Chance Encounter

Chapter V – The Worms Keep Turning

By Autumn Writer

Agnes Loehman watched her husband back his car out of the driveway. She and Bert had not uttered a word to one another since the argument the previous evening. She stood motionless in the picture window in case he returned for something forgotten, which he often did as an excuse to see if she wanted to break the ice to enable reconciliation. She was glad that he did not return and she had no intention to initiate any such groveling. She was determined to take action.

When Agnes was certain that Bert wouldn’t return she sat in a chair next to the telephone. She picked up the receiver and punched in the number that Grafton had scribbled on the back of the business card.

It was a short conversation. Grafton was coming right over; his hotel was a ten minute drive from the Loehmans’ house.

Before long, Agnes heard a car pull into her driveway. She watched as the driver’s side door of the rented sedan swung open and a man with a briefcase stepped out. It was the man who called on her the day before.

Ed Grafton was a small man. Agnes thought him to be five-seven or eight as he walked toward the house. He cleared the front fender of the car that had partially hidden him and Agnes saw the black platform shoes that added a couple of inches to his height. He was skinny-looking. Although well into his fifties, his hair showed no apparition of gray, and neither did his full beard and moustache. He wore sunglasses with black frames, so at first it gave the illusion that he wore a mask. It was summer; he was wearing a seersucker blazer and navy slacks.

Grafton swiveled his head to all sides as he approached the door, probably checking for anyone watching him. He started to ring the bell, but Agnes met him first.

“I think we have some business to discuss, Mrs. Loehman,” he said in his customary nasal voice.

Agnes nodded and stood motionless behind the screen door.

“I can’t discuss it out here, Mrs. Loehman. Can I come in?” he asked after waiting for her to speak.

Agnes hesitated.

“Maybe I should come back when Bert is home,” he said.

Agnes opened the door; he walked in and sat in the living room, making a show of placing his briefcase on the coffee table.

“Does anyone know that I’m here?” he asked.

Agnes shook her head.

“You said that you would have cash,” Agnes said.

“I certainly do!” he responded.

Grafton laid the case flat on the table and flicked the latch. He raised the top side and displayed stacks of wrapped bills arranged row-on-row in the case. Agnes could see that the bundles were twenties, but had no way to tell how many there were. She knew that it was a lot of money. Agnes relaxed a little. She hoped that in a few minutes a lot of it would be hers.

“What do you have for me?” asked Grafton.

“I know where the missing drawings are located and how they got where they are,” she answered.

“That would be worth something to me. Where are they?” said Grafton.

Agnes hesitated.

“It would be worth two thousand,” he added, knowing her question in advance.

“I was hoping for more. Bert lost eight in salary because of it. I wanted to make that up,” pleaded Agnes.

“Give me more, and I’ll give you more, Mrs. Loehman,” Grafton spat out in a tougher tone.

Agnes hesitated again.

“Final offer—three thousand,” Grafton sneered. “Tax free, of course,” he added with no small amount of sarcasm.

“The drawings are locked in Paul Crane’s office,” said Agnes. “A young woman brought them to him. I don’t know her name. Bert got in trouble for sending them to you the way he did. He told Crane how it happened.”

“That was a big help, Mrs. Loehman.”

Grafton counted out three packs of the twenties and handed them to Agnes. The withdrawal had barely made a dent in the contents of the briefcase.

“Want to count it?” he asked.

Agnes counted out the fifty bills in one of the packs; then nodded to say ‘ok’.

“Bring me more information and I’ll bring you more money,” offered Grafton. “I need to know what they’re going to do with those drawings before they do it. If you can find that out for me, you’ll see that much again, and then some!”

“But how…” she started to ask.

“You’ve got my card,” said Grafton as he closed his briefcase. “Just make sure that you keep this secret. If I’m found out on this, so will you!”

Grafton left the house without saying goodbye. He scooted to his car, swiveling his head along the way. Agnes watched him pull out of the driveway.

“I know how Judas felt,” she muttered to herself, clutching the thirty pieces of silver. “But I did it for Bert and me. We need it—and we deserve it!”

