Distribution Ch. 03

Just for the heck of it, I pulled the drawer out to check the construction. Taped to the back of the drawer was a stack of twenty dollar bills. I was not surprised to find a duplicate stack of bills taped to the back of the other drawer. Ms. Kindle didn't seem surprised when she watched me drop the money in the cookie jar.

It took all afternoon to wash everything and clean the inside of the hutch. It was a heavy piece of furniture, and I had trouble pulling it away from the wall so I could run the dust mop behind it.

Once we had everything washed and dried, we needed to decide where to store the crystal, china and silverware. We decided to place it back in the hutch, and write an addendum to those items listed in the mailing. While Ms. Kindle was writing the addendum, I called home.

Mary answered the phone, but we were only able to talk for a minute before Amanda picked up an extension.

"Hi, Dad, when are you coming home?"

"Don't hang up, Mary, I want you to hear this," I said, avoiding Amanda's question. "We're finding money hidden all over the house."

"Like I found in Mr. Bennett's house?" Amanda asked.

"Yes, but not all in one place. These are small amounts of cash, like it made the old people that lived here feel secure."

"Didn't they have a safe?" Amanda asked.

"I haven't found one, but there are two old cars in the barn, and we found a collection of whirl-a-gigs in the basement."

"What's that?"

I recognized Phillip's voice. "Whirl-a-gigs have propellers that make little wooden figures do stuff over and over, like saw a log when the wind spins the propeller."

"Why?" Phillip asked.

"That's a reasonable question. I'll send you pictures of the collection."

"When are you coming home?" my son asked, as if whirl-a-gigs were of no interest to him.

"I don't know, Buddy. We have a lot to do here. Mary, do you remember the Studebaker? We have one in the barn that was new in nineteen-fifty."

Mary didn't understand that I was trying to explain the enormity of the task at hand. She first complained that she wasn't THAT old, and then asked if I was eating healthy food. I made the mistake of telling her that we'd had Chinese food the evening before. Both kids wanted to know who else I was referring to. I tried to explain that another member of the distribution committee was staying in the house, but that she stayed upstairs most of the time.

This opened the floodgates with a barrage of questions. What's her name? Is she pretty? Why does she stay upstairs?

I hated to cut them short, but I heard Ms. Kindle coming downstairs. I promised that I would send them an email that would explain everything that was happening here, and Mary took pity on me, telling the kids it was dinner time.

Ms. Kindle opened the refrigerator and held up a carton of the leftover Chinese food. I turned up my nose, and we agreed that we would go shopping.

"Do you have money?" she asked.

I knew that I still had a few bucks left, but I told her that I was running low on cash, just to see what she would do. She lifted the cover of the cookie jar, and took out one of the stacks of bills that I'd found in the back of the hutch drawer.

Although we didn't discuss the plan, I somehow understood that the hidden cash that we'd been finding would remain our secret. Her way was much simpler than asking the committee to approve our expenditures.

It had been years since I'd gone grocery shopping with a woman. Mary did our shopping at home, and Peggy had usually shopped during the week when I was at work. Shopping on weekends was out of the question; we were always far too busy with the flea market.

Ms. Kindle was a methodical shopper. She went through the store, picking items from the shelves, like she was planning our menus for the next week as she shopped. I was not consulted about any of her purchases until we reached the meat section.

"Do you like steak?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, and watched her toss a package of sirloin steaks in the cart, along with a package of chicken.

"I'll make pasta tonight. We'll have steak tomorrow, and I'll bake chicken to leave for you to have over the weekend."

So much for asking which foods I was partial to. She leveled off the cart with produce and bread, and we headed for the checkout registers.

Ms. Kindle served salad, followed by pasta, Italian bread, and wine for dinner. I had seconds, and told her that it was good to eat a home-cooked meal. She rejected my offer to do the dishes.

I read my e-mail, and wrote long messages to my parents and my children describing what we had accomplished, what we had planned for the weekend, and the complexities I foresaw in marketing the antique autos, and the antique house. I didn't predict how much longer it was going to take, or provide estimates as to how much my dad's share of the estate would amount to.

I answered e-mails from John and Mrs. Nixon, approving their plans for the following week, and congratulating them on the success they were achieving without me.

I would have liked to talk to Henrietta, but with Ms. Kindle still in the kitchen, I didn't think she would understand our boisterous banter.

When Ms. Kindle finally had the kitchen in order, she said goodnight.

I wished her a goodnight too, and let my eyes follow her to the stairs. She turned, catching me off guard.

"Thank you for defending me today."

"It was true. Ms. Dickens had no right to question your taking some time off. You've been putting in long hours."

"I really do have some pressing matters that I need to take care of this weekend."

"I understand," I said, but she had already disappeared up the stairs.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

We'd had our breakfast and I was busy trying to make one of the downstairs windows open and close properly when my cell phone rang. It was Ms. Dickens calling to say she wasn't going to be able to make it that day.

"She's showing me that I'm not the only one who can take time off," Ms. Kindle said.

I didn't disagree with her. "I hope she's here on Saturday."

"What will you do if she takes that day off too?"

"I'll slow the traffic down and have Nadine sing and dance to keep the others entertained," I said, but Ms. Kindle didn't think it was funny.

