Five

Esther’s stunned assessment seemed exactly right. Despite plenty of scrawled words, numbers, and even symbols, nothing appeared to be connected. Almost half the notebook appeared to be jumbled doggerel and random drawings and doodles.

“I can’t believe it,” Esther murmured. “Mr. Scrib spent hour after hour, day after day, diligently filling this notebook with drivel.”

“But why?” Nancy asked. “Could there be a reason for scribbling nonsense?”

Esther closed the notebook. “Nonsense or not, it means something to Mr. Scrib, and I’m going to keep this safe until I can give it back to him…”

---

* * *

An hour later, Matt’s phone was recharged, his plate was empty—and he’d seen firsthand how empty our tables remained.

“Would you like another coffee?” I asked.

“No, I should head out.” He lowered his voice. “How’s Esther doing?”

“She’s okay. The paramedics told us Mr. Scrib’s vitals were strong, and we’re all hoping for the best.”

“With luck he’ll pull through,” Matt said, then forced a smile. “After all, you need all the morning customers you can get.”

“So not funny.”

“Neither are these empty tables. What has my mother said about all this?”

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“Do you have an action plan?”

“I’m holding a staff meeting tonight to break the bad news, although I’m pretty sure they know already. Maybe if my baristas and I brainstorm together, we can find a solution.”

“I have faith in you, Clare.”

“Is that your way of saying this is my problem to solve?”

“My mother made you the manager of her treasured shop for a reason. She knew my strengths—and weaknesses. Unreliable airlines, coffee rust, locating a Rundi translator, those issues I can handle. Reviving a dying customer base?” He shook his head. “No clue.”

Matt pulled on his windbreaker and shouldered his backpack.

“I’m heading to the Red Hook warehouse for a crash landing. If you need me, leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I regain consciousness.”