Distribution

Chapter 2 Coming around?

I awoke to see Ms. Kindle sitting at the kitchen table, eating a cold slice of pizza and drinking water from one of the bottles I'd picked up the night before.

Needing to take a leak, I put my sneakers on, and walked out to the rear of the barn where I emptied my bladder. When I got back inside, I found that my sleeping bag had been folded, and the set of pictures of my family had been placed on top of it, along with my flashlight. Ms. Kindle had disappeared.

Cold pizza didn't appeal to me. I opened a bottle of water, and checked my cell phone for the time. It was six-forty-two.

I grabbed the dust mop and went over the areas I'd swept the evening before, taking the mop outside to shake as I finished each room. It took me the better part of an hour to move the furniture and run the mop over the floor in all the downstairs rooms. As I lifted the game table, I heard something rattle. Opening the drawer, I discovered that it extended from one side of the table to the other, and had knobs at each end. Inside, I found chess pieces and a set of checkers. There was also a deck of cards.

Before replacing the drawer, I noted the tongue-and-grove construction, and being a lover of old things, I raised the drawer to look at the underside. Inscribed by a thick-leaded pencil was written:

{Block}

April 16, 1936

This table is given to my son, Mackey People, on his sixteenth birthday for his enjoyment. Son, I pray that you remember me each time you use this table.

Your mother,

Pricilla Pringle Peoples

{/Block}

I replaced the drawer and looked at the design of the table. The legs were tapered, but simple and sturdy. The inlaid top was worn from use, but still intact and the checkerboard pattern was clearly defined. I noted how heavy the table was as I moved it back to its place.

The two chairs had cane bottoms, and the brass plate on the back of each chair proclaimed that they were gifts from his father when Mackey was seventeen.

I replaced the dust mop in the pantry, and went downstairs in search of something to beat the dust out of the throw rugs. The basement was musty, and so densely packed with discarded paraphernalia that I had trouble finding a path to walk around. I was thinking of going back upstairs for my flashlight when I spotted the ideal tool, an old tennis racket.

I had the throw rugs draped over the banister of the gazebo, and was working up a sweat beating the dust out of them, when I heard the back door open. Ms. Kindle was carrying more throw rugs outside. She returned twice, looking my way before placing the rugs next to the back door, and retreating inside the house. Did she want me to beat the dust out of the upstairs rugs? If so, she had a strange way of telling me.

Ms. Meriwether was the first to arrive. She was dressed casually, and her hair was secured behind her head by a yellow ribbon. Even carrying twenty extra pounds, she was all woman.

"Don't you ever stop, Mr. Driver?" she asked, looking concerned when she saw the droplets of sweat mixing with the dust as they rolled down my face.

"Do you know anything about oriental rugs, Ms. Meriwether?"

She turned up her nose. "They need a good vacuuming."

"The vacuum cleaner is upstairs. It's an old Hoover, but you'll need some bags."

I turned to see Mr. Hubert. He was carrying the same hedge trimmer from the day before. I wondered if he was really going to trim the shrubbery while our meeting was in progress. I thanked him for the information.

The other members of our group were arriving as I carried the throw rugs to the house. They nodded at me, probably thinking that they didn't want to sit near me while we were meeting.

Before Ms. Kindle could call the meeting to order, Ms. Whitney handed us the original, and a few copies of our credentials. The paper stated that we were authorized to act on behalf of the Peoples' estate. At the bottom of the page was a judge's seal, and signature.

Ms. Dickens raised a question, wanting to know why only Ms. Kindle and I were given credentials authorizing us to conduct the estate's business. Ms. Whitney explained that Ms. Kindle and I represented the two heirs named in the will, and that the other organizations were simply named as recipients of a certain percentage of the proceeds.

Ms. Whitney then gave us signature cards to sign, saying that she would drop them off at the bank, and that checks signed by us would be honored. "As long as you don't exceed the funds that are in the accounts," she joked.

Again, Ms. Dickens looked like she had another question on the tip of her tongue, but she settled back on the bench seat without saying more.

Ms. Kindle was about to call the meeting to order, when Ms. Whitney apologized for another interruption. "Mr. Martin would like to stop by tomorrow to explain the workings of the will in conjunction to the trusts the Peoples' set up. Shall I tell him that you will meet at nine?"

