At the River’s Edge The Chesapeake Diaries (34 page)

“What?” She tuned back in. For a moment, activity on the other side of the fence had distracted her, and
for just a split second, she’d thought that the pile of mulch was being removed. It was, but only as much as filled the pickup, which then drove through the gates and sped away.

“I asked if you had any questions so far.”

Yes. Why are men such jerks?

She paused to consider that someone as well educated as she should be able to express herself more articulately. But seeing that fetid pile of mulch rising like Vesuvius on the other side of the fence seemed to bring out the worst in her, so under the circumstances,
jerk
was the best she could come up with.

“Not so far.” Sophie made an effort to sound pleasant. It wasn’t Cam’s fault that Jason was being so hardheaded about his stupid, reeking piles of rank soil. What had he called it?
Mushroom
soil. As if giving it a name made it less offensive.

“Okay, then.” Cam continued. “The plumber’s coming back tomorrow after the water’s been turned on. I think the pipes look fine, but you’ll want him to check it out, and the municipal code changed within the last six years, so we’ll have to make some changes in the plumbing and the electrical systems to bring everything up to code. You need new fixtures in the bathrooms, so make a trip out to Snyder’s on the highway and pick out what you need. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but you want things to look nice and to be serviceable. I’ll call out there before you go and let them know to give you my discount.”

He looked up at her again, waiting for her to say something.

“Sophie?”

“Oh. Okay.” She nodded.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, what you said.”

“Nice try.” Cameron repeated what he’d just said, then asked, “Where are you, anyway? Just so excited about buying this place that you can’t focus on the nitty-gritty?”

“I guess.” She nodded. “I am pretty excited.”

“Want me to go over the rest of this later?”

“No, let’s finish up. I guess I need the bottom line on the renovations sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t have final numbers until after the plumber finishes his inspection tomorrow, but this is how it’s shaping up so far.”

“Seriously?” She blinked. “I thought it would be a lot more than that.”

“The structure’s good and the roof is good, two big items right there. There is work outside—painting and the windows—but most of the work is going to be confined to the kitchen. I won’t start that until after the exterminator’s done his thing.” Cam paused. “You did call the exterminator, right?”

“He’ll be here in about an hour.”

“And remember that none of this,” he tapped the clipboard, “reflects any repairs or replacements you might have to make on the appliances.”

“The repair guy’s coming tomorrow. I couldn’t find anyone local, so I called the manufacturer and they gave me some names. I did find a repairman from Annapolis who was able to fit me in tomorrow afternoon. As far as the refrigerator and the freezer are concerned, I called the refrigeration guy you recommended. He’ll be here on Thursday morning.”

“Sounds like you’re all set, then.” He removed a
copy of his estimate from the clipboard and passed it over to her. “Call me after the exterminator is finished and we’ll go from there.”

“Thanks, Cam.” She stood at the same time he did, then walked with him to the door. “I really appreciate all your help.”

“Oh, you wanted that sign taken down.” He went out to his truck and returned with a ladder, which he set up under the sign. Five minutes later, he brought the large wooden oval into the restaurant and asked Sophie, “Where do you want this? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Over there is fine.” She pointed to a space along the wall. “Thanks, Cam.”

“Anything else you need while I’m here?” he asked from the doorway.

“No, I’m good. Thanks. For everything.” She walked outside.

“Call me if you think of something you want done.”

“Will do.”

Sophie watched Cam jump into his truck and waved as he turned around before driving onto the roadway. She glanced over at Jason’s lot while pretending to ignore it, but his truck wasn’t there, and neither, she assumed, was he. She went back inside, her emotions still a jumble. She wished she could leave the doors open to air the place out, but the smell from the other side of the fence was too strong. She made the decision right then and there that the mess on the other side of the fence wasn’t going to ruin this day for her.

Sophie was delighted to have this place, to have an opportunity to prove to everyone—as well as to herself—that she could make this restaurant work. She touched each chair as she passed by and turned
on every light switch. With a broom that she found in the ladies’ room, she swept the dining room floor to pass the time while she waited for the exterminator. When she finished that chore, she sat at a table and read over Cameron’s preliminary estimate. She got a bottle of water from her car and took a long drink, standing next to the SUV and pretending not to be watching for activity on the other side of the fence.

