Page 91 of Hello, Summer
Conley’s stomach growled loudly. It was after two, and she’d missed lunch. “Hey,” she said, whirling around. “What about Kelly’s Drugs? Do they advertise with us?”
“Nope,” Grayson said. “As far as I know, they never have.”
“Why not?”
“I guess our former ad sales manager just neglected to put the hard sell on them.”
“Who was our former ad sales manager?”
“That’d be me,” Grayson said. “It felt awkward, trying to sell something to Miss June.”
“But we’ve always done business at Kelly’s. For as long as I can remember, G’mama’s had an account there.”
Grayson shrugged.
Skelly was behind the pharmacy counter but looked up when Conley entered the store, his face lighting up when he saw his newest customer.
“Hey,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“Some lunch? I haven’t eaten, and I’m starved.”
He finished filling a bottle with a creamy white liquid, capped it, and slapped a label on it. “Let me bag this and call the patient to tell him it’s ready, then I’ll meet you over at the soda fountain and get you fixed up.”
Conley set her backpack on the floor and twirled around on the stool, surveying the luncheonette as though she’d never seen it before. Nothing had changed since she’d first started coming here as a child.
“What’s your pleasure?” Skelly asked when she spun around to face him.
“Hmm. Do you still make the pulled pork with that tangy sweet sauce?”
He nodded. “Yep. George still smokes four or five pork butts for me every Sunday. He makes the sauce from my mom’s old recipe. I usually sell out by Thursday or Friday morning at the latest. I have a couple of dozen customers who put in standing orders to pick it up on the way to their beach houses every week.”
“Pulled pork, definitely.”
“How’s your coleslaw? You don’t serve that vile creamy mayonnaise-drenched mess, do you?”
He pretended to be shocked. “Mayo in my slaw? What kind of joint do you think this is? We do sweet-sour vinegar slaw. And George’s wife hand grates the cabbage and onions herself. None of this pre-shredded crap you buy at the store.”
“Coleslaw, then. And coffee, if you’ve got any. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
He fetched two mugs and poured one for her and one for himself. He dumped sugar and a creamer into his own mug and sipped. “Breaking news, right? I heard Buddy Bright this morning talking about Charlie Robinette’s announcement.”
Conley made a face. “That damn guy! He’s everywhere. He might havegotten the jump on Charlie’s announcement, but we’ve got an even better story. We’re going to put out a special digital-only edition later today.”
“TheBeacon? You guys do that?”
“Grayson says they sometimes do it for elections or big football news, but this is too good a story to hold for another day, so yeah, we’re gonna go for it.” She tapped her fingernail on the countertop. “Which reminds me. Grayson says Kelly’s Drugs doesn’t advertise in theBeacon.Mind if I ask why not?”
Skelly took another sip of coffee. “It just never came up. Mom used to handle all that stuff. When I came home to work here, I just kinda kept up with what she’d been doing. I know we buy space in those cheesy coupon mailers, but I think that’s all the advertising we do.” He gave her a quizzical look. “So now you’re the ace reporter plus ad saleswoman?”
“Not by choice,” Conley said. “I’m trying to drag my sister into the brave new world of digital news. Newspapers don’t make money on subscriptions, you know. In fact, we lose money on them. Most papers depend on revenue from advertising. And if we can sell ad space in digital editions, it’s a win-win. More eyes on your ad, more money for us.”
“I guess I could try doing an ad buy in theBeacon,” he said. “Tell Grayson to come see me, okay?”
“Do you have the graphics for the ads you run in that mailer?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, email them to Grayson. She can send you the rates, and if you decide to do it, your ad can run in tonight’s digital—which should get a lot of hits.”
