Meg scanned the invoice with growing concern. The amount wasn’t enormous, but it wasn’t insignificant either. “I’m sure it’s just an oversight. Let me check the accounts.”
“You do that,” Pete said, clearly having heard similar promises before. “I’ll unload today’s order, but I’ll need payment for the outstanding balance before I leave.”
Joey appeared from the dining area. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Meg said automatically, not wanting to discuss financial issues in front of staff. “Can you help Pete unload while I check on something?”
While Joey and Pete headed to the truck, Meg moved quickly to the small office tucked behind the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the Beach Shack, with its cheerful vintage surf decor and organized chaos, the office was simply chaotic—papers stacked in precarious piles, folders unlabeled, invoices mixed with personal mail.
Meg had been meaning to organize this mess since her arrival but hadn’t found the time. Now she sifted through the papers with growing concern, looking forany record of payments to Pacific Coast Coffee Suppliers.
In the bottom drawer of the desk, she found a leather-bound ledger—old-fashioned but methodically kept, with entries in Margo’s precise handwriting. Flipping through recent months, Meg found regular income entries and expense columns, but something about the numbers didn’t add up. The Beach Shack appeared to be bringing in decent revenue, yet the available cash seemed consistently low.
Then she spotted it—a recurring monthly expense entry, always on the 15th, always the same amount: $1,500. No explanation, no vendor name, just “Standing Obligation” written beside each entry. The payments went back as far as the current ledger recorded, which was the past two years.
“That’s where those went.”
Meg looked up to find Margo in the doorway, a small paper bag of fresh herbs in her hands. Her grandmother’s expression was carefully neutral, but Meg sensed tension in the way she stood, slightly more rigid than usual.
“Pete’s here about an overdue account,” Meg explained, closing the ledger quickly, feeling oddly like she’d been caught snooping. “Three months behind on the coffee supplier.”
Margo sighed, setting down her herbs. “I meant to take care of that.”
“There are several overdue notices here,” Meg said,gesturing to the pile she’d sorted. “Pacific Coast Coffee, the linen service, even the electricity bill has a late fee.”
“Cash flow gets tight sometimes.” Margo moved toward the desk, her manner suggesting she wanted Meg to relinquish her seat. “I’ll handle it.”
Meg noticed how Margo moved more slowly around the office, one hand briefly touching the desk for support as she reached for her purse. The physical strain was subtle but undeniable. But now she had something new to worry about. Something unexpected.
“Margo, if there are financial problems?—”
“There are no problems,” her grandmother interrupted with uncharacteristic sharpness. Then, more gently: “Just temporary shortfalls. It happens in small businesses.”
Meg hesitated, unsure how to proceed without overstepping. “The ledger shows consistent revenue. Where is the money going?”
Something flickered across Margo’s face—not anger, exactly, but a wariness Meg had never seen directed at her before.
“Some things about this place go back a long way,” Margo said finally. “Been that way since before you were born. But I’ve managed for fifty years, and I’ll continue managing now.”
Before Meg could press further, Joey appeared at the door. “Pete says he needs to get going. About the payment...?”
Margo reached into her purse and removed anenvelope, counting out cash that she handed to Joey. “Tell him I apologize for the delay. We’ll catch up completely next week.”
After Joey left, Meg found herself staring at her grandmother. “You keep that much cash on hand?”
“Old habits,” Margo said, her tone making it clear the subject was closed. “Now, we need to prep for the afternoon. Those tide pool tours will be coming through around one-thirty.”
That afternoon, they prepped for the tidepool tours, the usual rhythm of the Shack giving Meg little space to revisit the awkward conversation, but Meg found herself watching more closely now—the way Margo always steered conversation back to menu items or customer service, never money or operations.
At the very least, Meg was concerned. She glanced at her grandmother’s shoes—canvas sneakers held together with careful stitching. When had Margo last bought herself something new?
By closing time, Meg’s concern had solidified into worry. The monthly payments, the cash transactions, the overdue accounts despite decent revenue—none of it made sense from a business perspective, but more importantly, it suggested Margo might be struggling in ways she was too proud to admit.
As she wiped down the last table, her phone buzzed with a text from Luke.
Still up for that local tour? Perfect tide for the secret cove. Meet at Crescent Bay in an hour?
Meg hesitated. She had planned to spend theevening trying to understand the Beach Shack’s finances better, perhaps even calling her uncle despite his reluctance to discuss the business.
