LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Ryan,” she said when she answered. “Good to hear from you.”

      In the background he could hear people talking. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

      “Actually we’re getting ready for the lunch rush, but I have a minute.”

      “I just have a quick question. You may already know the answer.”

      “Sure,” she said as someone called her name in the background. “I’ll try. What do you need to know?”

      “I’m looking through the files here and can’t find a fire inspection for your restaurant after 1973. Do you happen to know if your father kept certificates for Pop’s separate from the City Hall files?”

      “I can tell you they’re not here. I’ve been doing the paperwork for the restaurant since March and I’ve found nothing like that. Just a bunch of tax stuff. Receipts and the like. Some of it goes way back to before I was born. Apparently Pop didn’t like to throw anything away.” She paused. “At least he kept neat files. He was a stickler for that.”

      That matched up with what he’d found here at the office. Still he had to ask once more. “You’re sure? Nothing at all that might look like an inspection?”

      “Positive. Why?”

      He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as the sinking feeling took hold. “Just wanted to be sure. Thanks.”

      “Is something wrong?”

      “Just making sure the files here are complete, that’s all.”

      “All right.” A loud noise split the silence. “Okay, I’ve got to run, but the offer to try our buttermilk pie’s still good.”

      “Thanks, Leah,” he said as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

      Unfortunately the next time he showed up at Pop’s Seafood Shack, it wouldn’t be for the pie.

      * * *

      Leah slid the phone into her pocket then leaned against the counter. What had that been about?

      “I’ve got to check something upstairs. I’ll be right back,” she called to Orlando. He waved in acknowledgment then returned to stirring the sauce for the bread pudding.

      The warm scent of pudding baking chased Leah up the narrow rear stairway and into the tiny cubicle Pop called his office. Really nothing more than a glorified broom closet with a view, the lone window offered the best place to watch the sun rise and set over the Gulf.

      Settling onto Pop’s chair, Leah let out a long breath as she ran her fingers over the handle to the cabinet. Inside were thick files filled with documents related to the restaurant, everything from the building plans to old menus and bank statements. Though she knew the contents by heart, Leah once again searched the files for anything that looked like a fire inspection.

      “Leah?” Orlando called. “Everything okay up there?”

      She stood and closed the door behind her. “It’s fine.” Leah met Orlando at the bottom of the stairs. His expression told her that he was still curious. “Just looking for some papers,” she told him. “A fire inspection. Do you remember the last time the restaurant had one?”

      The cook shrugged. “That was Carl’s department. I just fry the shrimp.”

      “And look after me,” she said.

      “Just doing what I promised your pop I’d do.” But her lighthearted tone didn’t stop Orlando. “Why’re you asking about a fire inspection?”

      Leah didn’t immediately reply. There was no need to upset Orlando.

      “You can’t fool me,” he said as he placed his work-roughened hand over hers. “Now just spill it. What’s got you worried?”

      All the starch went out of her. “All right. Let me ask you something. Do you think Pop would purposefully skip the fire inspections on this place?”

      “Your father’s a good man. I can’t imagine he would do that.”

      “Regardless of the reason, I’m afraid that’s exactly what has happened. I’ve got no records on file of inspection results, and I can’t imagine that Ryan would call and ask me to check for them if he had any results on file up at the courthouse.” Tears brimmed, but Leah blinked them back. “We won’t pass, will we?”

      To his credit, Orlando appeared to give the question due consideration. Finally he sighed. “I’d like to say we will, but I just don’t know. What I do know is that you’re worrying way too much. Now, why don’t we finish the lunch rush and you can take the rest of the day off?”

      “I can’t do that,” she said.

      “And why not? Monday evening’s always the slowest night of the week.” He held her at arm’s length. “I promise I’ll call if the crowd gets too big for Kate and me to handle. Okay?”

      “You sure?”

      “Just as sure as I am that the Lord’s going to handle what we can’t.”

      Leah chuckled. “Now you sound like Pop.”

      “Good.” He made a serious face. “Now get back to work or I’ll have to tell the manager.”

      Chapter Five

      With the Monday lunch rush behind her and the evening preparations being handled by Orlando, Leah’s thoughts and her SUV turned toward home. There she could forget for just a little while, maybe immerse herself in a good book and pretend she didn’t have yet another Pop-related issue to deal with.

      No fire inspection indeed. She sighed as she climbed out of her vehicle and closed the door behind her. “No,” Leah said under her breath. “I will not worry about that today. Tomorrow has enough troubles of its own. No need to borrow any more.”

      Reaching the steps leading to her upstairs porch, a plaintive yowl alerted Leah to the fact she was not alone. She looked up to spy Baby, her oversize orange tabby, sitting midway up the steps and eyeing her lazily through half-open slits.

      As she began her trek up the stairs, an awful barking started from somewhere beyond the hedge of oleanders. The tabby’s ears went back, and her substantial tail puffed even larger as she moved carefully across the porch to wait beside the door. The barking continued, and from the sound of it, the irritated canine inside the rental next door was no lapdog.

      Leah turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open on hinges that could use oiling. Perhaps later, she decided as she paused in the doorway to let out a long breath. In the nearly eight months since coming to live here, she’d painted every surface in the studio-style cabin—except the planked pine floor—her favorite shade of eggshell white and draped the windows and frame surrounding her corner bed in gauzy curtains to match.

      The only reminder of the grand antebellum mansion that now lay in ruins was the ornate desk under the window. Once holding pride of place in her grandfather’s office, the cherrywood beauty was now the resting place for her laptop. Thankfully the piece had been on loan to the Vine Beach Public Library when the fire struck or it, too, would have been lost.

      She took a step inside, the temptation to leave the door open to the unseasonably warm salt-tinged breeze tempered by the fact she’d be listening to the mutt’s noise along with the waves. Closing the door firmly behind her, Leah pulled a sandwich out of her bag and put it away, then took the mail and went to her desk.

      With the remainder of a rare free afternoon ahead of her, she tucked a book under her arm and opened the door to see if the barking had stopped. When silence greeted her, Leah went back to the fridge for a bottle of water then downstairs to settle into her favorite deck chair beneath the faded red umbrella on the beach. Baby ambled over and joined her at a respectable distance, her pampered paws untouched by the grit of the Vine Beach sand. A moment later,

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