himself how to work all the bells and whistles.
Then he got serious about his business. From a wholesaler at www.wholesaleart.com he bought a box of art prints on canvas, and then, after they arrived, he listed each one on eBay, careful to describe each individual picture in glowing terms. By the end of his week as an eBay seller, he had tripled his initial investment, and Danaâs bewildered look turned to pleased surprise.
Now he was determined to put his profits back into the business, to buy more prints in bulk and resell them for ten and twenty times his investment. Yakov, who had expressed his willingness to help in any way possible, handled the auctions that had closedâhe pulled and recorded checks and money orders from the incoming mail, and then rolled and packaged the prints in cardboard mailing tubes. So far, in only their second week of operation, Michaelâs Fine Art had brought in more than $1,500 . . . which was probably more than Buddy Franklin had earned in his entire civilian life.
Mike rubbed hard on his mouth, trying to erase the proud smile that had crept to his lips. A man shouldnât feel pride, especially when it sprang from comparison to a relative, but he couldnât help it. Buddy was a wastrel, a do-nothing, a mooch, and a bum. But as long as Dana didnât insist that Mike involve him in the art-print business when the bank refused his loan, he could stay in the carriage house. After all, he was family.
The computer flickered for a moment, then a rectangle flashed on the screen, informing Mike that his dial-up connection had been broken. Would he like to redial?
Confound that phone line! Mike gritted his teeth, then lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Dana had probably picked up the upstairs phone. Having only one phone line had never been a problem before, but now he could see that he would have to have another installed. His business depended upon having a stable and secure Internet connection, so as soon as Dana hung up, heâd call the phone company and arrange for the installation of another line.
After all, if used for business, itâd be a tax-deductible expense.
Chapter Four
F eeling proud and sassy, Tallulah de Cuvier wriggled through the doggy door of Frenchmanâs Fairest, then trotted out to the front lawn. Though the air was chilly, the sun shone bright and clean from the east, coloring the sky pink and gold.
Tallulah sniffed, parsing the scents of wood smoke, humans, and sea birds. Butchie the bulldog had walked here recently, probably to mark the post supporting the historical marker outside Tallulahâs house.
That dog had never had any manners. He peed in the most obvious places, ate garbage, and had even been known to eat squirrels and sea gulls . . . Tallulah shivered at the thought of such atrocities.
Sitting on her haunches, she watched the sun as it lifted through a hazy sky, then pricked her ears forward. Ferry time.
Springing to her feet, she trotted to the dock, where Russell Higgs was washing gadgets in a smelly liquid. Tallulah breathed in a whiff of the stuff in his bucket, then jerked her head back and barked. Russell bent to scratch behind the muttâs ears. âThatâs gasoline, Tallulah. Best keep your nose out of it.â
With pleasure. She thumped her tail.
Russell bent lower, andâahhhhhâcontinued scratching. âWhereâs your buddy Butch this morning?â
In bed, where the lazy slug spends most of his time. Butch wouldnât get up early for a side of beef, but me, this ole girl would pile out of her warm box on a nippy January morning for the mere scent of a fresh cruller.
She gave Russell her best smile, then lifted her gaze toward the horizon. There was the ferry, right on time. By golly, she was going to Ogunquit and she was going to have a cruller, her first in a month on account of Calebâs sudden concern for her weight. This morning Caleb had forgotten to latch the doggy door, and
Then he got serious about his business. From a wholesaler at www.wholesaleart.com he bought a box of art prints on canvas, and then, after they arrived, he listed each one on eBay, careful to describe each individual picture in glowing terms. By the end of his week as an eBay seller, he had tripled his initial investment, and Danaâs bewildered look turned to pleased surprise.
Now he was determined to put his profits back into the business, to buy more prints in bulk and resell them for ten and twenty times his investment. Yakov, who had expressed his willingness to help in any way possible, handled the auctions that had closedâhe pulled and recorded checks and money orders from the incoming mail, and then rolled and packaged the prints in cardboard mailing tubes. So far, in only their second week of operation, Michaelâs Fine Art had brought in more than $1,500 . . . which was probably more than Buddy Franklin had earned in his entire civilian life.
Mike rubbed hard on his mouth, trying to erase the proud smile that had crept to his lips. A man shouldnât feel pride, especially when it sprang from comparison to a relative, but he couldnât help it. Buddy was a wastrel, a do-nothing, a mooch, and a bum. But as long as Dana didnât insist that Mike involve him in the art-print business when the bank refused his loan, he could stay in the carriage house. After all, he was family.
The computer flickered for a moment, then a rectangle flashed on the screen, informing Mike that his dial-up connection had been broken. Would he like to redial?
Confound that phone line! Mike gritted his teeth, then lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Dana had probably picked up the upstairs phone. Having only one phone line had never been a problem before, but now he could see that he would have to have another installed. His business depended upon having a stable and secure Internet connection, so as soon as Dana hung up, heâd call the phone company and arrange for the installation of another line.
After all, if used for business, itâd be a tax-deductible expense.
Chapter Four
F eeling proud and sassy, Tallulah de Cuvier wriggled through the doggy door of Frenchmanâs Fairest, then trotted out to the front lawn. Though the air was chilly, the sun shone bright and clean from the east, coloring the sky pink and gold.
Tallulah sniffed, parsing the scents of wood smoke, humans, and sea birds. Butchie the bulldog had walked here recently, probably to mark the post supporting the historical marker outside Tallulahâs house.
That dog had never had any manners. He peed in the most obvious places, ate garbage, and had even been known to eat squirrels and sea gulls . . . Tallulah shivered at the thought of such atrocities.
Sitting on her haunches, she watched the sun as it lifted through a hazy sky, then pricked her ears forward. Ferry time.
Springing to her feet, she trotted to the dock, where Russell Higgs was washing gadgets in a smelly liquid. Tallulah breathed in a whiff of the stuff in his bucket, then jerked her head back and barked. Russell bent to scratch behind the muttâs ears. âThatâs gasoline, Tallulah. Best keep your nose out of it.â
With pleasure. She thumped her tail.
Russell bent lower, andâahhhhhâcontinued scratching. âWhereâs your buddy Butch this morning?â
In bed, where the lazy slug spends most of his time. Butch wouldnât get up early for a side of beef, but me, this ole girl would pile out of her warm box on a nippy January morning for the mere scent of a fresh cruller.
She gave Russell her best smile, then lifted her gaze toward the horizon. There was the ferry, right on time. By golly, she was going to Ogunquit and she was going to have a cruller, her first in a month on account of Calebâs sudden concern for her weight. This morning Caleb had forgotten to latch the doggy door, and
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