"You'll get a monthly statement."
"Just one—to me," Oliver interrupted.
"Yes," Myron added to his notes. "One statement. Call me or drop by any time."
"O.K. Thank you." Oliver prepared to leave. "When do we start making money?"
"Soon as the check clears," Myron said.
Should be interesting, Oliver thought, walking home. Myron was a realist. He didn't seem like someone who would rip you off or make hurried decisions. Porter came out the front door just as Oliver turned in from the sidewalk.
"Hey Porter, thanks for taking care of Verdi. I haven't seen you since
I got back."
"No problem. It was a help, actually. And, it gave me a chance to get to know Arlen better." Porter beamed.
Oliver didn't want to hear any confidences. "How's the baking going?"
"Solid." Porter looked amused at Oliver's unease. "Scones are hot this year—can't make enough of them. Later, Slugger." He punched Oliver lightly on the arm and unlocked a sleek black Toyota. Oliver watched him drive away. Porter was like a character in a comic strip; a six foot scone in a thought balloon hovered over his car.