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

by Bud Crawford

  Walking back into the bedroom she saw Harold hunched over the keyboard of his laptop. "All done, sir, unless you'd like me to vacuum the rugs?"

  Harold looked up, but not at her. "No, it isn't necessary, they're fine."

  Marti said, "Then, I'm out of here, sorry for interrupting." It's an awesome thing to have such power, she thought, as Harold looked at her for just a second, blushed and turned away. I didn't get drained last night (thank you, James!), I got charged. Hear me roar!

  The rest of her rounds were routine. The shy sisters were still downstairs, their queen-sized bed already pulled perfectly straight. The old lady had used just one towel, none of the soaps or cosmetics, and had also made up her bed. The tall guy with the nice wife was in his room, like the jerk had been, but with him there wasn't anything weird. He noticed her, they all did, even Alistair. But he looked at her face and told her towels was all they needed. She put fresh linens on the bed because it had been three days here, too.

  Good deal more work to do in the gay guys' room. Stuff scattered on the floor, clothes and linens and trash, the bed was a mess. There must be a neat one and a messy one, because sometimes everything was all tidy when she got there, sometimes a major wreck. She wondered which one was which. It had been Dwight, the sandy-haired one, who creamed Seth last year. Seth had slapped her and she yelped, more surprised than hurt. Dwight had been on the patio, charged in the kitchen and shoved Seth so hard he slammed to the floor, crunched against the refrigerator door. He pointed to Seth not to get up and looked at her, questioning. She nodded, she was okay. He turned to Seth, still on the floor and said, next time, kid, it might hurt. Then he smiled at her and left. Never said anything about it, to anybody, as far as she knew.

  More of a man than most straight guys she knew. Of course Seth was lucky Alistair was out of town. Alistair would have broken bones. Knowing he was away was the only reason Seth was brave enough to come around. Funny the way gays look at you. Like they see the whole show, and usually kind of check it out, but it doesn't make them stupid. More honest or something, because they aren't constantly trying to hit on you. Sometimes, like the other one, Jerry, they just don't care, but Dwight always seemed to appreciate her. She closed the door and moved along.

  The weird single guy hadn't even slept in his bed. The sheets were mussed up, but she could tell. Same with the towel, crumpled up on the floor, only dry as a bone. She pulled the bed straight and replaced the towel anyway. She rolled her cart into the hall towards the little elevator. The Germans in the carriage house, they were sloppy, and not just the kids. More like she was in real life. Probably take longer out there than all the rest of the rooms together. She pulled the cart off on the first floor and crossed towards the kitchen, the most level path to the carriage house. Suddenly the jerky guy yelled from behind her, standing in the doorway, his arms waving.

  "There she is. You should search her! She might have already hidden it. Check that cart, too!"

  "Marti," Alistair said, "Mr. Alden can't find his watch. Did you happen to see it when your were cleaning up?"

  "He thinks I took it? What would I want with his stupid watch?" Marti turned to face them, hands on her hips.

  "It was a Breitling, a Chronomat Evolution, about forty-seven hundred dollars worth of 'stupid watch.'" Harold spoke more loudly than before and stepped towards Marti.

  "Well I didn't see any watch. Why wasn't he wearing it? It's two hours after breakfast. Or notice it was missing before now?" Marti stood facing Harold, flushed and angry. Also flushed, Harold took a step towards her. Marti spoke to Alistair, but continued looking straight at Harold. "Tell him, one step closer, I knock him on his scrawny little ass."

  "Marti!' Alistair stepped forward and between them. "Mr. Alden, stop this! We'll find your watch. If you had it at breakfast, and just slipped it off, as you say, it's still in your room. Under something, on a table, in a drawer." He turned widening the space between them making them each step back. "We'll go right now, the three of us, and have a look. If the watch is missing, our insurance policy will cover the loss. There's no need to shout or get worked up. Come."

