Unsolvable

Aera told people she pronounced her name air-ah so they wouldn't say ear-ah . She liked it that way. Though it wasn't through speech that she was known, it was through sight. That is, what others saw of her.

At least in Traverse City. Maybe there were other places in Michigan, the Midwest, or even the nation where a twenty four year-old had more than three hundred swim suits, but certainly not in this coastal tourist town. And she loved to model every single one of them. In her apartment.

"She has three hundred eighty-fourswimsuits?" asked Neal. "You have to be kidding!"

"Well, while we've been talking," answered Martin, "it might be three eighty-five or six, but the count last night at 8:15 was exactly three eighty-four."

"What does she do with them all? She must be one mean swimmer."

"Nowyou'rekidding. Think about it. If you had thirty-four dozen bathing suits, and you didn't buy them just to collect, do you think you'd have enough hours in the day to put them onandswim?"

"If she doesn't swim, then what does she do with them all?"

"Well," asked the man from Roger's City, "does she wallpaper her apartment with them?"

"No," answered the Traverse City man.

"Does she them away? That sounds good: she has a fetish about buying suits, then gives them away."

"Nope. Aera wears every single one. And one at a time, too."

"Then there's only one thing she can do with them: she models."

"Obviously, only she's not a model. She just -- well, likes to be seen. In swim suits, anyway."

"This is fascinating. You mean that this young lady buys over three gross of suits just to be looked at? I mean, she does have a gorgeous body."

"That she has, but I have a feeling, and so do all the other guys who watch her -- want to check her out with my binoculars? -- that even if she

had thunder thighs and weighed three hundred, she'd still strut her stuff."

Martin and Neal took turns with the Busch and Lomb 8x50. They studied every curve, facial feature, movement, and gesture of the off-duty Meter-Maid. Finally, the newcomer said, "Martin, I don't get it. If she were a streak-freak she wouldn't wear suits. You know, an exhibitionist. I get the feeling she does it more just to bedoingit. Like, forherself, not to tease the public or play 'untouchable'."

"Look, Neal," said his friend, grabbing the glasses, " there she goes -- she's going to change again."

"Let me see."

"You won't see anything, she changes behind a screen. But remember this: she left in a yellow, flower-filled, two-piece. What's she in now?"

Neal turned the focus knob as he scanned. "There she is. It's sort of purplish. Plumb-colored, I suppose. Boy, she's fast."

"If you keep watching, and all the guys on Front Street do, you'll see her change half a dozen times in the hour. I'm telling you, she's the talk of T.C. But you know what? No one ever sees any skin."

"Man, she's a one-woman fashion show!"

"Yeah, you could stare at her all day. Even if you don't like swim suits."

The two took turns with the binoculars as the curvaceous woman marched through the rainbow.

"Fascinating," said Neal. "Oh, I don't mean the body or the suits. But that a woman would own so many. And model each one. You say she isn't loose?"

"She's a Cop. And straight, too. All sorts of guys have tried to make time with her. Oh, she's not frigid, she has a boyfriend and all. Fellow on the Force, I hear. But, no, she doesn't promenade to turn the guys on. It's simply what she does."

"So tell me this, how do you know she has exactly three hundred eight-four suits? Or is that just a guess?"

"It's an actual count. See Barney down there?" The visitor aimed the binoculars at an apartment directly opposite Aera's.

"Yeah. Fat guy with hairy arms. Has a scope on a tripod."

"It's hooked up to a camera. We know the number of suits Aera has because a couple of times Barney's kept it running all weekend. Every once in awhile he blows them up and counts the suits, one by one."

"You guys have this down to a science."

"Well, Barney's a perfectionist. Says he always stops when he sees the

first suit the second time."

"He must have one hell of a collection. Has he put it on the Internet?"

"Nope. And contrary to the evidence, he's not a perve or Peeping Tom, either. Just curious, like the rest of us."

"Has he said if she goes through them in the same order each time?"

"I don't know, but I see what you're driving at. If she does, it suggests she has a system: that she doesn't just toss them in a pile. Also, that she probably puts each in a specific spot, a cubbyhole or something, so she can re-wear each in its proper sequence."

"Sounds right. Sheisa cop, and we all know how much attention the law gives to detail. I wonder what her room looks like? All I see is curtains."

As the young men thought, Neal asked, "Say, Martin, has Barney ever get a shot of the entire room?"

"Caught your curiosity, too, hasn't it? But the answer's no. He's only snapped her when she promenades across the balcony."

"I'd sure like to get a peek of her room. How does she arrange all those suits? How does she store them?"

"Simmer down, my friend. Every one and his brother has wanted to know more, see more. Just remember, breaking and entering into aCop'splace could get a guy in deep trouble."

Neal, from Roger's City on the other side of the state, and Martin, the Lake Michigan boy, had met when they'd camped at the State Park on Lake Huron. Both loved canoeing.

"Yeah. Old Town? Don't see many of them around here."

