Page 86 of Finding Yesterday

Then I head to the train station blueprints, finding that folder easily because I recognize it. Studying the plans, I don’t see anything I didn’t already know. There’s an open area where the tracks come in and out, enormous windows, and a mechanical room—which was rumored to have a secret distillery during prohibition.

But this time, I compare it to Mama’s sketch. Nothing matches up, as I also already knew. Plus, there is that additional set of steps leading up to the structure in her drawing. But Mama wanted to see the train station blueprints, so I study it harder.

I stare at both until my eyes go blurry, but I don’t see any connections.

None whatsoever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I’M AT THEFine Bone before it opens, doing all the things I hate but are part of being a restaurant owner—scrubbing grease pans, polishing sauce bottles and silverware, and wiping down the dishes.

That’s right—The Fine Bone is open again!

As it turns out, I found some critical information in the Graham County law records. The train stations of Blue Vine—with trains coming in from other counties—have to follow the state law not the county law. And Georgia’s state law states that alcohol can be served after 12:30 p.m. on Sundays, not one o’clock. That time is only for Graham County.

And since The Fine Bone is on property that’s still zoned for a train station, Elliot wasn’t in violation of the law when he served alcohol at 12:47 p.m.

It appears my “useless” obsession with Blue Vine history finally proved to be helpful in a practical way.Veryhelpful.

Even better, I’ve convinced Mr. LeBeau to give me another shot at a loan. At the thought, I wipe the smudge off a glass with a smile.

And am I terrified? Absolutely.

But I’m doing it anyway.

“Poppins. Your napkin fans are sloppy.” I look up to see Pops standing in the doorway, his apron on.

“Pops,” I cry out, rushing over and pulling him into a hug. “You came back.”

“Well, I had to. You were about to run this place into the ground.”

I step away, and when I meet his gaze, I can’t help but notice his eyes are sparkling. Wincing, I say, “So, you heard about the liquor license?”

“Poppins, all of Georgia heard about the liquor license.” He peers at me over the rims of his glasses.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Nope.” He puts a hand up. “They set you up. It was unfair.”

“It was, kinda.”

“Jack called. As it turns out, the complaint that caused the inspector to set up the sting was bogus. Someone in San Francisco has a vendetta against Jack.”

I slap my hand on the counter. “I knew something fishy was up with that.”

“So, you got our liquor license back”—his face is unreadable—“on a technicality.”

“Dang straight I did.”

He grins. “And I’m proud.”

“Thank you.” I smile ear to ear. Then as the implications of Pops’s news settles in, I let out a whoosh of air. “So, the original complaint wasn’t my fault?”

“No, kid, that wasn’t.” He narrows his eyes. “But the paper towels all over the bathroom floor sure is.”

I burst into laughter. “An investor was here when the inspector arrived. It wasn’t one of my all-star moments.” I never got to deep clean yesterday because I headed to the records office instead.

“Look, Claire, if you want this space, I’ll just give it to you.” He shrugs. “I can’t take it with me when I go.”

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