It was so annoying that he wasn’t there to see her ignoring him.

The exterminator arrived on time, and she declined his invitation to follow him around to view his findings.

“That’s okay, but thanks.” She forced a smile. “You just go on and do your thing, and I’ll just sit here and do mine until you’re finished.”

She sat at the window table with a pad of paper in her hand and wrote out the menus for opening week. Breakfasts would be just as Shelby had suggested, hearty fare to entice the early risers who made their living on the water, lighter fare after eight
A.M
. The watermen could expect a simple menu: eggs scrambled or over easy, bacon or sausage, home-fried potatoes, toast. She wondered if anyone local had homemade jam for sale.

Saturday night at dinner, after Pop had announced to Jesse and Brooke that she was going to be a part-time lawyer and a part-time cook, Brooke told her to call Clay ASAP and make sure he’d have enough eggs from the flock of chickens he and Lucy were raising to supply her on a daily basis. Maybe if needed, he could buy some extra hens. Sophie had caught up with him at Cuppachino yesterday, and he
promised to meet with her to go over what organic vegetables she thought she’d need. He gave her the name of another local farmer to contact in the event he couldn’t supply her with everything in sufficient quantity, but promised if her place did well, he’d plant with her in mind next year. As a brand-new business, she didn’t anticipate much in the way of customers for the first few weeks, but it was gratifying to know that someone thought she might do so well that one supplier wouldn’t be able to keep up with her demands.

She doodled a few daisy-like flowers, then started the breakfast list she’d start serving around eight. A different specialty omelet each day, maybe crepes occasionally. Breakfast meats might not be a big item with the film people, though turkey sausage might work out, and definitely the fruit and yogurt she’d previously thought about. Somewhere she had a fabulous recipe for granola, if she could remember where she’d put it. Muffins, of course, but she’d buy them from Brooke. Maybe pancakes or waffles in the cooler months.

The lunch menu would be more extensive, but still simple: a signature soup—she’d have to work on that—plus a soup of the day in season: corn and crab in the summer, pumpkin or butternut squash, clam chowder, or oyster stew in the fall and winter. For a moment, it crossed her mind that if things didn’t go well this summer, she might not be here to see the winter, but she dismissed the thought immediately. No point in inviting negativity into her new little world.

Salads would vary with whatever was fresh and
available: strawberries, goat cheese, and candied walnuts with spring mix in early summer, a Cobb or tossed salad at the height of summer to take advantage of all the fresh produce, and Waldorf late in the season when apples would be plentiful.

Sandwiches, of course. Burgers were a necessity, but if she could buy crab locally she could do crab cakes as well. BLTs made from garden lettuce, applewood-smoked bacon from that farm over in Ballard, and heirloom tomatoes from Clay. Maybe a grilled or roasted vegetable wrap. Chicken salad from that recipe her aunt Libby gave her.

Desserts would be as simple as Shelby had suggested: brownies, and cupcakes from Brooke’s shop, plus a dessert of the day, like that lemon meringue pie Violet mentioned, and a pound cake from Gramma Rose’s recipe, and something from Lilly Cavanaugh. Ellie had promised she’d drop off a bunch of recipes. Sophie knew she’d find something that she could make ahead of time.

And that would be it for the menu, other than beverages. Coffee, tea, sparkling water, iced tea. Maybe a few sodas, though she didn’t drink them herself and wasn’t sure they fit in with her plan to serve mostly local and natural. There wasn’t much natural about any soda she’d ever had, but she’d think about that.

She sketched out an ad she’d place in the
St. Dennis Gazette
on the Thursday before she opened. How big an ad could she afford? She’d have to talk to Grace to see what she suggested.

She heard tires on the gravel out front and raised her head hopefully, but it was just a Jeep that was using her parking lot to turn around. A few minutes
later, a red truck stopped in front of the mulch yard and an older man hopped out, opened the gate, then drove through. How long before she stopped looking up every time she heard a noise outside?

Until Jason found his way over to apologize.

