me.”
She folded her arms on top of the stack of purple paper and leaned toward me. “Were there other pictures? Besides the ones they took last night?”
“Yes. We weren’t in them, thankfully, but neither was anyone else. They were just a bunch of ordinary nature shots—the beach, hiking trails, rocks. Without last night’s pictures, the camera could belong to anyone visiting Winter Harbor.”
“Do you think it belongs to the people you saw a few weeks ago? At the open house?”
“Maybe. That makes the most sense. But if so, why were they there so late last night? When the house is usually empty?”
Paige opened her mouth to respond. Before she could, a coffeepot appeared on the table between us.
“You guys look hard at work,” Natalie said, setting down two cups and a sugar bowl. “Thought you might need some extra fuel for that fire.”
“Thank you!” Paige beamed and sat up straight, clearly grateful for the distraction. “You’re the best. Isn’t she the best?”
Considering how long we’d known Natalie, I thought this was a generous assessment. But then, deciding I was still feeling lingering paranoia from our first meeting as well as new, likely unnecessary, concern that she’d just been listening to Paige’s and my conversation, I tried to push all doubt aside.
“She definitely has good timing.” I smiled as Natalie filled my cup. “Thanks.”
“No problem. So what are we tackling today? Backsplash tiles? Crown molding? Copper faucet fixtures?”
Paige’s head tilted to one side. “Copper. Huh. I hadn’t thought about that.”
I held up a leather folder. “New menus.”
“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Natalie asked.
“Exactly that,” Paige said. “They’re old. Ancient, actually. And made of laminated construction paper that used to be red but faded to gray, like, fifty years ago.”
“Did the menu change at all?” Natalie asked.
“Not the dishes,” Paige said, “but their names.”
Natalie glanced at the paper Paige held up. “Why?”
“For the same reason the paint changed. To breathe new life into Betty’s and attract new business.”
Natalie nodded. Slowly.
“What?” Paige asked.
“Nothing. New life is always good.”
I watched Paige’s eyes lower to the menu, her lips turn out. “It’s just …,” Natalie continued, “I don’t know if purple paper will make a difference.”
“Would pink be better?” Paige asked.
“It wouldn’t matter if you used every color of the rainbow. People don’t care what the menu looks like.”
I kind of agreed, but Paige’s face fell so fast, I had to interject. “If they don’t, they will as soon as they see how nice these are.”
“Maybe,” Natalie said. “But I doubt it.”
“What would you suggest?” I asked. “You worked at another restaurant, right? How was business there?”
“So good, people showed up at three o’clock to wait for us to open for dinner at five.” She looked at Paige, who stared at the stream of sugar she poured from the bowl into her coffee. “But it was a very different type of place.”
I waited for Paige to respond, or at the very least, look up. “A few tips wouldn’t hurt, would they?” I asked when she did neither.
Paige sipped her coffee, forced a smile. “Sure.”
“You know what? I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything.” Natalie started to back up. “Not only is this none of my business, I’m just a waitress. What do I know?”
The apology and excuse seemed to soften Paige, who finally looked away from her drink. “Probably as much as us. If you have any secrets to restaurant success, I’d love to hear them.”
Natalie glanced behind her. When her customers appeared content, she hurried back and dropped into the empty chair.
“The place was called Mountaineers, and it was a dive,” she said, her voice quiet but excited. “A hole in the wall—of a run-down shack that most people would normally cross the street to avoid walking
She folded her arms on top of the stack of purple paper and leaned toward me. “Were there other pictures? Besides the ones they took last night?”
“Yes. We weren’t in them, thankfully, but neither was anyone else. They were just a bunch of ordinary nature shots—the beach, hiking trails, rocks. Without last night’s pictures, the camera could belong to anyone visiting Winter Harbor.”
“Do you think it belongs to the people you saw a few weeks ago? At the open house?”
“Maybe. That makes the most sense. But if so, why were they there so late last night? When the house is usually empty?”
Paige opened her mouth to respond. Before she could, a coffeepot appeared on the table between us.
“You guys look hard at work,” Natalie said, setting down two cups and a sugar bowl. “Thought you might need some extra fuel for that fire.”
“Thank you!” Paige beamed and sat up straight, clearly grateful for the distraction. “You’re the best. Isn’t she the best?”
Considering how long we’d known Natalie, I thought this was a generous assessment. But then, deciding I was still feeling lingering paranoia from our first meeting as well as new, likely unnecessary, concern that she’d just been listening to Paige’s and my conversation, I tried to push all doubt aside.
“She definitely has good timing.” I smiled as Natalie filled my cup. “Thanks.”
“No problem. So what are we tackling today? Backsplash tiles? Crown molding? Copper faucet fixtures?”
Paige’s head tilted to one side. “Copper. Huh. I hadn’t thought about that.”
I held up a leather folder. “New menus.”
“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Natalie asked.
“Exactly that,” Paige said. “They’re old. Ancient, actually. And made of laminated construction paper that used to be red but faded to gray, like, fifty years ago.”
“Did the menu change at all?” Natalie asked.
“Not the dishes,” Paige said, “but their names.”
Natalie glanced at the paper Paige held up. “Why?”
“For the same reason the paint changed. To breathe new life into Betty’s and attract new business.”
Natalie nodded. Slowly.
“What?” Paige asked.
“Nothing. New life is always good.”
I watched Paige’s eyes lower to the menu, her lips turn out. “It’s just …,” Natalie continued, “I don’t know if purple paper will make a difference.”
“Would pink be better?” Paige asked.
“It wouldn’t matter if you used every color of the rainbow. People don’t care what the menu looks like.”
I kind of agreed, but Paige’s face fell so fast, I had to interject. “If they don’t, they will as soon as they see how nice these are.”
“Maybe,” Natalie said. “But I doubt it.”
“What would you suggest?” I asked. “You worked at another restaurant, right? How was business there?”
“So good, people showed up at three o’clock to wait for us to open for dinner at five.” She looked at Paige, who stared at the stream of sugar she poured from the bowl into her coffee. “But it was a very different type of place.”
I waited for Paige to respond, or at the very least, look up. “A few tips wouldn’t hurt, would they?” I asked when she did neither.
Paige sipped her coffee, forced a smile. “Sure.”
“You know what? I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything.” Natalie started to back up. “Not only is this none of my business, I’m just a waitress. What do I know?”
The apology and excuse seemed to soften Paige, who finally looked away from her drink. “Probably as much as us. If you have any secrets to restaurant success, I’d love to hear them.”
Natalie glanced behind her. When her customers appeared content, she hurried back and dropped into the empty chair.
“The place was called Mountaineers, and it was a dive,” she said, her voice quiet but excited. “A hole in the wall—of a run-down shack that most people would normally cross the street to avoid walking
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