Local Flavour (Book 1, the Local Flavour Series)

Part 7: Three Little Words

God in heaven. Quinn found Sea Breezes after his lunch of a mediocre lobster roll from the Fish Wagon. They had boiled the lobster into the Stone Age and used too much mayo. No dill to speak of, and not enough seasoning. The fact that the town didn't seem to be able to provide a decent lobster roll was appalling, bordering on criminal.

It was hard to miss the place, with the large, tacky Sea Breezes sign. The 'b' was burned out, he noticed; Sea reezes. They said it was bad, but this was catastrophic. Quinn smiled. Ratings gold.

His phone rang as he peered into window. "Eva! When'd you get in?"

"Yesterday, but I wanted to poke around town with Samantha. It's a pretty little place." Eva often brought her wife along on shoots. "How's the location?"

He squinted up at the sign. "It's a dump. The owner skipped town. His nephew, the cook, is incompetent. The new owner, his daughter, is a piece of work. Folks around town call her Bossy Boots." He laughed.

"She sounds bitchy. That's excellent. Maybe she'll have a meltdown on camera."

"Maybe," Quinn said. "Connie's here, right? I'm going fishing with some locals later on, it would make some good B-roll."

"Text me where and when. She thinks we can manage with just one hand-held once we have all the hidden cameras installed. Oh and one more thing — Miss Bossy Boots hasn't signed her contract yet."

"Make it happen, Eva. You're the field producer. That's why we pay you the big bucks." Eva snorted with derision. "See you soon."

Quinn hung up and peered through the front door. He pulled; it seemed unlocked but stuck. He jerked it a couple of times, finally wrenching it open. He stepped in, jangling a set of wind chimes on the door. He let out a low whistle.

The dining room was cluttered and filthy. Plastic flower baskets were everywhere. He grabbed one and shook it. A cloud of dust glittered and danced in the shaft of sunlight coming in from the crack in the curtains. He coughed. He couldn't wait to see the kitchen. Must be good and gross.

He looked up, noticing ceiling tiles that were stained and rotted through, and took in the signs on the wall offering discounts — 'two for one Sunday supper.' Slashing prices was a sure sign of a sinking ship.

He pulled back one of the dusty curtains and was treated to a gorgeous vista of ocean and sky. What are they doing covering up this million-dollar view, he thought. And who are all these baseball players?

A woman walked through the swinging kitchen doors just then and stopped abruptly. "Jesus H. Christ!" she shouted. She pronounced it "haytch." The palm of her hand was pressed to the middle of her chest. He couldn't help but notice what a lovely chest it was.

Her clothes were grease-stained; her hair tied up in a ponytail. A loose curl had escaped and lay across her cheek. Dirt was smudged across the other one. He looked into her eyes and felt a gut punch. She was a beauty. And she was looking at him with utter contempt.

"Do you always go creeping around empty restaurants?" she gasped.

"I could ask you the same thing. Quinn Allen" he said, extending his hand with a megawatt smile.

"I know who you are." Her glance was wary as she grasped his hand in a firm handshake.

"You're part of the cleaning staff?"

"I'm Lucy McLean," she said. "The owner."

Oops. "Great."

"I've thrown out some of the spoiled stuff — but man oh man, there's no end to it. Get a load of this!" Marnie backed out of the swinging doors and turned, almost dropping a pan of old meat. Quinn's stomach lurched at the smell.