Would that happen? She sighed, realizing that she didn’t know him well enough to know if his sense of fairness was stronger than his ego. And it
was
a matter of fairness, she insisted. She had every right to pursue this property, as much right as he did. Still, she understood that he was disappointed—wouldn’t she have been, if somehow he’d beaten her to the punch and purchased the restaurant while she was back in Ohio?

Of course she would. The real question was whether or not she’d have thrown a tantrum over it. All right, perhaps
tantrum
was too strong a word. And whether or not she’d have done something that would impact the success of his business. She’d planned on alfresco dining this summer, but how could she seat patrons outside to dine with that gross smell drifting over the fence? How appetizing was that?

The exterminator, Ed Sellers, came out of the kitchen.

“Is there a key to the second floor?” he asked.

She took it from her bag and handed it to him. “What’s the bad news?”

“You got ants. Mice, a’course, and a boatload of stink bugs. Little bastards are everywhere this year.” He took the key and went upstairs.

It could be worse, she told herself, and it didn’t sound like anything that couldn’t be taken care of.
She crossed her fingers and waited until Ed reappeared.

“Same visitors upstairs as down. Basement?”

She shook her head—no, the building didn’t have one.

“Okay, then, here’s what I can do.” For the next fifteen minutes, Ed outlined his plan for ridding the building of every living thing. “Now, you’re going to want to keep the place closed up for a night, but after that, you’ll be good to go.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good. How ’bout I come in first thing on Friday morning? You’ll have the place back on Saturday afternoon.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you on Friday.”

He handed her his estimate and she folded it to put aside for later review. After he left, she took a peek. The number circled at the bottom wasn’t nearly as much as she’d feared, and she breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good, as far as the expenditures were concerned.

Jesse had agreed to give her the afternoon off, since she’d done so much to organize his office in his absence. She’d been amused to find that it made no difference to her brother if he had to search his floor for a file or if he found it neatly filed away.

“As long as I know where to find it when I need it, what difference does it make where you put it?” he’d asked after she showed him the new file room she’d set up.

“Sometimes someone other than you might need the case.” She fought back a smile. The remark was so typical of his haphazard, devil-may-care attitude.
But in the end, he’d admitted that he was impressed with the work she’d done, and offered her the afternoon to take care of her business.

“But I expect you here tomorrow at two
P.M
.,” he’d told her.

“I’ll be here,” she promised, and she would be. Hopefully by then her head would have stopped spinning. Her brain was threatening to go on overdrive with all she had to do, now that she owned the building she’d coveted. What was the saying about being careful what you wished for?

She made a list of all she had to do, in order of priority. When everything had been written down, she felt a rare migraine coming on. She decided to break the list down into sections—the dining room, the kitchen, the restrooms, the exterior. It looked more manageable to her once those lists were on separate pieces of paper. A mind game, to be sure, but right then, her mind was a churning mess.

Today she could wipe down all the tables and chairs, clean the dining room floor, and wash the windows. The kitchen would remain off-limits until the appliances had been dealt with and Ed had finished doing his thing. Satisfied she had a workable plan, she locked the door and drove home to pick up some cleaning supplies. She grabbed a quick take-out lunch from The Checkered Cloth and took it back to River Road.

The black pickup was in the middle of the lot when she returned. She slowed as she drove by, and took her sweet time gathering her things and getting out of the car and unlocking the front door, giving Jason ample opportunity to see her, but he was nowhere in
sight. She went inside, carrying her lunch and a bucket filled with cloths and bottles of heavy-duty cleaners. She went back out to the car once for the vacuum, but there was still no sign of Jason.

Annoyed that she couldn’t have annoyed him by her presence, she plugged in the vacuum and went to work. When she was finished, she scrubbed every table and chair. Several were a bit wobbly; those she set aside for repair while she finished the task of cleaning the big room. When she was done, the place smelled like Lysol, but the dust and cobwebs were gone and she could see out the windows. Her arms and her back ached and she was exhausted, but it was one day down and counting, and she felt pretty damned good about that. She locked up for the day and took her take-out lunch, which, in her cleaning frenzy, she’d forgotten to eat.