She roamed through the house looking for a hiding place for the money, safe from Bert. She wondered how she would feed it into their bank account without him knowing it. ‘Business’ was more complex than she realized. She finally put the stacks of bills in a brown paper bag and placed it in the eaves in a corner of the attic. She would figure out the details later.

**************

Paul marched into the office. He was glad that it was Friday and the end of a less than perfect week. He thought of Audrey, surely cruising north on I-75 at that hour. She could have been waiting for him at his cabin on the peninsula right at that moment if he had played his cards a different way. What a feast for the eyes she was! Paul found that he liked her, as well, despite the difference in their ages. He patted himself on the back for putting the Company first.

His cabin hadn’t been used since the weekend with Glenda. If there was any justice in the world he would be getting his work done early so that he could pick her up at the airport and drive up there for the weekend. Summer was passing by. There was no justice and the cabin went wasting. He mulled over putting it on the market.

Marge brought him in some coffee.

“Thanks, Marge,” he said. ”How was your dinner with Miss Wright? Sorry for the short notice.”

“No problem!” Marge answered. “She is a most delightful young lady. Beautiful, too. We went to that new Italian place over on the east side. Very nice; you should try it.”

“I’m glad that you had a nice time. Miss Wright is helping us a lot right now,” Paul said.

“I know she likes you!” Marge said. “You’re all that she talked about. I’m sure that she would have chosen you as her dinner escort for the evening instead of me. Perhaps even more than an escort.”

“She made a little hint yesterday,” Paul said. “I couldn’t risk it. If we were seen by the wrong people it would have blown any credibility she has as a witness.”

“She told me that it was more than a little hint,” Marge laughed.

Paul chuckled at Marge’s disclosure of the ‘girl talk’ from the night before. It wasn’t like Marge to have loose lips. Paul wondered if Audrey had asked Marge to send the message.

“I’m too old, Marge. She would have me in the ICU before I could yell ‘Please Stop’!”

After they both laughed, especially Marge who was unused to the risqué humor, she looked at Paul, and said in a quieter tone “I’m not so sure. I think that you still have some gas in your tank. Remember, I have some basis to judge it.”

Marge left and Paul spent the next hour and a half clearing some work from his desk.

In between the pages of busy work, Paul thought of Audrey relaying messages to him through Marge. He didn’t realize it, but his chest puffed out a little. To have a gorgeous young woman like Audrey on the prowl for him was a major lift to his personal morale.

“She’s out of reach, but it’s the thought that counts,” Paul said out loud to no one in particular.

He found his mood brightening. There was only a little work left for the day. He decided to take the afternoon off and go to the cabin for the weekend. When Marge came in at ten to bring in the mail he had a sudden idea.

“Marge, do you have plans for this weekend?” he asked.

To his surprise, Marge seemed excited, notwithstanding the short notice.

“I’m leaving for the day at noon,” he told her. “You leave after lunch. We can’t just walk out together. Pack some things and leave your car at my house. While I’m waiting for you I’ll buy some sandwiches and drinks to eat on the way. If we can leave by two, we’ll be there before seven.”

Marge nodded in the affirmative. It would work out. When Paul left early Marge usually did, too. It was ‘comp time’ for all the late nights and Saturdays that she put in.

“Have a nice weekend, Marge,” Paul called out for the benefit of any interested party as he left at noon.

“I plan to,” Marge answered.

After they got started on the road, Marge was full of questions about the cabin.

“Is there a boat?” she asked. “I haven’t been on a boat in years.”

“We’ll make sure that you get on one this weekend,” answered Paul. “Maybe tonight, if there is enough daylight left when we get there.”

“Is the water nice?” she asked.

Paul didn’t know what she meant by that question, but he answered ‘yes’ anyway. In his mind he was luring Marge out on a ‘special’ early morning swim the next day, but something told him to keep that a surprise.

Marge asked about the hot water, and the kitchen. Paul assured her that it would be to her liking. There was electricity, too, he told her before she had a chance to ask. He knew what question she was leading up to, but he decided to have fun and let her find a way to broach it.

