Chapter 3: Brian is having too much fun!

Wednesday, August 29, 2007.

The clanging sound of the dumpster being lowered to the ground woke me. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ms. Kindle sitting at the kitchen table. She had my laptop open, and was reading something. I kept my eyes on her while I put on my pants. She didn't look up as I raced past her on my way to the bathroom.

"Good morning, what does 'MIN' mean?" she asked when I returned to the kitchen. Her question told me that she was reading the automobile parts file we'd created the day before.

"Good morning, it means 'more information needed.'"

A slight grin crossed her lips before she said, "I saw some auto magazines in Uncle Mackey's room. They may help you describe the parts properly."

"I'll check them out," I said, slipping into my shoes and shirt. She must have assumed that I was going out to pick up coffee.

"Would you mind getting cereal and milk?"

"Not at all. Anything else?"

"Instant coffee. It's less expensive than coffee by the cup, and we can have it any time of the day."

She saw me looking at the side of the table where the roll of money had been left the evening before. "I put it in the cookie jar," she said, pointing to the oddly-shaped crockery piece on the countertop.

Another slight grin crossed her lips as I nodded. I was halfway to the door when I heard her ask, "Brian?"

I turned. "Do you need any money for the groceries?" A single line in her brow reminded me of Peggy for a second. I told her that I had money, and drove to the store where I bought two very different types of breakfast cereal, milk, and a jar of instant coffee.

She was on the phone when I returned to the house. I tried not to listen to her side of the conversation, but pouring milk on top of breakfast cereal didn't hold my attention. I couldn't help but hear her as I put a kettle of water on the burner.

"I'll be home this weekend. We'll discuss it then ... I didn't say that you couldn't have it ... Please, Honey, let me think about it ... A puppy is not like a goldfish ... It's a big responsibility ... Let me speak with your brother ... Hi, Honey, do you miss me? I miss you, too ... This weekend; we'll have dinner together on Friday night ... Let me speak to your grandmother ... Hi, Mom, where did Mona get the idea that she must have a puppy? Friday, I'll get a taxi from the bus station ... What's that? Things are improving, we're finally making some headway ... Kiss the kids for me, love you, bye."

Ms. Kindle set the phone down, and looked at me. I held the two boxes of cereal up. She chose the Raisin Bran, which I delivered to her along with a bowl, spoon and the milk. She smiled at me before pouring cereal from the box. It was a weak, thank you smile, not a friendly THANK YOU smile.

She didn't mention the telephone conversation, not that I expected her to explain that she'd obviously been talking to her children, and then her mother.

I stood at the counter, and she sat at the table. When the water boiled, I measured the right amount of coffee into a cup, and poured the water over it. I offered to do the same for her, but she said she preferred to pour her own hot water over the grains of instant coffee.

We finished our cereal in silence, and Ms. Kindle said she would wash the dishes.

I went to the small bedroom on the first floor and began pulling the clothes out of the closet. Ms. Kindle laughed when she saw me trying to decide which clothes to set aside for Goodwill and which ones to toss in the dumpster. I let her take over, and carried the mattress outside. When I returned, she had the clothes in two stacks. She pointed to the stack that was going to be discarded. I couldn't tell the difference, but I didn't argue with her.

We were upstairs in one of the bedrooms when Mr. McMahan and Nadine Meriwether arrived early, dressed for work. He helped me carry the mattresses to the dumpster, and Nadine followed us with an armload of clothes that were to be discarded.

Charlie came in the house, saying that he would be in the barn, cataloging the automobile parts we'd found in the attic. I asked Nadine to go with him to record the descriptions on my laptop.

"It's a good thing I wore pants today, isn't it?" she asked. I pictured her climbing to the loft and winked at her.

Ms. Kindle said that we needed trash bags to pack the clothes that were going to the Goodwill in. I suggested that we start a list of supplies we needed, and when Ms. Dickens and Ms. Whitney arrived, we had a half dozen items written down.

Ms. Dickens said that had she known this was a workday, she would have dressed appropriately. I told her that she was dressed fine for shopping, and gave her the list. She seemed happy to have a job that she could do...

Ms. Kindle explained our plan to hold a silent auction to Ms. Whitney. "I'd like Mr. Martin to look over the mailing we're making. I'm particularly interested in him approving the disclaimer I placed at the bottom of the page," Ms Kindle said.

Ms. Whitney, seeing that we had no plans to hold a meeting, said she would have Mr. Martin check the mailing and call with any changes he suggested.

Ms. Dickens returned with the supplies, saying that she knew now that fifty dollars was not going to be enough for the supplies we would need. It was as near to an apology from her as I expected.

