Chapter 4

The lawn care business demanded an early start and long days. It wasn’t unusual this particular summer for Mart Belden to be the first family member awake and ready to start the day. Most mornings he arrived in the farmhouse kitchen before his mother and he was always out of the house before his father arrived at the breakfast table, except for one day a week. By mutual agreement, he and Dan both took Sundays off. Even three rainy days in a row during the week wouldn’t budge them from their agreement at the beginning of the summer to have that one day free of lawn care obligations. It was the perfect time for Mart to corner his father and ask him questions about credit and financing in the restaurant business, and specifically about the Red Moon Café. While he was frequently referred to as Trixie’s almost twin, he was more than able to wait patiently until Peter Belden had finished a stack of pancakes and started his second cup of coffee before introducing the subject.

“Moms, did Dad tell you about the Red Moon Café being held up on Friday?” Mart asked, taking care to sound as if he were engaging casual conversation.

“Yes,” she replied as she slid her plate under the running water of the sink to rinse it before placing it in the dishwasher. “I was so relieved that for once we wouldn’t have to worry about Trixie getting involved in another mystery. Guns are serious business.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mart mumbled, stumbling over his approach. “Very serious. Mike told us that he understood they used baseball bats.”

“Oh?” Peter looked up from his coffee. “The Sun didn’t mention any baseball bats; they said a small caliber pistol.”

“The Sun didn’t mention the sex of the perpetrators either,” Mart pointed out.

“Perpetrators?” Moms sat back down at the table and frowned. “That handsome FBI agent calls them unsubs. I thought that was the new hip word.”

Peter frowned. “What handsome FBI agent are you talking about dear?”

“Oh, you know the one,” Helen waved a dismissive hand at her husband. “The one they call ‘Hotch’. He’s tall, dark, and brooding.”

“On television,” Peter surmised. “You’re talking about a fictional FBI agent?”

“Yes of course, dear.” Helen smiled. “Trixie does get embroiled in numerous mysteries, but to my knowledge we don’t have any FBI agents showing up at the house regularly.”

“Yeah, at least not yet,” Mart mumbled. He cleared his throat and continued. “The police like person of interest these days, Moms. But here’s what I was really wondering: How hard is it to get started in the restaurant business? I mean besides the food, which is the most important part, there’s equipment, licenses, a building, tables – all kinds of things. Does the bank loan money to people who want to start a restaurant?” Mart was ticking off on his fingers as he went down the list of all the things he believed you’d need to consider to start up an Asian cafe.

“The bank will loan money to anyone who has money,” Peter joked. Noting his son was serious, he quickly shifted gears to provide to a more serious answer. “Certainly an entrepreneur can apply for a loan, son. Good credit or a proven track record helps. We require a well-written business plan for most business loans.”

“Do most applicants have business plans?”

“Unfortunately no.” Peter took a sip of coffee. “That’s why they end up paying more to borrow money. They normally will go for a revolving credit line through a credit card company. The interest is higher, but it’s much easier to get the credit line, especially if you have a good credit history to support it and sufficient cash flow to pay the bills each month.” He paused as he methodically folded the newspaper, laid it down next to his plate, removed his eyeglasses, and then used a corner of the tablecloth to remove a smudge from the lens. It was something he’d done so many times his family scarcely noticed what he was doing. “Of course, many entrepreneurs do exactly what you did.”

“What I did?” Mart sat back in disbelief, sufficiently surprised by his father’s comment that he forgot to use big words. “What did I do? I haven’t opened a restaurant.”

“As I recall, you and your business partner didn’t borrow money from a bank to start your lawn care business. You sought out a private investor. Isn’t that right?” The dark eyes twinkled momentarily before Peter managed to hide his teasing. “You had a well-written business plan to back up your company, but you didn’t give the Sleepyside National Bank a shot at winning your account.”

“But … but …”

“No, no –” Peter held up a hand to stop his son’s stammering. “I completely understand. It’s always a good policy not to do business with family, and technically Matthew Wheeler isn’t family.” His voice dropped and he muttered under his breath low enough not to be heard by Mart. “At least not yet.” Raising his voice and continuing the act, he gave Mart a brief half-smile. “How are things working out at DanMart Landscaping?”

“Dad, I never wanted …. What I’m trying to say is it didn’t seem right … you see, Dan and I wanted to ….” He stopped and ran a frustrated hand over the top of his head. “Dad, if you’re being serious, then I’m really sorry I didn’t come and talk to you about the loan.”

