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

by Bud Crawford

  They found the orange beanbag just a few feet from where James Richter had landed. The bag had stayed where it hit, James had rolled several feet down the embankment to the edge of Blister Creek. Half in the water, pants snagged on a projecting root. A bright purple blotch on the fresh green weeds. Recovering the body had flattened the plants all the way back up to the gravel road that ran along the creek. They searched twenty yards upstream and twenty yards downstream, grateful there was minimal trash as they clambered along the steep ten-to-twenty foot wide stretch between the road and creek; the drop was about nine feet. Richter's coffee mug was three yards upstream sunk half its diameter into the soft ground. They assumed it was his mug, it was a match for the ones in the cabin cupboard, white thick-walled ceramic, truck-stop style. Cindy pushed a small folding shovel into the dirt a few inches from it and lifted the mug and surrounding dirt into the bag Jenny held open. Probably they couldn't even find a print or a trace of coffee, given the time passed, and the rain, and the shock of impact, but no harm checking one of the few things they had to check.

  chapter thirty-third

  Honoria's call to the hospital had been effective. There was a wheelchair waiting at the ER entrance, that rolled Dwight directly to an examining room while Jerry dealt with the paperwork. Ellen went with Dwight. Geoff parked the car. By the time he got to the lobby, Ellen was waiting. They should go, she said. Jerry and the ER doctor were with Dwight, and all the admissions paperwork was finished, if they decided to keep him. Ellen and Jerry had exchanged cell numbers. Jerry said he was fine. In construction work you get used to the ER. He'd call if he or Dwight needed anything, maybe a ride back later on.

  Geoff drove Ellen back to Juniper House. "We should call Sprague," he said.

  "To tell him what?" Ellen put her right foot on the dash board. "Tell him, we were already sure, but now we're positively more sure that something dangerous is going on?"

  "He's pretty sharp, and this is his job."

  "Okay, fine. But he was going out to James' cabin this morning. He's probably still there. Let's take a quick look at the balcony, and the lawn, before his crew is all over the place."

  "I didn't mean, call him first, just call him." Geoff drove over the Flynt Street bridge into Montford, and pulled into the driveway behind Juniper House. He followed Ellen across the garden to the side of the house where Dwight had fallen.

  She pointed to the coffee cup, sidewards on the grass. "Still a couple drops. Should I at least stand it up."

  "No," Geoff said, "they can test the residue, and his shirt was soaked. There's where he landed on the cup. Ouch. Why didn't he let it go?"

  "Too fast, whatever it was. It's dry now but the grass was soaked with dew then, presumably the planks on the balcony, too. They were wet yesterday, very slick." Ellen stood. "Let's go up, I don't see anything else here except the size fourteens where Alistair landed, this isn't the interesting end of the event."

  "Give me a minute." Geoff scanned the area where Dwight had landed, then slowly up the side of the building, up to the rail of the balcony. "It's maybe five feet up to the porch, ten feet between floors. Fifteen feet down, onto grass. Not like a hundred thirty feet off a cliff. Hardly any chance it would be fatal. What would be the point? Maybe he did slip?"

  "What would the point be anyway? Come on upstairs." Ellen walked up the front porch steps, stopped at the door to wait for Geoff. There was no one in the foyer, no one in the parlor. They climbed the right-hand stairs, walked through their own room out onto the balcony, then around the back of the house and half way along the other side to Dwight and Jerry's door. The planks of the balcony had mostly dried in the morning sun, but in the shadow of the railing, right at the edge, they were still a little slick. Ellen tested with her shoe, ten feet away from where Dwight had fallen. There were brown splotches of dried coffee on the white railing, marking the spot. The balcony wrapped the building, all second floor rooms had access. There were Adirondack chairs and plank tables, a set for each guest room spaced ten or fifteen feet apart, the balcony was about eight feet wide, the railing about three feet high. Every few feet, from hooks in the beam that supported the balcony's rafters, hung a plant or a bird feeder or a wind chime.

