Free Barefoot Season by Susan Mallery Page A

friendship from the woman in front of her.
“I thought maybe you were, but you’re not,” Michelle continued. “I’ve been over the bank statements and books for the past three years and I can’t find where you’ve done anything wrong.”
If Carly thought she had a hope of surviving without her job, she would have walked away. Simply turned and disappeared into the afternoon, maybe after giving Michelle a well-deserved kick in the teeth.
“How disappointing,” Carly snapped. “I’m sure finding out I’m the bad guy in this would be a highlight in your day.”
“I’m due a few highlights, and you’re right. I’m disappointed. I would love to fire you.”
“You did fire me.”
“You didn’t leave.”
“I wasn’t sure you meant it.” Carly hated to admit the truth.
“I did,” Michelle told her flatly. “But it’s not a luxury I can afford.”
“What does that mean?”
Michelle studied her. “You have to keep this to yourself.”
“All right.”
“I don’t know why I’m about to trust you.”
“If it’s about the inn, then you can trust me. I’ve worked here nearly ten years. I care about this place. If that’s not enough, then hey, I don’t steal. That has to be worth something.”
Michelle’s left eyebrow rose. “Attitude?”
“I’ve earned it.”
Michelle closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. Emotions swirled through her green irises. Whatever she was thinking, the thoughts weren’t happy.
“The inn is in trouble. Financially, we’re sinking. I was at the bank a couple of days ago and it’s bad.”
Carly considered the information. “I don’t understand. We had a pretty decent winter. Lots of guests, considering the season. When I paid the bills, there was money in the bank.”
“Not enough. Two mortgages were taken out on the property. Ten years ago, there wasn’t one.” Accusation sharpened the words until they were a knife.
“The renovations,” Carly breathed, knowing they had to have cost a fortune.
“Something you pushed my mother to do.”
“What? No. They were her idea. We had to get the roof repaired and things sort of spiraled from there.” Mostly because Brenda had gotten involved with the contractor. Getting him to do more work had kept him around.
“Sure. Blame the dead woman.”
Carly straightened. “You can rewrite history all you want, but that won’t change the facts,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The renovations were your mother’s idea. She’s the one who wanted to build this gift shop and expand the restaurant. If you need proof, I can show you the files. She did the drawings, made notes. This was her vision. I wanted to spend the money on remodeling the bathrooms.”
Aware of the customers close by, she consciously lowered her voice. “If you’d bothered to come back even once, you’d know that.”
“Don’t make this about me,” Michelle told her. “Trust me, you don’t want to fight with me. I’m not who you remember. I can take you down.”
Despite the tension between them and the seriousness of the moment, Carly laughed. “Seriously? You’re threatening me physically? You were in the army, not the CIA. You can’t kill me with a matchbook cover, so get over yourself. You’re moving about as fast as a woman in her late nineties and you’re obviously in pain. But this is so like you. Reacting without thinking. You’re still impulsive.”
“You’re still annoying.”
“Bitch.”
“Double bitch.” One corner of Michelle’s mouth twitched as if she were about to smile.
In that nanosecond, Carly felt the connection that had always been there. Then Michelle’s expression turned hard again.
“I still blame you and as far as I’m concerned you’re the enemy.”
“If that’s what it takes for you to sleep at night, go for it. I’m a single mother with a nine-year-old and sixteen hundred dollars in the bank. Making my life more difficult isn’t going to be much of a stretch, but sure. If you need to