“Martin,” Peter began slowly. He glanced quickly at Helen who stood at the stove behind Mart, doing her best not to laugh out loud. “I’m not sure exactly what it is that they say today about such things, but I think the right word might be …. Bazinga!”

 

“Just the newspapers then, Daniel?” Frank Lytell rang up the transaction on his ugly, gray behemoth cash register. Dan had decided it was probably the latest gadget for retail stores in the early 1950’s, but it had not aged well. It lacked the solid metal prestige and heft of models from the 40’s as well as the sleek and sexy computer look of modern registers. If Mr. Lytell ever processed a transaction of more than $99.99 he would be out of luck as the register would only add up to that amount. Dan had never figured out why Mr. Lytell hadn’t embraced a fancy computer that would not only process transactions in cash as well as debit cards, but would basically handle a good bit of his bookkeeping.

Bookkeeping, Daniel thought. Wasn’t that woman the bookkeeper for the Red Moon Café?

“Yes, sir; just the newspapers this morning.” He handed the bills across the scarred wooden counter. “Say Mr. Lytell, you know that Mart Belden and I, we’ve opened a small landscaping business this summer.”

Frank Lytell peered over his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Yes, Daniel. As I recall, you asked me if you could put a flyer up on my bulletin board back at the beginning of the summer. Is it working out for you?”

“Yes, it’s working out very well. In fact, we have so many customers it would probably be a good idea if we took the flyer down now.”

Frank nodded in return. “Help yourself, then. Just leave the thumbtacks in the cork when you take it down.”

“Sir, do you mind if I ask you a question about running your business?”

Frank was surprised, but pleasantly so. He prided himself on being an excellent businessman, catering to most of the necessities required by the residents of Glen Road and the surrounding area who didn’t always want to make the drive into town for miscellaneous items. However, he still felt the need to protect his business from competitors. His business was successful and growing, but he now found himself seeing Dan Mangan and Mart Belden in a new and unwelcome light—as potential future competitors. “What’s your question, young man?”

“Do you do your bookkeeping yourself or do you hire someone to do it?” Dan blurted out. He cringed as he listened to the words, for once feeling sorry for Trixie, who always seemed to blunder about when talking with Mr. Lytell.

“A bit of both,” he answered, surprised at the question. “I provide the service a certain amount of details and they complete my books and tax reporting. It makes it much easier when tax season rolls around.” He gave Dan the same peering stare he had earlier. “You are making allowances for paying taxes?”

“Taxes? Yes, sir. Mart is handling that part of it. But, yes. We’re allowing for the reporting of tax on the money we hope to make.”

“You’re not making money, yet?” Mr. Lytell asked in surprised. The stories he’d heard seemed to paint a picture of the two young men making a killing on the summer mowing and garden season. Their reputation as hard and reliable workers had made its way back to him and he’d been pleased to actually recommend them to several customers who had asked him for competent lawn and landscape services. Not that he’d actually ever tell Dan and Mart that part of it.

“Yes, but we have to repay our loans at the end of the season as well as make the quarterly tax payment,” Dan explained. “We only draw a small amount of money each week for expenses. Gas, oil, that kind of thing. After we pay everyone out, then the rest will be for school.”

“I see. And you think you might need a bookkeeper?”

“Yeah. We heard about this woman named Tammy Ashby. She does some bookkeeping for a friend of ours. I was wondering if you knew anything about her.”

“Ms. Ashby, huh.” Mr. Lytell stared down at the newspaper sitting on his counter and was quiet as if trying to recall a person by this name. He finally looked up at Dan. “She talked to me last year about doing an upgrade here at the store. Wanted me to invest in a new point-of-sale system she called it. Put in an electronic credit card machine and give up my line of credit at the bank in favor of one of those fancy platinum business American Express cards. I couldn’t make her understand that my customers don’t come in here to see flashing lights, whirring computers, and modern point-of-sale systems. They all have computers at home if they need that. If they need credit, they know I’ll give it to them.” He thumped a hand on the side of the ugly, tan-gray register. “Nothing wrong with a little bit of what I like to call vintage store atmosphere. It’s worked for me for a long time.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t recommend her?” Dan was more than a little surprised that Mr. Lytell had revealed as much as he had.

“Now, son … I didn’t say I wouldn’t recommend her!” He hem-hawed a bit and finally gave a sigh. “Let’s just say that she has lots of new-fangled ideas. They might work for someone else, but not for me, not for this place." He waved his hand around the small general store.

Dan frowned. "So you do recommend her?"

"I'm not going to say that either," he prevaricated. "How about we say that I wouldn’t use her myself and leave it at that?”