  Ellen leaned forward, hands on the railing. "It's the perfect height for tipping, even for me, more so somebody Dwight's size. This would be higher under current building codes, wouldn't it?"

  "Yeah, forty-four, now, I think, not thirty-six. See the coil of rope on the potting shelf?"

  "Clothesline, maybe. What about it?"

  "How long is it?" Geoff leaned over the coil. "Hand-to-elbow wraps, two cubits to King John's nose, twenty coils, sixty feet."

  "And this matters, why?"

  "No idea. I just like multiplying. There aren't many loose objects around. That piece of bamboo, what's that? Maybe ten-twelve feet?" He walked over to and counted paces. "Under twelve, eleven, say."

  "Okay, you're looking for tools. A plain old shove would be easier, less finicky. But you'd have to walk up close. He didn't turn, and doesn't remember. I knew we should have taken off his shirt, apart from the coffee scorch turned cold and clammy." Ellen swung her arms wide, crossed them in front, swung again. She was a little chilly in just jeans and a cotton shirt. "You and I and Honoria were downstairs, in the dining room. Alistair and Marti were in the kitchen. Everybody else upstairs, except Toni. As far as we know."

  "The kitchen stairs go up to a landing with two doors, one to the outside balcony, one to the inside. Half-a-minute to go up and back."

  "How do you know where the back stair goes?"

  "Our first night, while you and Stef were having your girls-in-the-garden stroll, I was studying blueprints. But let's check it out. Here's the door, aprés vous, mademoiselle." Geoff held the door as Ellen walked in and down the stairs to the empty kitchen. They walked through into the dining room and found it full, but very quiet. Alistair was sitting beside Toni at one of the tables. Marti by herself at another. Stephanie and Honoria sat with David Ickes, the Farley sisters were with Andy Ross.

  Toni asked, "How's Dwight? How's Jerry doing?"

  Ellen said, "We have no idea, we got shooed off. Jerry seemed fine, said he was experienced in ERs, as a patient and a guardian. They rolled Dwight straight to an exam room, and were already checking him over by the time Jerry finished the paperwork. We left them with the docs. Jerry said he'd call as soon as they knew anything or needed anything. Dwight seemed okay, except his shoulder. But they'll test everything, I expect. Is Alistair alright?"

  "He's taking it personally, I'm afraid. Me, too." Toni turned to Alistair, pressed her hands against his cheeks. Alistair did not respond. "Too many 'accidents,' too many police. It's bad for business, bad for the digestion. Is that detective going to come again, now?"

  "I expect, yes," Geoff said, "in any event. We need to tell him about Dwight. Nothing to do with Harold or James, probably, but let's let him figure it out."

  David said, "I've been trying to convince Stephanie she should come home, get away from all these associations and interrogations. Seems like it might be safer, as well."

  "Sprague's kind of been encouraging us to stick around," Geoff said, "but he can't enforce that unless he's got some kind of a case. So I guess we're free to go where we want, as long as we tell him."

  "What do you want, Stef?" Ellen asked.

  "Just as many 'associations' for me at home as here. It's still spring-break, next week, so I'm not working. It doesn't matter." Stephanie raised her head and looked at Ellen. "You've lost a couple days of your work, what about you?"

  Ellen pulled a chair from the empty table and sat down. "We're due to leave tomorrow. I've got enough material to go with. Another day or two, I could wind it up better. I'm twenty days from deadline, so I'm flexible. I can be where you need me, if you do. Whatever it takes. What are your plans, Honoria?"

  "I'm flying to Washington Tuesday, to visit my grand-nephew and my great-grand niece. I'm booked at Juniper
House 'til then. But my family will still be in Washington the week after, if I need to stay here."

