Page 62 of The Fall Back Plan
I walk back to the station and settle into my desk chair, but a hunch has me checking Happenings before I can tackle any real work.
Sure enough, there’s a post two minutes old. “The sheriff is asking around town about who sells porcelain dolls. Hope he’s also asking if the Mockingbird owner has bought any of them.”
I groan. I just indirectly fed the HHH fire. I consider myself to be a smart guy, but I swear, something about Jolie regularly makes me lose my common sense.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jolie
Iexaminemyreflection,not sure how I feel.
I’m about to head to the bar dressed in jeans and an olive green sweater Tina made me buy yesterday. She was delighted to come shopping after I donated almost all my old clothes the day before and spent three hours bossing me in and out of dressing rooms.
The sweater is long sleeved and fitted but not tight. The thing is, it has a cutout in the chest area, an oval shape where it looks like I’m wearing a long-sleeved crop top over a matching shell, kind of? The cutout is only about five inches wide and doesn’t even show a hint of cleavage, but it still feels sort of scandalous?
Man, I’ve been in suits for too long.
I add some brown leather booties with a stacked heel, and suddenly I feel like exactly the customer Tequila Mockingbird is supposed to cater to: a trendy young professional out for a fun evening.
Not that I expect work to be fun. Last night’s numbers were dismal. I built lulls into my first-year operating costs, knowing it would take time to get a new place off the ground and develop a clientele of regulars. But that assumes steady growth. We’re going the other direction this week.
That’s okay if it’s only a week. But I still remember a popular sandwich shop going out of business when I was in high school—Hogg Jay’s—because someone spread a rumor that they found a fingertip in their chicken salad. Never mind that all the store workers had all their fingertips; the rumor was enough, everyone claiming to have “seen a picture” of it, but no one ever being able to produce that photo.
Interestingly, three members of the baseball team had been kicked out the day before the rumor started due to rowdiness, but the fingertip story was too good to pass up sharing, sothatwas the story that made the rounds, and Hogg Jay’s disappeared.
“It was just one bad week, right?” I say to Ry when he pops by my office.
“I put Precious on call instead of scheduling her tonight because there weren’t enough tips for Tina and Daniel to split last night and buy even a gallon of gas.”
I wince but shake my head and fix a smile on my face anyway. “One bad week,” I repeat.
“One bad week.” He gives me a tired smile.
“Ry? Jolie?” It’s Sophie, hollering from the front entrance.
We walk out as she’s on her way to the office.
“Don’t you believe them,” Sophie says, shaking her phone.
Ry and I trade confused looks. “Believe what?” he asks.
Her eyes shift between us before she slumps a tiny bit. “You didn’t see yet?”
I doubt I want to know, but I ask. “See what?”
She hands me her phone, the Trip Planner app open. It’s the most popular app for tourists or anyone wanting to check out a local business online. A one-star review dated today catches my eye first since it’s the top review. “Pretentious wannabe bar with second-rate décor. Perfect if you want to overpay for watered-down drinks,” I read aloud. I suck my teeth. “Tell us how you really feel, reviewer ‘Captain HH.’”
Ry has his phone out now. “Only go here if you want to hang out with a criminal creeper. Just watch the owner. You’ll see.” He rubs his forehead as he reads.
“You ignore those, y’all,” Sophie says, her expression fierce. “There’s plenty of good ones here too.”
“Like this one?” I ask. “‘Quit hating on a really cool new local spot just because you can’t get over high school, you has-been downhillers.’ That’s from a Sophie D.” I turn to Ry with a pretend puzzled look. “You know anyone who could be Sophie D?”
Sophie folds her arms across her chest. “I’m not wrong. And it’s not only me saying nice things.”
I skim a few more. She’s right. There are people defending the Mockingbird, but it’s half and half, and a handful of five stars won’t help when there are just as many one stars.
“I appreciate you trying,” I tell Sophie.
