The Lies that Bind, page 2
There were a couple of other browsers in the store.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“We’re just browsing,” said the younger man. With their long noses and brown hair, the two men looked like they were stamped from the same mold, only with different hairlines. The older of the two stood back, hands in his pockets, as the younger man poked around.
“The business section is in the back,” I said, guessing that that was more up their alley than the books we’d recently shelved on botany.
“Thanks,” the younger of the two said shortly. “We’re actually looking for a notebook; do you carry them?”
“Not yet,” my daughter piped up, glancing at me. “But we should have some shortly; we’re expanding our offerings.”
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t help us today,” the man said. “Interesting little bookstore you have here. Kind of off the beaten path, isn’t it?”
“Booklovers will go the extra mile,” Caroline said. Again, what was up with her today? Not that I was complaining.
“Can I interest you in a particular genre?” I asked.
“No, no,” they said. “We just needed some paper. Thought we’d stop by and check the place out. Mind if we browse?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Let me know if you need any help.”
He nodded, and the two of them retreated to the back room. I strolled after them on the pretense of checking on a book, curious to see what they were talking about.
“I think we should stick to the current format,” the older man said as I pulled a paperback off the shelf and turned it over. “If it ain’t broke, why fix it?”
“It’s worth considering diversification,” the younger one replied in a low voice. “And considering the location, there’s no real competition. It’ll certainly be more modern; that’ll be a draw.”
“I don’t know about that,” the older man said. “This isn’t Boston… people are looking for a seaside experience. Take a look at the folks walking around… hip isn’t what they’re looking for.”
“That’s our brand,” the younger one said. “We can stay true to the brand and make a nod to the area. And merch will help increase the profitability.”
“It’s worth considering,” the other man said. “They’re cutting us a good deal, I’ll say that.”
“Do you think the customer base will transfer? How much local pride is there?”
“Most of them aren’t local. And we’ll be recognizable.”
As he spoke, the door opened, and Denise walked in with two willow baskets, followed by Bethany, who was carrying a box that was likely the day’s shipment of books. Denise was still wearing her Sea Beans T-shirt.
“Hi, guys!” I greeted them. “New books?” I asked Bethany.
“Yup. I’ll get them into inventory and shelve them,” she answered briskly.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. What would I do without Bethany?
Denise shifted the baskets from one arm to the other. “You ready?” she asked as I shelved a copy of Bernd Heinrich’s A Year in the Maine Woods in the Local Interest section. As she spoke, she spotted the men in the back of the store, and her face turned stony. “What are they doing here?” she asked.
“Browsing,” I told Denise. “They were looking for paper.”
In the meantime, the men were talking in the back. “I think it should be profitable, since we’re the only game in town,” one of the men said.
“It’s a local coffee shop,” my friend said loudly, and I looked at her, puzzled. “It should stay that way. It’s not right.”
The younger man looked at her, a bemused smile on his pale face. “Ah. You must be the manager who was hoping to take the reins. There might be a job for you, if you play your cards right. We could use someone with local connections.”
“I wouldn’t work for you if you were the only employer in town,” she spat. “People like you shouldn’t be allowed to come in and take over small towns. Sea Beans shouldn’t be a chain,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re trying to take it away from me.”
“The contract will be signed tonight,” he said, smirking. “Sea Beans will soon be the newest location of Epoch Coffee. Right, Dad?” he added, looking up to the older man beside him.
“That’s the plan,” the young man’s father said, puffing his chest out. He reminded me of an overweight peacock, somehow, only wearing wingtips instead of actual wings. He brushed a bit of lint off his sleeve, as if it somehow represented my friend. “Charles Carsten. And this is my son, Chad. I’m sorry to hear you’re disappointed, but we’re not taking anything away from you. We’re simply businessmen doing business.”
“You’re a thief,” she said. “And I hope you get what’s coming to you.” She turned to me. “I’ll be in the car.”
“Let me just get my stuff,” I said as she stormed out the door. Caroline and the other shoppers were all goggling at the man who had just declared he was buying Sea Beans. I glanced over at Bethany and Caroline. “You two have it under control?”
“Affirmative,” Bethany said brightly, and Caroline nodded.
“Let me know if you have any trouble,” I said, darting a glance at the men in the back room.
“We’ve got it under control,” Bethany assured me, and then, in a quieter voice, said, “I can’t believe Sea Beans is going away.”
“Nothing’s been signed yet,” I said, trying to sound optimistic. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’ll talk to Denise and find out what’s going on.”
“Let us know,” my assistant said. “I’ll do what I can to save the store, if it’s possible.” Ever since Bethany had discovered she might be in line to inherit a fortune (she’d discovered she was related to one of the island’s old money families), she’d seemed more confident and optimistic. She’d been attending school part-time and working for me part-time to save money; if the funds came through, she’d be able to focus more on her studies—and her fledgling writing career.