She looked around, and finding no resistance to her suggestion, she continued. "Mr. Driver and Ms. Kindle, did either of you find the key to the Peoples' safety deposit box?"

I shook my head, and saw that Ms. Kindle was doing the same.

"There should be two keys. I'm confident that you will find at least one of them, and when you do, we'll need two committee members to recover the contents of the box. One of the recovery team must be either Mr. Driver or Ms. Kindle because the bank will have your signature. I would suggest that you bring everything here and at least two people list each item. The Peoples were becoming forgetful, and all their valuable papers may not be in the box," Ms. Whitney said as she got up as if to leave. .

"We'll make that the first order of business. Do I hear a nomination for the two recovery team members?" Ms. Kindle asked.

"Excuse me, Ms. Kindle," I said. "There are two more items of importance to bring to Ms. Whitney attention before she leaves."

Ms. Kindle looked irritated, but Ms. Whitney stopped in her tracks.

"Mr. Hubert has been collecting the mail from the box, but he tells me that delivery stopped about the time it was learned that Aunt Elsie had died. We need to have mail delivery resumed."

"You have authority to resume mail delivery, Mr. Driver. That's the purpose of the credentials I gave you," Ms. Whitney said, sounding perplexed by my question.

"I'm hardly presentable to go out in public today," I said, lifting my arms so everyone would see the sweat stains. "I can now write checks, but it will take days for them to reach the companies. I don't think anyone here wants to wait days before I can bathe."

"I can't flush the upstairs toilet," Ms. Kindle spoke up.

Mr. Hubert stepped from behind the shrubbery and offered to bring Ms. Kindle buckets of water from his house that she could use to flush the toilet. She thanked him, but said that she also needed water to bathe, preferably hot water.

Ms. Whitney quickly solved both problems. She told me to write a note to the postmaster requesting the resumption of mail at the bottom of my credential form. "One of the other committee members can deliver it," she said, and to my surprise, Ms. Dickens volunteered to deliver the request.

"I'll have someone from the bank call you, Mr. Driver. I'm sure the Peoples had a personal banker. She'll need to know the amount due each utility, the account number, and the address to wire the funds. The bank will probably accept a check for the entire amount. Seeing as how you're not presentable to go out in public, we'll need a volunteer to deliver the check," Ms. Whitney said, sounding amused that I was not presentable.

Ms. Meriwether volunteered to wait for the check, and to deliver it to the bank.

"A follow-up call to each utility company may speed up their service," Ms. Whitney suggested, as she made her departure.

Out of respect for the others' sense of smell, I sat at the far end of the gazebo as Ms. Kindle stated the first order of business for the second time.

I was writing the note to the postmaster, and pretended that I did not hear the nominations for the two members of the safety deposit box recovery team. Mr. McMahan said that he would be honored to accompany Ms. Kindle to the bank. Ms. Meriwether nominated herself to accompany me to the bank.

A vote followed, and Ms. Kindle and Mr. McMahan were elected to the job of collecting the contents from the safety deposit box. Mr. McMahan looked pleased when Ms. Kindle assured him that she would let him know as soon as we found one or both of the safety deposit box keys.

Ms. Kindle wanted to discuss the disposal of the real estate and the Peoples' personal possessions. I was for the speedy disposal of all property, but I didn't like what I was hearing. Ms. Dickens wanted to put the real estate on the market without regard for doing minimal repairs that would make the old structure livable.

I informed the group that the basement needed to be cleared out before we invited a realtor in to list the property. Mr. Hubert spoke up to say that the barn was also packed with keepsakes that Mackey had collected over the years. Ms. Kindle offered to take everyone on a tour of the house so they could see, first hand, the condition of the structure, and its furnishing. The others concurred, but I spoke up before the meeting could be adjourned.

"We're going to need vacuum cleaner bags, and cleaning supplies. I'd like authority to spend up to two hundred dollars for such things."

"Two hundred dollars is ridiculous!" Ms. Dickens exclaimed. "I say that you can make do with fifty dollars."

"All in favor of authorizing the expenditure of fifty dollars for cleaning supplies?" Ms. Kindle asked, raising her own hand.

The motion carried, fifty-three to zero. I didn't vote.

Everyone headed to the house, and the tour. Mr. Hubert caught up with me. "Mr. Driver, you're bound to have difficulty bringing water to the surface from that well. The pump has been shut down for three months; the gaskets are probably dried out, and the belts are worn. Once the electricity is turned on, I'll give you a hand, but you may need to call a well repair man."