“Is there a bathroom indoors?” she finally blurted out.

Paul broke into laughter. Marge made a fake punch at his arm as ‘punishment’ for his fun at her expense.

“No, we have a shovel by the front door and you go off into the woods and dig yourself a hole.” Paul said. “Just watch out for the badgers. They can be tough to deal with if they catch you with your pants down.”

Marge was starting to believe him until the joke about the badgers.

“I’ll repeat the question!” she stated, as a lawyer prodding a reluctant witness. “Is there an indoor bathroom?”

“Yes, there are two,” Paul surrendered.

“There are a few badgers, but they won’t bother us if we stay out of their way. Just remember to keep the trash secure,” Paul added.

Marge looked concerned.

“Lighten up, Marge. You worry too much. Let me know as soon as you’re having fun.”

Paul could see that Marge was an ‘indoor girl’. He would wait to see how fast she would loosen up at the cabin.

For a while they rode along, looking at the landscape they were passing through. First were the small towns, then farms, gradually melting away to the forest.

By the time they were on the bridge over the Strait, Marge had been dozing for a half hour. Paul knew that she hadn’t meant to. He didn’t mind. He never tired of the scenery, even if just driving through.

Marge woke up with a start as Paul pulled into the parking space.

“Are we there?” she asked, drowsy and rubbing her eyes.

“Almost; I just stopped in town to pick up some groceries,” Paul answered. “There are plenty of dry goods at the cabin already. We just need to pick up the perishables. We’ll need enough for tonight, tomorrow, and breakfast and lunch on Sunday.”

The grocery store was too small for shopping carts. A basket held by hand would have to do. It was routine for Paul, but he could see that Marge was having a hard time getting used to the old-fashioned store.

When they arrived at the meat counter Paul asked for a couple of steaks. Marge said nothing, but Paul sensed her dislike at the selection.

“I should have asked what you had in mind, Marge,” Paul said.

“It’s alright, Paul. We’ll have steak. It’s just that I seldom eat it. I’m more into chicken breast.”

“Alright”, Paul said, “chicken breast it will be. I’ll figure out a way to grill it.”

“No, no!” Marge responded. “We’ll have steak.”

Paul started to sigh and held back. He turned to the man behind the counter.

“Let’s have one strip steak and enough chicken breast for one person,” he told him.

After the butcher handed them the two packages wrapped in white paper Marge turned to head for the cashier.

“We need one last thing, Marge,” Paul called over his shoulder as he headed for the beer cooler.

He stood in front of it, mentally tabulating how much he would need.

“What’s your favorite brand?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Paul. I seldom drink beer. I’m more the wine type; wine coolers, more specifically if we’re going to be out on the water.”

Paul lifted two six-packs from the cooler for himself and three four-packs of wine coolers for Marge.

The cabin was fifteen minutes away. When they arrived he spent a few minutes ‘turning the place on’ and then showing Marge around, including the bathrooms. She paused for a second, a little uneasy, in the bedroom. Paul wasn’t sure if she felt Sally’s presence there, or if the reminder that they would soon be having sex embarrassed her. He took her for a walk down to the dock. Paul saw that she was a little nervous walking on it.

“It’s too close to dark to get the boat out now,” he told her. “We will tomorrow for sure.”

They returned to the cabin and Marge took over.

“Go sit on the porch with one of your beers. I’m going to get this kitchen cleaned up and get these layers of dust off the furniture,” she declared.

“C’mon, Marge!” Paul hugged her with one arm. “You’re not here to be a maid. You’re supposed to have a nice time. We can take care of all that in the morning.”

Paul leaned down and kissed her on the lips. It wasn’t passionate, just an affectionate pass to convince her to loosen up. Marge returned the kiss, but wasn’t deterred. She handed Paul a beer.

“Shoo! Shoo!” she waved her arms at him. “You go out on the porch and let me get to work.”

