Murder Sends a Postcard (A Haunted Souvenir) (4 page)

Bridget looked wistful. “Sounds great to me. I travel so much I could never keep up with a schedule like that.”

“Well, we do sometimes miss a week, if someone’s on vacation or something,” I said.

“Like you ever take a vacation,” Karen said.

“I do. But when you work for yourself, the boss won’t give you much time off.”

“A real slave driver, eh?” Bridget asked.

“Sure is,” Karen answered before I could. “She never really takes a day for herself.”

“Not true,” I said. “We went to De Funiak—”

“A year ago,” Karen interrupted. “And even then it wasn’t a day off. It was a treasure-hunting expedition and you bought a bunch of inventory for the store.”

“But that’s fun for me,” I protested.

“So, Bridget,” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from my supposed obsession with work, “did you decide what you’re going to do with your days off?”

Bridget hesitated, as though reconsidering her options. “I think,” she said finally, “I may go over to Biloxi for the day, maybe even stay over one night.” She glanced around the sparsely furnished house. “It might be good to get away from here, especially after my visitor. At least for a few hours.”

She had a point. The house might someday be a lovely home, but right now it was downright depressing. The rental furniture was low-end commercial: a basic bedroom set, a bare-bones living room set, and the dining table and chairs. I didn’t like a lot of clutter—my apartment was far too small for tons of knickknacks or mementos—but I had books in my bookcases, pictures on the walls, and canisters on my kitchen counter.

Even a hotel room would feel homier than Bayvue Estates.

“BILOXI SOUNDS LIKE FUN,” KAREN SAID WHEN WE
pulled out of Bridget’s driveway. “We ought to go again soon.”

“Yeah, right,” I answered dryly. “In my copious free time.”

“You have Julie,” she countered. “I know you can’t go in the summer, but September’s only a couple months away.”

I pulled out of the deserted development past the brick gateposts, turning south onto the county road. Far behind me I saw a pair of headlights, the only other vehicle on what most tourists would consider a back road. Once you got off the highway, you could travel for miles without seeing another car.

We turned onto the highway, heading back into the center of town. The midsummer sun was just setting, and waiting crowds spilled out of restaurants onto the sidewalk, a reminder of what Bridget would have encountered in her search for dinner.

As we drove through, I mentally tallied the number of hotels and motels with red neon signs blazing “No Vacancy.” It was a good indication of what to expect for the weekend. Near as I could tell, the town was 100 percent full.

Tomorrow should be a busy day. Biloxi was sounding better all the time, but I’d be wishing for the crowds when business dropped off at the end of the summer and I still had bills to pay.

It was my constant balancing act. I’d been orphaned by a hit-and-run driver at seventeen, and I felt like I’d been pretty much on my own since then. Paying the bills and taking care of myself topped my list of priorities, and had for over fifteen years. It often didn’t leave a lot of time for other things.

I had accepted the responsibility long ago. I’d chosen to run Southern Treasures myself, and I usually preferred it that way. But it didn’t stop me from occasionally chafing under my self-imposed restrictions.

I pulled into the parking area behind the shop and shut off the engine. “Wine?” I asked Karen as we climbed out of the truck.

She shook her head. “After I ditched Riley to go with you, I better not,” she said. “I promised him I’d be home before it got too late.”

I stopped at the back door, key in hand. “Home? He’s checking up on you?”

She hesitated, and I prodded some more. “What’s really going on with you two?
Really?
”

“It’s complicated,” she answered.

I shook my head. “That’s not an answer, Freed.” As I said it, I realized something that had somehow eluded me for years. Karen had divorced Riley, but she had kept his name. At the time she had claimed it was for professional reasons: she was known on air as Karen Freed and she didn’t want to lose that identity. Now I wasn’t sure I completely believed her.

“And don’t tell me you’re ‘taking it slow’ again. That isn’t an answer either.”

Karen’s unhappy frown didn’t deflect my question. I stood my ground, not yet unlocking the door while I waited for an answer.

Finally she sighed and looked away. “We’re not together, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said without looking at me. “But we are seeing a lot of each other, and we aren’t seeing anyone else.”

She hesitated and took another deep breath. “And he’s stayed at the house a few times.
That
was never a problem.”

“Are you crazy?” I asked. I kept my voice low, concerned, not challenging. “You divorced him once, and now you’re going right back into”—I struggled for the right word—“into whatever this is. You two keep splitting up and getting back together, and now he’s staying over? Do you not remember how upset he got when you went to Jacksonville alone?”

