The Association

The Association

PAM SUTTON

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2012 Pam Sutton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/06/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6045-8 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6046-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6047-2 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011905374

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Epilogue

Glenn Abbey

Homeowners Association—the ultimate in security.

A board member with a hidden past.

Ultimate deception.

Ultimate threats.

Carousel Circle:

The architect & the judge

Blong & Shoo

The Bishop

Mean Willie the Doo Wopping Parrot

Tandy

Bobby & Troy

The Board:

Patty Lippet

Bean Norwood

Chester Cloud

Ida Peck

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to:

Piers for your invaluable insight, assistance, and most especially, for your shared time.

Luke for your encouragement, patient listening, and steady support.

Mary Woodruff—Thanks Mary for being my sounding board and for your much valued editorial support. It is deeply appreciated.

For my mother, who read me all of those stories,

and for my father who made sure there was

time for opening the imagination door

and giving me the opportunity

to walk through it.

It is my hope that such a gift is presented to all

of the little ones now here, and to those

about to arrive, and so to you dear

reader I say, read to them, read

to them, whenever and

wherever you may.

Chapter 1

Sam Bell discovered Patty Lippet snooping around his backyard on the night that he went out in a windstorm to secure the tree house that he was building. That was when the trouble started. After that night, what had been the reality of Sam’s life shifted in unimaginable ways. His quiet and unremarkable life began to change, not suddenly, but incrementally.

It was a predictable night and by eight o’clock the quiet October streets of Glenn Abbey had shut down completely. Most houses were dark owing to the comfort felt by residents living within the security of their gated community. Some more tepid souls kept a few solar lamps twinkling in front of their evergreen shrubs. In one or two houses the windows cast a glow from indoor lights which had been turned on more than likely so that the folks inside could see their way clear during any nighttime excursions. A few homes blazed forth with porch lights on, an indication no doubt of more anxious and fearful thoughts.

The predictability of the night was premature. The indecisive elements of wind that provided motion reached a decision, gathered their forces together in small, slight gusts, and blew through Darby Dan Drive, peeked around certain corners, and collided at the intersection of Whistle Way and Periwinkle Place, all the while whispering their wind talk until a moment arrived when enough of these individual constituents became restless and massed their resources. By mutual consent they gathered speed and volume, their sphere of influence growing, blowing until it roused several of those Glenn Abbey dwellers who resided on Carousel Circle. A rumble was brewing. You could feel it in the air.

Sam Bell raced through the living room, knocking over his wife’s cherished Turtle in Mourning statue and shaking up their parrot Mean Willie Wonka by bumping his cage and causing the night cover to fall to the floor.

The Bell house was one of the dark ones. Sam eventually found a light switch and then hightailed it for the back door.

Fool! Mean Willie yelled in a shaky voice. Had me checked lately for bird flu?

Sam sighed, thinking that the Mean Willie mishap probably meant a trip to the pet therapist at—how much per hour? Retired or not he would soon need employment again if Willie didn’t learn to lower his anxiety levels. Given the longevity of parrots, Mean Willie would outlive both he and his wife Alba. For the moment, Sam ignored Willie and continued moving toward the back door. Once there, he ducked and squeezed his large body through the standard doorframe. He didn’t stoop low enough and the wind chimes on the other side of the door began to swing wildly when his head collided with a cluster of ceramic angels. The loud clanging that ensued rose above the roaring wind. Sam snarled. It was the pudgy middle he thought as he twisted to the right and vowed to cut back on the pasta and desserts.

At that moment Alba appeared at the door. She stepped out onto the patio, but was instantly blown back into the doorframe where her petite body fit just fine. She called out into the ever increasing wind. Sam, what’s going on here? I heard the chimes.

Just wanted to check the tree house to see if I needed to tie anything down. Be a shame to have to rebuild at this point. He approached the spiral ladder leading up to the recently assembled ground floor.

You know Samuel that some effort could also be spent on building yourself a bigger doorframe, she shouted. It wouldn’t distract that much from your tree house and with your architectural background it would be a piece of cake. But her words were lost on him as he moved into the wind. Alba surmised as much and went back inside.

