Fit To Curve (An Ellen and Geoffrey Fletcher Mystery Book 1)

by Bud Crawford

  "I'll knit while you run, but I'd enjoy the walk," Honoria said. "Those scooter things may have been gyroscopically stabilized, but I need to realign my personal gyroscope. Gosh, that was good." She pushed her plate a couple inches forward, disconnecting herself from lunch.

  Stephanie copied her. "Yeah, I could use the walk, and the run. Are you really sure your expense account can feed us, ethically speaking?"

  "It really can. I'll be doing a review on this place, a favorable one obviously, and I'd have needed somehow to sample many more dishes than one. I want your reactions to all our little tours, too. You give me usable feedback, I'll cover the tickets. So, we have a continuing plan?"

  ~

  Harold gathered his printouts, thanked the receptionist for a large envelope, and started walking back to Juniper House. He still wasn't sure what he was looking at. He'd decided to pile up data, take it back to the room, and try to sort it out there. Something was odd, but he couldn't quite bring it into focus. He was glad Madison had been out. She always made him uncomfortable, even when they had briefly been sexual partners, while his first marriage was breaking up. It had been a relief when she moved to Asheville and he didn't have to see her every day.

  He felt like James Bond. He printed out the innocuous stuff, but he grabbed a bunch more data copying to the flash drive in his pocket. He had the managed-fund portfolios for a dozen of his Charlotte clients, plus their overall statements, and Metrocor annual reports, national, regional, and by office. Plus employee bonus payments (those were open records, his access couldn't get him into payroll proper). He would start on analysis as soon as he got back to the room, he'd concentrated on data acquisition during the two hours he'd spent at Metrocor, hoping he could get out before Madison returned. It was after one when he got to the room. He sat quietly resting for a while. He'd better get that implant thing done, he had less and less stamina, but he still recovered quickly. Dr. Rubens said that augured well for a good outcome on the valve-surgery, if done before there was a crisis. He hadn't told Stephanie about that part, just the okay-to-wait-a-while part.

  He typed out a quick email to his boss, David Ickes, in Charlotte. Hey, Dave, got a client with fee questions, is there anything I should know about changes to the managed-funds fee structure? Do we assess on trades, or does the contractor?

  Stephanie had come back around three, changed into running shoes, t-shirt and shorts. He wished her a good run, he thought, something like that, but his attention was on the numbers. James was right, something was going on, but no clear pattern emerged. An unknown variable, or multiplier, or something bumped the results around. As deep as his bones now, he had to know what the numbers were saying. Maybe his graphic calculator emulator would pop something out. There was an odd correlation between centurion bonuses and payments to a cluster of consultants, picked up from the annual statements. He was a centurion himself, one of the ten lead producers in his area office. But it was hard to separate out Charlotte area data from regional data. He wished the receptionist had been willing to release the complete annual reports to him, surely that was the least sensitive of all the data he was seeking.

  Stephanie got back, showered, and changed into a blue cotton dress for tea downstairs. Harold walked down with her, but his mind was locked on an oddly oscillating curve, trending up. He knew he knew it, but couldn't quite name it.

  ~

  Ellen found Geoff drying his hair. She peeled off her sweat-soaked shirt and bra and shorts, untied and kicked off her shoes. "Be right with you," she told him.

  "Does that mean I get dressed or I don't get dressed?"

  "You dress. Tea awaits." She stepped into the shower and turned on the water. "How was your ride."

  "Good, Nothing strenuous, just ambled back up the way we drove in. How was the run? Did you go alone?"

  "Excellent run. Stef came with. We looped up around the University campus."

  "Who won?"

  "It was a run, not a race, nobody won."

  "El, love of my life, a run is something you do alone. If there's somebody else, it's a race."

  "I'm aware of my tendencies, but I'm getting better. At least I was good today, we ran dead even, stride for stride." She turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the rack. "It does go against my training, and my basic instincts." She wrapped herself in the towel, let down and began brushing out her hair. "You're not dressed."

  "Right. I'm on it." He stood still watching her. "I hope you let her stretch."

  "A good ten minutes, it made me a little crazy, but she has a very careful routine. She says she has to warm up or she'll pull something or stress her heel tendon. Amazing flexibility she has, even for a dancer. But you know that. We talked most of the way, I'll tell you later." She unwrapped the towel and stood for a moment. "Let's go, my little crypto-nudist, let's go get us some cookies."

  .

  chapter thirteenth

  Stephanie and Harold were also on the way down, half-a-flight ahead of Ellen and Geoff. Madison Markey was waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking delicious in a russet pants suit over a green silk blouse, slender busty frame, curly red hair, pale blue eyes. "Harold," she said, "dear Harold. It's been two years, more than. How good to see you. I brought copies of those reports Elaine said you wanted. I can't think why she didn't just give them to you, they're all but public domain, basically what shareholders get, just a little more detail. Our inter-office security policies are so haphazard, she was just afraid of doing something wrong. This must be Stephanie. How do you do, you pretty thing?"

  "This is Madison, Stephanie," Harold said, "I've told you about her, she worked with me in Charlotte, and runs the Asheville office now."

