50. Interpol

A few days later Kent wrote Aunt Penn an e-mail.

"That social climbing Episcopalian you were so worried about is richer than I am. Turns out he's worth ten times all of us put together—and that pre-nup we got favors me, at his insistence. Do you realize what that could mean for us?

"I love you, Aunt Penn, you're almost always right, but when you're wrong you really pull a boner."

Then he re-read it and laughed, editing out that last word.

***

It was a Tuesday, and Purdue baseball was hosting the Valparaiso Crusaders at 4 p.m. Jamie didn't get to go; Jamie wasn't allowed to drive.

Midway through the Big Ten season, the Boilermakers were tied for first with two other teams, 7-5 in the conference, 27-13 overall, a great record, but they weren't nationally ranked; no Big Ten teams were. He listened to a few innings on internet radio while he worked on Wednesday's Daily Office. Kent wouldn't get home until after 8 p.m. for Pappy's Home Cooking, which was nothing but a chicken and rice casserole with herb biscuits.

Valpo took a 2-0 lead in the top of the second on a single, a walk and a triple off the wall. Jamie looked in the Psalms for some ethnocentric curses, but the Germans were spared that Fifth Week in Lent.

Mrs. Shuey came to the kitchen. "Laundry's all done. Is there anything else you need?"

Jamie glanced at the clock. "No, go on home. Next time I thought we'd start our photo project." He wanted to record the house as it was, before he started making any more changes. "I'll ask you to come with me and take notes of what I'm shooting, with all the rooms numbered so we know what we're looking at later. Clerical work, really, but it's pretty important."

"I'll get into secretarial mode," she smiled.

"I used to take photo notes for Rick when we were covering a story. Spot news, a big parade; he'd shoot, I was his confederate. Once he got sick, sometimes I'd take the pictures and he'd jot things down, but he was always our Number 1 photographer. On a newspaper you have to get the details right. That's Lady GaGa, not GooGoo, spell it right or you'll hear about it for months."

"It was exciting work for you."

"We were a good team. I'd say, 'Get that, get that!', and he'd always try. He was better at composition than I am. He was visual, I did the words."

She could tell he was missing his old job, and the man he loved then. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Thank you, Mrs. Shuey."

"Good night, sir."

He did miss Rick; and just as much, he missed that job.

***

Kent got home. "Hey, cuteness, what's for supper?"

Jamie checked his biscuits in the oven and took the casserole out. "Well, it would have been gruel, till Jared poked that homer in the bottom of the ninth."

Kent chuckled, "He was due."

"Casserole and a vegetable slaw I've just learned to make. Comfort food; I was sure I was going to have to cheer you up after Valpo batted around in the fifth."

"I am not in charge of the pitchers. We still won the game, despite that lousy bullpen tonight."

"They're Lutherans, Kent; you must never show any mercy to Lutherans." Jamie laughed; his best friend went to Valpo, and once taught him theology all summer.

"Anything new here?"

"We're doing the house photos tomorrow for the website. I hope people like them."

"Seein' the old portraits? I bet they do."

"I thought we'd set up the dining room too; Miriam's shop is sending some flowers. And the Jesus window."

"People will like it. Is the site gettin' any hits?"

"There's a John from California, says he's Aunt Penn's cousin, once removed."

"Don't know him. Didja call her?"

"Not when he already knew her name, no. Last name is Schneider, which makes me think of your uncle Lincoln. But he didn't mention him, just Aunt Penn. Kind of odd, really, but okay. He knows Aunt Penn."

"So the site's startin' to reach some people."

"A few."

"I never thought about a family website. But it's a great idea, baby."

"Talk it up to the locals. We're still missing a lot of their e-mail addresses."

"People will come when they know there's pictures of this place."

"You're right, the more content the better."

"I'll set the table." Kent went to the scullery. "Kitchen or dining room?"

"In here, I think." Jamie set out his casserole and slaw, a pitcher of ice water, some margarine. "I'll be glad when Lent is over and we can buy real butter again. Half-and-half for my coffee."

"It ain't much sacrifice."

"No, it's practically nil. But by this time we're supposed to be sick of it, and I am."

"E-pis-co-pa-lians," Kent grinned. "Any dessert tonight?"

"Well, here's a hint, they come from a Nabisco bag." The timer went off; the biscuits were golden brown. Jamie threw them in a basket.

"Ooh, Oreos!"

"Now I really know it's Lent." They sat, held hands. "For this gruel, O Lord, and for home runs that beat Lutherans, make us truly thankful."

"Amen," Kent chuckled. "You're about as pious as I am sometimes."

"Thank you. I'm glad you noticed."

"Both goin' to hell prob'ly."

"Nah," Jamie scoffed, "there isn't one for Episcopalians."

They ate. The casserole was nothing to apologize for, and the slaw was pretty good. "Got the bank records finally," Kent said.

"Anything in there?"

"I ain't put the raw data together yet, but Dawson's been spendin' some regular money in a place called Kouts, Indiana, plus Danville, Illinois."