Paul obediently trudged out alone to the porch and settled into a chair and sipped his beer. He wasn’t used to being ‘shooed’. He appreciated Marge’s good intentions, but would have preferred a drink together watching the sunset, then retreat to the bedroom for some fun. Sally had a dose of the cleaning bug, like Marge, but he had cured her of putting it ahead of more important things. Glenda didn’t seem to have the bug at all. In the morning he would have gladly pitched in with the cleaning and dusting. They would have been done in no time. He didn’t want to growl at Marge. She was only following her female instincts.

The weather was nice and the dying sun was creating colors among the clouds. Paul worked on his beer and relaxed. He didn’t think of work, of Glenda, of Hopkins or Grafton. He concentrated on the waterfowl and the muskrat making its way across the lake. He thought of the corners of the lake where he would take Marge in the morning. He hadn’t been as peaceful in weeks. It was good therapy. He would not put the cabin on the market.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t heard Marge bustling about inside for a few minutes. He returned to his thoughts. Marge would appear when she was ready.

The sun was nearly finished for the evening when Marge stepped onto the porch. She handed Paul a fresh beer and had a wine cooler and wine glass in her hand.

Marge was wearing a pink negligee that descended to her knees. It was held up by spaghetti straps and had cups of lace that allowed a hint of her breasts to be seen through the fabric. The satin fabric of the gown hugged her hips. At first, she wore a matching peignoir, but discarded it when she noticed the warmth of the evening and the seclusion of the cove where Paul’s cabin was. There were pink slippers on her feet. It was a nice presentation. She took the chair next to his.

“It was nice of you invite me, Paul,” she said. It’s beautiful in the wilderness by the lake.”

“I’m glad that I asked you, Marge. The idea just came to me this morning. It was one of my better ideas.”

“Don’t you wish that it was Audrey here with you?” Marge asked, but it seemed more that she was telling him that she knew that she was a substitute.

“No, Marge. I’m glad to be here with you. I don’t have first and second choices—only first ones. Audrey has a lot going for her. So do you. Stop selling yourself short.” Paul knew that he had sounded cross, but he meant what he had said. He hoped that he hadn’t hurt Marge.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Paul knew that he had hurt her. He was sorry. He told himself that he should have found a better way to say what he had on his mind

The sun was spent for the day. The only light emanated from inside the cabin, through the window near where they were sitting. Paul’s beer bottle was empty. He stood and took Marge’s glass from her and set it on the small table between their two chairs.

“How could anyone look better than you do right now in that negligee?” he said. “Did you think that I didn’t notice?”

“Paul,” she cooed, “I know that you’re flattering me—but I like it!”

Paul was not flattering her and her response vexed him a little, but he let it pass.

Marge stood and the two embraced. Paul felt affection in Marge’s kiss, but not yet the passion that he was hoping for. He tried again, and as he kissed her he trailed his hands firmly from her ribcage down her waist and traced the outline of her hips. He felt her warm a little. He pushed his tongue between her lips and found hers, and guided his strong hands from her hips to her rear. Paul coursed his hands over the globes, and then clutched them. He felt Marge press closer to him, so he pulled her closer yet. They renewed their kiss, tongues groping. Paul sensed Marge heating and allowed himself to match her.

Marge was a glowing ember. Her heat was real, but passive. It needed tinder to burst into flames. Paul searched for the spark. He raised his hands up from Marge’s buttocks to the spaghetti straps of her nightie. He quickly pulled them down. It forced Marge to release her embrace around Paul’s neck and drop here arms to her sides. Paul pulled down gently again to release her breasts from their lacey encasements. The top of the negligee pooled around Marge’s hips. She was nude above her navel.

It was a small act. The cove of Paul’s cabin was secluded and they stood on the porch within easy reach of the door. Paul was certain, however, that it was the first time Marge had ever displayed herself outside the safety of the inside of her abode. Paul expected her to try to cover up, which he was prepared to prevent. She didn’t, though. She took a second to allow the feeling of fresh air to wash over nude skin. Her nipples began to stiffen. A small breeze broke the stillness. Marge embraced Paul anew, this time on fire.