"And I don't know why, sandy as it is. Yet you go aluminum."

"'Cause it's light. When I portage I don't want to feel like a slave. If I used it only in the water I think I'd get an Old Town -- or maybe a Peterborough."

"I was thinking of getting the Canadian canoe. They're very good. But then I'd have to pay Duty."

Because of their common interest, the two hit it off well enough that Martin invited Neal to "My side of the state" for a visit.

"Got a couple great rivers on the west side, and lakes galore. And if you're into fruit, Lelanau County, just north of T.C., is the sour cherry capital of the world. Do much river travel with your Old Town?"

"Yeah, love it." So Neal put his Maine canoe on the top of his Volvo

and scooted the hundred miles across the state.

One weekend the two went down the Little Platte, each in his own canoe. Later, they went down the Benzie. In the middle of August they ventured to Interlochen, thirteen miles south, and launched in Green Lake and later Duck Lake. The two, both native Wolverines, loved the clear water of the northern lakes and bronze-colored rivers."

"Cedar swamp drainage," commented Martin.

"Yeah," replied Neal. "I love it. Adds character."

The week went so well, that they planned an extensive trip down the Thunder Bay River ending in Alpena.

But while in Traverse City, Neal stared out the window of his friend's Front Street apartment, not at the sailboats, swimmers, or tourists.

"Drop it, my friend," said Martin. "Aera's a Cop, normal as you and me, has a boyfriend, so you might as well not tantalize your fantasies."

"Oh, I don't mean anything personal," answered Neal absently.

"Well, you might as well forget breaking in and checking out her system of storing all those suits, too."

"Martin, this is Northern Michigan, as you well know. We're in the Snow Belt. And the white stuff is just around the corner. As we both know, once it hits, the snow won't go away till April or even May. Do you honestly think I can go the whole Winter in boondock Roger's withoutknowingwhere she packs all those suits?"

"You're an interesting case, Neal. Most guys wonder why she has so many. Or does she give her Sergeant boyfriend free shows when they're off duty. Some wonder where she gets them all, how much she's sunk into them. But I've never heard of getting caught up in how shestoresthem. What job do you have during the Winter, anyway?"

"Postal Clerk," answered Neal. "And Rural Carrier, since Presque Isle County is small."

"Well, that explains why you thought cubbyholes: part of your job is organizing -- and storing."

"You're right," answered Neal. "There's a place for everything and everything should be in its place. But listen, Martin, I have a thought. You say her boyfriend's daytime job is being a Cop. Does he moonlight as a carpenter?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"It'd explain where she puts all those suits. Maybe he gets his jollies making wooden cubbyholes while she gets off modeling them. Of course,

there's another possibility: plastic."

"Sure. Half the stores in the North sell those plastic organizers and hanging shelves. Of course, to hold nearly four hundred suits, even though some are probably pretty skimpy, it'd take half a fortune to go plastic, and that'd strain a Meter Maid's pay. Which brings us to cardboard."

"Youarehooked."

"Well, why not cardboard?" asked the Lake Huron man, ignoring his friend. "It's cheap, collapsible, and they make just about everything out of it these days. My guess is that one side of her bedroom is lined with cardboard cubbyholes."

"Neal, I'm afraid the Blackflies have gotten to you. Maybe the mosquitoes have sucked all the blood out of your brain. Like, does itreallymake any difference how the woman stores her bathing suits? Seems like watching her parade across her balcony should be enough."

"Parading is nice, but I just want to know."

"So, what are you going to do about it? Just wonder? From the sounds of it, you can't go back to Roger's City and spend the snowbound winter brooding. What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to march over there either as a Mail Man pretending to deliver a Registered Letter or say my name is Martin from across the street, then stick my head in her apartment. That, or ask her outright."

"You wouldn't."

"Why not? It's better than brooding. I'll just come right out and say, Listen, Aera, me and the boys have been wondering just where you keep all those suits. Cool, huh?"

"You do and she may never model again. She'll know we're watching."

"Oh, get off it, Martin. Don't tell me she doesn't know that fifteen or twenty pairs of binoculars aren't aimed at her every day!"

"And to think that you'd use my name. I thought we'd become friends. You really must be desperate."

"I'mcurious," corrected Neal. "Aren't you?"

"You know, Neal," said Martin, becoming uncomfortable, "I have half a mind to present myself as Neal and ask straight out which color she likes best and would you model it Friday afternoon at 3:15 before I leave for Roger's City?"

Both burst into laughter.

Then, as they gazed at Traverse Bay and the billowing sails mirroring the fluffy clouds in the rich blue sky, Neal absently asked, "By the way, Martin, what do you do for a living?"

The host smiled judiciously. Then he said, "I never thought you'd ask." He kicked open his closet door revealing a blue uniform with Sergeant stripes.

"Eat your heart out, Neal." Then he added, "And believe me, I'll see to it that youneverlearn how my Aera sorts her personals."