"I don't know Danville, but I do know Kouts. Southeast edge of the Region, below Valpo, not far from the Kankakee. There's not much there, though."

"They got a convenience store, groceries and hardware. A pizza joint."

"Kouts," Jamie repeated. "That's got to be a girlfriend or family member. There's no other reason to go to Kouts. It's like Kentland without the stoplight."

"Now that's bad. I been to Kentland, I seen that stoplight."

"The one with the little man in the booth?"

Kent laughed, "Soon as he sees me comin' he changes it to red."

"You're not supposed to drive through town; you're supposed to stop."

"Does the gas station pay him?"

"And McDonald's. If you ask him nicely he'll give you 20¢ off a Big Mac."

"I don't eat fast food no more. Ain't no comfort in it like my baby's got." Kent stroked Jamie's hair. "Good casserole, bud."

"Made with a roux; I'll show you next time."

"I'm sorry for all the disruptions lately, baby. I miss not cookin' together."

"We'll cook this summer."

"Oh, shoot, that reminds me. I got somethin' major to tell ya."

"Okay."

"I been asked to go for three weeks of intensive training with Interpol."

"Interpol; that sounds important. When will this be held?"

"A week at Quantico, a week in New York, a week in London, mid-June to July the 1st. I ain't said yes yet. The major put me in for it months ago, I didn't think a thing about it. Today I got an envelope from Homeland Security."

"What's the topic?"

"Terrorism, international law; computers, databases, financial crimes."

"That's wonderful, Kent."

"Now I really feel guilty."

"But why?"

"I gave you such a hard time for bein' in New York for a week, comin' back with three billion dollars. There ain't gonna be no money in this, I'll tell ya. End of baseball season, the playoffs'll be done; no Omaha, a big case hangin' over my head. Jamie's first summer, tannin' in your Speedos every night by the pool for me, and I don't get to see you for most of a month."

"It's a pretty prestigious assignment, I'd think."

"Yeah, NYPD, the FBI, Scotland Yard, a side trip to Brussels. Won't do Michael no good, though."

"Do the Guzmans have a trial date?"

"November at the earliest. I'd like to get it wrapped up well before then."

Jamie rubbed Kent's arm. "You have so much on your mind, when I just want things easy for you."

"I'd like the international experience, man. I'd also like to schedule it better."

"At least you'd be home for July the 4th."

"Know what I want?"

"No, what do you want?"

"I want you to start managing my money for me."

Jamie frowned, "What do you mean?"

"And the Trust too. You've been good with your mom's money, so why not? I can't do all this stuff, man. I can't be goin' to D.C. and Europe and be Xeroxin' agendas for the annual meetin', lickin' a bunch of stamps. I did that when I was a kid; it's too much now. You'd be better at it, a degree in econ and all. Traded on the Nasdaq, deals with Warren Buffett."

"The Trust requires full-time management, Kent. Whether I did it or someone else, it's too much money to leave to chance. There isn't one $400 million business that's run part-time by a farmer in the back parlor. An entrepreneur can handle a quarter-million in sales by himself, but then it's time to hire a manager."

"So be that guy, Jamie. I can't do it the way it oughta be done; Aunt Nora asked me for an upstairs laundry two years ago and I still ain't got around to it. Two dozen livings, real estate in Pennsylvania; I'm a cop, a blue-collar man."

"I don't have the background for it, Kent. A degree in economics isn't management or finance. It was macro-economics, so I could write about GDP and the Group of Seven; not business. I never wanted to go into business."

"But you did."

"That was different. InFashion started out as a nonprofit royalties clearinghouse, to give the models a cut of the revenue and make sure the men were paid as much as the women. It was a sex discrimination case."

"Who made it into that e-commerce thing for profit, then?"

"Well, Phillip."

"Who hired Phillip? Who had the idea the company ought to get into that?"

Jamie's eyes narrowed. "If it's a full-time job it would cost you money."

"How much?"

"I am not a manager."

"What's managing, exactly? Settin' goals, following through? Creating projects, pulling together a team to get 'em done? Don't tell me you can't coach, 'cause I won't believe you. I'll ask Phillip."

"I've never done it, though. I don't know anything about farming or real estate."

"There are experts for that stuff, Jamie. A good reporter can always find some experts."

"This is crazed."

"No, it ain't. You're already gettin' us organized, with that website and Aunt Penn's podcasts. Takin' pictures tomorrow so you can show what this house looks like. Some guy named John in California's already wantin' to sign up."

"Your family's far-flung."

"I know it. And just 'cause they don't live in Indiana, don't ride horses and raise beans like the rest of us, they ain't part of us no more?"

"It's actually the forced divestment provision that does it. By preventing the Trust shares from being inheritable, you end up jettisoning half your relatives."

"So put a stop to it, Jamie. Without subdividing this estate, which is why that provision's in there."

"Critique this slaw for me. And the biscuits."

