”

“It's going to be a disaster, isn't it?”

“Not at all. Well, at least not if you remember to stay away from Abelard and Heloise. People might think you're talking about a new face-cleansing system.”

Suze snorted, and the chicken began to slide across the plate. Van grabbed the plate just in time to save the chicken from falling to the floor.

Suze sank into a kitchen chair. “I'm a mess.”

“No, you're not. You're brilliant and funny . . .”

“Please don't say I have a good personality.”

“Never. I was going to say . . . gorgeous and—”

“Ne'er the twain shall meet.”

“That's what I mean. You have to learn to stop talking about twains and just say, ‘Not my type.'”

“Not my type. Got it. Who's not my type? Jerry?”

“That was a general example. Actually I think you and Jerry are cute together.”

“Ha. That's one thing I'm not. Cute.”

“And thank God for that,” Van said. “Now let me nuke some food, and you guys can tell me all about the Bud sighting. And what Dorie did. And tomorrow after I observe the Crab staff in action, we'll watch several hours of network television. I wonder if Dorie has Netflix. I have it on my laptop. We can cram the latest hip shows in your brain. Television is a great icebreaker.” Van stopped. “I guess they didn't overnight your grant application.”

“Nope. My academic ship won't be coming in this year, so I might as well watch some television. I'll even come help you revitalize the Crab.”

“Don't give up yet. You know what they say.”

“What?”

Van smiled. “Something will turn up.”

S
ATURDAY MORNING
V
AN,
D
ANA, AND
D
ORIE WOKE UP AT
dawn and walked to the Crab. Cubby and several other men were already there, unloading boxes of produce and breaking down empty crates.

“Ugh,” Dana said and finished the sentiment with a jaw-cracking yawn. “I don't usually work the morning shift.”

“You said you wanted extra hours. This is what I got,” Dorie said.

“I know and I love you for it.” Dana made smooching noises.

The sound caught the attention of at least half the guys on the loading platform. Dana tossed her head and waved at them.

“You behave. I don't want anybody falling off the platform or chopping off a finger while they're ogling you.”

“Yes, ma'am. Maybe I should go buy me a granny dress. Unless you've got one I could borrow.”

“I don't own a granny dress or anything close to. But I'm sure we could find something at the consignment store.”

Dana stuck out her tongue and flounced past the guys on the loading dock and into the Crab's kitchen

“That girl,” Dorie said. She shook her head, but her eyes were twinkling.

“As you might say . . .” Van lifted her chin and rolled her eyes at the sky.

Dorie burst out laughing. “Touché.”

They went inside where the kitchen was already stifling hot with breakfast prep. Two cooks stood at the grills, and two more underchefs were busy cutting wedges of lemons, slicing oranges, and pinching off sprigs of parsley.

Van stood just inside the door, taking it all in. The room was large and square, but much of it was dead space, used for stacks of pots and pans that wouldn't be used until lunch and dinner. Some hadn't been used in years, maybe decades.

“You have a lot of stuff,” Van said.

“Guess I do,” Dorie agreed. “Seems like as the Blue Crab grew in popularity, so did the junk. Equipment and cookware, utensils and shelves, linens and stuff that nobody knew what it was but didn't want to throw away in case somebody needed it. Guess some of it will have to go.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just check with me before you toss; I don't want to come in at the crack of dawn to make my lasagna and find my favorite pan missing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Never mind. I can see you're already in the zone,” Dorie said. “I'll leave you to it.”

Van nodded as she busily scribbled notes and sketches into her notepad and began to get ideas for streamlining the room. She didn't know much about cooking, but she did understand work
stations and traffic flow. Dorie's had gotten out of hand, one area spilling into or crowding out another.

There was no room to expand, and probably not the money if Dorie wanted to, so Van would have to make the best of the space they had.

The two shelves she'd cleared a few days before were already crammed with things that couldn't possibly be needed near at hand. And when she watched one of the waitresses stuff a stained apron on the top of a stack of paper bags, she knew it was going to take a reality-show-type showdown to get things up to efficiency and speed.

But it wasn't her job to police staff. She would make her suggestions, explain how best to implement changes, and let Dorie deal with retraining the staff.

She just stood out of the way for a good twenty minutes. Made a note to ask Dorie if it was the same staff and the same type of prep for the other meals. Some stations could do double duty if they weren't used continually all day.

