Skip Whittaker was up to his eyeballs in stock. Dorie Squares, the boss's daughter, had triple-ordered on the kitty litter, toilet paper, and feminine hygiene products. Pixie-Squares was going to have to run a sale drastically discounting those items if it ever hoped to unload them in the next century.
"Son!" Maury said, "these rows are so cluttered with boxes, I can barely get my cart through."
"You're telling me," Skip said. "Dumb Dorie's done it this time. I've put these things on just about every shelf. There's no nook and cranny I haven't squeezed in an extra bag of granulated kitty dump clay. Not to mention those feminine unmentionables. These things have been packed into every aisle, and I still have boxes and boxes to unload. The back is full, too. At this rate, I'll be setting up shelves on Pixie's roof, just to get some of this mess organized."
"Mmmm," Maury said, "not something you use every day. Well, except for the striking paper."
"Mama," Skip said, "what am I gonna do? Pixie doesn't want to hurt Dorie's feelings and make her send this stuff back. He's willing to eat the loss. But it's my job to make sure the store looks nice. I'd pull my hair out, but the only problem that would solve is I'd no longer have to worry about going to the barbershop."
"Don't do it, Skip," Maury said. "That's not a good fashion statement. Trust me."
Skip laughed.
"I better get busy. Need any vaginal creams, tampons, sanitary napkins, maternity maxi pads, or pantiliners? Pixie-Squares is your one stop shop."
"Hah! You're talkin' to a post-menopausal mom, remember. But I could use some rolls of tidy wipes. We're running low. Thanks for reminding me. I forgot to put them on my list."
"Buy several packs, Mom. Any help you give me is appreciated," Skip said.
"Get creative. Offer a contest. You know your Aunt Hadley will enter to win anything. You'll sell this stuff. I know it," Maury said, doubtful, but trying to encourage her son.
"Hope we don't get litter and napkins for our Christmas bonus this year," Skip said
"I do, too. I know what I'll be getting under the tree if you do," said Maury.
"Yeah. Ain't re-gifting a bummer!"
Maury laughed.
"See you for Sunday lunch, Skip."
"Love you, Mama."
"Me, too," said Maury.
"Don't forget I'm playing with Hobie Sunday afternoon at The Band-Aid," Skip said.
"Got it marked on my calendar."
"Radio station's sending out a crew to broadcast us live."
"My little boy up yonder with Hobie Stricker. You make me so proud, Skippy."
Even though Skip still had a gazillion boxes left to stock on Pixie's shelves, he couldn't help but smile. Playing with Hobie Stricker was special. Any musician within a hundred miles would give their eyeteeth for the chance.
"Well," Skip said, looking at the seemingly insurmountable task, "it's a dirty job, but at least I got enough toilet paper to last me."
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Knows Your Secret
Mystery / ThrillerIt was a heck of a shot. It was the perfect murder. Someone killed Kyle Winthrop as he lay in his bed. His mother, Claire, doesn't care much - she's too strung out on prescription pain pills. But his Grandmother cares, and she begs her good friend...
