“Definitely, definitely.” Leon wagged his head. “Executive
decisions. Visionary decisions. Especially this time. The
twenty-first century is at hand.” OTIOSE’s vice president and
comptroller looked terrified at the prospect.
“It’s not really an old company, is it?” Judith remarked
with a quick glance at Renie, who had sketched in the corporate history earlier.
“My, no,” Leon replied. “It was founded by Mr. Killegrew
a few years after the big Bell System breakup. OTIOSE is an
independent company, serving a fast-growing number of
business and residential customers in the Pacific Northwest.”
Leon sounded as if he were reading from one of Margo’s p.r.
brochures. Indeed, he had to take a deep breath after he
finished speaking.
“OTIOSE,” said Renie, with a touch of irony, “is all Frank
Killegrew. He’d worked for one of the Baby Bells as an engineering vice president. Then he decided there was room
in the marketplace for a new independent, so he rounded up
investors and put in quite a bit of his own money to get
OTIOSE started. Isn’t that right, Leon?”
Leon’s gaze, which was always evasive, now seemed fixed
on his angel food cake. “That’s true. He bought up some
very small independents as well. You know—family-owned,
small-town firms without proper funding for the new technology.”
Renie nodded. “His timing was excellent. He was able to
buy out the little guys when they were faced with bankruptcy
or getting in over their heads.”
“Yes,” Leon murmured, his buck teeth fretting his lower
lip. “Yes, Frank Killegrew is very astute.” At last, he looked
up at the cousins. “Excuse me, I must get back to the meeting.
I shouldn’t have sneaked away, but I’m very, very partial to
angel food cake. My dear mother used to make it for me.
Rest her soul.” His withered face turned wistful.
The cousins watched him tiptoe out of the kitchen. “He’s
not like most of the others, is he?” Judith remarked.
Renie shook her head. “He’s an odd duck. Actually, he’s
exactly what he looks like—the stereotypical bookkeeper who
spends his days—and nights—hunched over his accounts.”
“I can’t see him using a garrote on Barry Newcombe,” Judith said, again heading for the back stairs.
“Probably not,” Renie agreed.
This time the cousins got as far as the rear door to the
laundry room. That was when Nadia came tearing into the
kitchen, screaming, “Help! Help!”
Judith and Renie backtracked, practically colliding with
each other. Nadia’s slight figure was running in circles, small
hands waving frantically.
“What is it?” Renie demanded, setting her plate and glass
of milk down on the counter.
“It’s Mr. Craven! Quick, I need an ice bag!” Fighting for
control, Nadia opened the freezer section of the refrigerator.
