They’d also included a type-written message. A reservation has been made in your name at the Plumb Beach Restaurant. Sunday evening at 8:00. More to come.
Her inquisitive nature was running wild, but her common sense lassoed in her enthusiasm. Georgie you have to be brainsick even contemplating following through with this. There are tons of sicko’s out there. At least tell someone where you’re going.
She’d compromise her common sense warning and will treat this as a special story that needed answers. She opened a new page in her computer and typed in the key words she used to write up a story. What: pieces of map, final destination - unknown. Where: Plumb Beach Restaurant – public place, won’t be alone. When: Sunday night at 8:00; Find out who made the reservation. Why: unknown. Last but more important: Who: Unknown identity.
Since the office sneak knew where she’d stored the envelopes, she decided to take them home. Time was passing and she reached for the stack of letters the receptionist had left in the in box on her desk. All were addressed to Pet Tales.
She spent the rest of the afternoon reading the letters that were filled with funny stories and many included pictures of their pets. Some asked for advice about their pet’s health and she always suggested they consult their veterinarian.
An assortment of colorful parrot stickers decorated the last envelope. She didn’t have to open it because she knew who it was from. This would be the fifth letter from Mrs. Butkus. The woman owned an African gray parrot named Harvey. The reader felt a special closeness to Georgie because they both owned the same type of bird.
“My dear Georgie. I’ll be visiting my cousin in Beacon Pointe this week end. I’d love to meet you in person so we could swap stories about our wonderful birds. I’ll be at the Book and Brew Café on Saturday morning, around ten, if you can fit me into your busy social calendar. Unable to leave a phone number. Harvey knocked my cell phone in the toilet. Have to get a new one. I’ll request a table in the front and will be holding a picture of my Harvey. Hope to finally meet you. Letitia Butkus
“Busy social calendar, what a joke,” Georgie repeated with a short laugh.
“Did you say something?” Madge said hurriedly, plopping a pile of file folders on her desk before sitting down.
“You look at your wits end.”
“If our boss wants to put out this paper five days a week, I’m going to need more help. Newspapers are scrambling for advertisers, but we’ve got more than we can handle.”
Her friend’s frustration was obvious and Georgie sympathized with Madge. “And tourist season hasn’t even started when the stores run specials to draw in customers. Look at it this way. Our jobs are secure and you should tell Mason you need an assistant.”
“Leave it to you to put a positive spin on my frustration. Your mother should’ve named you Pollyanna.”
Georgie straightened the three stacks of letters on her desk and wrapped a rubber band around each one, but set Mrs. Butkus’ aside. She’d saved every one of her letters in storage boxes in the basement. “That’s not me.”
“It sure is. You have an optimistic, positive outlook on life. You’re the one who makes lemonade out of lemons or grates stale rolls into breadcrumbs. Your pet bird talks to Alexa and you turn him into a storybook character. Readers love your column because it’s upbeat, funny, right down to the little animal jokes.
“I love the one about the three kids deciding what a dog’s job is on a fire engine. One says ‘crowd control, the other one says he’s the mascot, but the third little kid says he finds the hydrants.”
“That’s one of my favorites, too. I get them from my readers and speaking of readers, one of them will be visiting this weekend and has invited me to meet her at the Book and Brew Saturday for breakfast.”
“Good luck with getting a table in that place. It’s busy during the week, but weekends it’s just plain crazy. They don’t take reservations, but since our boss’s wife is the owner, I’d give Mollie a call to see if she could reserve a spot.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Since you’re a trusting soul, Miss Pollyanna, what do you know about this person?”
“She loves her African gray parrot named Harvey who is eighteen years old.” Georgie held up the envelope with the colorful stickers. “I always know her letters.”
Madge walked around the side of her desk and took the envelope from Georgie’s hand. “Hmm, PO box in Buffalo, New York.”
“Read her letter,” Georgie encouraged. “It’s short and sweet.”
Madge read the hand-written letter and passed it back to Georgie. Her face registered a mistrusting scowl. “Blamed the bird for destroying her cell phone. Convenient.”
“You’ve a suspicious nature from being married to the county coroner. We’re not talking about an axe murderer. It will be fun and something different, meeting one of my out-of-town readers.”
Madge pursed her lips. The pink lipstick she’d applied this morning was long gone. “Because I know you, tell me this isn’t your way to spice up your boring life.”
In a way it was, but Madge was the last one she’d admit the truth. Her friend would go ballistic if she found out about Sunday night. “I’ll send you a text when I finish our meet and even take a photo of Mrs. Butkus.”
“Good enough. Now,” she said returning to her desk and opened the top file with a heavy sigh. “Bra-O-Rama is having a promotion on their vintage line of lingerie. They wanted smart, but tastefully sexy. What do you think? Mason and the owner approved my mockup, but I’d like another woman’s point of view.”
Georgie studied the eye-catching artistry. The long slender legs of a faceless model were covered in sheer black nylons being supported by a garter belt. The black bra molded beautiful breasts and was trimmed with the same fine lace as the garter belt. Killer heels completed the sexy look.
“It’s stunning. The old biddies won’t be able to complain since they probably wore garter belts in the fifties. Personally, they look damn uncomfortable.”
“Georgie, we really need to get you a man. Men are easy and the sexy look is a definite turn on. Believe me. You won’t be wearing it very long and he’ll be putty in your hands.”
“So you’re talking from experience?”
“Just because a couple is long-time married doesn’t mean the fire has gone out. You just have to keep feeding the flames.”
“Since I don’t have a fire to feed, all I can do is take your word. Now, I’ve got to start reading my online letters.”
Chapter 3
Dean sat at his desk in the detective bureau and reviewed his report on the computer screen. He shared the office with four other detectives, all his senior. Everyone had a soft sided cubical but all opened to the center of the room. Each was personalized with pictures of their family and pets. His was neat and orderly. The only personal item was a white promotional mug he’d filled with pens. The slogan, Plumbers do it best at the crack of dawn was silk screened on the front.
They teased him about being the greenhorn on the squad. He’d made Detective a year ago and he didn’t turn a deaf ear to their sound advice.