She had hired an attorney my friend/maybe-more-than-friend Nicholas had recommended, and although it was early days, she was hoping she’d have enough to pay for her college education and maybe pay off her parents’ house. As much as I wanted her to get an education, I’d be sad to lose her. Caroline was a little less motivated on the college front; I was hoping that spending time with my motivated assistant would encourage her to go back and finish her degree. I looked at the two young women tenderly. Caroline wore an oversized green Maine sweatshirt, freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose and a few tendrils escaping from her long, reddish braid. Bethany, beside her, was in jeans and a tailored red sweater that set off her sparkling, long-lashed dark eyes and halo of black hair. They looked so different on the outside, but were both beautiful and full of promise. I knew both would find their way, but I hoped it would be as smooth as possible for them. Being a young woman could be tough. I knew that from experience.
But right now, I wasn’t worried about Bethany or even Caroline. I was worried about Denise. I grabbed my purse and a jacket and headed for the door, looking back over my shoulder at the two young women behind the desk and hoping they’d be okay. Which was ridiculous, really, but I felt motherly toward both of them, even though only one was my biological daughter.
Denise was sitting in her Jeep with the engine on. I could practically see the steam rising from her head as I hobbled over and open the door.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“I turned my ankle this morning.” I raised a leg to show her the Ace bandage. “It’s just a mild sprain.”
“What did you do?”
“Slipped on a rock,” I said.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked.
“I’m not going to miss out on blueberry picking because of a sore ankle,” I said. “It’s only a little strain. Besides, we need to catch up.”
“Just be careful, okay?” she said. “I’ll drive. You put your foot up on the dash or something.”
I levered myself into the passenger seat as Denise tucked the baskets behind the seat.
“Tell me more about what just happened,” I said as she climbed in beside me. “Who are those people who say they’re buying Sea Beans?”
“Out-of-towners,” she said, with more than a hint of bitterness.
“I thought Margaret was selling it to you?”
“She was. Until Chad Carsten talked her into selling him the store so he can rebrand it as an Epoch franchise,” she said.
“Doesn’t Epoch do the organic paleo stuff down in Portland?”
“And everywhere else.”
“Have you talked to Margaret about it?”
“I did, but she told me that unless I could match their offer, she wouldn’t be able to accept it,” she said, turning the key and hitting the gas hard. She put it into first gear and turned out of the parking place with a jerk that made me think that maybe I should have done the driving after all.
“Didn’t she promise to sell it to you?” I asked, pulling my hair up into a bun to keep it from whipping around my face as she put the Jeep in second gear and gunned it. I quickly grabbed onto the top of the door to keep myself from being rocketed right out of the Jeep. “She said she’d sell it to you when the time came.”
“That was before Chad came and offered her twice what I can pay.”
3
“What?”
“Apparently values are up since Margaret and I talked,” she said. “Snug Harbor’s a hot market right now… business is good.”
Except for my business, I thought. Were bookstores dead? Was it my location? Was I doing something wrong, or had I just overestimated the demand? I pushed the intrusive thoughts out of my head and returned my focus to my friend. “I thought you had a verbal agreement. You’ve been working toward saving up to take the store over for years!”
“She said it’s business. She told me she’d recommend they keep me on as a manager. But Chad wants to totally change everything.”
“So it won’t even be Sea Beans anymore.”
“Exactly,” she said, looking miserable as she whipped us around a bend and gunned the Jeep past an old Cadillac. My hands were starting to cramp from holding onto the door so tightly.
“I can’t believe she’s willing to let the business be obliterated like that, after all the time she’s put into it.”
“Me neither,” she said, and her jaw clenched briefly. “I feel betrayed.”
“I would, too,” I told her. All of a sudden, she hit the brakes; a moment later we were turning down a narrow paved road lined by tall, dark-green conifers. The temperature dropped, and when I inhaled, the air was perfumed with pine and balsam fir; despite the anger emanating from Denise, I could feel my body relax. We drove on for a while, past several dirt driveways that disappeared into the woods, before the trees gave way, revealing an open meadow I could tell even from a distance was loaded with the lime and deep green leaves of low bush blueberries. She pulled over onto the narrow dirt shoulder and, to my relief, turned off the Jeep.
“What should I do?” she asked, turning to me, her pretty face distraught.
“Talk to Margaret again,” I suggested. “Write a letter about how much the store means to you, how special the place she created is, and how it would be a loss to Snug Harbor if it were taken over by a Portland chain. Can you raise what you’re willing to offer?”
“I might be able to borrow more… I have to go to the bank. But I don’t want to bankrupt myself.”
“That makes sense,” I said. My heart hurt for my friend… and for the potential loss of Snug Harbor’s familiar coffee shop, which had been around as long as I could remember. “Do you have someone who could go in with you on it?” I suggested. “I’ve got all my money tied up in the bookstore, but surely there’s some rich angel investor who doesn’t want Sea Beans to go away?”
“That’s an interesting idea,” she said, her jaw relaxing slightly.
