Distribution Ch 10

Chapter 10: A Discovery in the attic and a letter

We dashed upstairs to change into clothes appropriate for a Sunday morning. Paige removed the short robe and reached for her panties, but I was too quick for her.

"Brian, we can't."

I rubbed her warm tummy from behind, letting her feel my cock poke through the front of my shorts. "You excite me."

"Brian, there's no lock on the door. They'll walk in on us."

"They wouldn't dare," I said, feeling a breast in one hand and cupping her pussy with the other one.

"Oh, Brian," she said, turning her lips to accept my kiss.

"Maybe you're right. We wouldn't have time," I said.

She brushed my hands away and turned to face me. "That's cruel. You get a girl excited and make her think that she's going to get lucky, and then you chicken out."

It had been a dumb thing to do and I was embarrassed. "I'll make it up to you later," I promised.

She blushed and grinned at me as she stepped into her panties. "I'll hold you to it."

We finished dressing and I waited while she brushed her hair before we went downstairs. Harold and Janice were seated at the table, having coffee. She teased us unmercifully, but Harold was all business. I followed him through the upstairs rooms as he searched for the entrance to the attic. We didn't find one.

"Sometimes the old timers put it on the outside of the house," he said.

I would never have found it, but Harold pointed out the entrance to the attic. It was tucked in next to the chimney. I figured that with the tall ceilings, and the two feet of the fieldstone foundation exposed, the small entrance to the attic was about twenty-four feet off the ground. He got the tallest ladder he had off his truck and climbed up to the entrance. He had some difficulty removing the cover because the six screws that held the cover in place snapped in two as soon as he tried to unscrew them.

Harold eventually freed the cover and brought it down the ladder. "It's been a long time since anyone has had the cover off. There are wasp nests and cobwebs up there," he said, going to his truck and returning with wasp spray and a flashlight.

I watched him climb the ladder and fit his body through the narrow opening. "Come up here, Brian. The place is loaded with stuff," he yelled, triumphantly. It had been his idea to check the attic to see what may have been stored there.

"Be careful, Brian," Paige said to me as I made my way up the ladder. At ten feet up, I looked down to see her watching me. At twenty feet, her head was tipped back. Four more feet and I hoisted my right knee to the attic floor and used both hands to spring my body inside the opening.

The attic was packed with junk, some of which had been there for centuries. We worked all morning to clear everything out, using a rope to lower the larger items to the ground and taking turns carrying the small, fragile items down the ladder.

When we reached the ground we were covered with cobwebs and dust. Harold took pity on me and went back up to attach the cover with six new stainless steel screws.

Paige and Janice were using the vacuum cleaner to blow the accumulated dust off everything. Paige blew the cobwebs off of me and Janice used the vacuum cleaner on Harold.

We separated our find into three stacks, one that could be repaired, another that could not be identified and a third stack that was destined for the dump.

I theorized that Mackey had never been in the attic and Harold confirmed my theory, saying the rusted out six screws had probably been there for fifty years.

"That devalues this junk," I said. "People won't pay for something that Mackey never knew was in his attic."

"Who says we have to tell them?" Paige asked. "We found it in his attic; therefore, it belonged to Mackey whether he knew it was there or not."

"Are you suggesting and we practice deception?" I asked, and watched her raise her eyebrows in a 'what-I-would-do-to-you-if-they-weren't-here,' way.

"Paige is right. Technically, Mackey was the owner of all this junk," Janice said, and Harold was quick to agree with his wife.

Charlie must have been watching us from his kitchen window. He sauntered over as he often did.

"Ah, here's the ethics expert," I said, welcoming Charlie to the discussion. "Would you say that we could pass this junk off as Mackey's possessions even if he didn't know it was in the attic all along?"

Charlie looked from me to Paige, and then to the other couple. He scratched his chin before muttering his first words. "Why do you refer to it as junk? That's a fine old apple peeler and someone could use the butter churn as a planter. I'll fashion a lid for the crock. You're not going to discard these snowshoes, are you?"

