Free Carl Hiaasen by Nature Girl

truth.”
    “Okay, yeah. It’s my first week on the job.”
    “Thought so,” Shreave said. “Free piece of advice: Don’t ever tell the sucker not to hang up, because all you’re doing is putting the idea front and center in his head. Just keep talkin’, okay? Stick to the script. And don’t beg for a minute of his time because then you sound desperate, and nobody trusts a desperate salesman.”
    “Wow,” the woman said.
    “It’s what I do for a living, Pia.”
    “Seriously? You work at a call bank, too?”
    “One of the biggest.” Shreave told her she had a nice voice, almost too nice for the phone.
    “What do you mean?” she asked.
    “Lacks authority. It’s too, I dunno, creamy-sounding.”
    “Creamy?”
    “See, the guys on the other end might want to date you, but that doesn’t mean they’re gonna buy whatever it is you’re selling,” Shreave explained. “Sexy doesn’t work when you’re hawking Krugerrands or discount equity loans. You ever thought about hiring on with one of those adult chat lines? I hear the pay’s pretty good.”
    There was silence on the line. Shreave wondered if he’d offended her.
    “I was just thinking,” the woman said finally. “Talking to you is just what I needed—all my friends said I wasn’t cut out for this job, and I guess they’re right. Thanks for being so straight with me.”
    “Now hold on, don’t give up so easy.” The new Boyd Shreave, dispensing motivational advice. “Tell me what you’re pitching.”
    “Real estate.”
    “In Florida?”
    “Where else,” she said. “West of Naples, on the edge of a swamp. Royal Gulf Hammocks is the name of the company.”
    “Raw lots?” Shreave asked.
    “Oh yeah. Underwater at least half the year,” she said. “That’s why they save the sales push for winter, when it’s dry.”
    “Beautiful. What’s the deal—a free weekend, I bet. And all they’ve gotta do is sit through a sales seminar.”
    “And sign a purchase option,” she said, “which you can cancel within thirty days, or so they promise.”
    Shreave thought the pitch sounded stale. “It’s been done to death,” he told her.
    “No, they also give ’em an ecotour,” the woman said. “That’s the newest angle.”
    “A what?”
    “A breathtaking ecotour through the Ten Thousand Islands,” she recited, “in kayaks.”
    “Well, it’s different.”
    The woman said, “I’ve heard it’s real pretty down there. You and Mrs. Shreave ought to go. Heck, you don’t have to buy a darn thing—like I need to tell
you.
”
    “You get a commission on the sign-up?”
    “Right, but it’s not much.”
    “Never is,” Boyd Shreave said. She’d gotten him thinking.
    “Travel included?” he asked.
    “Yessir. Two round-trip plane tickets.”
    “What about the accommodations?”
    “A four-star eco-lodge,” the woman said. “If you can stand the sales push, it’s a pretty sweet deal.”
    “Yeah, not bad,” Shreave agreed. He and Eugenie had never taken a trip together. They’d never even gone to a motel.
    “Only thing is, the offer expires in two weeks,” the woman added. “That’s what it says here on the read sheet.”
    Shreave heard the doorknob rattle, then Lily saying: “Let me in, Boyd. I promise not to touch you
anywhere.
”
    Shreave covered the handset and told his wife he’d be out in a minute.
    “Let me ask you something,” he said in a low tone to the telemarketer. “Are there really ten thousand islands, or did they just make that up to con the tourists?”

    Honey Santana had ferreted out Boyd Shreave’s home number all by herself. Fry had refused to help, and then her brother had made up some fishy excuse, claiming he couldn’t track down Shreave’s lawsuit because the courthouse computers were down.
    So, after talking Fry into letting her on-line, Honey had found a person-locator service that was offering a one-day trial—supposedly free, although she had to give a credit card number. Once the Web