“Worth thinking about.” My eyes drifted to the blueberry bushes. “Don’t give up yet; you haven’t exhausted all the avenues. And the other company can always change its mind!”
“Here’s hoping,” she said glumly.
“Let’s get our baskets and get out to the bushes… and I want to run something by you. Something I heard this morning.” I figured a change of topic might help distract her for a little bit.
“Is someone buying your store, too?” she asked bitterly as she opened the door of the Jeep, jumped out, and reached in the back for the baskets.
“No,” I said as I got out and closed the Jeep door behind me. “But I think I heard two people planning a murder today on the shore path.”
Denise stopped, a basket in each hand, and blinked at me. “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I were,” I said, and took one of the tightly woven baskets. As we walked to the blueberry barren, a stretch of slightly boggy ground that was covered in sweetfern, cranberries, small woody shrubs… and most importantly, little green bushes studded with tiny, plump blueberries, I told Denise what I’d heard that morning. “That’s when I turned my ankle,” I explained. “I was trying to see who it was and wasn’t watching my footing.”
“Have you told the police?”
“No,” I said. “What am I going to tell them? That I heard two faceless people, one of whom has brown hair, discussing a murder on the shore path?”
“It isn’t much to go on,” she admitted. “Did you notice if either of them had an accent?”
“Nothing unusual,” I said. “It was a man and a woman, though.”
“Well, that narrows it down.”
“I know, right?” I sighed. “I hate having this knowledge and not being able to do anything with it.”
“I know the feeling,” she said as she bent to pluck a bunch of plump dark berries, their skins dusky with bloom, and put them into her basket. I grabbed a small bunch too, but popped them into my mouth instead of the basket.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the basket,” Denise said. We picked berries for a while, both caught up in our concerns, before my friend stood up, stretched, and said, “How are you and Nicholas, by the way? Any progress on that breakthrough?”
“You mean the code we figured out?” Seaside Cottage Books, it turned out, had once been owned by a rumrunner, and together, Nicholas and I had been investigating a journal and radio we’d discovered hidden in the stone walls.
“Yeah. Didn’t it give you some locations?”
“It did,” I said. “We’ve been to the first few, but haven’t found anything. I’m afraid it may be a dead end, or just a list of rendezvous points.”
“So you haven’t found the ill-gotten gains he theoretically buried to hide from his wife?” The legendary rumrunner’s wife, evidently, had not only been a teetotaler, but was completely unaware of her husband’s clandestine activities.
“Not yet,” I said. “It’s probably just a local legend. But it’s been a fun puzzle to try to solve; we’re going to check out a few more this weekend.”
“How are things going with Nicholas, anyway?”
“They seem fine,” I said, blushing. “We’re enjoying each other’s company… but I think we’re both being cautious. I know I am, anyway.”
“It’s weird dating after divorce, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I confirmed, nodding. “And Ted may have moved on quickly, but I’m still trying to find my sea legs.” The ink had barely been dry on the divorce decree before he picked up his glamorous new girlfriend, discovering hidden depths in himself that I would have loved for him to have discovered while we were still married. We were still better apart than together, though, even though the adjustment to my new circumstances was still in progress. “I haven’t lived on my own since college, and I want to see what I like and don’t like when I’m the only person I have to think about,” I mused as I picked a particularly big berry and popped it into my mouth. “Although with Caroline back, it’s not quite like being alone.”
“I thought she was staying with your mom?”
“She is, but she’s at the store a lot. I’m happy about that, actually—it’s good to see her—it’s just that it’s easy to fall back into that ‘taking care of other people’ role, and I’d like to find out what it’s like when it’s just me.”
“That makes sense. Is she helpful at the store?”
“She is… she and Bethany are getting along, and she was full of ideas to promote the shop earlier today. I’m afraid she’s not going to go back to college. I just wish she had some sense of direction in her life, you know?”
“Maybe running her own business might be something she’s interested in,” Denise said as she plucked a few more berries and put them into her basket. My own basket wasn’t filling very fast; I seemed to be putting as many berries into my mouth as I was saving, although who could blame me? Was there anything better than fresh-picked Maine blueberries on a breezy summer day? “Although you should probably warn her about sharklike investors. It’s a good thing you bought the store when you did.”
“I’m worried about that actually,” I confessed as I combed another plant with my fingers, filling my cupped hand with berries I dropped into my basket. “Receipts haven’t been what I’d hoped. I’m a little far away from the main drag; apparently the shop next door closed from lack of business. I need to find some way to get people into to the store and spending money.”
“The cookies aren’t working?” she asked.
“They help,” I said, “particularly with repeat business, I think, but I need to do more.” I sighed. “Caroline’s putting together a Facebook page for the shop. Maybe that will drum up some more customers.”
“You’re trying to keep your business going and I’m just trying to come up with enough cash to outbid out-of-town investors,” Denise said glumly as we moved to a new part of the barren. “This ‘living the dream’ thing is hard sometimes, isn’t it?”