As their tongues danced with their counterparts, Marge crushed her bare breasts into Paul’s chest. The stiff nipples embedded themselves into the rough fabric of his canvas shirt. She pressed her vulva against his erection. With each pulse of pleasure she pressed harder. She rose up and down on her toes, grinding on him in different ways and angles. Paul reached up to cup her breasts. The action created a small space between them. The half-descended negligee worked free and fell on its own, puddling at her feet.

Paul thought that the unexpected cascade of the nightie might have cooled her, but it did not. She pressed her chest forward to deepen the penetration of her breast into Paul’s hand. Paul was enjoying Marge’s sudden abandonment of reserve. He bent and grasped her with one arm under her knees and the other around her back. As he lifted her, Marge tightened her hold around his neck. Paul sensed that the ‘manhandling’ excited Marge even more as her eyes widened and she made a little purring noise to show it.

When Paul strode into the bedroom carrying Marge he saw that she had turned down the bed covers in preparation when she had changed into her negligee. He set her down, just a little roughly, and began stripping off his clothes. As he did he let Marge watch him, and he stared at her nude body. He watched her chest heaving. In a minute he was ready to join her and he climbed onto the bed. He knew that she was already excited, but he had not yet touched her vulva. As she lay flat on her back he lay on his side next to her. His hard penis poked at the side of her thigh. He thrust his hand down to her triangle. Marge took hold of his manhood; Paul dipped his head to her closest nipple.

Suddenly, Marge surprised Paul by pushing his face away from her breast. Paul looked at her puzzled for a second. Marge pushed up on his shoulder to signal Paul to roll over to lie on his back. Paul expected Marge to take him into her mouth, but instead, she jumped on top and straddled him. She reached below her to align his erect penis with her gateway and then sank down on it—fast and hard. Her insides were slick and warm. She remained in place, not moving, but pressing her pelvis down onto his. Paul was deep inside her. He seized a breast with each hand. Marge started to move up and down. It was a slow pace at first. After a few strokes she quickened it. After every third or fourth repetition she would stop at the bottom and press down on him as she had before. Paul learned the routine. He released Marge’s breasts and grasped her hips. As she would press down, he pressed up with his own pelvis.

Marge didn’t make a sound. She closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards. Her lips formed a tight circle, like the letter ‘o’. They went on this way for many minutes. The pauses allowed Paul to stave off his ejaculation. Marge started to give out loud sighs on each descent. She increased the pace of the stroking. Her sighs became louder. Her movement became less rhythmic. She would shift slightly to get Paul onto a spot that he might have missed. Finally, on the last descent, her upper body fell forward. Paul felt her muscles convulse around his penis. Her climax was long and intense. When she finished, he took over the pumping until he too felt orgasm coming over him and his semen raced into her body.

They lay gasping. When they recovered Marge dismounted Paul and lay alongside him. Paul arose from the bed to lock up the cabin for the night and then returned to bed with her. They lay side by side waiting for sleep. Younger couples might have tried for a second round. They did not. It would have been a shame to dilute the quality of the effort they had just completed. Their bodies were satisfied for the night.

*********

Paul woke with the sun. In their sleep Marge had turned on her side away from him. Paul recounted the pleasure of the night before. The sheet had drifted off the top half of their bodies. Marge’s bare back and buttocks lay exposed. He spent a minute appreciating the view. He wished that she would be less self-conscious. Some of her comments had been a little annoying.

Paul hoped that the more-than-satisfactory sex the night before had pounded Marge’s doubts from her. He decided to find out. He reached out and stroked her flank and down the crevice between her cheeks. Marge stirred and rolled over. She moved beside him and kissed him affectionately.

“Good morning!” he said. “How did you sleep?’

“Oh, I slept fine,” she answered. “This fresh air out here at the lake is so good for sleeping.”

Paul turned on his side and took a breast in his hand. Her nipple was stiffening.

“I don’t wonder that you slept like a log after all that exercise last night,” he said in a voice menat to convey pleasure and fun.

