CHAPTER EIGHT
“CAN YOU BELIEVE this wind?”
“The rain is falling sideways!”
“You don’t think we’re in for another 2010, do you?”
Ciara, Bean and Ted stood side by side at the window, staring out at the street.
Rowdy used a meat mallet to hammer on the service counter. “Get away from that window, you bunch o’ goofballs. If this storm spins into a tornado like it did in ’98...”
The trio exchanged worried glances.
“You’ll be safe back here, washing up this mountain of dishes. And there’s a shipment of canned goods to unbox and shelve. Don’t make me count to ten, or—”
Finn watched all three hustle into the kitchen and get right to work, smiling because they knew as well as she did that Rowdy’s paternal glare was 100 percent bark, zero percent bite.
Jimmy stopped loading the dishwasher. “What happens if he gets to ten?”
“You ride that conveyor belt,” Rowdy answered. “And get the insubordination washed outta ya, that’s what!”
Ciara laughed. “You’re such a big silly, Rowdy. Everyone knows—everyone knows Jimmy can’t fit through that machine.”
Smiling, Finn went back to the stack of invoices on her desk. Oh, how she loved the people who’d become more family than employees! She and Ciara might not have the most normal parents in the world, but they had a whole lot of other things to be thankful for. A roof over their heads. Overstuffed closets. More than enough to eat. And a thriving business that would—
An earsplitting crash drowned out the kitchen sounds, followed by the unmistakable tinkle of glass shattering.
“I knew they should’ve cut down that old tree!” Rowdy shouted.
“What?” Finn was on her feet and beside him in an instant, staring, slack-jawed, at the still-dripping leaves and branches that filled the entire right side of The Right Note.
Rowdy ordered the diners and staff to stay put, then dialed 911.
Finn glanced around. At still-spinning red-vinyl stools, bent at awkward angles near the snack bar. At bench seats and tables torn from the bolts securing them to the black-and-white-tiled floor. At shards of glass and bits of metal that glittered like diamonds all around her feet. At the neon signs—one designed to resemble a staff and music notes above the words The Right Note Cafe, another that sputtered and buzzed in its futile effort to say Welcome—that hung precariously from their anchors.
Half a dozen customers had decided to wait out the storm in the diner.
“Is everyone all right?” Finn asked.
Nodding, they huddled in The Right Note’s far corner.
“That guy doesn’t look so hot,” Rowdy whispered.
Sure enough, an elderly gent stumbled from his booth.
“Call 911 again,” she whispered back. “He could have a heart condition or something.”
As Rowdy dialed, she put an arm around the man. “Better stay put until the EMTs get here,” she said.
“I’m fine,” he growled, waving her away.
Clearly he wasn’t, as evidenced by his halting, unsteady gait.
Finn guided him back into his booth. “Please, sir, just sit tight. I wouldn’t want you to trip over any of this...” She gestured toward the tree and debris.
He fumbled through his pockets, then cursed under his breath. “Now, where’s that infernal cell phone? I want to call my daughter, let her know I’ll be late.”
She glanced around, saw it in the middle of the table. Finn was about to hand it to him when she noticed his dilated pupils. Pete had insisted that she take CPR classes, so Finn recognized the symptoms of shock: trembling, cool yet clammy skin, bluish fingernails and lips.
“Here’s your phone,” she said. “Would you like me to call her for you?”
Rowdy draped a tablecloth over the man’s shoulders as the red-and-blue strobes of emergency vehicles whirled around the diner’s interior. A moment later, the place filled with first responders.
A burly firefighter approached. “What’s up?” he asked Finn.
She described the man’s symptoms.
“Good job. Thanks. Everybody else okay?”
She looked toward the out-of-town guests huddled in the opposite corner. “Yes, scared, but everyone’s all right.”
He squatted and signaled the nearest paramedic.
“Okay if I get those people into the back room?” she asked, pointing to the rest of her diners.
“Bob!” he bellowed. “Okay if these folks head to the back?” In a softer voice, he told Finn, “He’s just checking for structural damage. Wouldn’t want the ceiling to cave in on you.”
Bob moved closer. “Things look okay out here.” Using his ballpoint as a pointer, he asked, “Gas stove back there?”
“Yes...”
“Just let me make sure the connections are intact and there are no leaks before anybody goes anywhere.”
After poking and prodding, he gave the thumbs-up sign, and Finn waved her customers closer.
“Let’s get some dessert into you,” she said, guiding them to the big stainless table in the storeroom. “What’s your pleasure? Cake? Ice cream? Pie?”
“That’s very kind of you,” a young woman said, “but my husband and I would rather get back to our hotel.”
Members of the other family agreed. “Thanks for the offer, though,” the dad said. “Hope you’ll be back in business soon. We’ve enjoyed all our meals here.”
A cop approached and suggested they leave through the back door. Finn rounded up a few of the umbrellas left behind by former diners and passed them out.
“Sorry for the disturbance,” she said, grinning as they departed.
“Wasn’t your fault,” the mom said.
“Guess even the mighty oak has its limits,” the young woman’s husband said.
“You might want to round up some plywood,” the cop suggested. “And call your insurance agent.”
Finn exhaled a shaky sigh. He was right.
“A city inspector will come by in the next day or two, let you know what he thinks needs to be fixed.” He handed her a business card. “If you get
