Page 18 of The Hampton Beach Café
“A glass of whatever sparkling wine you have,” she said, reaching for her phone to pay.
“No, no, it's my turn,” Clarkson said, swooping in to place his credit card on the mobile terminal the waiter held out expectantly.
With the waiter satisfied and on their way back to the bar, Clarkson took the opportunity to stir the pot a little.
“So, why is she in trouble?”
“Well, I'm assuming by that little interaction…” she said, wiggling her fingers at Clarkson, “…that you paid with the app on your phone?”
What? Frances looked between Lucinda and her phone in confusion.
“Yeah?”
“Frances, where's your purse?” Lucinda asked pointedly.
Her hand snapped to her leg, feeling for the familiar lump in her pocket. Nothing.
But she had left with it...hadn't she?
“Did I leave it at the hotel?” she asked. “That's not even bad! You scared me!”
A derisive snort from Lucinda told her she was wrong before the reply even came, “Well, according to the nice stranger who found and called our hotel room, you left it in an art gallery when you left without saying goodbye––apparently––after throwing a coffee on the ground?”
Oh...she had done that.
“I forgot I had it. I'm not used to carrying it with me when I'm out walking! Then I got distracted by Veronica and the auction, and then we were here––“
“Auction?” Lucinda said. “What auction? Why was Veronica in Hampton Beach?”
Suddenly she felt even more nauseous than when she thought she'd lost her purse.
“She...wasn't,” Frances started to explain. “She called. And...well, there's something I kind of did.”
The way Clarkson's eyes darted between the two of them, Frances could have sworn he was trying to lighten the mood with slapstick.
“Oh?” Lucinda said, worried.
“Oh, this should be interesting,” Clarkson said as the waiter arrived with their drinks. Lucinda's espresso martini lit up with yet another sparkler.
***
“You bought a business at a liquidation auction…” Lucinda asked, her voice a professional calm, “…without seeing it? Without looking at a single piece of information about why they defaulted, how the loans were structured or running it past any of your advisers?”
Frances cringed. It wasn't that Lucinda was wrong; it was just that it was one thing for Frances to worry about these things silently in her mind and a totally different thing to have them said to her by one of the best business coaches in the industry.
“In my defense...I do know why they went into liquidation. The auctioneer ran through it all at the beginning,” Frances said quickly. “And the loans the previous owners defaulted on are actually on another property, so there is nothing outstanding on this one at all. The taxes are all paid up! And I have seen the inside...a while ago.”
“Twenty years!” Lucinda exclaimed, the calm mask cracking. “When you were a kid and wouldn't have cared if there was dry rot or structural problems so long as it didn't stop you from going to the mall after school!”
Again, not wrong, just unwelcome.
“I know! But I couldn't let that developer have it...” she said sheepishly, “…besides, you were right. I do need a project.”
The way Lucinda's eye twitched could have been intentional, but Frances felt like it probably wasn't.
“I meant like take up painting again, or renovate an apartment in LA while you lived in it, or get a dog! Not blindly buy a failed business and move across the country!”
Clarkson hadn't said anything since Frances had started retelling the afternoon's adventures, but now he cleared his throat, and the two women looked at him.
