Page 59 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
She continued her systematic examination, discovering paint tubes in a drawer next to kitchen utensils, more canvases blocking access to the storage area, and what appeared to be paint water in a container near the hand-washing station—all the things Anna had meant to move but hadn’t quite gotten to yet.
“Ma’am,” the inspector said to Anna, “are you aware that art supplies can’t be stored in food service areas?”
Anna looked stricken. “I was moving them. We were trying to relocate everything properly, but the timing?—”
“I understand you’re preparing for an arts festival, but food safety regulations don’t allow for temporary art supply storage in food service areas,” Inspector Martinez said, not unkindly but firmly.
At that moment, Tyler appeared in the doorway, camera bag over his shoulder, taking in the scene of official paperwork and family tension. “Hey, what happened? I saw the health department car outside and got here as fast as I could.”
“After she left,” Joey observed, but quietly this time.
“I was working,” Tyler said, looking around at the situation. “What can I do to help?”
Meg immediately went into crisis management mode, but this time she had backup. Anna was already systematically moving supplies, Tyler stepped in to help coordinate, and the teenagers organized cleaning materials without being asked.
“The food safety protocols are clearly well-maintained,” Inspector Martinez said after her walkthrough. “However, the presence of art supplies in food service areas is a serious concern. I’m going to issue a warning citation that needs to be addressed within forty-eight hours.”
“Of course,” Margo said quietly from the kitchen doorway, where she’d been watching their coordinated response. “We’ll take care of it immediately.”
“I’ll need documentation that the violations have been corrected.” Inspector Martinez handed over official paperwork. “Follow-up inspection in one week.”
The moment the door closed behind her, the restaurant felt heavy with shared disappointment.
“A citation,” Meg said quietly, staring at the official paperwork. “We actually got a citation.”
“Even though we were trying,” Anna said, voice small. “I really was trying to do better. We were working together, and it still wasn’t enough.”
“It matters that we tried,” Tyler said, surprising everyone. “That we were actually working as a team this time.”
“But I still caused this,” Anna said. “I was here too early, I didn’t move things fast enough?—“
“We all caused this,” Meg said, closing her laptop. “I should have helped you set better boundaries from the start. Tyler, you should have been here. I should have stopped my own work chaos.”
“And I should have insisted on proper setup from day one,” Margo said, stepping forward with the citation. “Fifty years without a violation,” Margo said quietly, holding the citation. “That record meant something to me.”
She looked around the room—at Anna, still clutching her paint-stained rag like an apology; at Meg, laptop dark for once; at Tyler, finally present but too late to change the outcome.
“You did work together,” she said at last. “Just not soon enough.”
No one argued.
The only sound was the slow hiss of the grill and the scratch of Inspector Martinez’s pen fading from memory. Stella shifted the dish bin to the counter, but even that small noise felt too loud.
“Art supplies out of the kitchen,” Margo said, turning back toward the pass-through window. “We have forty-eight hours.”
“All of us,” Anna murmured.
Meg nodded, but it wasn’t agreement—it was exhaustion. “All of us,” she echoed.
Margo didn’t look back. “We’ll see.”
The spatula hit the grill with a sharp metallic sound, final as a closing door.
No one spoke after that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The boardwalk ice cream stand was half-lit, one of the bulbs flickering like it was dying a slow death. The salty air mixed with the competing scents of sugar cones and sunscreen from beachgoers packing up for the day. Seagulls circled overhead with the patient persistence of teenagers waiting for dropped food.