Van moved on to the storerooms. They were worse than the kitchen, and it was hard to believe that they actually needed all this stuff. The shelving unit only went up to eight feet or so. They could add two rows of shelves above for overstock and store a stepladder in the corner.

That was something she and Dorie could discuss on Monday, the day they were planning on dismantling the space. That would give them three days to reconfigure and get everything up to speed by dinner on Friday when the restaurant would open for the weekend—and Van would be returning home to Manhattan.

They should probably wait until the Crab was closed for the winter, but Van could tell Dorie was worried, was afraid she
wouldn't be able to reopen if something didn't change soon. Van knew how important the Crab was to Dorie, and she was determined to help if she could.

Besides, Van wasn't sure she would have the time to run down to help out once she was back in work mode. She smiled thinking about what she was doing at the moment. This was her vacation mode.

She made a mental note to get out in the sun as much as she could before she had to leave—Maria and Ellen would never let her live it down if she came back from the beach as pasty as when she'd left.

When she least expected it, the image of Joe watching her drive away from the marina popped into her mind. It was followed by Joe listening to her talk as the two sat side by side on the couch, Joe leaning in until she knew what was coming and didn't even attempt to stop it. She lingered on the memory longer than she should, enjoying it more than she had any right to.

Then she'd shake herself and work even harder.

The breakfast rush ended, and Van was still working on the kitchen and storage area when Suze came in.

“No luck?”

Suze shook her head. “I decided to come have lunch and help out.”

“Sounds good to me. I didn't have breakfast. And every time I put my coffee cup down, someone whisks it away. At least they work hard. Let's go get a table and eat before the lunch rush begins.”

Van poked her head into the small office at the end of the corridor where Dorie and Cubby, her manager, were going over accounts.

“Taking a break, boss,” Van said. “Want to join Suze and me for lunch?”

“You girls go ahead. I'll join you in a bit if we get through these accounts.”

“Want me to help?”

“No, you've been working all morning. Relax a little.”

Van and Suze sat down at their regular table. A couple of minutes later, Dana sidled over, put two menus in front of them, jutted out a hip, and said, “What can I do for you ladies?”

She was smiling like it was all a big joke, but Van knew the sting of humiliation, and she bet anything that underneath her overly large grin, Dana was seething.

Suze saved the day by bursting out with one of her raucous laughs.

“Jeez, how do you take her anywhere?” Dana said.

“It's a cross I must bear,” Van said.

Dana nodded sympathetically. “It's probably because she's so cute.”

“Cute? Hey,” Suze protested.

“So whaddaya want?”

“I hope that's not how you treat your other patrons.”

Dana cocked her hip even more. “Sometimes I use a southern accent.”

Now Van laughed. She'd forgotten how funny Dana could be, that sharp sarcastic kind of humor that sometimes tumbled into bitterness. But most of the time she'd kept them in stitches.

Suze ordered a western omelet and Van a BLT. Then she watched Dana walk back across the room and deposit the menus on top of the stack that took up valuable counter space. Van opened her notebook and scribbled a note to order a menu rack of some sort.

“Why don't you use your iPad for that?”

“Because it doesn't fit in my pocket. Plus I can throw this down
anywhere and don't have to worry if—” She cringed as a busboy came through with a crate of clean plates just as Dana started through the door in the other direction—“If
they
happen to it. Stay to the right. That should be easy enough.”

Suze snorted. “We never did.”

“I know. It's amazing we ever got food to the tables.”

Dana returned with their meals. Suze's omelet was fluffy and filled the plate. She immediately dug into it. Van's sandwich had crisp bacon, the tomatoes were definitely Jersey, and the lettuce was fresh.

“Dorie said to bring you these, since they were your favorites.”

A platter of cheese fries. Van hadn't had cheese fries in years. Didn't eat food like that. Didn't eat any of the kinds of foods they'd been eating since she'd arrived.

“She said to let Suze have one, maybe two if she begs.” Dana tossed her head and went to wait on another table.

“She used to be fun,” Suze said, as she reached for a fry.

“ I remember . . . now. But this is the first we've seen of the old Dana.”

“As long as we don't see her dark side, we'll be fine.”

Van nodded and bit into a cheese-drenched french fry. It was good. The fry was crunchy, which kept the cheese from making it soggy. And the cheese, though Van knew it probably wasn't even cheese, was like a little piece of happiness. The ultimate beach-town comfort food.

