and his ex-cop son would understand her need to pay the fees of the high-priced attorney she’d hired to defend her brother. Especially since her brother had been accused, wrongfully she believed, of participating in a shooting. The money she’d gotten from the sale of her share of the picnic company had gone to the firm of Hawkes, Schreiber and Bolger, and more was owed now.
Maybe Bret wouldn’t ask her why she needed the money. The honorable thing would be to just give her the five thousand dollars and send her down the mountain. Maybe he even had the cash squirreled away at The Crooked Spruce. The outpost was so remote, there would be little danger of theft. And a lot of people didn’t trust the bank anymore. If Bret didn’t have the cash, she’d take a check. Once she was gone, he could get Clancy to pay the money back any way he could.
“You must have needed money pretty badly to take that step,” Bret said.
“I did,” she said. “I sold my share of the business because I owed money and was obligated to pay it.” She speared Clancy with a telling look. “That’s what honest people do when they have a debt.”
He stared at the ceiling.
“Now I need what you owe me, Clancy.” Especially since I’ve found out that my financial responsibility to Jack’s defense is just beginning.
Bret sat across the picnic table from her. He put his elbows on the top and leaned forward. Those soft nut-brown eyes, which had captured her imagination an hour ago, now seemed capable of reading her thoughts. She looked down, avoiding his gaze. She’d never been in trouble with the law, but still, after what Jack had been through, she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable under a cop’s intense scrutiny.
“So how does all this lead up to you getting a job working with my father?” he asked.
She focused on Clancy. His hands were clasped on the tabletop. His attention could have been fixed on the tiny hairs on the backs of his fingers. Since he wasn’t looking at her, maybe he was finally embarrassed about how he’d misled her. Or maybe he was trying to figure out another plan to get away with cheating her.
“You know your father owned the Crab Trap, a bar on Winston Beach?” she said to Bret.
He admitted that he was aware of his father’s business venture. “I never saw the place for myself,” he said. “For the short time my dad owned it, I was—” he stopped, glanced at his father “—I was indisposed for a while and couldn’t visit him.”
The vagueness of his answer registered as a tingle of alarm down Dorie’s spine. Maybe the ex-cop had some secrets of his own. “I had been in there a time or two after Clancy bought it,” she said. “The Crab Trap catered to a local crowd, people who had been around Winston Beach for a long time.”
“So not your typical tourist types?”
She shook her head. “Definitely not. The Trap was filled with old-timers, bikers and roughnecks, mostly.”
Bret smiled. “And one Dorinda Howe.”
“I wasn’t a regular. But the day after I sold my business, I drove by the place and saw a help-wanted sign in the window. Being unemployed at the time, I went in and applied for the waitress job.”
Clancy finally raised his head to stare at his son. “Which I gave her because of the generous nature of my character.”
Bret frowned. “Right. Go on, Dorie.”
“Oh, that much is the truth, minus the generous nature part. He gave me the job.”
“I sure did,” Clancy said. “I figured she could make the Trap the place to go for barbeque in the area, plus clean up the image a bit. A win-win for both of us.”
Dorie frowned. “But what Clancy isn’t telling you is that he had the Crab Trap up for sale at the time, which totally affected my job security. But that was okay. He had a right to sell it. Only thing is, he didn’t own the building. He was only leasing it, so he didn’t have much real property to sell. He was trying to find a buyer for his license, the equipment, which basically included the beer taps, furniture, grills and deep fryers.” She leveled an icy stare at Clancy. “And, what he calls the goodwill he’d established by running the place.”
Clancy put one finger in the air. “That’s right. Goodwill. It’s not easy to put a price on that.”
“But you did,” Dorie said. “You put a price of twenty thousand on it.”
Bret’s eyes widened. “Jeez, Pop, I only lent you three thousand to start up that business last year. Did you get twenty grand for it?”
“Of course not. That was just my asking price.” Clancy’s eyebrows came together in an insolent gesture. “I ended up getting only fifteen thousand.”
Dorie could sense the wheels turning in Bret’s head. After pausing a moment, he said, “And out of that fifteen thousand, you owed me three and Dorie five?” At least Bret was remembering his math correctly.
“And I earned every cent of it,” she said. “Your father never would have sold the Crab Trap if I hadn’t come in there and made a deal with him to turn it into a presentable establishment that would appeal to buyers.”
“What exactly did you do?” Bret asked.
“A whole lot more than any other so-called waitress would have done. I used my special recipes to bring in crowds. I changed the advertising so he’d attract a better clientele, revised the menu to include healthier food and kids’ meals. Handed out coupons all over the area so we’d attract the few tourists who actually stopped on Winston Beach.”
She looked at Clancy and was gratified to see that he was listening and didn’t appear ready to argue. “Basically I was his nutritionist, marketer and public relations department. In addition to all that, I scrubbed years’ worth of old grease off the walls,” she added.
“You did all that for a waitress’s salary?” Bret said.
“No. I’m not that gullible. What I asked in return was a regular job as the waitress with salary and tips, and a percentage of the selling price up to five thousand dollars. Clancy and I agreed that he would keep anything over five grand. At that time, five thousand was what I needed.”
“Okay. Sounds fair enough,” Bret said. “Did you get this agreement in writing?”
She fished in the pocket of the jacket beside her on the bench and produced a wrinkled envelope. After removing a one-page document which she smoothed over the surface of the table, she said, “Check it out for yourself.” She pointed to the financial terms and then to her signature and Clancy’s at the bottom. “We both signed it.”
Bret studied the paper and then looked at his father. “That’s your handwriting, Pop,” he said. “This isn’t the fanciest contract in the world, but I think it would hold up in court.”
Clancy crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on the side of what’s right. Did Dorie fulfill her part of this contract like she says?”
Clancy stubbornly stared into space for several uncomfortable seconds before finally, almost negligibly, nodding his head. It wasn’t a definitive