“Mmm!” she purred, smiling. “I’ll let you be the judge!”

“How would you like to uphold a ‘cabin tradition’?” he asked.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is?” she answered in a voice that sounded expectant and defensive at the same time.

“Well, it’s fun!” Paul replied, “but it’s something that one has to get ‘used to’,” he added.

“Ah—that!” Marge answered. “I was wondering when you would get around to it. I was saving it for later, but we could do it now.” She clutched his organ and started sliding down his body toward it, preparing to put him into her mouth.

“No, Marge. I didn’t mean that,” said Paul, laughing. “It might be nice later. I meant a morning swim.”

“A morning swim?” she cried. “You mean you want me to put on my suit and go swimming. I thought that we were starting foreplay for … you know. Paul, sometimes you are hard to figure out!”

“The swim is a form of foreplay, Marge; and you won’t need your suit,” Paul answered, stifling a laugh.

Marge’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “That’s out of the question!”

“C’mon, Marge. You’ll love it. What about last night?” Paul pleaded.

“That was in the dark,” she declared. “And, I got a little carried away.”

“Well,” Paul countered, “get carried away now.”

“Actually, I’m not that good a swimmer,” she said. She started stroking his erection and snuggled up to him.

“Paul, couldn’t we … you know … stay here for a little while?” she purred at him.

“Sure, Marge—no problem,” Paul replied.

He started caressing her nipple to refresh its stiffness as she stroked him. They leaned closer and kissed. In a short time he mounted her and she responded to him. The sex was good that morning. They both made sure of it. They started to become attuned to the other’s body. There were fewer surprises, but their success was never hit-or-miss. Marge, true to her word, took him into her mouth that night after dinner and swallowed every drop. Paul returned the favor while he was waiting to re-inflate.

In between sessions of sex at night and in the morning they filled the time boating around the lake. They relaxed and let the scenery soothe them. Marge even ventured into the lake (with suit), diving in from the boat. She wasn’t a great swimmer, but not as bad as she had claimed. They thought about asking the couple on the other side of the point over for drinks on Saturday night, but their cabin was empty that weekend. That left more time for Paul and Marge to perfect their bedroom arts. They did so, satisfying themselves in each other’s arms, until they were drained of energy and time.

They started on the five hour drive home after lunch on Sunday. Marge was soon dozing, just like on the trip up to the cabin. Paul glanced over at her. He thought how good a companion she was. She was pleasant at all times, intelligent and engaging. She didn’t look bad in her swimsuit, either, notwithstanding her protestations. When they made love there was pleasure to be shared by all, and more.

Paul had doubts that wouldn’t stop lingering. It was like nearly finishing a jigsaw puzzle to find that one of the pieces had been lost. He was ninety percent satisfied. He wanted that final ten percent. He wondered if that piece would turn up if he brought Marge to the lake a few more times before winter set in.

As he drove along I-75, listening to Marge’s soft breathing, he realized that it could not happen that way. Further attempts would just get more pieces lost as each of them, set in their ways as they were, would try to accommodate the other. He had invited Marge for a tryout. He hadn’t meant to; the realization came after the fact. It made him feel guilty that he had risked hurting a person that meant so much to him.

Marge had passed most of the tests, especially lovemaking. She failed in beer and steak, in putting housework before pleasure at the wrong times, in over self-deprecation and nude swimming. Paul saw that he had wanted her to replace Glenda, whom he was unsure of ever seeing again. It was impossible and unfair, just as Glenda could never be Marge. It became clear to him. He would have to find a way to handle it.

Marge woke up when they were about ten miles from Paul’s house. She rubbed her eyes to erase her drowsiness.

“It was a lovely weekend, Paul. Thank you,” she said.

“I enjoyed being with you,” he answered. “I would invite you to stay over tonight, but I don’t think that I have the energy left,” he kidded her.

Marge giggled, enjoying his reference to her newly rekindled lovemaking expertise.

“Why we are so unlike each other, but get along so well in the bedroom?” she asked.

