Page 80 of Finding Yesterday

I did it. I called and got Mr. LeBeau interested enough to come in to take a look at The Fine Bone. In just a few moments, he’ll decide if he wants to loan me the money to buy the restaurant.

And since it belongs to Pops not Jack, it’ll be Pops who sells it to me, and he agreed. He said if I found an investor, he’d be happy to do it. I haven’t told anyone—including Jack—that Pops isn’t working here. I’ve just said he’s on vacation and leaving it at that, as I’m hoping when Pops returns from his travels, he’ll get bored and come back to The Fine Bone.

But if he doesn’t, the chances of me securing the money to buy this place are looking great. Mr. LeBeau loved my chili and he’sreallyinterested in Blue Vine because of the booming vineyards. Best of all, Pierre is going to let me take the loan with a low down payment.

He walks in wearing a sharp suit, and I rub the back of my neck. Then after straightening my vest, I approach him. “Hello, Mr. LeBeau. We’re so glad to have you.”

After shaking my hand, he says, “So, do you mind if we talk out here? I’d like to sit and get a feel of the place.”

“Absolutely.” I have a table reserved just for us. I walk him over, and our best server, Becca, jumps in to take his order. Then once she puts it in, the cooks know to put it at the top of the list. We can’t let Mr. LeBeau wait long.

“So, Claire, thanks for having me.” He intertwines his fingers. “I gotta say, I love this place. It’s a step up for Blue Vine, just what the town needs.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” I smile brightly. “And we’ve already been in business for two months, so everything is humming along nicely.”

After some small talk, Becca brings out his food steaming hot—a filet mignon with two sides, duchess potatoes and a fried green tomato casserole.

He shakes his head after taking a bite of each dish. “This is all amazing.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying not to be giddy. This all might be really happening, my dream coming true.

Well,almostmy dream. I’m not sure I want to own a steakhouse, but that can all be figured out later. If this restaurant becomes mine, I can rename and redecorate it. Then if I want, I can change it from a steakhouse to a southern restaurant that still offers steak because I need to have that here.

“Do you have a business plan?” Mr. LeBeau asks between bites.

“I do.” I hand him a folder of all my work, neatly printed, compiled, and ready to go, thanks to River.

“Wow, I gotta say, Claire, I’m really impressed.”

“Wonderful.” My smile spreads, and I go quiet as he reads my plan. We engage in small talk as Pierre finishes his meal. When he’s done eating, he says, “I’ve really been wanting to invest in Blue Vine, as this town’s got huge potential. As long as all your numbers are solid, I can’t see a reason why I wouldn’t want to be a part of this successful venture. Here’s my card, so please feel free to call me with any questions.” He holds it out.

I take it and slip it in my apron pocket. “Thanks, Mr. LeBeau, I look forward to—”

“Claire,” Kristy cuts in, her tone dire. I swing my head to look, and her face is ghostly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the health inspector’s here.”

“What?” I squeak out.

Before she can say another word, a man I’ve never met wearing rumpled khakis and a too-short tie approaches me, extending his hand. “Hello, I’m Ted Beasley, the Graham County health inspector. We have a bit of a problem.”

“It’s not the best time.” I flash a shaky smile, desperate. He had to show upnow? “If you don’t mind, can I meet you in my office? In about five minutes?”

He returns a tight smile. “No need.” He holds up a paper. “I’m issuing you a citation. We were tipped off about a potential issue, so we sent in an undercover agent earlier this afternoon to check things out. Your bartender served the agent alcohol at 12:47 p.m. today. You’re not legally allowed to serve alcohol until 1:00 p.m. on Sunday.”

“Oh no.” I look over to Elliot to see he’s rushing over.

“That’s impossible,” Elliot says, pointing to the wall clock above the bar. “I never served anyone anything until that said 1:00 today.”

“Oh no.” I put my hand over my face. “That clock is set fifteen minutes fast so we can make sure all drinks are off the bar counter by closing time.” I squeeze my eyes shut. In training Elliot so quickly, we forgot to tell him that part.

“Oh.” His eyes go huge.

“Okay.” I put my palms up, trying to sound in control. We screwed up, but what they did seems a bit unfair. And who tipped them off? “I’m so sorry, Ted. Elliot is a new bartender and he wasn’t aware that the clock was set ahead, as you can see. It works in our favor usually, ensuring we have the bar closed before two a.m. Can you cut us a break?”

“No, ma’am.” My nerves ratchet up as Ted furiously scribes more notes. Finally, he hands me a paper and says, “You have to pay the fine and shut the bar down for thirty days.”

Did he just say close the bar? “I don’t understand.” I rub my head.

“You broke the law—a law Graham County takes seriously. There’s a penalty of a fine and a closure of thirty days,” he continues, glancing at his notes. “We’re sticklers about it.”

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