Dark Hollows. Steve Frech
is it just me or was that a little weird?” I ask.
I look over and see his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
“Oh, yeah. You’re a dog.”
I pop the truck into gear and roll down the driveway. I turn onto Normandy Lane, take one last look at the cottage in the rearview mirror, and head towards town.
*
Groundworks is busy, which is good. Aside from the revenue, I want it busy so the Alliance Capital rep can see that it’s a thriving business.
Heads turn at the sound of the jingling bells on the door when Murphy and I walk in. There are a few regulars I recognize, like Reverend Williams from the Old Stone Church. He usually drops by once a month, but most of the customers are tourists I’ve never seen before. They may not know who I am, but Murphy is the ultimate kryptonite, and everyone is instantly enamored.
I’ll share a little secret with you; at first, I hated this place. From the moment it opened, I regretted staking everything I had on it. I felt like I had thrown all my money away on something I could never get off the ground. Now, I love it. The smell of fresh coffee penetrates every surface. The constant hiss of the cappuccino maker. The perfect view of The Hollows’ main thoroughfare, capped by the Old Stone Church at the end of the street. The location had been expensive, but it paid off.
Sandy is manning the register, while Tom and Sheila, two local high school kids, race back and forth, concocting drinks. The line is sizable, but not unreasonable.
“Hey, Sandy,” I say, stepping behind the counter.
“Hey, boss,” she tosses over her shoulder, and redirects her attention to the man at the counter. “That’ll be $18.47.”
The man hands her a twenty. Sandy makes the change.
Sandy’s a bit younger than me, and has a single-mindedness in her pursuits. She wants to be successful in business, and she will be if I have any say in it. When Groundworks started to take off, it was too much for me. I didn’t know how to keep the momentum going. Sandy did.
“We’ll call your name when it’s ready.”
The man turns, and goes to wait by the creamer station.
“How’s it been today?” I ask.
She multi-tasks as she answers. “Good. I’ve placed the orders. The new napkins with the logos arrive next week. Colton’s Bakery is late with the brownies, again. Other than that, it’s a good day.”
“What would I do without you, Sandy?”
She turns to me with all seriousness. “Two stores when the franchise kicks in. That’s the deal.”
“Done. Is he here?”
She nods over to the corner of the restaurant.
“Yep. Over in the booth.”
I follow the gesture, and see a bald guy with glasses sitting in the corner booth, next to the window. He’s got a laptop and a latte in front of him. He’s thumbing through his phone, and occasionally glances out the window to the shops and the town green across the street.
“You didn’t charge him, did you?”
Sandy comically rolls her eyes.
“Good,” I reply, and head towards the booth.
“Two stores,” she calls after me.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Murphy gets up and follows me.
The man looks up as I slide into the opposite seat across the table.
“Hi. I’m Jacob Reese.”
“Gregory Tiller. Alliance Capital. Pleased to meet you,” he says and extends his hand.
We shake.
“Good to meet you. This is Murphy,” I say, with a flick of the wrist in Murphy’s direction.
Tiller nods at him. “Hi, Murphy.”
“So,” I begin. “What do you think of the place?”
“Well, as you know, this is just a preliminary scouting trip. I’m pretty low on the totem pole, and have to report back my initial findings, but I have to tell you, I love it—the décor, the themes, the menu. It’s really impressive and your associate … ummm …”
“Sandy.”
“Yes. Sandy. She and I went over a lot of the finances before you got here and, I don’t mean to sound rude, but you could be making so much more with this place.”
“Well, I hope that’s where you come in.”
He smiles. “Good answer.” He consults his laptop. “Now, I believe I have everything I need to set up a meeting with Helen Trifauni. She’s one of our brand developers. She’s tough, but fair, and I think she’ll really go for this place.”
“Perfect.”
“Great. How does next week sound?”
“Fine with me, but it’s getting really close to Halloween, and it might be a little chaotic here in The Hollows. We tend to go all out. There’s the parade and everyone dresses up. It’s kind of a madhouse.”
“That’s what we want. It will add to the charm of Groundworks.”
“Then next week is perfect.”
He looks out the window to the green, where preliminary decorations are starting to take shape for the celebration. “Everyone dresses up?”
“Yeah. There’s a costume contest that some of us business owners take pretty seriously.”
“How seriously?”
“That seriously,” I say, pointing to the trophy sitting on a shelf on the wall near the door.
He laughs. “There’s a trophy?”
I nod.
“And last year, you won?”
“And the year before that and the year before that and the year before that,” I answer.
“What’s your costume for this year?”
I good-naturedly shake my head. “Everyone keeps their costume a secret.”
It’s true. None of us who enter the competition want to tip our hand. My costume was delivered over a month ago. It’s sitting on a shelf in my hall closet. Tiller’s question reminds me to talk to the post office, because the box was partially open when it was delivered.
“Will you win?” Tiller asks.
“Yep.”
“Love it. Well then, we’re on.”
We shake hands, again.
“If this works out,” he says, sitting back and gazing out the window, “there could be a Groundworks Coffee in dozens of towns in two years, and in five years, who knows?” He takes a sideways glance at me. “And that could potentially mean a couple million for you.”
“I can live with that.”
Tiller and I trade some more polite conversation. He starts talking about working Murphy into the logo. I tell him it’s all great, and of course, acting as his agent, Murphy would love to do it.
By the time we wrap up, it’s dark, and it’s close to closing time. We shake hands one last time, and agree to set up a meeting next week, based on Mrs Trifauni’s schedule.
Once he’s gone, I check in with the staff, and Murphy and I head towards the door.
“Email me the day’s receipts,” I call over my shoulder to Sandy.
“Two stores!” she reminds