  Stephanie said, "There's no reason for the world to bend around me. I need a lawyer mostly, I suppose, now. Death certificates, and getting Harold's body released and sent home. He's got a paid-up plot waiting in Charlotte. The man was more prepared for death than most people are for life. I just need to let all this unwind. I'll be teaching, a week from now. I've got a baby to get ready for. Whatever that means. I should probably go home tomorrow and start working these things out. I'd like to get the rest of the stuff out of the room upstairs."

  Geoff said, "I'm going to call Sprague. There could be some impact for all of us, depending on what he found at the cabin. Excuse me a minute." Geoff unsnapped his cell phone, went into the parlor and dialed the number on the detective's card. Sprague picked up on the second ring.

  chapter thirty-fourth

  Stephanie walked into the lobby, followed by Madison, as David held the door. Metrocor offices were open until noon on Saturday. David was right about Harold's life insurance. She would need money before the legal process settled her access to the joint bank and credit-card accounts. She should have had separate accounts, obviously. After the fact of Harold's death, it was obvious. The receptionist smiled at her, and greeted Madison and David. "Ms. Markey, Mr. Ickes."

  "We'll be in my office, Elaine," Madison said. "Do I have calls? I'll be back to pick them up here, as soon as I get these two settled." She led them down the hall, opened her office door, then stepped back for Stephanie and David to enter first.

  Why is everybody so dolled up in these offices, Stephanie wondered? Same way in Charlotte. The women and the men. What do gold watches, slutty makeup and flash clothes have to do with selling stocks? You look prosperous so that prosperous people feel safe leaving their money with you? I suppose. But it also says, we're getting rich, off of you, thanks so much. Madison is rigged out for a nightclub. Suede skirt three inches too short (nice legs, either bare or the nudest hose I've ever seen). Blazer's too fitted, well-filled, but is that really what she wants clients thinking about? Maybe it is. And David in his not-quite-work/not-quite-vacation regalia: linen suit, yellow shirt, the little exposed vee of chest hair instead of a tie, cordovan loafers with little tassels. He's a plump preppy pimp. Of course, look who's talking: old shirtwaist, sloppy cardigan and sneakers. Not an outfit that qualifies me for dispensing either fashion or financial advice.

  Madison stood behind the client chair nearest her desk, indicating that was where Stephanie should sit. "Just be at home. David, close my session and log in as you. I'll be out there with Elaine if you need anything." The door closed softly behind her.

  Stephanie watched David pull the keyboard towards him. Do I feel better being alone with David, or with the two of them? Not an easy question. "So, what do we need to do, David?"

  "Let me get logged on and pull up the files we need. I'll print some documents for your signature, and if everything looks good, I'll hand over your check. I had it cut yesterday and overnighted from Charlotte. Unless you want to reconsider a Metrocor account? Then I'd just give you blank checks to use however you want. Keep the account all in cash, or use it to buy securities. It's completely flexible, instant funds availability, includes a no-interest, no-fee Metrocor Visa Card. It's the best multi-purpose product available from anybody."

  "Just the one check, thanks, like I said in the car." He can't believe I'm standing up to him, she thought. I hardly believe it myself. "I would like a ride over to the Wachovia, if you could do that. I have an appointment to set up my account. A kind gent over there's letting me in the side door. He said he'd be working anyway, Saturday morning, even though the main floor is closed. He's Alistair's personal banker."

  "Okay, it's your call. I'll stop selling Metrocor. Wachovia's a fine bank, often rated just a little below us for customer satisfaction. Do you want me to wait for you?"

  "No, I'm fine walking back to the inn when I'm done, just nervous about being on the street with so much money in my pocket."

  "Perfectly understandable. I came here to help." He picked up several sheets of paper that had emerged from the printer. "Here's the stuff to sign. Do you want me to go over it, or just shut up and let you read?"

  "Let me work through it, then I'll ask questions."

  David nodded, and went back to the computer screen, tapping keys.

