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

by Bud Crawford

  Geoff stood. "Let's do a walkabout, see if we can turn up that pole. See if we can find where it is, figure out how it got there. That would be a nice something to hand Sprague at teatime."

  Ellen was out the balcony door. "Let's start with the perimeter, then down your rabbit hole to the kitchen, then out back to the gardens and greenhouses. Those are the places it would disappear best."

  Geoff took the opposite direction around the balcony and met Ellen by the door to the kitchen stairs. "No sign?" he asked. She shook her head and went down. Marti was alone in the kitchen, looking simultaneously alarmed, put-upon, and focused on preparations for tea. She didn't seem surprised to see Geoff follow Ellen out the back door.

  The pole was in the second greenhouse, lying on the ground behind a long bench of bedding plants. Geoff paced off the length. "That's it, eleven feet, roughly the same diameter. Except that one was clean and this one looks like it was rubbed down with dirt."

  Ellen said, "Let's finish looking, number one. Number two we ask Toni about her inventory of eleven foot bamboo poles."

  The Juniper House lot was more than two acres, so their search could not be both brief and conclusive. But they were satisfied that they'd found all the easy places to hide such a thing. Toni knew about the pole on the balcony. "It's long and light, just what you need sometimes. A kid tossed a pair of sneakers over the phone line last Halloween. I brought it up from the potting shed to snag the shoelaces and left it upstairs, no reason to move it back. Still there as far as I know. Why are you asking?"

  They'd just seen it, and wondered, Ellen said. "How's Alistair?"

  "Rotten, but he'll recover. I'm trying to get him up to help Marti with tea, but that may be a lost cause. Luckily there's always frozen stuff in case of emergency. I was just on my way to help her pick a few things to thaw."

  .

  chapter thirty-fifth

  They walked through the empty dining room and found Stephanie talking to Honoria in the parlor, Andy Ross was sitting on the other side with the Farley sisters. "So, Stef, are you rich?" Ellen asked her.

  "Feels like it. Never had that much in one place, not even close. I mean I knew Harold was making a lot of money at Metrocor, and he always let me spend whatever I wanted. I had access, you know, but no control. I always deposited my checks in the joint account alongside his. Share and share alike, but it all melted together and he made the decisions. When to pay bills, what to leave in checking, what to save, what to invest. I just let him. He was good at it and I knew I could trust him. Now it's me alone, me plus him-or-her." She pressed her hands against her belly.

  "You held firm on opening the account outside of Metrocor?" Ellen asked.

  "Yup, I'm now a Wachovia Crown person, special savings account plus free checking, credit card to follow. They can even do some brokerage stuff. Pretty similar deal to what David was pushing at Metrocor, matter of fact."

  "Did David bring you back?" Geoff asked.

  "No, he took me to the bank. It was just a few blocks, but I didn't want to walk, carrying all that money. I mean, it was just one little piece of paper, but it still made me nervous. Once it was safely deposited, I walked back here. I don't know where he is. I think he was taking Madison to lunch."

  Honoria said, "He's upstairs. He came in with that woman, with Madison, a little while ago. Have we heard anything about Dwight?"

  Ellen said, "Yeah, he's doing fine. They jerked his arm back in the socket, and they're running all their tests. Probably some degree of concussion, restricted activity for a week or two, but there doesn't seem to be any long-term damage. Jerry said to say thanks, Honoria, for taking charge and getting the ER guys to move so fast."

  "There are magic words that unlock the doors. I'm happy I still remember some of them. Is that detective coming back this afternoon?" She laced her fingers together on her lap, very white against the navy blue wool skirt.

  "Around teatime," Geoff said. "They had evidence collected at James' cabin to log in, paperwork to file. I think he was hoping Dwight would be released, so he could do a one-stop interview with all of us. Plus check the accident scene."

  "Do you think it was an accident?" Honoria asked.

  "It's the simplest explanation," Geoff said.