"The slaw's healthy stuff, raw vegetables, good vinegrette. I like it, make it again sometime. The biscuits are unusual, brown with little green things in 'em."

"Whole wheat flour, thyme and basil. The chicken has some of my tarragon, too."

"That stuff's sweet almost. But not sugary sweet."

"You could say that. No sugar, you're right."

"So the biscuits and the casserole go together. I like 'em. Nothin' wrong with whole wheat every now and then."

They looked at each other. Jamie said, "Chief Executive Officer. Under the President, executing his orders."

Kent touched himself. "How much, baby?"

"A hundred thousand dollars. If I can't make you that much in a year I'm not worth it."

"You're already managin' money, Jamie. This is just a bigger estate, that's all."

"Maybe Mrs. Shuey can help with the administrative tasks."

"Great. You're hired."

"Good grief, Kent."

"You been wantin' a real job; now you've got one. Aunt Nora needs a washin' machine upstairs."

"I don't know a thing about property management. I can't even fix a leaky faucet."

"I bet Mr. Shuey can."

"I don't know the contractors."

"But you can find the experts."

"You'll have to sell this idea to the family. They'll all say the Gay guy's taking over."

"I have the power to appoint you on my own. It's enumerated right there in the Trust, the President has the power and obligation to appoint any and all advisers to carry out his duties, there ain't a word anyone can say about it. I may not be that good a President, but by gosh I know my own governing document."

"It would be better to be seen as consulting them."

"I'll convene my Clearness Committee, let 'em ask me all the questions they got. Then I'll announce your appointment. Is that satisfactory?"

"Just for one year to see how it goes. If I get in over my head, and I surely will, I'll recommend you hire a professional."

"Will you manage my own money too, Jamie?"

"Sure."

"Attaboy. Thank you. It'll be a huge relief not to have to worry about all this stuff, when I know I don't got time to pay attention to it. Talk about a guy bein' over his head, that's me."

"You should think about cutting back some of your time commitments. And take plenty of vacations."

"Buy us a little getaway in the USVI."

"But Kent, I wouldn't see you all winter."

Kent laughed; that was an exact quote from the last time. "Yes, you would, I'd make ya. I kinda like the idea of you bein' under the President full-time. Executin' my orders. Doin' what you're told."

Jamie stood. "I think it's time for some Oreo cookies."

"That's me, baby. Black on the outside, white 'n' creamy on the in."

"Do stop before your ego starts cracking all four walls."

Kent got up and pulled Jamie to him. "I need you, no jokin' around. I need a partner, Jamie, and you're the one. I admire you so much, and you do need a role to play around here. Let's both do what we're good at. Let me be the figurehead, you be the real power. In our relationship, the Trust, everything."

"It may not work."

"I bet it does. I thought about somethin' else today."

"What's that?"

"You know my suggestion that you go to the state police academy so you can be my partner? I take it all back. You'd be great at it but I don't want you doin' it. You could learn how to fire a weapon, I could teach you, but I don't want you even close to any kind of danger. If I love you, I'm not puttin' you by the side of the road. You were right, one cop in the family's plenty. If anything ever happened to you, I'd fling myself off the nearest mountain. You are not allowed to die before I do."

"Well, it wasn't really a practical idea anyway. The state won't hire someone who can't drive."

"Said I'll keep you safe and warm, then try to talk you into bein' not safe. It ain't right. I'm sorry, Jamie. Maybe we can find another way sometimes so you can keep helpin' me with my cases, but no, I don't want you goin' to cop school. That was a stupid thing to say."

"You don't think I can do it?"

"I know you can. But if there's anything dumber than a billionaire cop I don't know what it is."

"A millionaire cop isn't far behind, Kent."

"I know, but I'm already into it now. So let me be the dumb one, okay? You be the active administrator. You be the one who gets paid to think. I'll be the one who gets paid to move."

They held each other. "Don't you get in trouble either."

"Aw, Jamie, I'm so dumb a bullet'd bounce off my head."

***

The next day Jamie and Mrs. Shuey spent all morning taking pictures and discovering things about the house; Jamie'd never noticed the details of Mr. Abner's amazing woodwork, with a signature fleur-de-lis on every piece, and sometimes a little half-hidden putto expressing shock or delight. The mantel in the master bedroom had silhouettes of Josiah and his lady carved into the corners, and in between were scenes of childrearing, an old rocking cradle, a boy in a straw hat swinging on a branch, a little girl with a barking dog and a stick. The parlor had a figure that might have been Miss Hannah, the forgotten first wife, an incredibly sweet gesture—while the drawing room fireplace was surmounted with a portrait in wood of his daughter Evangeline, big bosom and all.

If Mr. Abner let his wood do the talking for him, he must have been chattering all over the house.

After lunch Jamie asked the ad agency to send him a template for his business cards, and told his new, full-time executive assistant to hire a housekeeper.

"You're in business!" Mrs. Shuey cried.

"Let's roll up our sleeves and get cracking—'cause you're darn right, honey. Jamie's back in business."++


© 2011 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.