by Ann B. Ross
Chapter 23
Friday morning, bright and early, I took myself to the office of C. J. Sims, CPA, to discuss the purchase of The Handy Home Helpers. C.J. was a short, thin man with thick glasses, a slight paunch, and a large head filled with numbers and figures. Mathematics had pared him down to bone and baldness, leaving him with no interests other than the practice of accounting. He had no wife, no hobbies, and no social life, being too shy or too disinterested to pursue anything outside his office. He was precise and picky to a fault, but that’s what you want in the one in whom you put your trust when it comes to state and federal taxes. Besides, Sam thought highly of him, even though he said that C.J. was the most boring person he knew unless you were up for an IRS audit. Then, he said, C.J. was the man you wanted.
That morning C. J. Sims was, as usual, all business, seating me at a round table in his conference room, and placing himself, an envelope full of records, and a yellow legal pad beside me.
“So you’re thinking of going into business,” he said, shoving his glasses up on his nose. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Oh, my,” I said, my spirits dropping. “Is it that bad?”
“What? You mean Ms. Corn’s in-home care business? No, it’s the only one in the county and it’s profitable. All it needs is a good manager and a plan for expansion before a competitor steps in. That’s not you.”
“Well, I know that, C.J.,” I said, thinking to myself that knowing someone too well and too long had its drawbacks. “It’s not my intention to manage it myself. I’m looking at it as an investment because I have the perfect person to run it. Actually, I’m not even thinking of buying the business myself, but rather to loan the money to someone who knows the business backward and forward.”
“Hm-m,” he said, laying down his pencil. “That means you’ll be investing in the person, not the business. Might be better to buy the business and hire the person. That way you’d have something to sell if it didn’t work out or you got tired of it. Can’t sell a manager, you know.”
“I do know, and you may be sure that I’ve thought it out quite thoroughly. What I’d like to know from you is how much the business is worth. To my way of thinking, Ms. Corn is asking an unreasonable price, which means she either has stars in her eyes or she doesn’t really want to sell. What do you think?”
“I think that you’re right—it’s overpriced, probably because the Dollar Store showed a little interest.”
“Oh? You know about that?”
“I keep up,” C.J. said, slightly smugly. “And I know they’re looking elsewhere. She’ll know it soon, too, so a reasonable offer might be disappointing, but on the other hand, it could also be quite welcome.”
He leaned over the table, drew the legal pad near, and wrote a dollar sign on the page. “Here’s what I would offer if I were interested in a purchase.” And he jotted down a figure beside the dollar sign. “She’ll turn it down—it’s much too low. But if she makes a counteroffer, you’ll know she’s serious about selling. You can go from there.”
Pleased to have gotten what I’d come for, I began to gather myself to leave. “Thank you, C.J., we’ll try your price. Actually, we’ll let Joe Blair try it for us, because I’m staying in the background.”
“Not a bad idea,” he said, standing as I did. “The less the seller knows about where the money’s coming from, the better.”
“One other thing,” I said, as he reached for the doorknob. “I know that officially you’re not taking any new clients, but I’d like you to consider taking on The Handy Home Helpers, or rather its new manager, if and when this sale goes through. Well, even before that. She needs a tutorial in how to read the books as well as how to keep them. It can be considered part of my investments, which you’re already handling anyway.”
He whipped out a large white handkerchief, wiped briefly at his nose, and stuffed it back into his pocket. Giving himself time to think, I thought, and to consider if refusing a new client would entail the loss of a prized one—namely me.
“I’d take it as a personal favor,” I said, not at all reluctant to do a little arm-twisting.
He pushed his glasses up on his nose again, flashed a tight smile, and said, “I’d be pleased to do so. Send your manager to me whenever you’re ready.”
“Her name is Etta Mae Wiggins and she knows the business backward and forward. She may, however, know absolutely nothing about managing a business.”
His eyebrows went up just slightly, his only indication of surprise or dismay, I wasn’t sure which. Then he opened the door for me and said, “I’ll take it as a personal challenge. Thank you for the referral.”
I left, unsure of the edge of sarcasm in his last remark, but it didn’t matter. Etta Mae would be in capable hands.
* * *
—
Sam and I talked it over during the weekend, and he, too, thought that the business was sound, although overpriced.
“There’s a good, steady income,” he’d said, pointing to a line on a page. “And her patients seem to stay with her, which could be because she locks them in with contracts. But there’re several who’ve renewed over and over, so they must be pleased.”
“Either that,” I said, “or they can’t afford or don’t want to go into a nursing facility.”
“That’s true,” Sam said, nodding in agreement. “She’s had several patients for years, and that could be because she’s had little or no competition. Which could change, of course, so Etta Mae would do well to stay ahead of the curve and think of offering new or different services as she’s able to. A business can’t just stand still.”
“She’s mentioned that there’re some part-time workers who’d like to go full time. She could expand that way, and take on more patients. If,” I said, suddenly aware that an eager new owner could quickly run a business into the ground, “she doesn’t get carried away.”
