Murder Sends a Postcard (A Haunted Souvenir) by Christy Fifield

explode.
    “We’ve talked about consultants before, Peter,” I reminded him. “The expense far outweighs anything they could do for a company this small.”
    “But there must be something,” Peter replied.
    I should have come up with an alternative, but I couldn’t think of anything that would pacify Peter. Which gave him time to come up with something on his own.
    I could see the wheels turning as he searched for another plan. Clearly he hadn’t been prepared to discuss other ideas, and didn’t have a Plan B. But that didn’t stop him from saying the first thing that popped into his head.
    “What if Peggy comes down for a few weeks? While the kids are out of school.”
    “What?”
Peggy clearly hadn’t heard this idea before, and judging from her tone, she wasn’t on board with it. “I can’t possibly be away from the children.”
    Peter glanced over at her. “You could bring them with you. It would be like an extended vacation for all of you.”
    I glanced at Peggy, assuring myself she would be my ally in shooting down this latest scheme.
    “There are about a million reasons that is not a good idea,” I said. “It’s obvious Peggy has a few of her own, and I could give you a long list. Starting with, where will they stay? Summer rentals are completely booked, and even if you found a cancellation, the rates are massively expensive.”
    Before I could offer any other arguments, Peggy spoke up again. “Peter, there is no way I am going to spend the rest of the summer down here with the children, staying Lord-knows-where, and leaving them alone while I work in some tacky shop.”
    She tossed me an apologetic glance. “Not that
your
shop is really tacky, Glory, but it’s the idea of the place.”
    She turned her attention back to Peter. “That is not a good idea, and you should have at least talked to me first.”
    She looked toward the children, then back at her husband. “We can talk about this. Later. But spending the summer down here simply isn’t going to work.”
    Sly had held his tongue all through the conversation, though his presence had helped calm me. Now he spoke up. “I knew your uncle, Mr. Peter,” he said quietly. “He was a good man, but he knew his limits. That’s why he never made that store no bigger. Kept it small enough to run by hisself; or with his little sister helping.” He nodded in answer to the question he saw on my face. “That was your granny. But he never did hire anyone else.”
    Peter tried to interrupt, but Sly waved him to silence. “Mr. Louis was plenty smart. Knew what he was about, all the time. And he made a success of that little shop. Still in business all these years later, isn’t it?
    “So you might want to think real careful before you go messing with what Mr. Louis started. You know the old saying, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’”
    Sly sat back and fell silent. He’d spoken his piece, and he was done. He pulled a worn leather wallet from his pants pocket, counted out some bills, and left them on the table.
    “I believe I’ll wait in the car, Miss Glory. If that’s okay with you?”
    I nodded, ignoring Peter. “I’ll be right along, Sylvester. Just let me say good night to my family.”
    Peter tried to draw me into another discussion after Sly walked away, but I had nothing more to say. “I understand that you want the shop to grow,” I said. “But there isn’t a good way to do it, and this isn’t the time. Maybe in the future, if Pansy decides to close up Lighthouse, or Guy and Linda want to retire, then we can talk about it. But not right now.”
    I added some bills to the stack Sly had left by his plate. “It was good to see all of you, but I have to be up early tomorrow.”
    I turned to Peter with a sober expression. “You have a demanding job. So do I. I have not had a day off since before summer started. And I won’t have one until at least September or October. That’s what keeps your earnings checks coming every