They stuffed themselves and discussed whether it would be tacky to leave Dana a tip. They decided she'd be pissed if they didn't and went to pay their bill. Of course it was already paid by Dorie.

“Okay, put me to work,” Suze said as she followed Van to the back. “Preferably something physical so I can work off some
calories. I don't want to get too fat for my new dress before tomorrow afternoon.”

Van sent Suze and Dorie to inventory the back closet since it turned out nobody really knew what was in it. Then she took a few minutes to explain to the staff that she wasn't a spy or watching their every move for mistakes, but analyzing patterns and ways to make the restaurant more efficient. She welcomed concerns and constructive criticism.

“But no bitching and moaning. Remember I used to work here.”

After that Van plunked herself in a chair at the table where the extra condiments were kept.

Three hours later she had several pages of notes, several sketches of the current situation, and a two-page list of areas of concern. A bit more formidable than a one-bedroom Manhattan apartment or even an office. But conquerable.

At three o'clock she went in search of Dorie and Suze. The storeroom looked like a different room.

“Fantastic,” Van said. “Now the key is to make sure everyone keeps it that way. And no more stuffing dirty aprons in any old unoccupied space.”

“Guess I'll have to do a little training session.”

“Afraid so,” Van said, “and probably some refresher courses along the way.”

“I say we call it a day,” Dorie said. “Cubby can finish up what we've done so far.”

Dorie rounded up the staff to tell them that Van would be working on spiffing the place up and asked if anyone could come in on Monday for a few hours to do manual labor. “No tips,” she said with a grin, “but regular hourly salary will apply.”

She had a number of volunteers, including Dana. Nobody was interested in turning down extra money.

Dorie gathered up some perishables to take home for later. “You might as well come home too, Dana. If you're planning to do another shift tonight, you'd better get off your feet for a while.”

“Works for me.” Dana pulled off her apron, scrutinized it for stains, then folded it and put it on top of the pile already on the shelf unit by the corridor.

Another thing that can be streamlined,
Van thought.

Outside there wasn't a cloud in the sky; the sun beat down mercilessly on the people on the beach, and heat rose from the planks of the boardwalk.

“I didn't really notice the air-conditioning in the Crab,” Van said as they crossed the street.

“ 'Cause you're not paying the bill,” Dorie said. “Hey, watch out for pedestrians,” she yelled as a carload of teenagers and a loud muffler shot past them. “I can tell you, as much as I miss the income, I'm looking forward to a little quiet time at the shore. Seems like they stay later and later every year.”

“And I'll be looking for a job,” Dana said under her breath.

“Well, keep your weekends open. If Van can figure out a way to make this old shack profitable during the winter, I'm going to give it a try.”

“That would be great,” Dana said with what appeared to be real enthusiasm. “People need more than pizza, hot dogs, and Mexican food until the next season rolls around.”

“There are plenty of real restaurants around,” Dorie said.

“Too expensive and not on the beach with an ocean view. People like to look at the water in the other seasons, too. And nobody has a view like the Crab.”

Dorie and Van exchanged looks. “Not too shabby,” Dorie said under her breath as Dana sidled up to Suze.

“Do you want me to do your nails for the party tomorrow? I have some of my stuff from . . . my old job.”

“I don't really have any.” Suze stuck out her hand for Dana to see and tripped over an upended square of pavement.

“You are such a klutz.”

“I know. I'm hopeless.”

“You wouldn't be if you'd pay attention. And I know things that Jerry likes. I'll give you a crash course on motorcycles, bass fishing, and capital punishment so you won't get stuck talking about dead authors. I'm not sure he reads all that much.”

“It's going to be a disaster,” Suze said.

“There's Gigi's car,” Van said. “I wonder how long she's been waiting.”

They climbed the stairs to the porch, Dana explaining to Suze the difference between sport, trail, and supersport.

They all squeezed into the air-conditioned foyer in time to see Gigi coming down the stairs.

“Hey, we were over working at the restaurant. How long have you been here?” Van asked.

Gig shrugged. She didn't look happy. “About a half hour.”

She was holding a manila envelope.

“Is that for me? Did they send it special delivery?”

Suze started up the stairs, her hand held out.

Gigi clutched the envelope to her stomach.

“It's for you, but they didn't send it special delivery.”

“What do you mean. How did you get it?”