“Oh, I doubt she’ll do that,” Sam said. “Etta Mae seems quite levelheaded and deliberate to me.”
“Yes, she is that, even hesitant in fact. Except,” I went on, “in marital matters. But that’s neither here nor there. The big question, Sam, is this: Is the business worth what Lurline Corn is asking?”
“No,” he said. “She’s overvalued it, and she’ll never get her asking price. And, if she’s any kind of businesswoman, I expect she knows it. She’s just sticking a toe in the water to see what the Dollar Store will do.”
“That’s exactly what C.J. said,” I said, “but nobody’s heard anything about them for a while. For all we know, they’re looking in Fletcher or Mills River, or some other county entirely. C.J. implied that he knew something, but he didn’t say what.” I stopped and drummed my fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Sam, why don’t you try to find out what they’re up to? Surely somebody at the Bluebird has heard some rumors.”
Sam smiled. “That’s the place to find out, all right. In the meantime, you should make sure that Etta Mae is committed to taking over. You don’t want to end up with a business on your hands and nobody to run it.”
“Goodness knows I don’t want to run it. But what do you think of C.J.’s suggestion of making a low offer in the hope that Lurline will come down on her price?”
“Well, she’ll either be insulted or she’ll negotiate. Actually I’m impressed that C.J. thought it was worth anything. He’s not in the risk-taking business at all.”
I perked up. “What do you think it’s worth?”
When he wrote down a figure, I sat back and smiled. It was a reasonable offer and more in line with my own thinking than C.J.’s crushingly low number. It was a figure that, stretched over the years, would not overwhelm Etta Mae with debt, and it was a figure that I could live with while she paid it off.
* * *
—
Come to find out, though, I’d overestimated Etta Mae’s ability to live with debt. When I showed her Sa
m’s suggestion, she was not just overwhelmed at the thought of it, she was sick to her stomach.
“I don’t think I can do it, Miss Julia,” she said, whispering as she gasped through the words. “I’ve never seen that much money in my life, much less spent it.”
We had met for lunch at my choice, the Tete-a-Tete Tearoom, which was proving to have been a poor choice. It had not occurred to me that her usual workday outfit—a colored tunic, matching baggy pants, and rubber-soled nurse’s shoes—would draw the eyes of the ladies who lunch. The tables were fairly close together, as well, so we ended up whispering across the table, which attracted even more attention.
Etta Mae lost her appetite early on—as soon as I wrote two figures on a paper napkin, in fact.
“Look,” I said, leaning close with my hand covering the napkin. “This is what Mr. Sims suggested, which I know would be rejected out of hand. C.J. is extremely conservative in his investment advice. Now, this is what Sam said we should offer so we won’t insult Lurline. He thinks it’s a fair price and one that she ought to jump at. What do you think?”
“Neither one,” she said, swallowing hard. “Miss Julia, I can’t borrow that kind of money. I’d never pay it off. I just can’t do it.”
I sat back and looked at her. Far be it from me to talk anybody into doing something simply because I thought it was a good idea. Of course I didn’t want to do that, nor did I want to make a life-changing decision for anyone else unless it was absolutely necessary. Hadn’t I just recently turned over a new leaf and gotten out of the knowing-what’s-best business?
Still, Etta Mae was just the type of person who needed a little encouragement, a little push, a little hand-holding, and I was good at all three. I changed the subject.
“C. J. Sims wants to see you,” I said.
“He does? I thought he wasn’t taking new clients.”
“He’s making an exception for you,” I said, then plunged on. “After looking over Lurline’s books, he thought it was the perfect opportunity for someone like you. I’d told him, of course, of your background and how well you know that particular business. In fact, he was so impressed by the possibilities that he implied that if I didn’t want to follow through, he might be interested in backing you himself.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping for forgiveness as I pushed on toward getting a good deed done. “Well, he implied an interest. He didn’t come out and say so, but C.J. never totally commits himself to anything but correct tax returns. Anyway, he wants you to come in to see him, and he’ll go over everything with you. If you still feel it’s too much for you after that, we’ll let it drop. How does that sound?”
A flush of color had come back into Etta Mae’s face by then, so I sat back and waited to see if she’d give me a little more time to bring her around.
“Okay,” she said, glancing away as if looking for an exit. “I can do that, I guess, if you’re sure it’s okay.”
“I’m sure. Call today and make an appointment. And call me or come by after you’ve seen him, and we’ll decide if we want to proceed to making an offer, or if we want to forget all about it.”
Chapter 24
I didn’t know I’d just opened a can of worms, but apparently I had. Not hearing from Etta Mae for several days after that last conversation, I feared that I’d scared her off. For all I knew she’d packed up and moved to Florida herself. I called her a couple of evenings after work hours when she should’ve been home, but wasn’t. I was beginning to think that I’d pushed her too hard and too far.
Finally she called me right after we returned from morning services that Sunday, asking if she could come by to talk.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ve been wondering how you’re doing. Come right on. Sam has gone with Lloyd and Mr. Pickens to Charlotte to see the Panthers play, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.”