Sam shaded his eyes from the blowing dust and stared upward into the tree house. He jerked his foot off of the ladder. Someone was standing on the high walkway of planks in front of the ground floor.

Who’s there? he shouted.

Silence.

Sam strained his eyes in the cold darkness as he watched the silhouetted figure move and take shape. He forced himself to stand still long enough to watch the person in the tree house begin to climb down.

Again he called out. Who’s there?

Finally, the dim shape came into focus enough for Sam to identify the silhouette who was trespassing on his property. It was Patty Lippet.

She closed the distance between them and spoke placidly, as though explaining household chores to a child. This tree house of yours has to come down.

Sam wondered if this was some kind of a practical joke.

What? he asked, perplexed.

I don’t like it, Patty said in an impossibly controlled voice. Get rid of it.

Or what? Sam replied.

Silence.

Go home Patty! Get out of my yard!

You’ll be hearing from me, she said and scurried away into the night.

Sam braced himself against a tree. Who would believe that this woman, this association board member, had been trespassing in his backyard? He tried to dismiss it as one of those oddities of life, but it nagged at the corners of his mind.

Sam decided to keep the encounter to himself. He needed time to sort it out. For the moment he cleared his mind and set about the task of inspecting his tree house.

He turned on a flashlight and scrutinized his handiwork as best he could under the circumstances, then he sat down on the edge of the platform that was to become level one and include a sitting room and a game room. In his thoughts he saw the second story and the tower that would go above it. The whole thing assembled itself in his mind—a tree house of grand design. Then a strong gust whipped through the upper branches and nudged him from his reverie, reminding him that it was time to go.

As he began circling down the spiral stairs he marveled again at the foresight of the developers who had made sure that many of the trees from the abbey acreage remained. Oak trees and October Glory Maples planted long ago by the abbey monks had been preserved in just the right place for his tree house. He had three of them in the backyard—two Maples and one Live Oak and all of them were mature enough to hold in their limbs the house he had dreamed about for so many years. If planned well it would work and he knew that he had planned well and matured enough in his craft to execute that plan. His tree house would be suspended between the three trees, with the Oak and long beams providing the main support. There would be no impact on the trees. They would thrive and interact with the structure. It would be a joy to watch the Oak grow up through the holes in the platform decks.

As Sam navigated the ladder, one of those dusty thoughts came into the foreground of his consciousness as they so often did these days. This particular dusty thought mimicked the others in theme and told him that he could no longer dream forward and wait patiently for the perfect time to build his tree house. His time was limited and while he still had some of the stuff he wanted to see his dream manifest right here in these trees, right here on Carousel Circle, right here in Glenn Abbey, and then by God, he would sit in it with Alba and whoever else had a fancy to do the same and he would stare out through the leaves and beyond. At night he would look up through the intertwined branches overhanging the open ceiling and he would ponder Rumi’s meaning when he said, Inside the needle’s eye, a turning of stars. It would be both a freeing feeling and a secure one.

As Sam reached the ground he found the wind near gale force and even he had to push against it to get to the back door. He squinted through the dust that was churning all around him and finally squirmed through the door. He closed it softly and then stood perfectly still. He listened. He peered into the living room and focused on the parrot cage. Alba had covered it again. Bless her. One more reason to love the woman.

Unafraid, Sam walked with confidence past Mean Willie Wonka. When he got to the hallway he turned on a light and decided that it would be a good idea to leave it on every night.

Alba, he said just before falling asleep. Do you know what Willie said right after I bumped into his cage? And he told her.

Nonsense, dear, she replied. Parrots can’t think up things. They mimic. Willie is bilingual though. He probably switched to Spanish in his confusion and it just sounded like something else.

What Sam did not tell his wife was that Patty Lippet had been in their yard. He would tell her, but not tonight.