  Alistair led them across the parlor to the stairs, Marti's left arm in his right hand, Harold's right arm in his left hand. He pushed them together ahead of him up the stairs. His size and purposefulness had overwhelmed them, without using any significant force. At the top of the stairs he let them go to open the room door. "You, first, Mr. Alden. Marti." He followed them in.

  "Where do you think you put the watch, sorry, the chronograph, Mr. Alden?" Harold pointed to the bedside table. A radio alarm clock, a pen-knife, a wallet, some change, a car key, a lamp and a magazine folded open were all that was on the table.

  Harold said, "I emptied out my pockets, that chair is hard, and my watch band catches on the corner of my laptop, I was just trying to get comfortable to work. She was standing right where you are, making the bed." He glared at Marti, who was standing across the room, on the other side of the bed. Marti glared back, saying nothing.

  Alistair lifted the lamp, the magazine and clock. He opened the drawer, reached in, rustled papers, and pulled out a watch. "This it, maybe? It was under the breakfast menu, you could have opened the drawer without seeing it."

  Harold's flush drained, he was pale and shaken. "Yes, that's it." He turned to Marti.

  First time's he's ever looked straight at my face, she thought. She turned and spoke to Alistair. "Will that be all, sir?"

  "Please, I'm so sorry," Harold said to her, "I don't know why, I jumped to a conclusion, I thought I'd checked the drawer. I thought it was gone, and you'd just been here, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Alistair."

  "I think we put this away and forget it. A misunderstanding, now resolved completely." Alistair looked from Harold to Marti. "Let's all get back to what we were doing and not refer to this again." He walked between Harold and the bed, patting Harold's shoulder as he passed. "You're very pale, Mr. Alden, you should sit down. Is there anything I can bring you, some tea or juice?"

  "Oh, no, please. I'm fine, I think I will sit down, and catch my breath. Please accept my apologies, miss, Marti. I was so completely wrong."

  She looked down at him, sunk in the easy chair by the window. "It's okay. Forget it, sir." Her tone was not as soft as her words.

  Alistair pushed her to the door. "Just call the desk, or come down, if there's something you need. Good morning, Mr. Alden."

  Marti turned to Alistair in the hall as the door closed. "You're going to let him get away with that?"

  He said, "Yes. That's it. Who would benefit from taking it further?" He kept her walking down the hall, down the stairs.

  "Maybe me. Can't I charge him with statutory insult or something?"

  "Not in a way that would do any good. Just let it go, honey." He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against him. Her tensed body relaxed after a couple seconds. He set her down, and took a step back.

  "Yeah, you're right," she said. "He's a pissy little jerk, that's all. I'm glad you found the watch. Thank you, by the way," she said.

  "You're welcome," he said, "but for what?"

  "For believing me, for not believing him." Her eyes were moist, mascara smeared.

  "Oh, that was the easy part," Alistair smiled down at her. "Go straighten up after those German hooligans." She turned and went into the kitchen to get her cart. Believing was easy, he thought, until the squinty face of your druggy boyfriend passed before my eyes. Damn glad I went with my first instincts.

  Now, he wondered, as he walked to the roll-top desk in the foyer and sat down to slit open the pile of mail he'd been working on when Harold had come down yelling, how many saw that? The sisters were around the corner, they didn't see anything, but likely heard it all. Honoria was in line for seeing and hearing both, and I don't think she misses anything. I didn't see the Fletcher's door open, but I saw it close. Everybody else is out, I think. Oh, well, shit happens, then you clean up and wait for the next pile to hit the fan.r />
  He sorted the paper mail, checked emails, wrote some notes, entered and confirmed a couple of reservations. No more outbursts, during the hour or so he sat there. He stood up, stretched, and went into his apartment for a mid-day nap, the often-as-possible exercised reward for rising before dawn to bake the breakfast breads.