Ms. Kindle took me aside. "Brian, will you ask Ms. Dickens to deliver the clothes to Goodwill?"

It occurred to me that Ms. Kindle was chummy with me when others were around, but talked very little when we were alone. I was glad that I hadn't commented on her telephone conversation with her family.

"Ms. Dickens, do you think these trash bags will fit in your car, or should I use my truck to deliver them to Goodwill?"

She calculated the space that the bags would take, and shook her head. That settled, Mr. McMahan helped me carry the trash bags out to my truck.

"Do you know the way to Goodwill?" Ms. Dickens asked.

"I was just going to ask if you would point the way," I said, sneaking a peek at Ms. Kindle. She grinned, smugly.

Mr. McMahan wanted to know what he should do while I was gone. I ask him to start clearing the stuff out of the basement. "I'll help you sort what goes in the dumpster and what we can sell when I get back," I said.

Ms. Dickens gave me the directions to Goodwill. "You've certainly taken over in the past two days. Do you mind if I call you Brian?"

"Not at all," I said, expecting her to tell me her first name. She didn't volunteer it and I didn't ask.

"I'll dress more appropriately tomorrow," she said for the second time, probably to fill in the awkward silence.

"It's not necessary. We'll probably have a short meeting tomorrow to make the work assignments for the silent bid. I hope you can work Saturday?" I asked, having learned that Ms. Kindle was going home for the weekend.

"I'll be here. What would you like for me to do?"

"That's what we'll talk about tomorrow, but I assure you that it will be an important job."

She seemed pleased to hear that. She directed me to turn, and to turn again. The Goodwill people were happy to receive the donation. Admittedly, the clothes were dated, but even I could tell that Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie had not skimped on their wardrobes. The clothes had name brand labels, and were of excellent quality.

On the way back, I told Ms. Dickens that we would like for her to deliver the mailing to the post office as soon as we received the lawyer's approval. "It's important that the bidders receive it tomorrow or Friday so they'll be excited about the bidding process."

"I'll be glad to do anything to help," she said.

"In that case, Ms. Dickens, I hope you won't mind taking the lunch orders, and going after them."

Ms. Dickens smiled. "Please call me Nancy."

While Ms. Dickens was gone to pick up the lunches, I called Ms. Shaffer at the bank to thank her for her help with the utility companies to have our services resumed. She very politely, but with no trace of emotion in her voice, told me that it was just part of her job.

"Brian," Ms. Kindle whispered. I looked around, making sure that we were the only ones in the house. "I found it," she said, still whispering.

I followed her into the small bedroom, and saw that she'd been busy pulling everything out of drawers. On the bed were stacks of soft goods, everything from women's panties and bras, to bedding, to towels.

She opened the top drawer of the dressing table, and handed me a small envelope. The safety deposit box key was inside.

"That's great. You and Mr. McMahan can go to the bank and retrieve the contents from the box, but please tell me why you were whispering?"

"Because," she said, holding up a roll of bills. "I also found this."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, and I could see her reason for whispering. None of the others were to know about her find. I wondered why she'd chosen to tell me about it.

"Those can go in the dumpster," she said, pointing to the bed as she left the room, presumably to deposit the roll of bills in the cookie jar.

I made two trips to the dumpster, and then went to the back of the house where Mr. McMahan had most of the items from the basement spread out from one end of the house to the other. An attempt had been made to separate the junk from the collectibles.

"This reminds me of the loft in a hardware store that I cleared out. We disposed of half of the crap, and sold the rest," I said, talking to myself, having forgotten that Mr. McMahan was within earshot.

"Which half would you like to dispose of, Mr. Driver?"

His question surprised me. I laughed. "Who knows what will interest collectors? One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Mr. McMahan looked confused. "What should I take to the dumpster?" he asked.

"None of it, we'll hold a yard sale next week, and let the scavengers pick over everything," I said, not wanting to admit that I was afraid to discard anything that someone else might be willing to pay for.

Mr. McMahan brightened. "I found some neat collections that the old man had."

He led the way to the basement. I was astonished at how spacious it looked now that we could walk around. Uncle Mackey's workbench was off to one side, and it appeared that he had a nice collection of power tools.

Mr. McMahan showed me a collection of antique scales. They were hanging on a rod, and looked to have been fabricated one at a time. There was also a dozen whirl-a-gigs. Like the scales, no two were alike. There was a man rowing his boat, a woman washing clothes, two men sawing a log, and an antique car with a man opening and closing the hood. That's the one I took to show Charlie.