I could see that he was not going to pass judgment on the ethics question. If Charlie knew that he'd convinced me not to deceive anyone, he didn't show it. He was busy pawing through the stack that we had destined for the dump.

"The stuff we found in the attic is better suited for the antique dealers. I'll offer Mackey's scale collection and some of the whirl-a-gigs to the callers who want something he owned," I said, and drew agreement from Paige, Harold and Janice. I guess they were relieved that we wouldn't need to deceive anyone.

Harold and I carried most of the items into the house and Charlie took the things he said he could repair to his house.

After a quickly prepared lunch, Harold and Janice left and we were alone.

"Brian," Paige said when she saw me looking at her. She had a frightened look in her eyes, but I knew she was pretending.

"Brian, you're filthy," she was breathless now, backing away as if she wanted to fade into the woodwork. I moved slowly, stalking her until I'd backed her into a corner.

"Brian, what are you going to do to me?" she asked in a whisper that frightened even me.

"I'm going to make you happy that you know me. I'm going to make you shout my name from the rooftops."

My face was two inches from hers, but I hadn't touched her. She had her arms at her sides, doing nothing to protest my advances.

"Brian, I need to know exactly what you're going to do to me."

There was fear in her voice, but I knew she was really toying with me, showing absolute trust.

"I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs."

"Brian, that sounds...hmmm...delightfully manly, but do you think you should do that? You might hurt your back."

"After we get in the room I'm going to toss you on the bed and rip off your clothes."

"Brian, you will be careful, won't you?"

"Once you're completely naked, I'm going to kiss the inside of your thighs until you beg me to stop."

"You won't roll the flabby parts between your lips and remind me that I have thick thighs, will you?"

I didn't respond because we both knew there were no flabby parts on the inside of her thighs. She was a city girl who walked everywhere and ran to catch the subway when she needed to.

"I'm going to blow hot air on your pubic hair and make you beg me to part your lips with my tongue."

"So far, you make it sound...ordinary. When do we get to the good part?"

"I'm going to flick your clit, unmercifully."

"Ah, torture. I'm liking this better all the time."

Was she laughing at me? "I'm going to make you wish you'd never met me."

"Brian, if you don't carry me upstairs this instant, I'm going to pee my panties."

I threw her over my shoulder and was halfway up the stairs when she asked. "You won't forget to let me put my diaphragm in, will you?"

Now it was my turn to be the tease. "Who said anything about us having intercourse?"

"You didn't say anything about taking your shirt off either, but I hope you will because it's filthy."

I opened the bedroom door and tossed her in the middle of the bed. I was trying to disguise the fact that I was winded. She put her arms up, possibly to give me a breather.

"Brian, don't start this unless you plan to fuck me."

"I'll take off my clothes while you go after your diaphragm," I said.

She smiled, broadly, and lifted her feet for me to remove her shoes.

We stayed in bed for the rest of the day, making love, touching, exploring, and putting everything else out of our minds. How we made it until dusk without expressing our love for each other I'll never know.

We went downstairs to find an envelope on the floor near the backdoor where it had been tossed. The envelope contained a thank you letter from the Food Pantry. It was addressed to me, care of the Peoples' estate and spoke of how timely the receipt of the three thousand dollar check had been. There was also a note from Nadine saying that the letter might be useful the next day.

After an afternoon of lovemaking we were not anxious to return to the bedroom. I guess we wanted something to take our minds off meeting Judge Lockwood. We gravitated to the game table, set up the chess pieces and started a game without talking about our plans.

Paige was quite good. She beat me soundly in thirty minutes, but it took her much longer the second time. It was midnight when we trudged upstairs.

"Do I need my diaphragm?" she asked.

I don't know why her question struck me as funny. It may have been the way she was standing next to the bed, waiting to find out if she should pull the covers back and get in or go into the bathroom. It may also have been that my cock was tired from the afternoon marathon and I was sure I couldn't perform.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"For the first time in my life, I'm sexually drained. Get in bed, Paige."

She joined me at the middle of the bed and let me hold her close for a minute before her head swung back.

"We won't have time in the morning and I don't know if I'll be able to take next Friday off. I'm warning you that this may be your last chance for a long, long time."