  "Told about me?" Madison said, white teeth shining in a wide smile. "Oh, my, that will take some sorting out, I expect. I'm delighted to meet the new Mrs. Alden. Hello, Stephanie."

  "Hello, Madison," Stephanie said, "it's good to meet you, Harold has mentioned you many times."

  "Really," said Madison. "Okay, that's good, we live in such an open age now, don't we? How difficult and uncomfortable it used to be." She turned to Harold. "Sorry I missed you this morning, I was locked up in a video-conference, the end-of-quarter regional thing. Had to go up in the BB&T building, our in-house system is still a dream. Next month, they've been saying for over a year now. I hope you found everything you needed?"

  "I think that I did, except those reports. Thanks for bringing them." Harold said. "Elaine made everything else easy. I met a client this morning who had a bunch of questions. I've just about worked up some answers for him."

  "Isn't this a vacation trip, Harold? You shouldn't be working, you should be focusing on your marriage to this lovely girl. Don't ruin things again, I can't be there for you this time. Well, people, excuse me, my calendar's all backed up from losing the morning to the conference. Best to David, when you get home. Tell him I miss him. Glad I had a chance to meet you, Stephanie, if only for a minute."

  "Yeah, me too, Madison." Stephanie watched Madison smile, nod once to her, once to Harold, walk through the foyer, and out onto the porch.

  Ellen and Geoff finished their descent into the parlor. "I've only seen her about six seconds, Stef," Ellen said, "but if you need eyes clawed out, I'm on."

  "Hi, Ellen, no, I don't think so. Maybe a rain-check." Stephanie turned to Harold. "She's not quite what I'd pictured. But this has been a trip full of surprises."

  "Women often don't like her. She's okay, a little hard-edged, but very good at what she does. Works too hard. I think she's just insecure. "

  "She hides that well," Geoff said. "Let's go in and see what Alistair has for us."

  Marti set four platters of little cakes on a serving tray in the parlor. Her apron was blue with yellow vertical stripes, almost up to her chin, down to her knees, it wrapped around her back. Geoff wondered if Alistair had got her to cover up, to protect Harold's sensitivities. But the tightness of the wrap highlighted the thrust of her bust and hips, against
the deep tuck of her waist. She'd be provocative in a flour sack, Geoff thought.

  "Hi, Marti," Ellen said. "What have you got?"

  "Square cupcakes, I call them. These are lemon zest," Marti pointed at the first serving plate, "these ones are coconut-almond, he calls these 'butter-scorch,' and then white cake marbled with bitter chocolate. They're all flavored with different liquors."

  Alistair had come in behind her. "Thank you, dear, exactly right." He indicated each of the trays, in the same order. "Benedictine, Drambuie, Brandy, Creme de Menthe. The tea-pots are labeled, help yourselves. It's Colombian in the carafe." He stepped back, and gestured the four guests forward. As they were filling tea-cups and plates, Dwight and Honoria came in from the garden, Jerry a minute later, then Ross came down from the second floor. Ellen led her group to the coffee table farthest from the serving tray, where the house plans had been studied the night before. Alistair described his cakes to the new group.

  As Alistair finished talking, and the second group filled their plates, a man walked in from the foyer. He walked over to Alistair. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Harold Alden. I'm James Richter."

  Alistair shook the offered hand, "I'm Alistair Vingood, nice to meet you, James. Harold's over there in the corner."

  Harold stood as James walked towards him. "Hello, James." They shook hands.

  "I'm sorry to break in on your vacation twice in a day, extremely rude of me." He smiled at the others. "You're engaged with better things, clearly."

  Stephanie extended her hand. "I'm Stephanie Alden, this is Geoff and Ellen Fletcher." James reached forward and shook hands with each of them.

  "A privilege to meet you." James smiled, then took Harold's arm. "But my appearance here begs the question. I just wanted to be completely clear. If you have found something out already, I'd be happy to know. But, if you need more time, please take it. Don't do anything more during your vacation. I feel bad for intruding this much, you can only make me feel less of a cad if you stop now."

  Stephanie stood. "Would you like to join us, James? I'm sure that Alistair would be happy to share his teapot and cakes, let me just check."

  "No need," Alistair's voice boomed from across the room. "I have the ears of a bat. A rather large bat, to be sure, but one with acute ears. Of course, certainly, join us. Your guest is my guest. Come help yourself, James."

  "If nobody minds?" James looked around the table. "I will provision and return." He turned towards the serving table.

  Stephanie said softly to Harold, "Do you mind, dear?"

  "No, it's fine." Harold said. "He is easy to look at, isn't he?"

  "Harold," Ellen asked, "is this some sort of breakthrough?"

  "I do try not to be prejudiced, I just usually find myself reacting first and thinking later."

  "Then," Geoff said, "let's all just enjoy our sweets."

  James returned with his cup and saucer and plate of cakes. He was wearing a purple velour fleece jacket, zipped halfway up, a yellow dress shirt underneath, tan wool slacks, shiny brown loafers. He set his plates on the table and sat in the empty chair.