  "An electrician," Honoria said, "a man who spends his working days on ladders, just topples over a balcony?"

  "I think more supervising than ladder-work lately, but you're right, it's surprising. Topple he did, though. Just like James," Geoff said.

  "Did they find something at the cabin?" Honoria asked. "You said they had evidence."

  "Just guessing," Geoff said, "but if there was something strong, they'd be here already. No reason he'd lay out his case to me, if there is a case. I think, reading between Sprague's sparse lines, there were some papers and a computer, but nothing interesting yet."

  "He's smarter than that, I think." Honoria pressed her hands against the coffee table and leaned forwards.

  "Yes. Also smart enough to know his personal take on the probabilities doesn't comprise an actionable case." Geoff had been leaning against the dining room doorframe. He pushed himself upright, stepped around the loveseat, and sat next to Ellen.

  "Hold on," Stephanie said. "Are you really suggesting there was something suspicious about what happened to Dwight and James? And Harold?"

  "Nobody knows," Ellen said. "It's unlikely both ways. You have three accidents in three days, that's kind of improbable. But you also have no connections anybody knows about, so it's just as likely that they're separate events."

  "Excuse me for interrupting," Andy Ross said. "Mary-Beth and Beth-Ann were filling me in on what happened here this morning. I skipped breakfast, to get a little office work done before I had to wait for the movers. You know 'between nine and four.' Do you-all think somebody was trying to hurt Dwight? Is there something going on we should be aware of?"

  Geoff shrugged. "Nothing specific. Might be wise to watch your step, when people around you are falling down. Maybe the detective will have something to tell us. It's almost four, he said he'd be here around four-thirty."

  Ross said. "Well, I guess we wait. This is my last night at Juniper House, incidentally. I'm going to miss having breakfast and tea and dessert here. It'll just be me and my microwave, talking back at the television. The good side is I'll have all my stuff. Maybe I should see if I could get NOAA to cover the cost of eating here while I sleep at home. You-all are taxpayers. That sounds okay, doesn't it, a reasonable use of public funds?"

  "I'd say it was, yes," Madison Markey had just come down the stairs, followed by David Ickes. "Especially if we can expand the arrangement to include me. I live just a few blocks away, no problem getting over here, if the food is as good as David says." She preceded David across the room and sat on an empty sofa beside the left-hand door to the back garden.

  She had changed from her morning outfit, Stephanie noticed. A gray knit dress, hand's width above the knees, with narrow shoulder straps that left shoulders and arms and a generous swatch of sternum bare. Several gold-color bracelets jingled on each wrist, calf-high patent leather boots, shiny black belt. Has a tasteful little black taser in her little black clutch, I bet, Stephanie thought. Is my dislike corrupted by jealousy and envy, or do I just purely hate that woman? Andy Ross and Geoff had followed her across the room, not just with their eyes, but their whole heads, their entire upper torsos, with what else she didn't even want to think. She isn't even especially pretty, she just reeks of availability, pure distilled eau-de-slut. Oh, please, let it not be envy. They're still looking, damn their eyes. Why is a pregnant widow consumed such tasteless nasty thoughts?

  Madison set her hand bag on the table in front of her and said, "I hope no one minds that David invited me for tea, Alistair told him it would be okay. He's heading back tomorrow, so this is our last evening."

  "My work's done, I've decided," David said. "Stephanie's surrounded by friends and her financial situation is settled, for the moment. Of co
urse, if there is anything I can do, Stephanie, just say. Otherwise I'm planning to return tomorrow after breakfast."

  "Oh, go, please," said Stephanie, "you must have work piling up and I'm perfectly fine, as far as what anybody can do for me. Thank you for helping me this morning. It was very kind of you to come to Asheville, and I appreciate your concern. But, I am okay here, and I'll be okay when I go home."

  "You are so brave, Stephanie," Madison said, "meeting this terrible situation with such control and good spirits. I would just be destroyed, I can't even imagine how you are coping."

