Chapter 5: The Worms Keep Turning

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.