"Paige, please don't let this offend you, but right now I don't care how long it is."

"Okay, but I put my money on Wednesday."

"What does that mean?" I asked. My hand was on her ass and she was snuggling against me. I felt her breath on my cheek when she spoke.

"On Monday and Tuesday you'll talk about everything except sex, but on Wednesday you'll ask me what I'm wearing and if I'm touching myself."

"Paige, I've never asked if you were touching yourself."

"On Thursday, you'll beg me to catch an early bus on Friday and I'll tell you that I'll try to get away early. You'll be waiting at the bus station with your tongue hanging out. Brian, we've been lucky so far, but next weekend may be when I have to tell you that I have my period. Are you sure you don't want me to put my diaphragm in?"

"Your money is on Wednesday. You'll lose. I'll want you to leave early on Friday, but it will be Saturday morning before I'll be in the mood for sex."

"We'll see," she said in a sleepy voice.

"Paige, there's something I need to tell you."

"Not now," she whispered, sounding like she was talking in her sleep.

We rolled out of bed at ten minutes after nine, which meant we had fifty minutes to get to the courthouse. I ran downstairs to find Nadine making coffee and ran back upstairs to hear Paige cursing, something about ripping her stockings. I cut myself shaving.

We gathered our meeting notes, cut the Monday morning meeting short, and left the house with a cup of coffee in our hands and a slice of toast in our mouths. Nadine told us to relax and that she would lock the house. As I backed out of the driveway, I saw Gordon McMahan drive by the house. I couldn't be certain, but it looked like he had Ms. Dickens with him.

We made it to the courthouse at two minutes until ten and when we got inside the clock read one minute past. A clerk met us in the hallway, told us that the judge was hearing a case and that we were to meet her in her chambers.

We waited for over thirty minutes for the judge to join us. By that time, Paige had adjusted my tie seventeen times, and I had assured her that her hair was in place twelve times. She looked stunning, wearing the business suit she'd arrived in on Thursday night. We'd stood up and sat down more times than I could remember.

"Mr. Driver," Judge Lockwood said to me as she breezed into the room. "And I assume that you are the other defendant," she said, looking at Paige as she shook my hand. Claudia's handshake was firm, but her eyes were soft, reminding me of my own grandmother. Her hair was graying, but she had been a natural blonde in the not too distant past. She peered at us over half-glasses.

"Mrs. Kindle and I are equal members of the distribution committee," I said without referring to the Peoples' estate. The judge took her seat behind her desk, but did not motion for us to sit down.

"The pair of you have been charged with monopolizing the voting for motions you want to control. I believe the term Ms. Dickens used was that you are 'ganging up' on the other members."

"That's true, your Honor. I won't deny that we are often of one mind. There is no malicious intent, however, our votes are based on what we feel is the best method of collecting and distributing the estate funds."

"Distribution of the funds is one of the complaints. Do you have plans for the public library and the church to receive a pittance in the near future?"

Paige and I looked at each other, aghast. If it hadn't been for the judge's demeanor, it would have been comical. I leafed through my papers until I found the one I was searching for.

"This is a tentative schedule of distribution," I said, handing the paper to the judge. "As you can see, it shows the dates when we anticipate funds to be available, and subsequent distributions to be made."

The judge was quick to point out that a distribution of one hundred thousand had been made two weeks before. "Why haven't the library and the church received their share of that distribution?"

"That's an oversight on my part, your honor. I was under the impression that Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan would want to collect the checks and turn them over to the organizations they represent. I'll deliver the checks to the library and the church as soon as we're finished today."

"I don't understand," the judge began, in an insistent voice that sounded nothing like my grandmother. "Why haven't you handed the checks directly to Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan?"

"They've stopped attending our Monday morning committee meetings and they no longer show up for our work days. Mr. McMahan drives by the house each Monday morning, but he doesn't stop."

Judge Lockwood waved her hand, dismissively, like she hadn't heard what I'd said. "There's also a complaint about the work assignments. Mr. McMahan feels that sweeping the basement floor is beneath him. What do you have to say about that, Mr. Driver?"