“Do you remember what you said that morning at breakfast after we made love the first time?” she went on. “I asked you if I had pleased you, and you told me that I could have pleased any man. I didn’t understand why you said it back then, but I do now. You were telling me to be open to other men.”

Paul glanced over at her.

“I think that I should, Paul,” she said. “Would you mind?”

“No, Marge.” Paul answered. “You’ve given me some times to remember, that’s for sure. We’re still friends. I don’t want that to change.”

“It won’t change,” she assured him.

“Anyone special in mind?” Paul asked.

“The Choir Director at church has been making some hints,” she replied. “He was widowed several years ago and seems ready to go out again.”

“The Choir Director!” Paul howled. “Take it easy on him, Marge, or he’ll be singing a few octaves higher.”

Marge looked at Paul, feigning shock at the raw joke. They were pulling into the driveway.

“I remember how easy you ‘took it on me’ not very long ago,” she said softly. She leaned over and gave him an affectionate kiss.

*******

Late that Saturday afternoon, while Paul and Marge were tying up the boat for the day, little did they know that at the same moment Ed Grafton sat by the phone at his new home in St. Louis. He was waiting for a return call from Arthur Hopkins. He had called him earlier and left a voicemail letting Hopkins know about Paul’s possession of the fraudulent drawings. That spelled trouble for them if it wasn’t handled.

Hopkins had been the instigator of the conspiracy. He, and especially Grafton, had profited by it. Morehead had received nothing, and he was the question mark. Although Agnes Loehman had not named her, Grafton knew that it was Audrey Wright who had delivered the drawings to Paul.

As he sat nursing a glass of gin and tonic and pouring over his situation, the phone rang. He was sure that it was Arthur Hopkins. When he picked it up, to his surprise, it was Craig Morehead.

Grafton: Hello!

Morehead: Ed, this is Craig Morehead. I’m calling about that money that you promised me!

Grafton: I told you, Craig, that I would send you some money when things cool down. Did you know that Paul Crane asked Larry Wilton for an investigation? Wilton called me a few days ago.

Morehead: Let Crane rant and rave all he wants! Wilton will have nothing without those drawings and I have them in a safe place where he’ll never find them. But listen, I have a partner now, so you’ll have to give me more money.

Grafton: No way! I promised you ten thousand. Your expenses are your own business. Who is this partner, anyway? How do you know that you can trust him? What could be his value-added?

Morehead: It’s not a ‘him, it’s a ‘her’. She’s holding the drawings so that they can’t be found on me.

Grafton: You’re a fool for letting someone else in on this.

Morehead: How about the money?

Grafton: I can only give you two thousand right now. Give me the name of your bank and the account number.

Morehead: Make it five thousand, and here are the bank details.

They hung up. Grafton was going to warn Morehead that Paul had the drawings, but swallowed his tongue before the words came out. It was clear that Audrey had double-crossed him and Morehead had yet to find it out. If he had, Grafton was sure that it would send him running in a panic to Wilton. It would be better to keep this secret between him and Arthur Hopkins.

An hour later, Hopkins called Grafton.

Grafton: Morehead just called me out of the blue demanding money. I don’t think that he knows that Crane has the bogus drawings. He thinks that Audrey is holding them for safekeeping.

Hopkins: Can he prove that it was you who faked the drawings?

Grafton: No. No one can.

Hopkins: Then let Morehead take the fall. He’s the last one in the Agency to have possession of them—except for Audrey. He’ll accuse you, but proving it is something else. You can just accuse him right back!

Grafton: Crane is sure to go to Wilton with this.

Hopkins: If they can’t prove their case, they’ll never get you out of Missouri. Just make sure that no one can say that they saw you alter the drawings. That’s the main point. Pay some money to Morehead. That will keep him quiet for a while.

Grafton: I’ve got Craig’s banking information. I’ll deposit it in cash. I’ll drive to Springfield on Monday. It’s only two hours. I’ll use a branch near his apartment. Then he can explain where the money came from. Craig will frame himself. He’ll have the money, the drawings and he admitted to Audrey that he was part of it. I should call him and thank him!