  Stephanie pushed down the sense she always had when asked to sign something, that she shouldn't do it, and tried to read the documents. What was he doing, she wondered, as the keys clicked across the desk, solitaire, sport scores, porn? Actually the papers were simple, just affirming who she was, with space for a notary, probably Elaine, and acknowledging receipt of $225,000. Holy crap, I'm almost a quarter-millionaire. How can I sign I've received something before I have? Maybe this is a trap.

  David cleared his throat. "You can wait to sign the receipt until I give you the check. I know it's a chicken-and-egg thing. Neither one's good without the other, it's mutual protection."

  "Well, that was my only question, it looks okay. I wonder if I should call my lawyer?"

  "Got his number?" David pushed the desk phone towards her. "Or we could hop in our cars, drive home, and finish this up in his office today, if you want. It really is completely up to you."

  "Let me just call her, thanks. I'll use my cell, the number's in there."

  "Should I wait outside?" David placed his hands on the desk, ready to stand.

  "No, stay. Then if she has any questions, she can just ask you directly." Stephanie scrolled down her directory and pushed the call button.

  ~

  Geoff was finishing his last read-through of the last of his students' plays, new to earth and sky. Ellen was converting the cryptic short-hand from her notebooks into a form that would mean something in a week, fleshing out the details while her memory was still fresh. She drew a vertical line down the center of each notebook page as she finished with it, adding new notes to herself on the next fresh page as she thought of things she needed to check or do. They were both finishing the burritos she had run across the bridge into town to pick up. Geoff finished reading first. He savored the rare pleasure of watching her catch up to him, never mind the two tasks had nothing to do with each other. When Ellen closed her notebook, he tossed the balled up burrito wrapper and napkins at the bathroom wastebasket.

  "You wouldn't have missed the one that's twelve inches from your hand," she looked up at him, from the head of the bed, closed her laptop and set it down beside her.

  "There was greater glory in the longer shot."

  "Don't huff, you missed." She crumpled her wrapper and tossed it down the bed, just missing his arm, straight through the opening of the basket, plunking against the bottom. "Glory mine."

  "So, do we call Jerry, or wait for him to call you?" Geoff crossed his hands behind his neck, tilting back in his chair. "Sprague wants to see Dwight, and him, here or at the hospital."

  "I'll call. It's been five hours. They must be done, they probably want a ride." She pushed the call button.

  "Jerry, it's Ellen. What's up?" She listened for several minutes. "Okay, call when you're ready, anytime's okay. Geoff told the detective, Sprague, what happened. He wants to talk to you and Dwight, but he's probably not in a tearing hurry. Just expect he's coming, sometime. Meanwhile you guys watch yourselves, too many accidents are happening." Ellen looked at Geoff; he shook his head. "Okay, I'll tell her, and him. Bye." She snapped the phone shut.

  "They jerked his shoulder back in, painful but successful, he'll be wearing a sling. Probable slight concussion, from his head whacking the ground, some dizziness, nausea. They're holding off on doing EEG or an MRI, since his responses seem pretty good. Blood and urine normal. They want to check their EKG against one from a couple years ago, when he turned fifty, apparently for no reason except that they can. They're waiting on that and for a quickie consult with his home doctor. They found a bruise between his
shoulder blades that they assume happened when he landed."

  "Bruise?"

  "Roundish, two-three inches."

  "I'm going to get that bamboo pole, keep it in here for Sprague." Geoff went through the balcony door, he was back in under a minute. "It's gone," he said.

  "Okay." Ellen stood up. "Like everything else in this mess, there are innocent possibilities."

  "You think?" Geoff dropped into the armchair nearest the balcony door and looked up at her.

  "No. But the absence of evidence isn't the most convincing kind of case to make."

  "Okay, why Dwight? There were several things linking Harold and James, the fees, the coins, the meetings, a prior relationship, same home town, all pretty sketchy. But what is there with either of them, or both of them, and Dwight?" Geoff slapped his hands softly on his thighs.

  "Not a clue. That's my answer, and also the general state of things." Ellen sat in the chair beside Geoff.