Chapter 2

It was just after ten when Tandy Jewell stepped outside to inspect her vast array of carnivorous plants. Of course they didn’t really eat meat as such. That is they wouldn’t attack animals or people and just eat them. They were planted in the ground for one thing. No, these little darlings subsisted on nutrients obtained from the breakdown of animal protoplasm. Some of this protoplasm could be found in her extensive garden, but it wasn’t enough. So Tandy fed them a special concoction that she got from a local nursery. Her carnivores were a sturdy variety originally ordered from a plantation in Hawaii which specialized in exotic plants. They ranged in size from three to five feet.

Tandy bent down and tried to get a closer look, but her eyes were fluttering and clouding over with grains of blowing dirt. She thought that they looked healthy and strong, but at the moment the wind sounded fierce and she was worried. She had already checked her geranium infested window boxes and decided that the slight overhang of the roof was giving them ample protection. Her carnivores were another matter. She flipped a button on a switch box in the ground. Her plant beds were immediately illuminated from the glow bulbs which her nephew had recently installed near the bordering fence. The exotics looked all right even though their stems and leaves were swaying mightily. Tandy herself was swaying mightily. She quickly covered them with a dome shaped apparatus made especially for weather protection.

Satisfied, Tandy tried to stand up and make her way back to the house. The wind knocked her down. She decided that her chances would be better closer to the ground. She started crawling toward the door. And that was the way that her nephew found her.

Adam Frost had been sitting alone in another room of the house staring into a glass of red wine. For no particular reason, he got up and walked into the living room. He looked up just as his aunt catapulted through the doorway. She landed in a heap, short cropped red hair standing mostly straight up like a spiked rubber ball. She had bits and pieces of leaves clinging to her shoulders. Unrecognizable earthy globs clung to her substantial bosom and she smelled like organic fertilizer. She was a mess.

Mess or not, a mission accomplished smile immediately pictured itself all over her face. All carnivores tucked in their beds safe and sound, she reported. Join me for a glass of wine? She spotted Adam’s half-full glass. I’ll join you, she amended.

Adam had not yet said a word. He went to the kitchen to get the Glenn Abbey Red, compliments of the monks who had bequeathed an entire cellar load to the Glenn Abbey developers when they purchased the monastery and its surrounding acres. The sales contract stipulated that all of the wine was to be made available for sale exclusively to future residents of the planned community. All sales profits were earmarked for local charities. Adam’s Aunt Tandy liked the Abbey Red. Unfortunately, as Tandy had recently learned, the supply was dwindling and it was about to run dry.

When Adam returned to the living room he found his aunt reclining in her favorite chair. She seemed completely recovered from her nurturing adventure in the wind. He filled both of their glasses then settled on the sofa across from her.

Adam was worried about his aunt. For the third time in a month she had included Dramamine on the grocery list. He considered broaching the subject now.

I didn’t see the Dramamine yesterday, she said with her usual prescient tendencies.

Adam placed his wineglass on the end table. I didn’t get it, he said.

Why not?

They were out, he lied.

His aunt looked at him over her narrow rimmed glasses. Well, you’ll just have to go back to the drugstore and get it, she responded. I need it.

How can you need more Dramamine? Adam asked. I bought you two packages last month. You haven’t gone on any long drives since then. He stared at her. It’s for car sickness or sea sickness. Why do you need so much of it?

It is part of my earthquake kit, she said, recalling for the umpteenth time last year’s earthquakes. You know that the first one hit at 6:20 in the morning. A six point two. And everyone relaxed some when it was over because Cal Tech has always said that there would never be a second quake of greater magnitude within a close period of time to the original. They have always said that, and in my fifty-eight years in California that’s how it has always been. Just lots of aftershocks of lesser magnitude . . ."

I know, Aunt Tandy. That day we got a larger one an hour later which registered six point seven, Adam caught himself too late.

Well, there you are, Tandy said. Proves I need the Dramamine.

Adam shook his head. He did not want to get caught up in yet another conversation about earthquakes. He was sorry he’d asked about the Dramamine. He stood up and walked into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard. He reached in to get a pan thinking that he would scramble a few eggs. What . . . he started. Tandy, where are the pans? And what is all of this wat . . . This time he caught himself sooner, but still not in time.

