Sand City Murders Read Online Free PDF

there too.”
    “That would be fantastic.” Amy shifted in her seat and decided to give a big stretch. She put her glasses up on her forehead, raised both arms, and arched her back.
    I tried to look away. “Guess I’ll give Jackson a call over at the press. It was probably their f— up, anyway. Did Pagor give you his pick ups?”
    “Got the list right on schedule.” She went back to her cutting.
    “Amy, what the heck are you doing anyway?”
    “Making clip art for Saint Patrick’s Day.” She paused for a second and looked up. “Hey, is that your birthday or something?”
    “Funny… but no, not my birthday. Can’t you do that on the computer?”
    “I can, but this way is easier. It’s a logo. I’m just adding a shamrock. Then I’ll scan it in at hi-res. Save it as a PNG file and send it over to Jason for the website.” She made a face. “That way, I don’t have to talk to him.”
    “Where’s Melissa and Jo? Do they have their pick ups yet?”
    Amy shrugged and went back to her drawing table.
    Melissa and Jo, our primary sales force. I mentioned them, right? Which one is hotter? That’s the real question. Jo was skinny, but with nice curves, and she was lithe. It was all about how she moved. I don’t think I’d ever seen her in anything but a short dress and a tight top. She had a dark complexion, olive eyes and jet black hair, straight and silky, reaching half way down her back. To me, Jo was just a friend. She was untouchable, unobtainable, always dating somebody else and always talking about how great they were. Rumor had it she was seeing Chuck Chamblis these days.
    Melissa Miller was on the dark side of thirty. She had a five-year old in preschool and a husband I’m not sure I’d ever met, even his name escapes me. Melissa took great care of herself though. She was a brunette, toned, and her hair, nails and makeup were always perfect. If not beautiful then certainly stunning, Melissa had creamy skin, squeezable dimples and a funny little soft chin.
    The hard reality is sex sells ads, well, not sex, but flirtatiousness. Jo, Jo-Anne really, but nobody called her that, and Melissa, were experts. Between the two of them, they kept the Sand City Chronicle up and running. And Eleanor Woods knew that every minute of every day. Selling advertisements is not an easy job, it seemed to me— definitely not in my skill set.
    Every week they’d go out and drum up ads to go into the paper. Jo was a natural, she could wrap anyone around her finger in a matter of minutes. Melissa took a different approach. She just looked gorgeous all the time, as in hair-do, manicure, and designer clothes. Melissa was very attractive, very flirtatious and very persuasive. That’s what kept the whole engine running— certainly not the newsstand price or the subscriptions. So, we were dependent on them, or rather it was a symbiosis; because they were also dependent on us, especially in the summer months. Fifty thousand captive readers, every business hot to advertise… only there had to be something good to read: news, features… content— not just ads.
    Oh yeah, there was Herb too: Donald Herbert Pagor. You could call him Herb or Don, he never seemed to care which and responded to both. Eleanor always called him Donald. He was about fifty something, a big guy, somewhat over-weight, with slicked-down hair and a spongy kind of face. He always wore a shiny suit and he never talked, only bellowed. He didn’t have an inside voice. I sometimes suspected he was deaf and spoke so loud just so he could hear himself. And he was way worse over the phone. If on the rare occasion he called in from the road, I knew to hold the hand piece far from my ear. He sold ads just like the girls, and somehow, he was damn good at it. Sex probably had nothing to do with it in his case.
    Don had all the regular accounts. Not the new businesses, but the old ones, the funeral parlor, florists, restaurants, the antique stores and markets. Their