But I couldn’t tell Max any of that, and he had a bigger problem on his hands. Like the fact that Ruth was going to lose her shit the moment she saw what he expected us to wear. “And you’re sure you didn’t clear this with Ruth?”
Max gave me a look of disgust. “I don’t have to clear everything with Ruth. I have a mind of my own.”
“Yeah, well you may have a mind,” I said, shaking my head, “but we both know that she has the final say.”
“I’m the owner of Max’s Tavern,” he said, his back straightening. “My name is on the building, and on the menus, and on the lease.”
“You don’t have a lease for this building,” I countered. “You own it outright. Your daddy gave it to you.”
His eyes darkened. “That may be true, but this place is mine, and you two girls best remember that.” He tried to sound gruff, but Max was incapable of being gruff and rude unless someone was threatening his staff or he was drunk. In those situations, he could be plenty mean. “The best news is that this is only the beginning. I have a whole bunch more stuff coming tomorrow.”
I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes. “When you say a whole bunch more stuff . . . ?”
“We’re getting merch,” he said with a huge smile.
I propped my hands on my hips. “Merch?”
“Yeah, everybody has merch, so it’s about time we got some too. Especially with all the new people who will be coming to town for the resort. Just think about how much money we’ll make.”
I doubted the guests of the five-star luxury resort were liable to drop in on our hole-in-the-wall tavern, but I decided to let Max keep his fantasy for now and focus on something else. “So let me get this straight, you have more stuff coming with that logo on it? What, exactly, are you planning to sell?”
His eyes lit up at my sudden interest. “Oh, you know, the usual stuff. T-shirts, key chains, belt buckles, mugs, shot glasses.”
“And you’ve already ordered all of this stuff?” I asked, trying to hide my horror.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I figured we might as well put it out there all at once.”
I shook my head. “And where do you plan on putting this stuff?”
“Behind the bar,” he said. “I can hang the T-shirts from the walls, and I can have Wyatt put a shelf up to display the other merchandise.”
The fact that Max had probably just bought thousands of dollars’ worth of crap that he wouldn’t be able to sell wasn’t exactly my problem, but as his friend, I felt like it was. As soon as Ruth walked through the back door at about 4:50, we’d be having a big bonfire out back, with the contents of that box used for kindling.
For now, I was stuck wearing one of the hideous shirts. I didn’t want to hurt Max’s feelings any more than I probably already had, so I just snatched it out of his hand and headed toward the bathroom to change. The lunch crowd would be showing up in ten minutes, and I still had to check in with Tiny about the daily special and make sure the dining room was ready.
After I changed, Tiny told me, through plenty of snickering over my shirt, that the special was his famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a definite favorite with the residents of Drum. Word would spread, and the dinner crowd would likely be bigger than usual.
Trixie showed up a few minutes later, and she seemed even less thrilled than I was with our change in uniform, not that she had time to complain. Ginger had the day off, so it was just the two of us, and a crowd had already formed outside the front door, waiting to come in.
We were one of only two restaurants in close proximity to the new resort’s construction site, and we were the only ones who served beer. We opened promptly at noon, so the construction workers, who only got an hour for lunch, usually began arriving as we unlocked the doors. Since it was about a twenty-five-minute round trip, they didn’t like to be kept waiting.
We had a good crowd today, and I’m sure part of the reason was the fact that we had air conditioning. Drum was in the mountains, at least, but it was still mid-June in Tennessee. The next hour was absolute madness, a never-ending rotation of sweet tea, beer, and meatloaf. I was constantly hustling, but I still had to deal with at least half a dozen snarky comments about my shirt.
Around one thirty, the crowd began to thin out. I was in the middle of bussing a table when an unfamiliar woman walked in—unusual around these parts. We had plenty of new people around, but most of them were men, workers at the resort. I knew all the regulars, as well as the mothers of the kids from the tutoring club I’d started a few months ago.
She looked to be in her forties, with stringy, graying blond hair that hung slightly past her shoulders. Something in her eyes told me that she’d lived a hard life, although that wasn’t too uncommon in these parts. She was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a ratty button-down shirt that looked to be a decade old. Her hair probably hadn’t seen a hairdresser in a matching decade, and something about her eyes was hard, like she’d shank me and not feel an ounce of guilt.
She stopped at the entrance and scanned the room until her gaze landed on me for several seconds. Then she headed right for me.
A moment of panic set in, but I told myself I was being ridiculous. This woman was short and thin, and there was no way she could do me any bodily harm, especially with Max behind the bar, and Tiny, our two-hundred-and-eighty-pound, six-foot-four-tall cook, in the kitchen. Nevertheless, something about her set my teeth on edge. Maybe because there was something familiar about her after all, but in a way I couldn’t place.
A new surge of panic hit me. Was this woman from my past? Did she know me as Caroline Blakely? I didn’t look anything like my former self, from my Target wardrobe to my long bob that brushed my shoulders, dyed a rich auburn. Caroline had long, wavy blond hair and a designer wardrobe.
I cast a worried glance at Max.
If this woman knew me from my past, what would I do if she talked about it in front of everyone? Even though Max had guessed that Carly Moore wasn’t my real name, I wasn’t ready to totally come clean. Then again, Max’s mother had called me Caroline in front of him less than two weeks ago, and his father had known the truth for months. The more people who knew about my real identity or, more importantly, the five-hundred-thousand-dollar bounty my father had placed on my head—under the pretext of offering a reward for my safe return—the more danger I was in.
The woman stopped and sat at the table, which was still covered in dirty dishes, next to the one I was bussing.
“There’s a clean table over by the window,” I said with a smile. My heart was beating as fast as a jackrabbit’s.
“This one’ll do,” she said in a raspy voice, pinning me with her gaze. “I’ll take a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.”
“What kind of pie?” I asked, smiling until the corners of my mouth felt pinched. “Today we’ve got apple, strawberry, and lemon custard. They’re made fresh daily by—”
“I don’t care which kind. Just bring one,” she said roughly, lifting a brow.
The woman couldn’t have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet, but she was terrifying, even if I couldn’t pinpoint why. I still had that strange sense of familiarity, from her looks and her voice, but I could swear I’d never seen her before.