I reached out, put my hand on her arm. “You got hurt bad the first time, hon. Can you handle that again when you break up for good?”

“If,” she insisted. “
If
we break up, not when. We’re adults this time. Sure, Riley got upset when I went to Jacksonville, but we talked it out instead of fighting. That’s progress, isn’t it?

“We know where the pitfalls are, Glory, and we’re trying to find ways around them. So we
are
taking it slow, even if you don’t think that’s an answer.”

I squeezed her arm. There wasn’t anything I could say that was going to change her mind, and she knew full well the risk she was taking. And maybe they could make it work. I hoped so, for both their sakes.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be here if you need me.” As if there was any question. We’d always been there for each other, ever since grade school.

I unlocked the door.

I followed Karen inside, stopping to double-check the locks on the back door, then moving through the storage room to let her out the front, where her SUV waited at the curb.

“Thanks again for going with me,” I said.

“Glad to,” she answered with a grin. “You were right, you know. I did like her. Too bad she’ll be gone again in a couple weeks.”

“Who knows?” I answered. “Maybe she’ll come back and work here when the sale goes through. We could start a girls’ network, have our own answer to the good ol’ boys.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “I won’t hold my breath.”

I laughed. “Someday.”

I locked the door behind her, and went to check on Bluebeard.

I changed his water and fed him a shredded-wheat biscuit from the can underneath his cage.

“Coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Bluebeard, parrots do not get coffee.
I
don’t even get coffee at this hour.” I gave him a couple scritches, checked the locks again, and headed upstairs.

• • •

I WAS DOWNSTAIRS WORKING ON A T-SHIRT ORDER
when Julie arrived the next morning. She let herself in and turned over the “Closed” sign.

“Morning, boss,” she said, sliding behind the counter next to me. She pointed to an image on the computer screen. “That one’s been really popular this summer,” she said. “You might want to order a few extra in kid sizes. For some reason, that’s one they want to buy as matching mother-daughter sets.”

“Thanks,” I said, clicking back on the design and adding two dozen in mixed sizes before checking the totals and clicking on the “Order” button.

“There was one other thing,” Julie said. “I’ve been getting a lot of people asking about stuff with Bluebeard on it. T-shirts, shot glasses, postcards, stuff like that. Some of them say they saw him on the website and they are disappointed we don’t have anything.”

I’d spent months learning about websites, working for hours experimenting with ways to display my merchandise and promote the store. Adding Bluebeard’s picture to the pages had been Jake’s suggestion, a good one.

Now Julie offered a way to take it a step further.

“I’ll give Mandy a call, if you’d like,” Julie said.

“Mandy?”

“A friend of mine. She works over at Coast Custom Printers. They do the shirts for Mermaid Grotto. Started out as a uniform for the staff, but customers kept asking if they could buy them. They put a stack at the register and she says their order gets bigger every month.”

She started to say more, but the bell over the door rang as a tourist couple came in. She gave them her dazzling, cheerleader smile and called out, “Hi, y’all! Can I help you find something special?”

They shook their heads. “Just looking,” the wife said.

“Sure thing,” Julie said, still smiling. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

She made a show of going back to straightening the shelves behind the counter. She’d learned quickly that the fastest way to drive a customer out the door was to hover, to make them feel like they were being watched, even when they were.

Across the street, Jake’s “Closed” sign still hung in the front window. He’d changed his hours, opening later in the morning and staying open later at night every Saturday, and he said the new hours had boosted sales.

Jake emerged from his front door and crossed the street to my front door. He glanced around, spotting the one couple flipping through the vintage magazine rack against the back wall. “Got time for coffee?” he asked.

I looked at Julie, who nodded. “I’ll call if it gets busy,” she said.

I made sure I had my cell phone, and followed Jake next door to Lighthouse Coffee.

Chloe put out two vanilla lattes and two lemon scones as soon as we reached the counter. “The usual,” she said. “Saw you coming.” She grinned.

Jake tossed a twenty on the counter. “Keep it,” he said, waving away the change she offered him. “I had a good day yesterday. Besides”—he grinned back at her—“come winter, there may be no tips at all.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s even possible for you,” she said. “You’re far too nice to stiff the barista.”

“You’d be surprised,” he teased her, but I knew she was right. Jake was one of the most considerate people I’d ever known.

Out of habit, we sat by the front window, where Jake could watch the front door of Beach Books, even though the “Closed” sign was still up.

I took a sip of the sweet coffee. “Thanks. A good day yesterday, huh?”

