Sweet Caroline(42)

“What do you—”

Buster’s toothy grin appears around the office door. “Look what we found in the attic wall, Caroline.” He swings an electrified, petrified squirrel by the tail.

“Buster, did you carry that thing through the kitchen? I’m running a food business here.”

He frowns. The poor dead squirrel tick-tocks back and forth. “Don’t get your nose out of joint. Just thought you’d want to see what’s in the wall.”

“Please, take it to the dumpster. Don’t let any customers see you.”

“Caroline?” Mitch’s tone is deep and serious. “What’s up?”

“Buster and a petrified squirrel.”

“His dinner?”

“No. What’s wrong with you? He found it in the wall. Okay, you were saying? Something about filling stadiums?”

“You will get a crowd. A very large, crazy crowd.”

This is just what the old Frogmore needs. Someone to say, hey, it’s cool here. “How much should I pay you?”

“Nothing. You’re doing me a favor. This gig is back to basics for me. Just a man and his music.”

“Okay, okay, great.” I smile, then fade to a frown. “What if we don’t get a crowd?”

“I’ll shoot myself.” He laughs. “You’ll get a crowd. How about for the two shows, just have drinks and appetizers on the menu. Keep it fast and simple.”

“Tell you what: you worry about the music, I’ll worry about the food.”

With the Festival kicking off in a week, I decide to place an ad in the Gazette.

Exclusive @ the Frogmore Café

Country Sensation Mitchum O’Neal

Live!

Beaufort Water Festival Week

Nightly shows @ 8:00 & 10:00 p.m.

Drinks and Appetizers Only

Reservations open an hour before each show

Monday, I hire Andy’s boy, Jack, and his buddy Donny to work afternoons and evenings during the Water Festival.

“Good, good,” Andy says when I tell him he’s in charge of their training. “I’ll work them hard, get them ready for football camp.”

Russell mentions his friend Paris Truman. “She loves Mitch O’Neal.” He jots her name and number on a napkin.

“Fine, but does she work hard?”

He nods. “Putting herself through school, and so far she carries a four-point.”

“She’s hired.”

Tuesday, Andy reminds me of another Café problem. A stinky one. “If we’re going to pack this place with people, you’re going to have to get the toilets fixed. Only one of two works in the ladies’.”

“Right, right.”

“And you best make sure Buster gets done, or close to it. I’ve worked up an appetizer menu—baked bread and cheese, shrimp, chips and salsa, cheese fries—but we’re going to need the Café at full steam during the day.”

“Right, right again.”

So I missed a few details. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not working for Carlos Longoria. Caroline, you’re fired.

I check with Buster, and he promises me he’ll get the rest of the wiring done before the Water Festival. “So, Mitch O’Neal is going to sing here, huh? Don’t tell my wife.”

“You better hide the newspaper. I put in an ad.”

Next, I call Stu Green to come out and fix the toilets. He hammers around the bathrooms, shouting and cussing all afternoon, then finds me in the office.

“I hate to tell you this, Caroline”—he drops to the guest chair—“but I’ve patched up those pipes for the last time. The bathrooms need complete redoing.”

My shoulders droop. “I’ll put it in my letter to Santa. Can we sur-vive the Water Festival?”

“I reckon. You don’t get a big crowd here—” He hands me a bill.

Holy can’t-flush. “This much for patching old pipes?” I look up at him. “And I am having a crowd here during the Water Festival. I hope. Mitch is singing.”

“Mitch? Whatcha know. I’ll have to find a date and come out.”

I arch my eyebrows. “Front-row seating for you and your date . . .” I pass the plumbing bill back to him. “For a teensy-weensy discount.”

“Tell you what, I’ll check the pipes for you the night I come to a show. How’s that? This”—he flicks the bill sticking out from my fin-gers—“I’ll take in cash or a check.”

“Spoilsport.” Plopping down on the squeaky chair, I pull out the book of rubber checks and pray this plan with Mitch works.

Stu takes the check, twisting his lips into a smile. “How’s Henry these days? We had a lot of fun playing smashmouth football back in the day.”

My brother and the plumber were offensive guards for Beaufort High, seniors when sophomore Mitch O’Neal became a star quarterback.

“Henry’s good. He took over Granddad Sweeney’s construction business a few years ago. Married his college sweetheart, Cherry.” I put the checkbook away, then double-click on QuickBooks.

“We lost touch after your mom died.” He stares at the floor. “I’m sorry about that too. Death is not a good time to desert a friend.”