Read Online Murder Sends a Postcard (A Haunted Souvenir) by Christy Fifield - Free Book Online
Authors: Christy Fifield
Ads: Link
which, what would you think about shirts and postcards with Bluebeard on them? We could use the same pictures we used for the website. It was Julie’s idea,” I added, not wanting to take credit that wasn’t mine.
“Brilliant! Those oughta sell like crazy, if you can make the numbers work out.”
“I don’t know about the costs yet,” I said. “Julie said she had a friend at a print shop where they do the shirts for Mermaid Grotto.”
Jake’s eyes widened for a moment. “Of course. I saw those at the hostess stand the night we were there. Don’t know why I didn’t think of doing them for Southern Treasures.”
“You were busy taking in the atmosphere.” Mermaid Grotto was all about the atmosphere. A giant fish tank separated the restaurant from the bar. The tank was home to a live mermaid show when I was a kid; now it held tropical fish and aquatic plants.
It had also had one very unwilling swimmer. I’d become far too familiar with that tank a few months earlier when I’d been shoved into it, and a shudder passed over me at the memory.
Jake put a comforting arm around me and drew me close to his side. Clearly he was remembering my visit to the mermaid tank, too.
I shook off the memory, refusing to dwell on an unhappy might-have-been.
“What kind of pizza did you order?”
“Pepperoni and tomato with extra onion and bell pepper. Right?”
I was impressed. Jake had clearly been paying attention.
In a few minutes Neil’s delivery van pulled up in front and a kid jumped out holding an insulated carrier. Jake met him at the door with his wallet in hand.
Soon we were upstairs with hot pizza and cold beer. A far better end to the day than I had imagined possible.
We talked about watching a movie, but neither of us could work up enough enthusiasm to actually pick out something and put it in the player.
Instead we hung out eating pizza and talking about putting Bluebeard’s image on T-shirts and postcards.
“You could also do mugs,” Jake said. “See what other things the printer has, and what they cost.”
“I wonder what Mermaid Grotto sells their shirts for,” I said.
The question began to eat at me, and I had to get up and find my laptop. “Maybe they have them on their website.”
“If they have a website,” Jake said.
“Everybody has a website, according to you,” I said. “You said I had to have one, because everyone else did. So they better have something.”
It took me a couple minutes of searching, but I finally connected to the Mermaid Grotto site. “Look,” I said, briefly turning the screen so he could see it, “here’s their page. Lunch menus, dinner menus, entertainment . . .”
I ran the cursor along the tabs at the top of the page, stopping over the one that said
Merchandise
. I clicked and a new page loaded showing shirts, mugs, decals, and calendars.
Jake moved to share the display, coming close enough that I could feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against mine. I liked the feeling.
We checked out the prices on the shirts. They were comparable to the graphic shirts I already sold at Southern Treasures. Definitely something I should look into.
But it would have to wait for Monday when Julie came back to work. I shut the laptop and leaned against Jake’s shoulder, stifling a yawn.
“I saw that,” he said, kissing me gently. “You need to get some sleep, and I need to get home.”
I kissed him back, tempted to ask him to stay, but the reality of our respective responsibilities quickly drove the idea from my mind.
“I’ll walk you down.”
“You don’t have to come downstairs,” Jake replied, closing the pizza box and taking it to the refrigerator. “I can lock up.”
I shook my head. Even though I’d given him the alarm codes, I couldn’t relax without my daily ritual. “You know I have to check the locks and alarms for myself.”
I followed him down. We checked the back door and the alarms, and kissed good night at the bottom of the
“Brilliant! Those oughta sell like crazy, if you can make the numbers work out.”
“I don’t know about the costs yet,” I said. “Julie said she had a friend at a print shop where they do the shirts for Mermaid Grotto.”
Jake’s eyes widened for a moment. “Of course. I saw those at the hostess stand the night we were there. Don’t know why I didn’t think of doing them for Southern Treasures.”
“You were busy taking in the atmosphere.” Mermaid Grotto was all about the atmosphere. A giant fish tank separated the restaurant from the bar. The tank was home to a live mermaid show when I was a kid; now it held tropical fish and aquatic plants.
It had also had one very unwilling swimmer. I’d become far too familiar with that tank a few months earlier when I’d been shoved into it, and a shudder passed over me at the memory.
Jake put a comforting arm around me and drew me close to his side. Clearly he was remembering my visit to the mermaid tank, too.
I shook off the memory, refusing to dwell on an unhappy might-have-been.
“What kind of pizza did you order?”
“Pepperoni and tomato with extra onion and bell pepper. Right?”
I was impressed. Jake had clearly been paying attention.
In a few minutes Neil’s delivery van pulled up in front and a kid jumped out holding an insulated carrier. Jake met him at the door with his wallet in hand.
Soon we were upstairs with hot pizza and cold beer. A far better end to the day than I had imagined possible.
We talked about watching a movie, but neither of us could work up enough enthusiasm to actually pick out something and put it in the player.
Instead we hung out eating pizza and talking about putting Bluebeard’s image on T-shirts and postcards.
“You could also do mugs,” Jake said. “See what other things the printer has, and what they cost.”
“I wonder what Mermaid Grotto sells their shirts for,” I said.
The question began to eat at me, and I had to get up and find my laptop. “Maybe they have them on their website.”
“If they have a website,” Jake said.
“Everybody has a website, according to you,” I said. “You said I had to have one, because everyone else did. So they better have something.”
It took me a couple minutes of searching, but I finally connected to the Mermaid Grotto site. “Look,” I said, briefly turning the screen so he could see it, “here’s their page. Lunch menus, dinner menus, entertainment . . .”
I ran the cursor along the tabs at the top of the page, stopping over the one that said
Merchandise
. I clicked and a new page loaded showing shirts, mugs, decals, and calendars.
Jake moved to share the display, coming close enough that I could feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against mine. I liked the feeling.
We checked out the prices on the shirts. They were comparable to the graphic shirts I already sold at Southern Treasures. Definitely something I should look into.
But it would have to wait for Monday when Julie came back to work. I shut the laptop and leaned against Jake’s shoulder, stifling a yawn.
“I saw that,” he said, kissing me gently. “You need to get some sleep, and I need to get home.”
I kissed him back, tempted to ask him to stay, but the reality of our respective responsibilities quickly drove the idea from my mind.
“I’ll walk you down.”
“You don’t have to come downstairs,” Jake replied, closing the pizza box and taking it to the refrigerator. “I can lock up.”
I shook my head. Even though I’d given him the alarm codes, I couldn’t relax without my daily ritual. “You know I have to check the locks and alarms for myself.”
I followed him down. We checked the back door and the alarms, and kissed good night at the bottom of the
Similar Books
