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Roger frowned and Betty mumbled something about not blaming her if the whole thing blew up in their faces.
“You got this through your email?” Viola said, ignoring them. “Then send me the original through an attachment and I’ll forward it on. We communicate strictly through email or texting. Much faster that way.”
Now why hadn’t Allie thought of that? “Email, it is.” Viola gave her the email address and Allie used her smart phone to forward her the letter.
Viola pulled her phone from her purse. “Got it!” Her thumbs flew through the tiny keypad. A few seconds later the rest of the group’s phones began pinging. She winked at Allie. “Just because we’re retired doesn’t mean we’re technically challenged. If I hear anything from one of the Flamingoes, I’ll send you a text.”
Mimi walked up to the table. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got to get Allie to her car before it gets demolished by a wrecking ball.”
Allie thanked them and said her goodbyes. Hopefully, with any luck, one of the Gray Flamingos would know who had sent the email. She stepped outside to get in the van, when her gaze zeroed in on the shop next door to The Bistro, causing her to come to a halt. This had to be Lauren Donalan’s retro shop.
A sign made of white washed drift wood stenciled in bright pink and lime green letters highlighted the store’s name, Can Buy Me Love (Lily Pulitzer meets The Beatles!). She took a few seconds to peer through the glass window. A trio of mannequins dressed like something out of a Partridge Family nightmare formed the store’s front end display.
Once again, Allie was struck by how odd it seemed that Lauren would own this kind of place. But then, she really hadn’t known the former Mrs. Tom Donalan all that well in high school.
She was about to step inside the van, when Roger Van Cleave dashed out the door. He discreetly slipped her a piece of paper. “Didn’t want to give you this in front of the others, but call that number. I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
He disappeared back inside the restaurant before Allie could think of a response. She climbed into the back seat of the mini-van and stared down at the scribbled number. Good Grief. Was Eyebrows making a move on her?
“What did sweet old Mr. Van Cleave want?” Mimi asked.
“I think he just hit on me.”
Mimi met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Seriously?”
Kitty turned around to face her and said gravely, “You’ll have to let him down gently. He’s very fragile. His wife passed away last year.” Allie wished she knew Kitty well enough to know if she was joking. The twinkle in her brown eyes said she was.
“Okay, so he’s probably not hitting on me,” Allie said, feeling foolish.
Mimi and Kitty laughed, then Mimi put the car in motion.
“Mr. Van Cleave is a cool old guy,” Kitty said. “You should call him. He used to be a journalist, I think. Maybe he has some advice for you or something.”
Or something. If Roger Van Cleave didn’t have any direct knowledge about the ghost, then Allie wasn’t sure how he could help her, but she slipped the paper into her purse anyway. She’d call him later, just to be polite.
Mimi and Kitty began gabbing about their Bunco group which gave Allie an opportunity to check her cell phone for messages.
There was a text from Emma. How’s the story going?
Not so good. Allie responded.
Her cell phone broke out into Adele. Allie sighed. She was really going to have to change her ring tone to something more upbeat.
“What do you mean not so good?” Emma said before Allie could even say hello.
Best to get the bad news over with pronto.
“The senior center is definitely being demolished this morning.” Allie went on to explain how Steve Pappas had refused to intervene on her behalf. “I can still resurrect the piece,” she said trying to sound professional and optimistic. “I plan to interview all the locals. It’ll come together, I swear.”
“Oh, I know you’ll make it work. You always do. It’s just, the story would have so much more pizazz with the whole spending the night in the haunted house angle. Are you sure you still can’t swing it? Because I think you need to know that I’ve just got the go ahead from Ben to hire another full time writer.” Ben Gallagher was Emma’s boss and the publisher for Florida! magazine. This was the break Allie had been waiting for.
“That’s great!” Allie’s enthusiasm was met with silence. “Um, isn’t it?”
“You’re definitely my number one candidate, but Ben…well, he thinks to be fair we need to post the job, do interviews, that kind of stuff. He wants the candidates to submit three articles of their choice to an editorial committee. I was thinking you would include your Perky the Duck article, which everyone loves, and of course, the follow up story on the BP oil spill which is a lot meatier and more serious and a really well written piece.”
Allie let Emma’s words sink in.
It made sense that Ben wanted to post the job. There was probably some kind of company HR policy on that, but still. She really thought the next opening at Florida! was hers, no questions asked. In retrospect, that had been naïve of her. Nothing in this world was guaranteed. Especially a rare job with a sought out publication. Allie tried her hardest to squelch her disappointment. “And you think this ghost story would be a good third piece?”