Jake nodded. “I don’t know why, but the store was busy from open to close. You?”

I shrugged. “Good. Not a blockbuster, but a good day. The evening got a little strange, though.”

“Oh?” Jake cocked an eyebrow. “What happened?”

I told him about Bridget coming back into the shop, and my impulsive invitation.

“You had her over for dinner?” he asked, surprised.

I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

Jake listened while I gave him a quick summary of the previous night’s adventure. He looked alarmed when I told him about the guy pounding on the door.

“You didn’t call the cops?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Bridget chased him off, and he left. There wasn’t much they could have done anyway. Warned him, maybe, or cited him for trespassing. But the property isn’t marked, so I don’t know if they could even charge him with trespassing unless he came back after she told him to go away.”

Jake looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what the law is. I don’t even know if that’s a local ordinance or a state law.”

“I don’t know either.” I ate the last bite of my scone, and took a sip of lukewarm latte. “I’ve never had to worry about it, but I bet Karen knows. I’ll have to ask her. Not that it matters, but now I am curious.”

Jake drained his coffee cup and glanced at his watch. “Time to go open up,” he said, gathering his trash.

I looked up, intending to answer, and saw Bridget coming through the door. Dressed in the gaudy T-shirt she’d bought the day before, she had on a pair of jeans that looked like they’d been custom-made for her. Judging by what I’d seen of her wardrobe, maybe they had been.

She spotted me and waved, heading for our table.

“Hi, Glory,” she said. She turned to Jake, who had started to stand. “Don’t get up on my account,” she said with a smile. “I’m on my way out of town, just stopped to return Glory’s dishes.”

She turned back to me. “I took them to the shop, and that sweet girl said you were over here having coffee. I just wanted to say thanks again for the meal, and the company.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. I gestured to Jake. “Bridget, this is Jake Robinson. He owns the bookstore across the street. Jake, this is Bridget McKenna.”

I didn’t bother to explain Bridget’s position. Jake, like everyone else in town, knew
exactly
who she was.

Jake was already on his feet, and shook her outstretched hand. “Glad to meet you, Ms. McKenna. Don’t mean to be rude, but I really was on my way out. Time to open up.”

“Not at all,” she answered. “I’m actually heading out myself. Taking Glory’s suggestion and going over to Biloxi for a little R and R.”

Jake nodded. “Have fun,” he said. “Glory”—he looked at me—“talk to you later.” He turned and waved over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

I gestured to the empty chair across from me. “I need to get back, but I have a minute if you want.”

Bridget shook her head. “I should get on the road, I think. How about a rain check? One morning next week?”

She glanced out the window, watching Jake stride across the street, and smiled back at me. “That one looks like a keeper.”

I felt a blush creep up my face. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Bridget laughed. “See you next week.”

I followed her out the door and went back to Southern Treasures.

More customers came in as the morning wore on. Julie and I handled questions, sales, and special requests. Bluebeard whistled and squawked and was rewarded with giggles, finger-pointing, and occasional shrieks from teenaged girls.

He had his picture taken with a steady stream of visitors, flirted with every woman, and only had to be reprimanded for his vocabulary a couple times.

The foot traffic thinned in the early afternoon as the temperature climbed and the tourists retreated to swimming pools and air-conditioned hotel rooms, or prostrated themselves on the blistering sand. Julie came back from her break, and I was free for a few minutes.

I stuck my cell phone in my pocket and headed for the front door. “Call if you need me,” I said as I went out. “Otherwise I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”

My first stop was back to Lighthouse, for a trio of frozen mochas. Then I walked past Southern Treasures on my way to the Grog Shop.

I tried to check in with Linda, the owner, every couple days. Linda had been a friend of my mother’s and was like the older sister I never had. She and her husband, Guy, had taken me in when my parents were killed, and she was the person I turned to when I needed advice.

Linda was at the register, ringing up a sale. I put two drinks on the counter, and wandered into the back looking for Guy. I found him checking off delivery sheets and hoisting cases of beer onto racks in their small warehouse space.

I put my drink down and started stacking cases as he marked them off. “Yours is up front, if Linda doesn’t drink both of them before you claim it.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” he growled.

I didn’t believe his act for a minute. He and Linda were as devoted a couple as I had ever seen, a relationship I both envied and aspired to. If and when I found the right man. The image of Jake, grinning as he handed me my latte, flashed through my memory. I shoved the idea into the back closet of my mind and slammed the door. Too soon. Way too soon.