The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

one person in the world who might possibly feel the same way about it.



9 * Selling and Sleuthing

    “WELL, HONEY?” Trixie asked after her friend had read the article. “Does it seem like a coincidence to you?”
    “N-no,” Honey said. “But, Trixie, it has to be. Otherwise — I mean, you can’t think Jane Dix-Strauss set those fires herself, just to give herself something to write about. Can you?”
    “Wel-l-l.” Now it was Trixie’s turn to hesitate. Her friend’s honest question made Trixie see how farfetched her suspicions sounded.
    “Even if, somehow, it were true, what can we do?” Honey asked.
    Trixie’s answer was not, strictly speaking, to Honey’s question. It was a response to all of the frustrating, unprovable suspicions she’d been having all day. “All we can do is sell T-shirts,” she said grimly.
    To Trixie’s surprise, selling T-shirts soon became an enthralling part of the summer. Brian made the first sale, and it was a good one. The camp where he and Mart had worked as summer counselors ordered two hundred shirts, all printed with the camp name and logo.
    “So,” Brian said, writing up the order on the order pads Nick had given them, “although writing up a sale this big is a strain on the wrist, it’s comforting to know I won’t be overworking it with a paintbrush later this summer.”
    Trixie was just opening her mouth to retort — although she hadn’t yet decided what she’d say — when the phone rang. Saved by the bell, she thought as she went to answer it.
    “Hi, it’s me,” Jim said. He was so jubilant that Trixie had no doubts about what he was going to say. “I got an order! The Big Wheels ordered thirty shirts with matching hats. Not bad, huh?”
    “Not bad,” Trixie agreed reluctantly. “But who are the Big Wheels?”
    “They’re the softball team my father sponsors,”
    Jim said. “Matthew Wheeler’s Big Wheels — get the joke?”
    “I get the joke,” Trixie said wearily.
    “And I got the order,” Jim told her again. “Mustn’t rest on my laurels, though. One order won’t be enough to get me out of painting this summer.”
    Trixie went back into the living room to tell her brothers about Jim’s good news. “But,” she said, “I don’t think it’s fair. Jim’s order and yours, Brian, were from personal friends. That shouldn’t count.”
    “Why in the world not?” Brian asked.
    “Well, because — then it’s more charity than real salesmanship that makes people place the order,” Trixie said.
    “You think the people at camp bought two hundred T-shirts they didn’t need just because I used to work there as a junior counselor? Come on, Trix!” Brian chided her.
    “Personal rapport with the prospect is one of the cardinal rules of the profession,” Mart said. “In fact, it’s the primary rule given in many of the books I read. They advise that the novice seller sit down and make a list of everyone he or she knows. That includes people in the same clubs, people from the same neighborhood, even — or maybe especially — people from whom you buy things. Insurance salespeople will call on their car dealers, and car dealers will call on the people who sold them their homes, and so forth.”
    “Well, I don’t have a car or a house or any insurance, so how does your selling theory help me? I don’t know anybody ,” Trixie said.
    “Oh, come on,” Brian retorted. “Supersleuth Trixie? You know more people than the rest of us put together. I think you’re just scared of selling.”
    “Scared? Me?” Trixie asked indignantly. Then her shoulders fell forward and she said, “You’re right. I am a little scared. I keep thinking that people will hang up on me or laugh at me.”
    “Well, they won’t,” Brian said. “You know what I think your problem is? You’re not keeping your eye on the ball.”
    “Huh?” Trixie wrinkled her nose and squinted at her oldest brother. She had accepted that advice from him in softball and golf. But what did it have to do with selling?
    “In this case,” Brian explained, “the ball is the product— Nick’s T-shirts and caps. Do you think they’re good products?”
    “Of course!” Trixie said.
    “Do you think they’re reasonably priced?” Brian asked.
    “Yes, certainly,” Trixie said.
    “Do you believe Nick will deliver the product on time?” Brian continued.
    “Absolutely!” Trixie said.
    “Well, if you call and offer people a well-made, reasonably priced item that they