“What do you mean...something good?”
“It’s pretty clear she’s taken with you, too. Maybe if you plied her with some compliments, she’d drop a hint or two about her customers’ favorite menu items. And we could rustle up some similar recipes.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute, here. That’s way too James Bond for me, pal. You know as well as anyone that my face is an open book. Even if I was willing to go all double agent for you—and I’m not—I could never pull off something like that. Besides, why are you worried? The Right Note is a diner. This isn’t. No competition.”
“Says you.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll do it.”
Sam laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Torry cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, guys, but there’s a young lady here to see you, Sam.”
Epps stepped out from behind him. “Hi, Captain Marshall. If you aren’t busy, I wonder if I could have a moment of your time.”
Every time his dad had caught him red-handed at one sort of boyhood mischief or another, he’d say “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” That was how Epps looked right now.
“We’re about to go onstage,” he told her.
She glanced around. “And play to an empty room? Ugh. That’s gotta be a major bummer.”
Mark frowned at her. “We’ll just consider it a dress rehearsal.”
Epps gave his paternal tone a second’s worth of consideration before facing Sam again. “Do you mind if I hang around? I’d like to talk to you between sets.”
He had a notion to tell her he minded—minded a lot. Instead, he gave the G key of his MacCubbin Sitka guitar a tweak, then ran a thumb over the bronze-wound strings.
“Nice,” Mark said, strumming his Epiphone Hummingbird. “What say we organize a dueling-guitars night, see which one the audience likes best.”
Sam’s fingers flew over the fret board as he worked out a short lick of their opening number. “You’re on, pal.”
Epps applauded, then beamed up at him, resembling every groupie who’d stood at the foot of the stage, their wide, bright eyes making it known that they’d do just about anything to gain the attention of the Marks Brothers. If Finn had gazed at him that way, Sam would be in trouble. Big trouble.
Days ago, Epps had hinted at needing a tutor to help with the math and memorization portions of the upcoming exam. That very afternoon, Sam had sought out his captain’s advice. It had taken a full minute for the man to list all of Epps’s high-ranking department relatives. If Sam agreed to help her—and the sessions proved successful—he might earn a few brownie points. But if things went sideways? Well, an unhappy Epps meant an unhappy family. A well-connected, powerful, unhappy family. Next day, he’d made it clear that one-on-one sessions wouldn’t be fair to the others. Not clear enough, evidently. Tonight, he’d nip it in the bud. The biggest challenge? Saying no without hurting or embarrassing her.
“So it’s okay if I stay, then?”
Sam sent her a careful, controlled smile. “If you were my kid, I wouldn’t want you out this late on a stormy night, but I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Are you sure?” Mark gave her a quick once-over. “’Cause after that lukewarm review, last thing we need is the cops marching in here, writing up citations and doling out fines because we’re serving underage kids.”
“Forget that article,” Sam advised. “Most people won’t even read it, and the few who do won’t let it keep them away. It’s apples and oranges, remember? And you can quit worrying about the Age Police showing up, too. Epps here is one of my new recruits.”
“That’s right. And Captain Marshall knows I’m of age because I had to include a copy of my birth certificate with my application to the academy.” Epps giggled. “Which way to the ladies room?”
Mark pointed and, once she was out of earshot, said, “I don’t know how you do it, dude.” He glanced in the direction Epps had gone. “Old, young, married, single—women fall all over themselves when you’re around.”
All but one. “You’re crazy.”
“Hmph. If you were a real friend, you’d tell me your secret.”
Sam had known Mark long enough to realize the futility of arguing the point. So he faked a big laugh. “This is the perfect example of the old ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you’ scenario.”
“Oh, man,” Torry said. “It’s gettin’ deep in here.” He backpedaled toward the hall. “If you need me, I’ll be in the office, changing into my waders.”
The men’s laughter echoed through the club.
“What’s so funny?” Epps asked as she returned to the stage area.
“Private joke. Guy stuff,” Sam said by way of explanation.
The adoring glint in her eyes reminded him how essential it was to set her straight tonight.
What were the chances that someday Finn would look at him this way?
“CAN YOU BELIEVE this wind?”
“The rain is falling sideways!”
“You don’t think we’re in for another 2010, do you?”
Ciara, Bean and Ted stood side by side at the window, staring out at the street.
Rowdy used a meat mallet to hammer on the service counter. “Get away from that window, you bunch o’ goofballs. If this storm spins into a tornado like it did in ’98...”
The trio exchanged worried glances.
“You’ll be safe back here, washing up this mountain of dishes. And there’s a shipment of canned goods to unbox and shelve. Don’t make me count to ten, or—”
Finn watched all three hustle into the kitchen and get right to work, smiling because they knew as well as she did that Rowdy’s paternal glare was 100 percent bark, zero percent bite.
Jimmy stopped loading the dishwasher. “What happens if he gets to ten?”
“You ride that conveyor belt,” Rowdy answered. “And get the insubordination washed outta ya, that’s what!”
Ciara laughed. “You’re such a big silly, Rowdy. Everyone knows—everyone knows Jimmy can’t fit through that machine.”
Smiling, Finn went back to the stack of invoices on her desk. Oh, how she loved the people who’d become more family than employees! She and Ciara might not have the most normal parents in the world, but they had a whole lot of other things to be thankful for. A roof over their heads. Overstuffed closets. More than enough to eat. And a thriving business that would—
An earsplitting crash drowned out the kitchen sounds, followed by the unmistakable tinkle of glass shattering.
“I knew they should’ve cut down that old tree!” Rowdy shouted.
“What?” Finn was on her feet and beside him in an instant, staring, slack-jawed, at the still-dripping leaves and branches that filled the entire right side of The Right Note.
Rowdy ordered the diners and staff to stay put, then dialed 911.
Finn glanced around. At still-spinning red-vinyl stools, bent at awkward angles near the snack bar. At bench seats and tables torn from the bolts securing them to the black-and-white-tiled