  "Yes," Ellen said "amazing control." She rose and crossed to face Stephanie, her back to Madison. She clasped her hands around Stephanie's head and drew their faces together. Stephanie exhaled harshly, then gulped in air. "So brave." Ellen smiled at her with such intensity, that Stephanie's exclamation choked in a wordless cry. "That's exactly right, sometimes you just have to sputter a little."

  Ellen stood and turned and said, "I think I'll see how Toni is getting on." She walked through the dining room door. Honoria slid closer to Stephanie and took her hands.

  Geoff said, "I don't think any of us can know how difficult the last few days have been for our host. Alistair takes hospitality very seriously, with a Bedouin intensity. The responsibility for something that happens to a guest, goes directly on him, never mind the circumstances."

  "I think you may be right," Ross said, "but doesn't that set an impossible standard? It's not healthy to blame yourself for things outside your control."

  "People who take more on themselves than they should," Honoria said, "are generally the ones who accomplish the most."

  "You can tell," Ross said, "this place is well kept, inside and out, not even considering the food, which is some of the best I've ever had."

  David said, "Yes, certainly Alistair is an excellent cook. But I agree with Andy, you can't blame yourself for things that you didn't do."

  "Shouldn't blame yourself, maybe," Geoff said, "but sometimes you get to thinking, how could I have changed the outcome? How could I have anticipated this, or headed it off?"

  "That assumes you can be in complete control of what happens around you," David said. "Sometimes there are surprises from other actors on the stage."

  "Oh, Geoffrey," Honoria said, "I've been trying to remember to ask you. Ellen said you had a publishable play in hand, from one of your students. Might I read it? It's a professional interest."

  "I hate to say no, but it's course work, not my property. I'd need the author's permission. Even more because your interest is professional. Sorry, Honoria."

  "Give me a dollar, Geoff." Honoria smiled.

  Geoff shifted his weight to pull the wallet from his rear pocket. He took out a dollar and handed it to her. She took the bill and wrote quickly on a blank page of her notebook. She tore off the page and handed it to him.

  "There, now I am a non-exclusive literary agent for your student. You'll need to fill in her name, get her to pay you back, and get permission to offer me the work. But this is binding unless she refuses. Can you phone or email her?"

  "What did Ellen say, Honoria?" Geoff asked. "Wherefore this covetousness?"

  "She said she liked it, and that you thought it publishable. I haven't quite retired, you know, I still scrounge for my tiny publishing house. We do plays only, I think I told you, specializing in emerging talent." She opened her purse and tucked the dollar carefully inside.

  "You're a pirate, Honoria." Geoff laughed. "Yeah, I'll send an email and tell her she owes me a dollar if you like the play. You will like it."

  "Yes, I know I will. Here's our detective and his pretty patrolman, right on time." Honoria opened her notebook again, to a fresh page.

  chapter thirty-sixth

  This was beginning to seem like a recurring bad dream, Sprague thought. Third time out, each one more complicated and less resolved than the one before. What can he do with these people? He can't arrest anybody, he can't hold anybody as a witness. He can't even be sure one crime has been committed, let alone three. Except he is sure. He and Apple were walking towards the porch steps along the herring-bone brick paving. Spring flowers, lush and odiferous in their beds, lined the walk on both sides. The sun was bright. Only a few high wispy clouds broke the even blue of the April sky.

  "What would you do, Apple?" Sprague stopped halfway up the path.

  "I dunno, sir. It's a poser. Scan faces for the guilty flush?" She stopped along side him.

  "Tried that last time."

  "How about the infra-red camera, pick the heat up right off the skin? Much more scientific. Honestly sir, I don't know. We can try to fill out what we learned at the hospital. But unless there's a witness, we just have a house full of people who might be suspects if anything did happen this morning." She pointed to the door. "We should go in, I guess."

  "Yeah, I guess." Sprague walked the rest of the way, Apple opened the door and followed him inside.