The two men hung up, their plans were made.

*************

On the following Friday afternoon Paul was working in his office. Marge buzzed him to tell him that Audrey Wright was waiting to see him. Paul told Marge to send her in.

“Private Audrey Wright reporting as ordered!” she declared as she marched in and presented a mock salute.

“Hello, Audrey,” Paul said, “how was your vacation?”

“It was restful and lonely,” she answered. “A bit more restful than I would have liked it.”

Paul didn’t respond, but motioned her to a chair in front of his desk.

“Audrey,” he began, “what we’ve started has got to be finished. It is serious business. I know that you didn’t mean it just now with the salute and all, but from now on we can’t joke about it—even among ourselves. If we don’t take it seriously enough, something will go wrong, and it will all come to nothing. There will be time to joke later when it’s all over.”

“Sorry,” she replied as her face started turning red.

“I know,” Paul said. “It’s alright. The reason why I wanted you to stop here on your way home is to make sure that you still want to go through with this. If you want to back out now you can, and there will be no hard feelings. You can go back to your job at the Agency and go on like nothing happened.”

“But something did happen, Mr. Crane, and I can’t turn my back on it. I would just be waiting for the next time, and the next. I will go through with it.”

“Don’t expect brass bands and speeches of thanks from Wilton or anyone at the Agency,” Paul warned. “They will look at you as a snitch and hate you. You will be upsetting their applecart. There is a good chance that you’ll be fired for not going through channels. Can you accept that?”

Audrey nodded.

“Audrey, even if you aren’t fired, you should plan on changing jobs. The atmosphere will be poisoned against you. Don’t worry; we’ll help you find another job. It may take a while, but it will work out. Anything that we do for you will be off the record. We can’t hire you at Dunn because it will look like we’re paying you off. We can’t give you a stipend while you’re between jobs, either. Are you ready for that?”

Audrey nodded again.

“Then we’re off to the races!” Paul declared. “Go back to your job on Monday. Act like nothing has happened. I’ll get an appointment with Wilton as soon as I can. I’ll let you know when it is and you will be with us when we go to see him.”

“Call me if anyone, especially Morehead, starts acting suspicious,” Paul continued. “But don’t needle them if they’re acting normal. If Wilton asks you about it, you’ll have to tell him the truth. Call if you see Grafton or Hopkins anywhere at the Agency.”

“I understand,” said Audrey.

“Audrey,” Paul lowered his tone, “you are a very brave young woman. You are doing everyone a great service, and you’ll never get a fraction of the thanks that you deserve. I’ll give you my thanks right now.”

They stood and shook hands. Audrey’s expression had turned serious. She turned and left the office. Paul worried about what might happen to his young protégé who would be so far away from his reach, and any help he could give her if things went wrong.

***************

Paul stood at his office window contemplating all that happened during the summer. It had been mostly a season of sadness, sprinkled with some happy moments. Some of the joy had turned to sorrow. Summer was approaching its close; Paul knew that this episode was not going to be over soon. His biggest fear at the moment was for the young fawn he had sent far away to be in the midst of jackals and wolves. This business with Wilton had to be concluded soon. Too much time created more opportunities for slip-ups.

Marge knocked and brought in the mail. Among the items was an interoffice envelope, marked “Confidential”. Paul opened it. He found a letter from the Ethics Committee, ordering him to be present at an inquiry. It was the Bert Loehman matter. George Adams had warned of this. One thing in the letter confused Paul. In addition to the Loehman deviation, it mentioned “…and other matters.”

The meaning of those words was a mystery to Paul. He had been around the office long enough to know that a vague reference to ‘other matters’ meant trouble. He had a clear conscience. Even his liaisons with Marge would have raised eyebrows, but were not within the bounds of the Ethics Committee. He thought about asking about it. He decided not to. He would answer it when he knew what it was.

It was annoying to have this come up now. He didn’t need more problems.

*******

TO BE CONTINUED

Dear Readers,

I hope that you are enjoying this story.

As always, I enjoy receiving your comments.

Autumn Writer