Chapter 1
Tuesday, June 30
For all her MBA, fancy Boston job, and perfect French manicure, my sister Lorel was still at the mercy of her passion for the bad boy of Mystic Bay, Connecticut, Patrick Yardley.
In the frame of the Lazy Mermaid’s front window, Patrick and Lorel kissed, Patrick astride his Harley, totally ignoring the “get a room” looks from customers heading into my aunt Gully’s lobster shack.
“What’s a guy got to do to get some chowder around here?” a customer at the counter said.
“Sorry.” I served him a bowl. He added crackers and dropped his spoon in with a splash.
Lorel hurried in, the roar of Patrick’s Harley following her as he gunned out of the parking lot.
Aunt Gully shot me a warning glance and grabbed a plate from the kitchen pass-through.
“What?” Lorel smoothed her gold-blond hair.
“I didn’t say anything.” I wiped drips of chowder spattered by the sloppy customer. He threw me a look. “No need to rub a hole in the counter, honey.”
Lorel joined me behind the counter. “Patrick and I were talking about a new social media campaign for New Salt.”
“Since last night when he picked you up for dinner?” I muttered.
She brushed past me into the kitchen.
Two men in Harbor Patrol polo shirts bellied up to the counter and scanned the chalkboard menu on the wall behind me.
“What can I get you, gentlemen?” I said, trying to swallow my irritation with Lorel.
Bertha Betancourt, Mystic Bay’s Lobster Lady, shifted aside to let the two men get closer to the counter. Bertha’s family had been lobstering in Mystic Bay since the town was founded and her Learn to Lobster cruises were a popular tourist attraction. She leaned toward Aunt Gully.
“Gully, when I pulled up those lobster pots, I had a feeling, you know how you get a feeling?” Bertha’s round, sun-reddened face crinkled into a grin. “Well, I reached over and what do I see? Some joker’s stuffed a wolffish in one of my pots. Ugly monster nearly took my hand off!”
“God bless America!” Aunt Gully chuckled.
“That woke me up, let me tell you!” Bertha swigged her mug of coffee as if it were a tankard of rum. “Shoulda been there, Gully. Ugliest thing you ever did see.”
No. The ugliest thing ever was the thought of my sister rekindling her relationship with the guy who’d been breaking her heart since middle school.
The two men ordered lobster rolls with extra coleslaw. I clipped the order to a metal wheel and turned it into the kitchen.
Lorel frowned at me through the pass-through window. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what I’m doing.”
I started after Lorel, but Aunt Gully pulled me back. “I don’t like it either, Allie, but she’s a grown woman. And love is never a mistake.” She picked up two plates with overflowing lobster rolls. “Though sometimes it’s a learning experience.” She brought the plates to a couple seated by the front door.
I sighed. “Everyone loves the bad boys.”
Some people would say that Lorel was out of Patrick’s league. Others would say Patrick was out of hers. The problem was that they were in different leagues. Patrick’s bar/restaurant, New Salt, catered to Mystic Bay’s yacht-club set. Rumors, about drugs mostly, drifted around the club like tendrils of fog on the bay. Sure, Patrick looked like the cover of a romance novel come to life, but he’d had numerous brushes with the law. Was I the only woman in Mystic Bay who was immune to his charms?
The wall phone shrilled. I picked it up. “Lazy Mermaid Lobster Shack.”
“This is Zoe Parker, personal assistant to Stellene Lupo. I’d like to speak to Gina Fontana about catering.” The clipped voice made me feel like I was wasting her time.
“Gina Fontana?” For a second the name didn’t register. My aunt Gully was Gully to everyone from Mystic Bay. No one here called her by her given name, Gina.
Lorel came out of the kitchen’s swinging door, tying an apron behind her back.
I caught Lorel’s eye and enunciated clearly. “Sorry, we don’t do catering.”
“Who is it?” Lorel said.
I pressed the phone to my chest. “Somebody somebody, personal assistant to Stellene Lupo.” As soon as I said the name it registered. Stellene Lupo.
Lorel yanked the phone from my hands.
“The Stellene Lupo?” Aunt Gully hurried back to the counter. “She owns that big modeling agency in New York.”
Bertha turned. “And the Harmony Harbor estate!”
Lorel covered one ear and murmured on the phone, using her money voice, all modulated and clearly enunciated. “Catering? Of course.”
Of course? “What?”
Lorel waved me off and turned her back.
Catering? We’d never done catering. My aunt’s Lazy Mermaid Lobster Shack had just opened this past spring. Business wasn’t just good. It was overwhelming. There was a line waiting to get in as soon as we opened the doors at eleven. We’d talked about what my MBA sister called other “income streams” including catering, but we’d decided to just get through the busy summer tourist season first. Now she was talking about catering?
A group wearing neon-green NEW ENGLAND LOBSTER TRAIL T-shirts surged through the screen door into the shack. Aunt Gully turned to greet them. “Welcome, lobster lovers!”
“I’ll have Mrs. Fontana get back to you,” Lorel said. “She’s in a meeting right now.” Aunt Gully posed for a selfie with a stocky guy wearing a baseball hat decorated with red foam lobster claws.
“Thank you so much. Good-bye.” Lorel hung up and jotted notes on an order pad.
I put my hands on my hips. “I thought we didn’t do catering.”
Lorel’s green eyes sparkled. “We do now.”
Aunt Gully leaned over the counter. “You look like the cat that got the cream, Lorel.”
“Our ship has just come in, Aunt Gully,” Lorel said.
Copyright © 2018 by Shari Randall