“Oh, good,” she said, but with a noticeable lack of her usual perkiness. “I was going to suggest we take a ride, but that’ll be better. I’m too nervous to be driving, anyway.”
I laughed and said, “It’s going to work out just fine, Etta Mae. You don’t have a reason in the world to be nervous.”
“I think I do. I’ll tell you when I get there.”
And with that, she hung up, leaving me to pace the floor while waiting for her, going over and over the possible problems that might have suddenly sprung up to foil our plans.
Maybe Lurline was taking The Handy Home Helpers off the market—that would certainly cut us off at the knees. Maybe C.J. had ignored my directions and, instead of soothing her concerns, had inflated them.
Good grief! I stopped in the middle of the hall. What if she’d jumped into another marriage when I wasn’t looking? But, no, surely she wouldn’t have done that just as she was about to become an independent woman.
I went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. By the time I walked back to the hall, she was coming up the front steps.
“Come in,” I said, opening the door. “Goodness, it’s cold. Let me take your coat.”
We walked back to the kitchen with me chatting away and her saying little in return. In fact, she looked down in the mouth, as Lillian would’ve described her glum expression. I feared the worst and kept talking to put off hearing whatever bad news she had.
“So tell me,” I said, after pouring coffee and pulling out a chair at the table. “How’re you getting along with learning the ins and outs of business? Sam’s been telling me that you’ll need to know things like payroll withholding taxes, FICA, property taxes, quarterly payments, vacation schedules, OSHA, and a dozen other things. It sounds overwhelming to me, but you’re bright and probably know a lot of that already. Just as soon as you feel ready, I say let’s go ahead and make an offer. What do you say?”
“I say,” she said, staring into her cup, “I’ve already had one.”
“One what?”
“An offer.”
“What’re you talking about, Etta Mae? We’re buying, not selling.”
She slumped back in her chair and sighed aloud. “Mr. Sims wants to take me to dinner, and I know what that means.”
I blinked. C. J. Sims? That old bachelor who’d slouched slightly splay-footed from file cabinet to computer and back again day after day for thirty years? What was he doing asking out a woman young enough to be his daughter, or almost young enough if he’d ever had the gumption to get a wife?
“Well, I never,” I said, breathing out a long breath. Then, with a quick look at her: “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure. And I kinda need to know what you want me to do.”
“Me? Why, Etta Mae, you can do whatever you want to do. I have nothing to do with it.”
“Well,” she said, “he’s your friend, and I don’t want to create a problem. And I know he’s been working overtime to help me. I’ve been going to his office after work every evening and he’s showed me how to do QuickBooks and a lot of other things, and I know it’s because of you and the kindness of his heart, so I—”
“Etta Mae,” I said, putting my hand on her arm, “he’s doing it because he’s getting paid to do it. It’s a business deal, and you owe that old goat absolutely nothing.
“Listen,” I went on, “how much more do you need to learn?”
“He says another month might do it, except we’re already going over the same stuff. He wants us to bring our suppers every night and eat together to save time and eat at the cafeteria on the weekends. He says he’ll pay for that.”
I couldn’t believe it, and said so. “Listen to me, you call his office in the morning and tell his receptionist that I’ll be by to pick up your papers. The idea of stringing it out over weeks just to make time with you! That is unacceptable, and I’ll tell you one thing, Etta Mae—Mr. C. J. Sims has just given his last lesson in how to run a business.”
&
nbsp; * * *
—
“I am outraged,” I stormed to Sam when he got home late that evening. “Have you ever heard of such a thing—that randy old goat thinking Etta Mae would be interested in him? He’s lost his mind, and I think we ought to take our business elsewhere.”
“It’s certainly out of character,” Sam said, slightly amused at the thought of a love-smitten accountant. “But Etta Mae is a very attractive young woman—”
“Don’t you blame it on her, Sam! He’s just a crazy old man, and she’d be no more interested in him than in . . . in, well, I don’t know who. But believe me, it wouldn’t be him! Why, she was sick at the thought, and, bless her heart, she was worried that I’d want her to accept his advances. Well, I put a stop to that, all right. She is not going back into that office, so if any more lessons need to be taught, he can teach me. We’ll just see if he offers me a cafeteria dinner—the stingy old bachelor. He’s as tight as a tick on top of everything else.”
Sam laughed. “He’s not getting a chance at you. I’ll help you with the books if you need it, and I’ll take you to a nicer place for dinner.”
“Oh, you,” I said and threw a sofa pillow in his lap.
* * *
—
I had, however, understood from Etta Mae before she’d left that she was just beginning to see how she could afford to borrow money and be able to pay it back while making a decent living for herself. C.J. had been true to his word, having shown her what would be coming in and what would be going out and what would be left over.
Not much, as it turned out, but enough to encourage growth and expansion to improve the bottom line.
“I can do that,” she’d said with a touch of wonder. “People’re all the time asking me if I can help them with somebody who’s sick or disabled or just plain old. Lurline has pretty much stopped taking new patients because she doesn’t want to hire anybody else.”