She moved in behind him. I needed more space for my earthquake water, she told him. She opened one cabinet after another. See this? This water will last us four months. Over half of the cabinets were stuffed with old, plastic milk containers which were now full of water. I moved the pots and pans to the chest in the hall closet this afternoon. It just takes a few more steps to get to them.

Her nephew sat down and held his chin in his hands. Then he grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl and tore off the skin. He looked at her. I can’t believe you did that, he said steadily. We have got canned sardines up to our kazoos, enough candles and Bics to light up Vatican City, first aid supplies, and flashlights and plastic bags that would last a family of five a year.

Tandy nodded. Yes, but what we don’t have is enough Dramamine.

The cuckoo clock went off and Adam walked back into the living room. He turned on the ten o’clock news and lay down on the sofa. He would not let the earthquake conversation happen. More like a lecture, he thought. He concentrated on the news.

His aunt’s voice called out to him and he felt a longer conversation inching closer by the minute, camouflaged in her shorter, more direct statement. If you can’t find the Dramamine at Walgreens, try Rite Aid.

Easier, he thought, better, to go get the stuff.

Adam turned the ignition key and backed the powder blue 1964 Chevrolet out of the driveway. Tandy’s late husband had finished restoring it for her two years before his death. The car was an original and she would not part with it, not because it was a classic, but because it held so many memories of their dating days including the nights they parked in an orange grove and made out like crazy.

Because he knew his aunt loved the Chevy, he drove with care. He heard the plop squish, plop squish before he reached the street. He turned off the engine. He got out and walked around to the trunk to get the spare and a jack.

Once the trunk was opened, Adam forgot about changing the tire. He stared at the trunk’s contents. He picked up one of several cardboard boxes and riffled through it finding an assortment of canned meat. He dropped the tins in the box and shoved it back into the trunk. His eyes narrowed as he quickly scanned the other boxes. My God, he thought, mentally ticking off some of the other items—milk carton water, Madonna candles, triple A and double A batteries, gauze and ointment, more canned food, a bottle of ninety-proof vodka (for medicinal purposes no doubt), and yes, the contentious package of Dramamine taped to the top of a can of tuna. Adam swore and talked to himself. If I ask where the spare is, it might start an earthquake conversation. If he didn’t ask, he could not get the Dramamine and he knew with certainty that that would lead to earthquake talk!

He walked back into the house. Where is your spare tire? he asked in thin words. The Chevy has a flat.

Tandy was closing the drapes. Oh, I didn’t think we’d need it. It’s out in the garage next to those old trunks. I had Sam Bell put it there because . . .

I know why it’s there. He started for the door to the garage.

At that moment, the swag lamp above the sofa began swinging wildly. Adam was thrown off balance. He watched his aunt run by him and stop in the front doorframe, bracing herself on either side. He joined her. The house shook. It rattled. It growled. Buroomp. Rrowp. Raap, raap, raap! Adam saw terror in Tandy’s face and put an arm around her shoulders.

Sweet Jesus, she said and closed her eyes.

Adam kept his eyes on his watch. Twenty seconds—thirty two—fifty. Then it stopped.

Adam reached down and picked up her glasses. Thank you, she said, putting her glasses on with shaky hands. She turned and slowly walked toward the television set. He followed her. She picked up the remote and they both sat down.

She would be captive to the unrelenting reporting for hours now, overdosing on it and heightening her anxiety like millions of other quake viewers who were turning on their television sets. With that in mind, Adam stayed only long enough to hear that the epicenter was just over the mountains from them in Tehachapi and that it had registered a six point eight on the Richter scale. Then he went to get the spare tire.

He changed the tire and went inside to ask Tandy if she’d be okay while he went for the Dramamine.