"I'm guilty as charged, your Honor. I don't know what Mr. McMahan does for a living, but it has never included sweeping. I did ask him to sweep the basement floor, but when I discovered that he didn't know what he was doing, I took turns sweeping after I cleaned the windows."

"I have an affidavit to the contrary, Mr. Driver. Ms. Dickens states that Mr. McMahan was forced to breathe polluted air while you took your time washing the windows."

I didn't know if I should laugh or curse. Apparently, Paige was torn also. She tapped the heel of her shoe on the wooden floor, which worked well to get the judge's attention.

"That's laughable, Ma'am. It's also hearsay. Ms. Dickens would have had no way of knowing what took place in the basement that day. Brian...ah, Mr. Driver is working seven days a week to make the distribution as efficient as possible. Show the judge your construction schedule, Honey."

I fumbled to find the schedule as Paige continued. "Mr. Driver is the only one of us who is working on the estate full time. He's miles away from his business and his family. His children are ages six and nine and their mother passed away two years ago. The rest of us would be lost without Brian. He's experienced in construction and his intuition regarding the disbursal of assets has been superb."

The judge looked perplexed as she accepted my construction schedule.

"Enough, Mrs. Kindle. I hear rare admiration in you voice for this man. I only have one more question for you, Mr. Driver. This concern arrived late on Friday."

We watched as she unfolded a sheet of paper. "Is it true that there is a book in the offing, and if so, do you intend to profit personally from the proceeds?"

I was livid to think that Ms. Dickens had lodged such a petty complaint. I looked at Paige, forced a smile and shook my head. "There will be no book. Mrs. Kindle and I considered using the love letters between the Peoples in a book, and we must have given Miss Adams the impression that a book was forthcoming. We've since decided to abandon that idea. The newspaper article that was published last week generated substantial interest among townspeople. Many of the callers wanted to know if they can purchase items from the estate. We hope to capitalize on that interest by offering collectibles for sale. We plan to maintain the level of interest by supplying Miss Adams with material for future articles, but the love letters are not for sale. They are too private in nature. We'll offer the public Mackey's description of his part in the war and his hospital stay. He was a fine writer and a good person."

Judge Lockwood was making notes on the paper. Afterward, she folded it, tucked it into a folder and looked at us for a solid minute before speaking.

"Mr. Driver, I'll keep your tentative schedule of distribution and your construction schedule. I'll expect a report from you each time you deviate from either schedule. If you will deliver the two distribution checks to my clerk, I will personally hand them over to Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan. Their attendance at future committee meetings will be left to your discretion, but you are to deliver all distributions to the organizations they represent to me. It will be my pleasure to have a word with them when I place the checks in their hands. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Paige and I said in unison.

The judge was looking at one of the schedules I'd given her. "I count ten more distributions of one hundred thousand dollars each. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am, that is correct, but with certain contingencies. The schedule does not include the sale of the house because it is impossible to estimate what it will fetch in this market. The last distribution may need to be adjusted if the estate tax turns out to be greater than we've provided for, the proceeds from the stock are best estimates, and only yesterday we discovered an attic full of antiques that may or may not be valuable."

"I would like to commend you on your preparation for this hearing," the judge said before taking on her grandmotherly veneer. "You're totally immersed in this project, aren't you, Mr. Driver."

I smiled at Paige; she smiled back.

"Is there anything else in that folder that you would like for me to have?" the judge asked.

"There is one thing, your Honor," I said, quickly finding the letter from the Food Pantry.

She glanced at the letter and thanked us for coming, effectively adjourning the hearing.

We were in the truck and headed to the bus station before either of us spoke. I was somewhere between being infuriated at Ms. Dickens, and elated at the outcome of the hearing. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked.

"I'd love to be a fly on the wall when she brings Ms. Dickens in for a chat," Paige laughed.

"I'm glad you were with me today."

"Why were you apologetic about not chasing Nancy and Gordon down to force them to accept the checks?"

"I got my point across. She commended me for being immersed in the project."

"When did you drop the idea of us doing the book?"