  ~

  Harold felt better after he'd sat for a while, his heart had stopped pounding, he'd even been able to get back to work at his charts a little. But his mind kept jumping around. He hoped there was some way Stephanie didn't have to find out about the watch, it made him look so prejudiced. He was glad he'd settled with James about the coins. They really were beauties. He should check his email, see if David had anything more for him. What time was Stephanie coming back? They really hadn't set a time, but he'd have to stop when she did, he'd promised. He was annoyed he couldn't find the rule behind the numbers, it felt like they were mocking him. He knew he could do it if only he could concentrate for long enough. If he hadn't looked up and thought the Breitling was gone, he'd probably have figured it out by now. He was that close.

  ~

  Geoff had plunged back into his stack of student stories. One good, one excellent, and two terrible, so far. Terrible was okay, he thought, long shots that missed badly could sometimes be fixed. It was mediocre that was hard. Well, he wouldn't have guessed Harold had that much noise in him. Thought Marti swiped his watch, apparently. And though he hadn't been able to hear much after they all went up inside the room, it sounded like they'd found it. Maybe that's the ultimate differentiation of the human from the other species — we're the one that can make misery for ourselves out of nothing. He picked up the manuscripts. Half of them before lunch, the other half before tea, that would be a good pace.

  ~

  Honoria Staedtler had begun a sweater for her great-grand niece, Abby. Ten years old, by far her favorite of that cohort. A fearless little minx with wide green-eyes. She was right on that cusp when everything important was still simple and passion was clean. The sweater was a top-down raglan. She had been at the armpits, where the sleeves take off to either side, when Harold had come down shouting. She'd pretended to keep on knitting through all that, but had just gone round and round. When things calmed down, she had to take out ten rows to get back to where the one tube was meant to turn into three tubes. She hadn't caught everything they were arguing about, but the gist was clear. Harold had showed off his "chronograph" at dinner yesterday. He explained to everyone that its value appreciated, so it wasn't an expense but an investment. Marti will recover, she's young and buoyant, but how long was Harold going to keep tripping over his own tangled thoughts? When your ideas make you unhappy, she thought, change them, like smelly socks. Stephanie had her work cut out, with Harold and, now, with the pregnancy. Have to sort that out for herself before anyone else could help. I bet she's told Ellen, those two are getting as close as the Farleys. There, that's the left arm cuff. Time to bind off and bring the right one down.

  She looked up from her needles. Who was that? A woman in a long yellow dress, low shoes. Lost her almost as soon as I saw her, walking up the right stairs. Not a guest, unless she's a new one. Visitor? Visiting whom? Get a look at her coming down if I can. Quarter to twelve. What do I want for lunch? Nothing, after that breakfast, just hold on 'til tea. It was great gadding about with Ellen and Stephanie on Monday, and Biltmore is always stimulating. But Ellen's here to work, I don't want to slow her down. Stephanie has her own work to do, poor dear. I can't see any way to help, but I'm snoopy enough I want to know how it turns out. Snoopy's what keeps me alive. This is a pretty pattern, I hope Abby likes it, I know she'll like the color, exact match for those amazing eyes. Oh, there's yellow dress again, coming down, long brown hair, loose down her back. I should have moved to the other side, she's out the kitchen door. I'll just slip over to the window, see if she turns around, see which way she goes.

  ~

  Andy Ross had been underneath the bed he hadn't slept in when the maid came through. He'd been seen 'going to work' by everybody after breakfast, but not coming back in. The fiber-optic wand threaded through the transom gave him a clear view of the second floor hallway without having to stand on a chair and risk showing his face. The hall was actually a wrap-around balcony circling the parlor below. His room was center right. The left stairs were straight across, the right stairs just out of sight. He couldn't see the gay guys, one door left from his, or the Staedtler woman one door right. But he could see across to the Farleys in the middle, Fletchers right, Aldens left. The front and rear center rooms were unoccupied, he could see those doors, just. He closed the outside curtains that the maid had opened, so he couldn't be seen from the porch. Should be fine until tea. He'd walk down and say he'd just got off work. Didn't matter, nobody was watching him, except maybe old Staedtler, but she was three-quarter looopy. Nobody paid her any attention. He'd seen Geoff and Harold go into their rooms after breakfast, then watched the blow-up with the dusky maid (good word, dusky). Not sure how that episode fits into anything, but the five-grand watch is interesting. To be honest, it's just about the only thing I've picked up this week. Now is a good time for a little shut-eye. Last night had been hectic and he was beat. The door was wedged, nobody could get in. It would sure be a lot easier if he had the slightest damn idea what he was looking for, or who was in or who was out. He set the alarm on his Blackberry for 3:45, and was asleep in seconds.