  "This morning," Harold said, "you looked like a hiker."

  "Oh, I've spent most of the day shopping. There are a couple of wonderful men's stores downtown, quite as good as anything we have in Charlotte. I'd been putting off picking up some things I needed."

  "Anyway," Harold said, "I can't tell you much. You're right, something's happening that's a little strange. I've sent an email to my boss. He may be able to clear it up, I'll call you if he does. Otherwise, I'll do as you say and wait till I get back. It will be easier for me, working from there."

  "So, James," Ellen said, "what do you do in Charlotte?"

  "I start things, businesses. But I have no talent for keeping them going. So I'll get an idea, about a product or a service, try to get it underway, then find somebody looking for a business to buy into. Also, I collect things, coins and stamps, and broker a lot of trades with other collectors. Sometimes I tell people I'm a wheeler-dealer, with little wheels and little deals. It's a good career for someone, like me, with a short attention span."

  "Are you married?" Stephanie asked.

  "No, it goes back to that short attention span. I'd be kind of infuriating to live with. I can't hold still."

  "I was thinking about those coins," Harold said.

  "Thought you might be," James pulled several small zip-lock bags from the pocket of his jacket and spread them on the table. "And I brought a couple new things, you might like." He covered the bags with his hand. "But this is a terrible interruption for everyone else, I'm sorry."

  Ellen laughed and lifted his hand. "Don't worry, we'll watch and learn. Or we'll ignore you and talk about something else. No problem either way."

  James looked around the table. "Well, then. These are the other two Roman ones. I'll cut a deal on them, even if you don't need them, you'll find somebody who does. A trade gets better value than cash, most of the time. You know that. But here's more Roman silver, from Britain, reign of Hadrian; and this Eastern empire copper, beautifully clean, is Justinian. And these are Mongol, Kublai Khan, he said, a silver dirham, a gold dinari. I think that's right. I've got the paperwork somewhere, it's not my period."

  Harold picked up the first bag, pulled a magnifier from his pocket, and peered at the coin. He put it down, and picked up the second bag. "How did you turn these up, since this morning?"

  "Met a couple coin buddies at the gem show, talked a little, swapped a little. You'd mentioned some things you were looking for."

  "I want these, but you knew that. What do you want for them?" Harold asked.

  "Whoa," James sat back in his chair, lifting his right hand. "Let's not get gobsmacked by details. The important thing is knowing what you want. If that's straight, we can make it work."

  "Camels, carpets and coins," Geoff said, "all the same process. We could be in a Bedouin tent, a Park Avenue art dealer, a Hollywood studio."

  "You got it, Geoff, it's easy as breathing." James looked pleased. "Once you've established the need, or the want, the deal is just waiting in there for you to pull it out."

  "But you don't have a deal yet," Stephanie said.

  "You mean the terms aren't concluded," James said. "There can be a fermentation period, an alignment of energies. Usually the case. But look at him, and tell me there isn't a deal."

  Harold flushed. "But I see things I want all the time, things I can't afford, or things not worth the price."

  "Shopkeepers contend with fixed costs, overhead, ego — traders just need to maintain momentum. We'll make it work, doesn't have to be this minute. Let's sleep on it." James picked up the bags and returned them to his pocket.

  "But what's your price? I can't 'sleep on it' if I don't know." Harold shook his head.

  "Okay, I'll say it this way, whatever you're willing to pay or trade is enough." James smiled.

  "What if I said, okay, a dollar each? What then?" Harold asked.

  "I'd say, we could do that, but think of your account balance. Sometime later I could ask you for something, way beyond what you'd want to give me. And you'd feel like you had to pay, remembering what you'd done here. Things can go out of balance, for a while, but eventually they come back even." James reached across the table and squeezed Harold's shoulder. "Don't worry, nobody's going to make you do something you don't want to do."

  "I've never heard anyone say that," Ellen said, "who wasn't trying to take my clothes off."

  "Same exact thing, Ellen. It's energy exchange: sex, power, money. It's what turns the earth." James winked at her. "But I've got to get going, I'm having dinner in Lake Lure. Call me, Harold, if you turn up any answers, or any questions. I'll check back next week, regardless." He stood. "I'm sorry for boring you all with my strange ideas. They do work for me, but most people think I'm nuts."

  "Not nuts at all," Geoff said, "eerily archetypal, not nuts."

  "Poetry, right? I'll see what I can find." He grinned at Geoff.
"Take care all." He turned, walked across the room, spoke briefly to Alistair and Marti, now dispensing cakes and tea to the Herbert family, all still tousled from the river. He turned to wave goodbye to the group at the table, and closed the porch door behind him. Marti bent to pick up something from the floor, and ran after him.

  "I'm speechless," Stephanie said. "I think I'd have to work awfully hard not to buy anything that guy was selling, from a bible to a bridge."

  "Or a roll in the hay," said Ellen.

  Geoff said, "I have to say, he was pretty enough to eat"

  "I wouldn't put it that way," said Harold.

  Ellen and Stephanie looked at each other, then said in unison, "We would."