visiting our regional offices and auditing their books and contracts. When she did make an appearance at our place, tongues started wagging and speculation on her presence was the main topic of discussion. She appeared for every board of directors meeting to make her reports but her presence today signalled to me that Didrickson needed her forensic abilities.
In the past Harold has asked for her assistance on some particularly sticky matters. Something sticky had obviously come up and that’s why she was here. I couldn’t wait to find out.
I stuck my head in a few of the offices to see where she had parked herself and was surprised to find her working at Ev’s desk.
“Top of the mornin’ to ya Irish,” I said.
She looked up from the computer terminal. “And the rest of the day to you,” she sang back. I stood in front of the desk.
“Harold said you needed my help.”
“Sit down and I’ll fill you in.”
I sat on the edge of the guest chair. It didn’t feel right to be in Ev’s office and I felt myself getting a little edgy.
“I was sorry to hear about Evelyn. We’re going to miss her. Can you let me know when the funeral is so I can make sure I’m around?”
“Sure. Nothing’s been set yet but I’ll let you know. Let’s get a coffee and go down to my office. You can fill me in there.”
She nodded and I knew she understood. Grace stood up and came around the front of the desk. She slung her arm over my shoulder and the two of us jammed our way through the door. She had on dungarees. Yes, dungarees. I know they went out of style in the fifties, but Grace still had an original pair. Dark blue jeans, wide legs, cuff rolled up three times. She was wearing a plaid, flannel shirt which was unbuttoned and showed a man’s sleeveless undershirt underneath. What a fashion statement. A woman after my own heart. She probably wore white gym socks too. Grace had thick hair as white as snow and she wore it cropped short. I think she cut it herself.
She turned her head and smiled at me. “So, what’s three miles long and has an IQ of thirty-seven?” she asked. The jokes were starting.
I smiled back. “I don’t know.”
“A St. Patrick’s Day Parade.” We both laughed. Grace was a lot like me and she laughed the hardest at her own jokes. She had toned the jokes down a bit to take into consideration people’s feelings in the new millennium. Her only politically incorrect jokes now were aimed at her own heritage, the Irish.
We bumped into the kitchenette door and I let Grace go in first. “Age before beauty,” I joked.
We caught up on old times while we waited for a fresh pot of coffee to brew. When I opened the fridge to get some cream for the coffee, I noticed there was still an awful lot of leftover food in the fridge from the Thursday party. I plugged my nose in disgust.
“Disgusting,” I said. “Why doesn’t anyone ever clean this fridge out?” I felt sorry for the person who had to do it. It wasn’t so long ago that it had been one of my jobs but now that I was among the high and mighty, I felt the task was below me. I slammed the door and handed Grace the cream.
“Still smoking?” Grace asked me.
“Hardly at all,” I replied and started craving a cigarette. “Have you started up again?” Grace was forever quitting and starting. She said the reason she quit was to save money so she only smoked OP’s. Other people’s.
“I quit last week. But I’ll have one of yours. Come on.” We headed back to my office.
When we were settled in my office puffing away, I popped the question.
“So. What’s the dirt? What’s going on?”
Grace took her feet off my desk, put her cigarette out and put on her serious face. The joking time was over. Down to business.
“There’s a slight problem with the stock option system. As you know, because Harold told me you pointed it out, the information on Evelyn’s system doesn’t jive with the numbers that were approved by the
In the past Harold has asked for her assistance on some particularly sticky matters. Something sticky had obviously come up and that’s why she was here. I couldn’t wait to find out.
I stuck my head in a few of the offices to see where she had parked herself and was surprised to find her working at Ev’s desk.
“Top of the mornin’ to ya Irish,” I said.
She looked up from the computer terminal. “And the rest of the day to you,” she sang back. I stood in front of the desk.
“Harold said you needed my help.”
“Sit down and I’ll fill you in.”
I sat on the edge of the guest chair. It didn’t feel right to be in Ev’s office and I felt myself getting a little edgy.
“I was sorry to hear about Evelyn. We’re going to miss her. Can you let me know when the funeral is so I can make sure I’m around?”
“Sure. Nothing’s been set yet but I’ll let you know. Let’s get a coffee and go down to my office. You can fill me in there.”
She nodded and I knew she understood. Grace stood up and came around the front of the desk. She slung her arm over my shoulder and the two of us jammed our way through the door. She had on dungarees. Yes, dungarees. I know they went out of style in the fifties, but Grace still had an original pair. Dark blue jeans, wide legs, cuff rolled up three times. She was wearing a plaid, flannel shirt which was unbuttoned and showed a man’s sleeveless undershirt underneath. What a fashion statement. A woman after my own heart. She probably wore white gym socks too. Grace had thick hair as white as snow and she wore it cropped short. I think she cut it herself.
She turned her head and smiled at me. “So, what’s three miles long and has an IQ of thirty-seven?” she asked. The jokes were starting.
I smiled back. “I don’t know.”
“A St. Patrick’s Day Parade.” We both laughed. Grace was a lot like me and she laughed the hardest at her own jokes. She had toned the jokes down a bit to take into consideration people’s feelings in the new millennium. Her only politically incorrect jokes now were aimed at her own heritage, the Irish.
We bumped into the kitchenette door and I let Grace go in first. “Age before beauty,” I joked.
We caught up on old times while we waited for a fresh pot of coffee to brew. When I opened the fridge to get some cream for the coffee, I noticed there was still an awful lot of leftover food in the fridge from the Thursday party. I plugged my nose in disgust.
“Disgusting,” I said. “Why doesn’t anyone ever clean this fridge out?” I felt sorry for the person who had to do it. It wasn’t so long ago that it had been one of my jobs but now that I was among the high and mighty, I felt the task was below me. I slammed the door and handed Grace the cream.
“Still smoking?” Grace asked me.
“Hardly at all,” I replied and started craving a cigarette. “Have you started up again?” Grace was forever quitting and starting. She said the reason she quit was to save money so she only smoked OP’s. Other people’s.
“I quit last week. But I’ll have one of yours. Come on.” We headed back to my office.
When we were settled in my office puffing away, I popped the question.
“So. What’s the dirt? What’s going on?”
Grace took her feet off my desk, put her cigarette out and put on her serious face. The joking time was over. Down to business.
“There’s a slight problem with the stock option system. As you know, because Harold told me you pointed it out, the information on Evelyn’s system doesn’t jive with the numbers that were approved by the
Similar Books