  ~

  Stephanie called Harold around 11:30, to see if he wanted to come downtown for lunch, or have her bring something back. He said Alistair had offered to bring him lunch but he wasn't hungry. He'd be fine until tea. Why didn't she just keep on shopping, he'd see her then, was that okay? She told him, sure, then wondered why she was relieved. She called Ellen's cell, and Ellen invited her to lunch at the Marketplace. Geoff, she told Stephanie, had turned her down. He said he was still two stories from lunch. It would be nice not to eat alone.

  The Marketplace seemed pricey for dinner, moderate for lunch. But after a spectacular meal, dinner no longer looked expensive. Maybe they'd return with their entourage. The waiter suggested they reserve a table before four o'clock, yes, even on a Wednesday. While waiting for the check, they decided to walk back over the expressway. Stephanie could check on Harold and unload her purchases. Ellen could leave off the copies she'd made on the library copy machine and the books she'd borrowed using Alistair's card. Then they'd walk back downtown, Stephanie to shop, Ellen to visit the morgue at the Asheville Citizen-Times. Did they still call it that?

  chapter nineteenth

  Toni knocked on Harold's door. There was no answer. She knocked again, "Mr. Alden?" I hope he's not asleep, she thought. The door was locked, not the bolt, just the self-locking latch. She turned her key softly and pulled the door a little way open. He wasn't on the bed, he was crumpled on the floor pressed against the radiator, his back to her. The desk chair was overturned, on the far side of the desk. Alistair would be asleep, but she'd just seen Marti downstairs watering plants in the parlor. She leaned back into the hall and called, "Marti, come up here!"

  Without waiting for an answer she walked over to Harold. She pushed the fallen chair out of the way and pulled him gently towards her, onto his back. His face was pink and puffy. He'd felt warm as she turned him, but the radiator was on. He must have turned the heat up. She placed her index finger and forefinger along his throat: no pulse. She saw no obstruction in the windpipe as she pulled his mouth open.

  She heard steps behind her, Marti was in the doorway. "Call 911, tell them we have an unconscious man, maybe a heart attack. Go, now, girl!" She knelt alongside Harold, placed her palms on his chest leaned over him and pushed down firmly. She heard the snap as Marti opened her phone, but she couldn't hear the call. Marti backed out the door as she dialed. toni pressed, released, pressed. There was no response. He's gone, she thought. But she kept on as she had been trained, pressing, releasing.

  Geoff heard Toni yell for Marti, and Marti'
s stifled scream a minute later. He walked past Marti, her eyes wide and trembling, the cell-phone jerking in her hand. Two steps into the room he was blocked by Toni kneeling over Harold, pressing her clasped hands against his chest.

  "You okay?" he asked Toni.

  "Yeah, I got this. Could you make sure Marti got through to 911, that they got the address right from her cell?" Her voice was a little breathless, but steady as she pumped rhythmically on Harold's chest. He looked around the room. Harold's laptop was on, showing only the swirling interlocked circles of a screen-saver. The desk chair was lying on its side, beyond the bed. He scanned carefully for a couple seconds, then turned back into the hall. Marti was speaking into her phone, her voice steadier than her hands or her face, repeating the address for Juniper House.

  She said, "He's had a heart attack, please hurry, he could die. Yes, I'll stay on the line. Just hurry."