After Eleanor scrolled through the screen, I perused it myself. “They're all from different people, yet they kind of echo one another. Do you know the submitters? I don't recognize any of the names.”
Manny glowered. “I'm fuming about the complaint referring to my clam chowder as a bowl of mosquito-laced water filled with chunks of rubber. It's all disparates.”
By the time we finished debating the aim of the reviews, Eleanor and I agreed it would blow over soon enough. Manny insisted someone had deliberately attacked the diner. I didn't want to discount his theory about possible new competition, as he had proposed valid points.
Eleanor implored me to deliver a bunch of fresh bread she'd made that morning to Simply Stoddard, a high-end restaurant near the Finnulia River. The newish dining