"Mackey worked on those wind machines for two winters in a row. As far as I know, he never put a single one of them into use."

"Uncle Mackey made the whirl-a-gigs?" I asked.

"He was a perfectionist. You'll not find a flaw in any of them," Charlie said.

Nadine handed me the laptop, saying they were finished cataloging the auto parts in the loft. "You missed seeing me climb up to the loft and back down," she whispered, and I told her it had been my loss.

Ms. Kindle directed us to the dining room, where she had placed a cloth on the table. She sat at the head of the table, with Mr. McMahan to her left and me at the other end, Charlie and Nadine sat on one side, and Nancy Dickens sat next to Mr. McMahan.

She first announced that she'd found the key to the safety deposit box, and that she and Mr. McMahan would go to the bank that day to recover the contents of the box. Mr. McMahan attempted to conceal his delight at the news that Ms. Kindle would be riding in his car, but I believe everyone saw the excitement in his eyes.

Ms. Kindle took a bite out of her sandwich, and then looked around the table. "I'll be away this weekend so I would like..."

"You're going to be away?" Nancy Dickens asked, interrupting Ms. Kindle in mid sentence. "You're not going to be here for the silent auction?"

"Yes, it's imperative that I go home for a few days. As I was saying, I'd like Mr. Driver to..."

"It's imperative that everyone be here on Saturday. I'm going to be here, Mr. Driver is going to be here, Mr. McMahan is going to be here, Ms. Meriwether is going to be here. Are you going to be here, Mr. Hubert?" Nancy Dickens asked, so animated that I expected her to pound on the table at any second.

Charlie answered in the affirmative, saying that he would report for duty.

Ms. Kindle was unnerved. Calmly, she explained that she had responsibilities, namely a job and children. I sympathized with her. What if Amanda and Phillip suddenly decided they wanted a puppy?

Nancy retorted that she also had a job, but couldn't match Ms. Kindle's claim that she had other responsibilities, such as children.

Unperturbed, Ms. Kindle continued. "I would like Mr. Driver to address the group regarding the silent auction. We'll soon mail the forms to eleven antique dealers that expressed interest in bidding, and I'm hoping they will all show up on Saturday morning."

I hadn't planned on making the assignments and telling everyone what I expected until the next morning, but I'd been thinking about how things should work.

"First, Ms. Kindle has been working from daylight until late in the night. It is largely due to her efforts that we are well placed to make Saturday a success.

"Nadine, you will be the greeter. You will be stationed outside. It will be your job to register the antique dealers, and to keep them busy until it's their turn to come inside."

"How many dealers did you say there are?" she asked, sending a twitter among the group.

"You won't be required to sing and dance for them. Mr. McMahan has uncovered some very interesting collectibles in the basement. We'll place some of them on a table. This should keep the dealers busy while they're waiting their turn to come inside the house.

"Nancy, you will be in charge of the downstairs. You'll tell Nadine when she can send the next dealer inside. We don't want more than three dealers on the first floor at any one time, preferably one per room so they will have privacy to record their bids. Charlie will be stationed at the foot of the stairs. When he lets someone go upstairs, you will alert Nadine to send another dealer inside.

"Mr. McMahan will monitor the two upstairs bedrooms. Uncle Mackey's room is off limits. Dealers love to open drawers and that's okay because we've removed everything..."

I stopped talking, and followed Ms. Kindle's eyes to the dining room hutch. In addition to two drawers, which we had not opened, there were two doors above, with a shelf in between them, and three doors below. I was sure that she was thinking the same as I was; we would find out what was inside the hutch after everyone else left for the day.

"If there are no objections, I'd like to post photos of the antique automobiles for the dealers to see. We may as well take advantage of word-of-mouth advertising."

There were no objections to my idea.

"What are you going to do?" Nadine Meriwether asked.

"I'll be around to answer questions. I'll also collect the bids as the dealers leave," I said, looking around to see if everyone agreed. Apparently, they did.

"We'll have a yard sale next weekend. In the meantime..."

"Are you going to be here next weekend?" Nancy directed her question to Ms. Kindle, who said she planned on being here.

"In the meantime, we'll advertise the antique cars, auto parts, and some other collections that Charlie and I discovered on e-Bay."

"When will we put the house on the market?" Nancy asked.

"Hmmm ... the house needs work before we can consider putting it on the market," I said, without being specific. She seemed to accept my answer, but I knew it would not be long before she would press me for a specific date.

I was surprised that no one asked about the other collections that Charlie and I had discovered.

"There is one more topic of business," I said, looking around the table. "Does anyone object to my bidding on one of the pieces of furniture?"