"Not to worry. Ms. Dickens will be here if she thinks we'll be collecting money," I said, and saw that Ms. Kindle agreed with me.

Charlie dropped in to tell me that he was taking the day off. He took one look at the window I was working on, and said he'd show me some tricks the next day.

"We've got to find a way to pay him," I said to Ms. Kindle when Charlie was gone.

"Name the amount you want to pay him. We have eighty-eight votes between us. I'll vote with you," she said, and I told her I would think about it.

Nadine was the first to arrive. We were entering the information from the stock certificates when Mr. McMahan came in. He went right to Ms. Kindle, and I overheard him ask what time she wanted to leave for the bus depot the following day. She was on her hands and knees, pulling everything out of the lower sections of the kitchen cabinets.

"I don't know. May I let you know tomorrow?"

"Certainly," he said. "I'll pick you up when you return. I'll give you my telephone number."

"Mr. McMahan, would you mind doing some more work in the basement? The floor needs to be swept, and the windows are filthy" I said, catching him off guard. He glared at me for a second before muttering that it was a good thing he'd dressed for grunt work.

Ms. Kindle mouthed, 'thank you' as we heard Mr. McMahan descend the basement stairs.

I went online to get the current pricing on the stock. The total value was in excess of three hundred thousand dollars.

"We'll need to watch the pricing over time and determine the best time to sell," I mused. I'd never owned stock, but I knew the prices fluctuated for a number of reasons.

"My husband is a stockbroker. He will be happy to talk to you about selling the stock," Nadine said.

I was skeptical about accepting her husband's advice, but I told her that I appreciated the offer.

Nadine helped Ms. Kindle clean the kitchen cabinets, and I went downstairs to help Mr. McMahan. There was only one broom, so we took turns sweeping while the other one moved things out of the way. At eleven-thirty, I told him that I would wash the windows if he would pick up sandwiches for our lunch. He jumped at the chance to go upstairs and ask the ladies what kind of sandwich they wanted.

I was finished washing the basement windows when Mr. McMahan returned with our sandwiches. We sat in the gazebo and had lunch. It was pleasant there. Here we are, I thought, two single guys having lunch with two married women.

Ms. Kindle broke the silence. "I would like to take the eight o'clock bus, Mr. McMahan."

He was eager to respond, saying that he would pick her up at seven-thirty.

"It sounds like it will be just you and me tomorrow," Nadine said, using a very sensual voice, drawing looks from Ms. Kindle and Mr. McMahan. Nadine's grin gave her away.

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy your company, but we're caught up until Saturday," I said, already thinking of being alone in the house from seven-thirty on Friday. I couldn't wait to explore Uncle Mackey's room.

Ms. Kindle excused herself, saying that she hoped to finish the kitchen cabinets that afternoon. Naturally, Mr. McMahan followed her, and that left Nadine and me alone.

"We're having a cookout on Monday. I hope you will come. Fred is looking forward to meeting you, and we always invite the influential townspeople," .Nadine said, before adding, "Did I mention that we're serving lobster?"

How could I turn her down? She said she would bring the directions to her house on Saturday.

I helped Nadine load the canned goods that Ms. Kindle had found in the kitchen into her car for her to deliver to the food pantry. Everything that had been opened went into the dumpster because we didn't know when the seals had been broken.

I called the dumpster company and they said they would be there the next morning to take it away.

Except for taking a break to have salad and a steak, I worked on the stubborn windows until quite late.

"Mr. Driver," I heard Ms. Kindle say. "It's Marian," she said, looking wrought with shock as she handed me my cell phone.

"What did she say to you?" I asked, ignoring the phone in my hand.

"It was nothing," Ms. Kindle said, turning away.

"What did she say?"

Ms. Kindle left the room, and I heard footsteps on the stairs.

"What did you say to her, Marian?"

"Nothing, she asked if I was your wife, and I told her that I'm your girlfriend. Who is she, anyway?" Marian asked in a tone of voice that was new to me. She sounded bitter.

"She doesn't know about Peggy," I mused, realizing what Ms. Kindle must be thinking.

"You didn't answer my question. Who is she?"

"She's representing her father in the estate settlement. His share is the same as my dad's."

"Is she as young as she sounds? Is she staying in that same house with you?"

"Marian, she's married with children. She makes her bed on a mat in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I sleep on the floor in the living room. We've been working sixteen hour days. Anyway, she's going home for a few days."

We talked for twenty minutes. I tried to tell her about the old house, the things we were finding, and our plans to dispose of them. She accused me of sounding excited. "You're having too much fun!"

"My parents made the right choice by sending me here. This is the kind of job I do well," I said, knowing that I was fueling her assertion that I was having too much fun.

Marian left me with a parting shot. "She's taking a few days off. Is your presence so indispensable that you can't come home for a few days?"

I didn't get a chance to explain things to Ms. Kindle. Mr. McMahan arrived while we were having breakfast, an hour early. She quickly decided to take the seven o'clock bus.

"Good luck with the silent auction," she said, as she handed Mr. McMahan her travel bag.

I told her to have a good time, filled my mug with coffee, and climbed the stairs to Uncle Mackey's room, where I planned to spend the day.