The group was already in the house. "Thank you, Mr. Hubert. I hope we can make it work because you just witnessed the aversion this group has to spending money."

"It may be less expensive to connect to town water, but that would take time," he offered.

"Town water is available?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Mackey wasn't stubborn, but he was cantankerous. He liked the challenge of making that old pump work. I kept telling him that he should connect to the water line in the street, but he didn't take my advice well." Mr. Hubert was chuckling to himself.

I shook my head. Mr. Hubert's intrusions into our private meetings had gotten on my nerves, but I was glad that I hadn't told him how I felt. He was well intentioned, and without his advice, I would be lost.

As I entered the house, I heard the group emerge from the basement. Ms. Kindle was holding my flashlight, and they were all mumbling about not being able to move through the clutter.

Ms. Dickens said she would deliver my note to the post office. Mr. McMahan gave Ms. Kindle his telephone number, saying that he would go with her to collect the contents of the safety deposit box as soon she ran across one of the keys. I assumed that he didn't think I would be the one to find the key.

Ms. Meriwether saw me starting my laptop. She took a seat next to me, disregarding my body odor. The screen of the laptop became dim, indicating that the battery needed to be recharged. "Damn!" I said as I turned it off.

Ms. Kindle replaced my flashlight on my sleeping blanket, and disappeared up the stairs.

I calculated the total amounts due, beginning with the electric bills. Ms. Meriwether asked if she could help, and I gave her the telephone bills to compute. After adding the amount due to the gas company, I totaled the amounts owed, and wrote a check to the bank.

A Ms. Shaffer called from the bank, saying that Ms. Whitney had told her about our dilemma, and that she was anxious to help with having our utility services resumed. I gave her the addresses of the companies, and told her that Ms. Meriwether would be there momentarily with the check.

"The downstairs is much cleaner than the upstairs," Ms. Meriwether whispered to me before she left. I grinned at her, and she asked if she could pick up lunch for me. I thanked her for the offer, but told her that I would manage.

Mr. Hubert arrived with two buckets of water. I directed him up the stairs, and soon heard Ms. Kindle thanking him. A few minutes later, I heard the toilet flush, and Mr. Hubert came downstairs with an empty bucket.

Tuesday, August 27, 2007

Ms. Kindle began the meeting of the distribution committee by announcing that the utilities were back in service, including hot water.

She may not have known that I'd spent the afternoon on the telephone, cajoling, even begging the utility companies to resume our service.

She credited Mr. Hubert for persevering through unpleasant working conditions (I took that to mean that she was referring to the odor emitting from my body) while coaxing the pump to bring water to the surface.

"The telephone began to ring at three-thirty, but the first call was for Mr. Driver," Ms. Kindle said. She had no way of knowing that my mother was inquiring why they hadn't heard from me. I told her that I was extremely busy, and that I would email a progress report later that night.

Ms. Kindle also failed to say that she'd come downstairs to thank Mr. Hubert. I thanked him too, and Ms. Kindle did a double-take when she overheard me tell 'Charlie' that I'd like to take a look in the barn the next morning, and 'Charlie' say, "I'm an early riser, Brian."

Admittedly, Charlie had been chiefly responsible for making the pump work, but I would have thought that Ms. Kindle would have acknowledged my assisting him for the last five and a half hours.

She didn't mention that I'd offered her one of the two remaining slices of pizza, or that she'd spread out my sleeping blanket while the pizza was heating in the oven. Nor did she say that she'd thanked me, after consuming the pizza and one of my beers.

"Mr. Driver took the first shower, and I see that he's changed his clothes," Ms. Kindle said, to which Ms. Meriwether began to applaud, and some of the others joined in.

I was a little disappointed that she didn't say anything about me getting up early, and driving to a convenience store to pick up two cups of coffee and four muffins. I'd found the coffee and one of the muffins missing when I returned from inspecting the contents of the barn.

The meeting was temporarily interrupted by Mr. Martin's arrival. He briefly explained that the Peoples had decided how they wanted their estate divided, and had set up lifetime trusts to carry out their wishes.

"The fact that Elsie outlived Mackey has no bearing on the division of funds derived from their possessions. It is your job to follow their wishes as speedily and efficiently as possible. From what Ms. Whitney tells me, you're doing a fine job."