"Well, that wasn’t so bad after all. Look around. Not a crack. Not a broken window. No furniture turned over. All of the books—all of them still in the bookcase. If that’s the most a six point eight can do, then I feel better than I have ever felt about earthquakes. We’re not likely to have one much bigger and even if we do, look! Nothing happened here. We’re fine! She looked at him over her glasses, smiled and clicked off the television. I’m going to bed now," she said.

Adam hesitated. He decided that it was safe, so he risked it and said, So. You won’t be wanting the Dramamine now.

Want it? she said. Of course I want it. We need it for the shift. Did you know scientists have poked down into the earth and found a wobble? She pointed at the drapes. You can help me close up. Adam pulled cords and closed the drapes. He was resigned to the sequel to the earthquake conversation. The shift talk. Trapped by forces greater than he, he sighed again.

Tandy babbled on happily. Everyone knows they have found plant and animal fossils in Antarctica which could only have come from a tropical zone. The Earth has probably shifted on its axis, not once mind you, but many, many times. Throw in the floods, the weird weather, and all of the quakes and there you have it. Did you know Adam, that the ancient Sumerians recorded information about shifts on their stone tablets?

I think I read something about it in a Nostradamus book, he answered.

Now, after you get the Dramamine, you must help me decide where to bury our shift kit. We’ll have to move all of our survival supplies into the ground. We can’t take any chances. She pulled the final drape closed, then turned to face him. A shift is no small matter, you know.

While Tandy and Adam, and Alba and Sam slept, the wind wound down in ever decreasing huffs until finally it gave one last little series of puffs and called it a night. But not before it stripped some identifying name tags from the neck stems of three of Tandy’s carnivores, blew them over the fence and deposited them in Patty Lippet’s backyard—a yard that shared a fence with Tandy Jewell’s backyard. All three tags landed in Lippet’s Red Crown rose tree, impaled on upper branch thorns. It was here that Patty Lippet found them the following morning.

Chapter 3

It had been two days since the earthquake and Tandy Jewell was out jogging again. Tandy timed her morning jogs to coincide with the mail delivery at Glenn Abbey. She hated the brisk, routine walking, but she believed in it. She might be wrinkled, she thought, but she was fit and wrinkled. She rewarded herself with soft, pastel running outfits. This morning she was wearing green because she liked the contrast with her hazel nut red hair, an effect she lost when she stepped outside, noticed two grey clouds nodding at each other, and pulled the hood on her top up over her head. She tied the hood strings so tight that most of her face wound up covered. Only a small circle showing eyes, nose, and half a mouth was left. Her peripheral vision was impaired, but she knew where she was going.

As Tandy approached the mail cubicle for the Carousel Circle residents she spotted Sam Bell. He had just closed his mailbox and was reading through one of his letters. Sam looked like he usually looked in the morning—shaggy—salt and pepper hair matching the stubble on his face, green eyes bright and alert, faded sweat shirt smeared with sawdust and sweat.

How’s the tree house coming along? Tandy asked as she removed her mail and began sorting through her letters.

That son of a liver bellied mongoose! Sam hissed. Bugger the board! He kicked one of the metal mailbox posts. The pain in his foot registered immediately and so did the spectacle his kicking had displayed. Quickly Sam looked up to see if anyone had noticed. Tandy was the only person around.

What is it Sam?

Listen to this, Sam sputtered and he began reading his letter. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bell: It has come to our attention that a supplemental structure is in the process of being erected on the property that you own at 3204 Carousel Circle and that no board certified approval for such a structure has been issued. We find no record of your having submitted the proper forms requesting such approval.

If we are mistaken, please provide the board with copies of your filing papers. Should it turn out that you have overlooked this important and mandatory procedure, you may contact either the landscape or architectural committee for help, or you may pick up the required forms in room 4 at the clubhouse.

In the meantime, we request that you cease all construction on said supplemental structure until this matter is resolved.

As you know, the procedures, rules, and policies (PRAPS), which govern our community are for the good of all. They have been approved by the residents of Glenn Abbey and their representative governing board. If you would like another copy of the PRAPS, please contact our office and one will be mailed to you. We anticipate your full cooperation in this matter.