  He led her into the parlor, where several conversations stopped at once. He scanned the faces, matched them all with names, except the old maids. Oh, yeah, Farley. Plus Madison Markey, good lord. Well, I'll let Apple interview her.

  "Hello, folks, me again." He stopped.

  Ellen pushed a cart with carafes of coffee and pots of steaming tea in from the kitchen. Marti followed her with a second cart piled with plates of tea cakes and cookies.

  "Tell you what," Sprague said, "let's all get a cup of something and a cookie, then I'll give my little speech. That okay?" He looked at Toni, standing in the dining room doorway, out of sight of the guests. She nodded, yes.

  After five minutes of milling and pouring and loading of small plates the guests were all settled with their tea or coffee and treats. Sprague and Apple stood, cups and plates on the sideboard next to them.

  Sprague swallowed some coffee, a little too hot for such a large gulp. He quickly cooled his tongue with an oatmeal-marzipan cookie. "I assume everybody knows about Dwight Vance's fall this morning. We've just come from the hospital. He's doing well and should be released in the next hour or so. He and his partner, Jerry Hollier, have medical permission to return home tomorrow. And police permission as well, at this stage. It appears that his fall was an accident. Like the fall of James Richter and the heart attack of Harold Alden. In a minute I'll ask if anybody has anything to add to the story that might change our way of understanding it. And then Apple and I will speak in private with each of you, one-on-one, to see if there's anything anybody knows that's not suitable for public discussion. This is an odd way of conducting an investigation, I know, but it's an odd investigation. We'll do the best we can to work through it quickly. Does anyone have any questions about what I've said so far?"

  "Yes, Mr. Ross?"

  "Do I understand that we're all free to go, as it were? I just got the moving van unloaded at my new house, and was going to leave Juniper House after breakfast tomorrow."

  "If things change, based on what we learn this afternoon, I'll let you know. As of right now, yes, go wherever you need to go. Do make sure I have accurate information about where that is, and how I can reach you. Okay, does anybody know anything about this morning? The Fletchers, I understand were downstairs, also Miss Spence and Mr. Vingood and Ms Billings. Everyone else was still upstairs, is this correct. Mr. Ross?"

  "I was at my office downtown. I left before breakfast."

  "Okay, the rest of you upstairs? Alright. Did anybody see Mr. Vance on the balcony, or see him fall, or see him on the ground?

  "I saw him on the ground." Alistair had appeared in the dining room doorway, behind Mary-Beth. He walked around her into the parlor. "There was a knock at the door, which I answered. A little neighbor child, six or seven years old, I think, had rung the bell. She stepped back and pointed to my right. She didn't say anything. I walked over to the corner and saw Dwight kneeling on the grass. I jumped over the rail and helped him inside. Mrs. Staedtler has emergency medical experience, she checked him out. Geoff and Elle
n Fletcher drove Dwight and his friend Jerry Hollier to the Mission Hospital ER. I went into my bedroom and didn't come out until a few minutes ago. That's what I know."

  "Thank you, Mr. Vingood. Is that substantially correct, as far as anyone else knows? Well, the obvious question for you, Miss Staedtler, if you were supervising: why didn't you call an ambulance? Why not dial 911?"

  "It was a close call, Detective Sprague. His eyes tracked, he was responsive, pulse steady. There appeared no serious abdominal or sacral trauma, no bleeding, slight nausea, dizziness, probable concussion. A badly dislocated left shoulder, shock was coming on. The Fletchers got him to the ER door in under seven minutes. An ambulance, even fire-rescue, would have taken twenty or thirty. I'm remembering the response time for Mr. Alden. I called ahead to alert receiving. It seemed the quickest, cleanest course."

  "Had you been wrong, Mr. Vance could have bled out internally or seized in a car with no equipment or trained personnel. Were you aware of the risk and of the personal liability you were assuming, Miss Staedtler?"