Characters in Elevation

“How long are you planning to be gone?” “Don’t know. It sort of depends on how Aunt Harriet is doing.” There was no Aunt Harriet, of course, and he would have to have Doctor Bob or Myra take the cat to Mike’s.

Bill D. Cat came in, gave a sleepy miaow, and rubbed along his leg. “Food soon,” Scott murmured. “Few more minutes.” As though a cat had any concept of minutes in particular, or time in general. As if I do, Scott thought. Time is invisible. Unlike weight.

… the door of the Ellis condo unit, and Bob Ellis (everyone in Highland Acres still called him Doctor Bob, although he was five years retired) let him in. “Well, Scott, here you are. Ten on the dot. Now what can I do for you?” Scott was a big man, six-feet-four …

Following them were their nearly identical boxers, Dum and Dee. What Doctor Bob had said as Scott was leaving (probably wanting no more than to end their meeting on a lighter note) now recurred, something about Scott having a little trouble with the restaurant ladies. Which he was.

He was in time to see “the ladies,” as Doctor Bob had called them, coming out of their driveway and turning onto View Drive, long legs flashing beneath tiny shorts—blue for Deirdre McComb, red for Missy Donaldson.

“Been saving these in an antique chamber pot for years. By the time Nora left, it was almost full. I must have five pounds of metal in each pocket, maybe more.” Ellis said nothing. He was speechless. “Now do you see why I didn’t want to go to Dr. Adams?”

Following them were their nearly identical boxers, Dum and Dee. What Doctor Bob had said as Scott was leaving (probably wanting no more than to end their meeting on a lighter note) now recurred, something about Scott having a little trouble with the restaurant ladies. Which he was.

… minutes past nine, only a little late, Mayor Dusty Coughlin stepped in front of over eight hundred runners stretching back nearly a quarter of a mile. He held a starter pistol in one hand and a battery-powered bullhorn in the other. The low numbers, including Deirdre McComb, were at the …

Ellis opted for a glass of the house wine, then put on his specs for a better look at the young woman. “You’re Gina Ruckleshouse, aren’t you? You must be. Your mother was my PA when I still had my office downtown, back in the Jurassic Era.

The second photo was captioned VICTORY HUG, and named the three people in the picture: Deirdre McComb, Melissa Donaldson, and Scott Carey. Deirdre and Missy were embracing.

While he was paying Mike Badalamente, the owner and sole employee, he remarked on the poster in the window, and mentioned that the woman on it was his neighbor. “Yeah, Deirdre McComb was a star runner for almost ten years,” Mike said, bagging up his book.

The rest of the runners were packed tightly together, and their start was not so smooth. A couple fell down and had to be helped up. Milly Jacobs was jostled forward into a pair of young men wearing biking shorts and turned-around hats. Scott grabbed her arm and steadied her.

He double-clicked again, and a living room appeared on the screen. It was totally empty; there weren’t even light fixtures. Outside the window was a greensward that just happened to be part of the Highland Acres golf course, where Myra Ellis had played many rounds.

He was in the best shape of his life, despite the deceptive roll hanging over his belt, and his frame of mind was better than it had been since the days when his courtship of Nora Kenner had been in full flower.

Patsy Denton, of Patsy’s Diner, checked him in and directed him toward the far side of the building, where View Drive started and the race would begin. “Being local, you could cheat up to the front,” Patsy said, “but it’s generally considered bad form.

He recognized two of the men, had played poker with one of them, Ronnie Briggs. Townies, like him. Neighbors. “You know what, that was a shitty thing to say.” Ronnie looked up, puzzled, then recognized Scott and grinned. “Hey, Scotty, how you doin?” Scott ignored him.

… CHAPTER 1 Losing Weight Scott Carey knocked on the door of the Ellis condo unit, and Bob Ellis (everyone in Highland Acres still called him Doctor Bob, although he was five years retired) let him in. “Well, Scott, here you are. Ten on the dot. Now what can I do …

“Been working pretty hard, Ronnie. Big project.” “Well, you know what, about that thing in Patsy’s . . .” Ronnie looked embarrassed. “Man, I’m sorry about that. Trevor Yount, he’s got a big mouth, and nobody likes to shut him up when he goes on one of his rants.