With that, Mr. Martin left and Ms. Kindle resumed the meeting. "Yesterday, we discussed the best way of disposing of the contents of the house. Do I hear a suggestion?" she asked, looking at our eager faces.

"I think we should have a tag sale."

It was Ms. Dickens. She must have seen me shaking my head. "Why are you shaking your head, Mr. Driver?"

"Is a tag sale the same as a garage sale?" I asked.

"I don't care what you call it. We need to get what we can for the junk in that house," Ms. Dickens said, and I heard Mr. McMahan express his approval.

"Would you like to put your suggestion in the form of a motion, Ms. Dickens?" Ms. Kindle asked.

"I move that we advertise a tag sale to be held on Saturday," Ms. Dickens said, and Mr. McMahan quickly seconded the motion.

"Those for...," Ms. Kindle's call for a vote was interrupted by Ms. Meriwether.

"I think we should listen to Mr. Driver's suggestion before we vote."

Ms. Dickens objected to my making a suggestion. "I was sent here to expeditiously settle the estate, and fight for every dime the organization that I represent has coming to it. His plan will take months, and be far more costly than mine."

"How do you know that until you've heard Mr. Driver's plan?" Ms. Meriwether asked.

"Mr. Driver, would you care to tell us your reasons for objecting to the tag sale?" Ms. Kindle asked.

"I'm as anxious to wrap this up as any of you, but I also feel obliged, as you do, Ms. Dickens, to fight for every dime due the people I represent. It's true that my plan will take more time, but the end result will be worth the investment we make in both time and expense.

"My plan will involve a four prong approach. First, we rent a dumpster and discard the mattresses, clothes, and some of the items I've seen in the basement and the barn. Second, we hold a silent auction. Some of the furnishings are rare, and will bring top dollar if we invite antique dealers to bid. Third, we advertise some of the items on the internet. Fourth, we'll hold a tag sale to dispose of the items you refer to as junk. Meanwhile, we'll make some repairs to the house to make it more appealing to those shopping for a bargain."

Ms. Dickens was mumbling under her breath, and I saw Mr. McMahan nodding his head in agreement. Knowing that if a vote were taken at that point, I would lose, fifty to forty-seven, I played my last card.

"Before we vote, please accompany me to the barn."

Ms. Meriwether was the first to get up. She joined Charlie, who led the way to the barn. When Mr. McMahan saw that Ms. Kindle was headed toward the barn, he followed her. I held back to walk with Ms. Dickens.

"Uncle Mackey was a collector. I'm sure that you'll agree that his collections will fetch top dollar on the internet. Believe me; it will be worth the wait."

Ms. Dickens was non-committal. She walked slowly, as if to put off seeing the items that I was excited about as long as possible.

"Charlie, if you will help me pull the canopy back, we'll give everyone a glimpse of this fine old automobile," I said, taking one side of the drop-cloth Uncle Mackey had used to cover his prized possession."

The chrome-plated bumper and radiator drew breath-taking oohs and aahs from the distribution committee.

"It's a nineteen-thirty-nine Oldsmobile. I researched it last night, and found that we'll have collectors coming from far and wide just to say that they've seen it."

"It doesn't have any tires," Ms. Dickens observed.

"It's on blocks. That won't deter collectors' interest," I said, looking to Charlie, who nodded his agreement.

We covered the Oldsmobile, and lifted the other drop-cloth. "This is a nineteen-fifty Studebaker, not nearly as rare as the Olds, but it enjoys a large following of collectors," I said, motioning to Charlie to cover the car. He'd remained silent, letting me do the talking.

"Uncle Mackey was also a collector of rare automobile parts," I said, motioning to the walls of the barn where fenders, steering wheels, and doors from cars of the past hung. "These items will need to be cataloged, but Charlie tells me that they are in demand."

Ms. Dickens voiced her opinion. "That's going to take forever."

"I move that we adopt Mr. Driver's four prong approach to advertising and disposing of all the property, including the real estate," Ms. Meriwether said.

"May I see a show of hands for those in favor of Mr. Driver's plan?" Ms. Kindle asked.

I saw Ms. Meriwether's hand shoot up, and I joined her.

"Opposed?"

"There was no second to the motion," Ms. Dickens said, quite correctly, I thought at the time.