8. Chloe
eight
Idon’t need the key to the employee entrance Aunt Dawn gave me. That back door isn’t locked, making me briefly wonder if someone might have just stepped out and will be coming back at any moment to finish what should have been done last night.
Bags of trash are piled next to the back door, waiting to be taken out, spreading their foul smell throughout the whole restaurant.
The dish pit is overflowing, dried food caked everywhere, a blatant health violation on top of being the mark of disgusting laziness.
Is no one actually in charge here? Did no one step in to fill the void? Who was here last night, smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk?
My sneakers slipping on the greasy floor, I find my way to the unlocked office.
There’s a desk disappearing under wobbly piles of paper and unopened mail and a desktop computer—the kind that’s hooked up to a tower on the floor. I press the ‘On,’ button and while it whirs to life, I sift through the storage boxes lined on the shelves, labeled by year.
The swivel chair in front of the computer sighs when I slouch in it. Uncle Kevin’s list of passwords is taped under his keyboard. People can be so painfully predictable.
It takes me less than an hour to establish that the restaurant’s financial situation is worrisome, to say the least. There’s a little money in the bank, but only because vendors haven’t been paid and rent is three months behind.
Payroll is due.
I already know from the online reviews I finally looked up last night that quality is lacking and has been steadily declining for at least a year, if not more. I don’t know if Aunt Dawn and my cousins are in denial, uninformed, or weren’t entirely forthcoming with me. But I do like a challenge, and fixing up a flailing business is right up my alley. I’ve done it for corporations where all the numbers on the PL had two or three more zeros than this restaurant.
I can do this.
The first order of business is to tend to the lease. Aunt Dawn cautioned me against the landlord, but what else can I do? I fire him a quick email. Who knows? We’re neighbors. He might be yearning for a good relationship. He might be understanding. And he definitely has a lot to gain by letting us stay in business. After all, I only need a few months.
From: Chloe Sullivan
To: Justin King
Subject: Intro and Terms
Dear Mr. King,
I am writing to introduce myself. I am the niece of the late Kevin Murphy and have been appointed by the family to fill in for my uncle while we look for the restaurant’s next owners.
I would welcome an in-person meeting at your convenience to discuss pending matters and generally establish the groundwork for a mutually beneficial collaboration.
I look forward to your response.
Chloe Sullivan
Minutes later, his answer pops up.
From: Justin King
To: Chloe Sullivan
Subject: Clarification
Ms. Sullivan,
There are no pending matters other than the late rent. This meeting doesn’t even need to be an email. A wire transfer will do.
Justin King
That’s not good. Let’s see… I start typing.
From: Chloe Sullivan
To: Justin King
Subject: Wrong foot
Dear Justin,
I’m afraid we started off on the wrong foot. I understand you are upset about the late rent, and I just want to discuss terms of payment that would be acceptable to you without threatening our family’s business.
Would you care to join me for a glass of wine so we can break the ice? And I’d love to pick your brains about having outdoor seating that would complement yours and elevate the experience for your customers as well as ours.
Chloe
From: Justin King
To: Chloe Sullivan
Subject: Rent
Ms. Sullivan,
Only my friends and family call me Justin. You are neither.
You are three months late on rent.
Because I am not a monster, I will grant your aunt thirty days to get up-to-date on her late and upcoming payments.
Sincerely,
Justin King
Wow. That went off the rails real quick.
It’s time for Chloe’s charm offensive. I push up from behind the desk, smooth my hair, and walk out of the restaurant.
A young blonde woman is wiping down the outdoor tables.
“Hi, I’m… uh… Kevin’s… niece?” I point my thumb behind me. “The new manager for the restaurant. Just temporarily. I—I just got here.”
She frowns at me.
“Kevin Murphy? The restaurant?”
She blows a lock of hair off her forehead. “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Hi.” She straightens and tucks her rag in her jeans buckle. “Welcome to Emerald Creek. And sorry for your loss.” Her eyes dart to the door of the restaurant. “Temporarily?”
“Just helping out the family. You know. Giving them time to get their bearings. Love the setup you have here, by the way. The outdoor seating?”
She beams. “That’s all Justin. He’s got a sense for that.”
Justin, right. “I was hoping to… I—I just need to have a quick word with Mr. King? He’s in, right?”
“Mr. King?” She bites her smile. “You mean Justin. No one ever calls him Mr. King.” A wide smile spreads across her face, and she extends her hand. “I’m his sister, by the way. Haley.”
We shake hands, ice broken. “I’m just helping him out for a while. Not sure I know what I’m doing, but family’s family,” she adds.
I smile wide, her empathy hitting the right chord. “I totally get you. Not sure what I’m doing here either. But don’t tell anyone!”
She giggles. “Pinky promise. Fake it till you make it.”
Right on.“So… Justin. Can I pop in and… say hello?”
Her face scrunches. “Um, he’s not in right now… we’re not technically open. Like, we open at twelve?”
I wave like it’s no big deal. “We’ve been exchanging emails, and I figured it’d be easier if I just popped in to introduce myself.”
“Oh. He must have answered from his phone.”
He’s in the middle of something. That explains the curt responses. “You know what, I’ll come back later. It was just a neighborly visit, no big deal.”
Pink tints her cheeks. “We had no idea you were coming, or we would’ve welcomed you.”
I backpedal to my portion of the sidewalk, the one without cute tables and umbrellas. For now. “Is twelve a good time? One?” I really need to get the rent problem crossed off my list of things to worry about for now.
She waves me back to her. “Hold on,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Let me tell him you’re here. I’m sure he’ll—” She puts the phone to her ear, opens the door, and ushers me in. The ‘Sorry, we’re closed’ sign bangs against the glass pane.
“Moose, behave,” she says as the dog I saw yesterday lifts his massive head my way, then gets up slowly and ambles to greet me. He’s not just big. He’s huge. His head is about level with my waist. “Hey, buddy.” He closes his eyes while I give him a skull scratch.
“Hey, so… the lady from the restaurant is here?” Haley says into the phone, looking at me. Then she dips her face and turns around.
I take a few steps away to give her privacy. Moose nuzzles my hand, so I resume my petting while I take in the pub, Haley’s conversation inaudible. Dark wood paneling, shiny brass details, comfy booths, small ambiance lamps, local photographs: everything imparts a feeling of relaxed comfort. The floors are old, waxed wood planks. Behind the long bar, bottles are neatly lined, and there’s not a speck of dust on the shelves.
Haley pockets her phone and turns to me, embarrassment painting her features. I hate that I’ve put her in a difficult situation. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Clearly, Mr. King doesn’t want to talk to his neighbor and tenant.
Clearly, I should be gone already.
I give Moose one last scratch between the ears. “Thanks for trying,” I say to Haley. “I’ll come back.”
I turn around and slam into a mass of muscle. “You need to leave,” a familiar voice says.