Chapter 27

Our morning run felt good and the shower afterward felt even better. The aftermath of the shower combined with the leavings from a couple days of washing up and kitchen cleaning made me decide that we needed to wash a load of bath and kitchen towels, wash clothes and the handful of shop rags we'd used to wipe the bike down with. It was a small load, but I'd feel better about not having any dirty towels in the hamper when Mrs. Ibarra arrived. Except for what I had worn the day before, all my clothes were clean as well.

While the first load was washing, I ate breakfast. Today I settled for a bowl of Cheerios and a fruity yogurt. Cooper had suggested I try them when we were grocery shopping and I found I liked them. They were a far cry from the yogurts I had experienced in my previous life, but Cooper was quick to point out that they were much higher in Sugar than plain yogurt, and not just from the added fruit.

The dietary details would have mattered to old Harley, or rather to those who were in charge of his meals. The young, active Cooper could shrug off a little added sugar without concern, and they were still far healthier than some things. I remembered several decades of my earlier life when breakfast consisted almost exclusively of a cup of coffee and toast or a pastry.

After breakfast I changed loads I swapped laundry loads and then straightened up the bedroom and living room. I put the spoon and bowl in the dishwasher and poured another cup of coffee before I glanced at the time. There were now three clocks in the kitchen: one in the oven, one in the microwave and the third in the coffeemaker. No, counting the watch on my wrist, there currently were four clocks in the kitchen. It wasn't barely past 9am and I was getting wound up for Mrs. Ibarra's arrival.

"We need to do something," I spoke internally. "Maybe we can try calling the investment folks, or FiberDyne."

"I'd suggest saving FiberDyne until we've talked to the investment people," Cooper thought back. "We should have as clear a picture of our financial situation as possible first."

So I grabbed the cell phone and pulled out the investment-related documents I had collected from the cargo bag and from my meeting with Darius Booker. I looked them over one more time before dialing the number.

"Howes Investment," came a pleasant voice. "This is Della."

"Good morning Della," I returned. "My name is Cooper James. I'm calling for Mr. Michael Guilford." There was a surprisingly brief pause before she answered.

"Good morning Sergeant James. Dr. Guildford will be pleased that you've finally called. Please hold while I see if he's free at the moment."

"Of course, and its Mr. James, or Cooper please."

"Of course Mr. James."

I was put on hold, which put me in the middle of something familiar. Big band music. Stan Kenton, to be specific. I listened happily for less than a minute before the hold music went away to be replaced by a soft male voice. "Mr. James, Michael Guilford. I'm so pleased to finally get a chance to speak with you."

"As am I Dr. Guilford," I replied. "And I'd like to apologize for it having taken so long."

"Nonsense my boy, and please ignore Della's use of the honorific. She likes to put people in what she sees as their place. I prefer Mr. Guilford, or even Mike, if you can force yourself to pretend to be on a first name basis with someone you've never met."