Page 92 of The Oscar Escape
The blonde sported a perplexed look—which did seem familiar. Oscar dismissed the thought.
The anchorwoman stared blankly into the camera. “I haven’t visited that place since I was a girl.”
The man flashed a toothy grin at his vacant cohost. “Now you’ve got a reason to visit, Lexi.” He turned to the camera. “If you’d like to see the cotton candy lobster, you’ll want to reacquaint yourself with the island. The lobster named Clawdia Junior will be on display during the Love and Lobsters Festival. Take a look,” he finished as the ballad played over the airwaves.
“Oscar,” Aria whispered and squeezed his hand.
He tightened his grip on hers, watching what they’d created. It was good. It was damned good. He felt eyes on him. He peered over his shoulder and caught the judge looking his way. The jowly man nodded to him with a peculiar, almost grandfatherly air about the gesture. The music ended and was replaced with the anchorwoman’s airy voice.
“Tickets are available now. Visit the site below to purchase yours.” The woman plastered a vacant grin on her glossy lips. “Goodness, what a blast from the past. I had no idea that the Love and Lobsters Festival was still going on.”
“That’s because you fell on your head last time you were here, you little Sheehan dingbat,” Margo called, her terse accent laden with a loveable cheekiness.
“That one didn’t hit her head. It was the other one,” Roberta countered.
Margo shrugged. “They’re both dingbats.”
“Sheehan?” Aria repeated. “Margo thought I was a Sheehan girl when I arrived, right?”
“Yep,” Etta confirmed. “Nice gals, not so bright, though.
A series of pings cut through the dining area. Oscar zeroed in on the sound. The pings were coming from inside his bag. He retrieved his laptop.
“What is it?” Aria asked.
“I turned on notifications for the sales page.” He logged into the Love and Lobsters Festival ticket sales site. He blinked, not sure if he could believe his eyes.
Ticket sales—254
He refreshed the page.
Ticket sales—481
He clicked again.
Ticket sales—778
“I didn’t expect this,” he uttered.
“Is something wrong?” Etta asked.
“No, something is very right,” he replied, wonder coating his words. “You needed to sell at least a thousand tickets to keep the island running?”
Etta nodded. “Yes, a thousand is the minimum. We can max out at two thousand. That’s as much as the island can accommodate. But we’ve never hit that number, even in the heydays, back when I was a girl.”
It appeared they were on a collision course with the heydays.
He pulled a cable from his bag and connected his laptop to the television screen so the residents could see the sales page numbers. He programmed the page to auto-refresh every five seconds.
“Eight hundred and twelve,” someone called from the back.
“No, now it’s eight hundred and ninety-two.”
“These are real sales?” Etta asked.
“Yes, that money is sitting in your account.”
“What did I tell you?” Del exclaimed with something cradled in his arms.