Sam looked up and said, Etcetera, etcetera. It’s signed, Bean Norwood and Patty Lippet, Glenn Abbey Homeowners Association Representatives.

There was no response from Tandy. When Sam looked up, she appeared engrossed in reading a piece of her own mail. Tandy? Tandy. Did you hear what I just read?

Oh, my goodness. This is terrible, Tandy said.

Yes, yes it is, Sam said.

Tandy continued. "I was listening. I didn’t actually begin reading my letter until you were on the etcetera and Bean Norwood part. Just bear with me a minute. While you were reading your letter, I glanced down and saw that one of my letters was from the association too. Sam, you aren’t going to believe this!"

And Tandy gave Sam a paraphrased version of her board letter.

They want you to burn your plants? Sam folded his arms. He shook his head from side to side. This is getting out of hand! It’s your yard, your property. You can plant whatever you want.

Mine’s signed by Patty Lippet—Landscape Committee. And she says that I can’t. The committee decides. Tandy’s eyes were watering up and her nose had turned a splotchy red. Well, I’m not going to dig up my plants and burn them, she added indignantly. I won’t do it! And you should build your tree house!

Right! By the way, how does Lippet know what’s in your backyard?

Says she found some tags describing, to quote her, ‘flesh eating’ plants. According to her, she got a ladder and looked over the wall into my yard where she saw plants identical to those pictured on the tags. Ha! Jumping to conclusions if you ask me.

Sam pulled a blue hardware store wipe from his pocket and handed it to Tandy. She blew her nose. I just love my garden and it keeps me busy, she said.

Sam told her that he would talk to her later and that in the meantime he would try to find an answer to their mutual problem. I have to go now. See what you can find out around the neighborhood. Anyone else have pet projects? Getting board letters? Let me or Alba know if you find out anything. I’ll be in touch. Right now I want to talk to the Kents and see what’s going on with that statue they ordered.

Five minutes later he was knocking on the Kent’s door.

"Hell no I won’t defer putting up the statue, Gregg growled after Sam told him about the contents of the board letters that he and Tandy had received. Those notices don’t scare me and make me want to wait before exhibiting our piece of art. This is something that Elsie has wanted ever since she first saw the real thing in that museum—where was it? I don’t remember. Anyway, she located a reproduction a couple of months ago, we bought it, it arrived two days ago, and as soon as you and Adam get your butts over here to help, it is going up!"

Colonel Gregg Kent had retired from the Army at age sixty. But that didn’t mean he was finished working. He bought a mid-sized spread in Central California and turned rancher in his golden years. He met Elsie there. Both were widowed and after years of loneliness, both of them allowed friends to fix them up on a blind date. Except that it was not such a blind date after all. It turned out that Elsie and Gregg had dated during their high school years, eventually went their separate ways after graduation, kept in touch sporadically, and finally lost touch. When they met again on a blind date, no one was more surprised than they were.

They got reacquainted, one thing led to another, and two years after the Colonel took on ranching, he took on Elsie too. He was devoted to her, and anyone who even slightly entertained the thought that Mrs. Kent would not have her statue was sadly mistaken.

Sam said that he felt the same way about his tree house and Tandy’s one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eaters. Sam told Colonel Kent that he would get back to him and then he went home to talk to Alba.

Chapter 4

Alba was on the phone when Sam walked in. She was confirming the date and time for one of her Retired Judges Association luncheons. Sam sat down and waited. As a retired judge, his wife liked to attend these luncheons and otherwise keep herself informed on happenings in the courts. She learned a lot she said, from these informal gatherings. And Sam knew this was true. His wife, the judge, who was slowing down some now and making her peace with the reality of an aging body, continued to arouse his admiration with her incredible athletic mind.

Sam studied the back of her neck while he waited and that made him think of kissing it which made him think of other athletic talents which Alba possessed in abundance. Just as Sam’s thoughts about the dual athletic nature of his wife collided, with the result of forming one raw, passionate desire, she finished her conversation and hung up the phone.

Sam? she said as she turned to face