Chapter 27

Della finished tying the halter top of the charity sundress in a neat bow at the back of her neck, buckled the patent belt taken from the daffodil yellow wiggle dress and stepped into the patent leather peep-toe pumps. This was her favorite of the four dresses purchased at Skogmo's, a pin-up Rockabilly with an elongated waist in a bold black and white polka dot pattern, 'Sewn With Love by Carol' as the label proclaimed. The halter tie was long and wide and trailed down her bare back, the drop-waist especially flattered her willowy figure, and the brushed cotton fabric swished alluringly around her calves as she walked. It was only eight-thirty in the morning and already it was nearly eighty degrees, but it wasn't supposed to get much warmer, as clouds were expected to move in, bringing with them a scant possibility of much-needed rain. She snatched her cat charm bracelet from the dresser and hurried from the room and down the stairs to meet with Jeremy Brandis to go over everything before the meeting at three o'clock that afternoon.

As she hit the last step, the doorbell rang, and in her haste to answer the door, bumped into Perry as he exited the parlor. He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and raked his eyes up and down her slender height. "This dress is not staying at the lake house," he told her in a tone that brooked no argument. "It comes to Los Angeles with us."

She laughed a trifle nervously, covering the deep V of the neckline with one hand. "It's my favorite, too," she replied to his commanding compliment. "You don't think it's a bit much for the occasion, do you?"

"You could wear that pink poodle skirt and saddle shoes and it would be fine for the occasion." He held her close and kissed her as the doorbell rang again. "Ready for this?"

Before she could answer, Jameson Street emerged from the parlor. "I thought you were going to answer the door, Mason," he began irritably. "Oh, I'm…I'll…carry on."

Della laughed again, her nervousness evaporating at her father's discomfort. "It's just a good morning kiss, Father."

The doorbell rang a third time and Jameson Street headed toward the door. "If it's just a kiss, then why are his hands on your backside?" He tossed back tartly.

Perry pulled his hands from Della's hips and held them up in front of him with a huge grin. "Sorry about that," he said, managing to sound contrite. "They slipped."

Della's father shook his head and 'harrumphed' as he yanked open the heavy carved door, revealing Jeremy Brandis and a young dark-haired woman standing on the porch. Jameson thrust his hand out to the attorney. "Jameson Street."

Taken aback by the abrupt opening of the door and terse greeting, Jeremy Brandis managed to grasp the older man's hand in a firm handshake. "I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Street. Jeremy Brandis. And this is my secretary, Miss Marilyn Grabinski."

Jameson Street stepped back and motioned the attorney and his secretary into the house. "Please come in, Mr. Brandis. If Mr. Mason is done groping my daughter maybe you can get this show on the road. I have to go to the mill, but I'll be back, and I expect the meeting to start on time."

"He's a bit conventional," Della said apologetically as her father exited the house, leaving the two attorneys and their secretaries standing in the entryway. "And he embellishes."

"My hands slipped," Perry explained. He bowed to Marilyn Grabinski. "Perry Mason. And this is my secretary Della Street. We're pleased to meet you, Miss Grabinski. I assure you I will keep complete control of my hands henceforth."

Marilyn Grabinski smiled broadly. "I'm honored to meet you both. Jeremy hasn't stopped talking about the two of you since your appointment. I was disappointed I couldn't be there, but I've been fighting a summer cold and it got the better of me that day."

They closed themselves in Jameson Street's den to go over Della's decisions regarding her grandmother's estate, and Marilyn quickly typed up a couple of tweaks and one major adjustment to the original plan on the portable typewriter she'd brought. Shortly before ten o'clock, there was a knock on the door and Henny poked her head in to ask if anyone would like coffee. Since Emmett Childers was due at ten to go over his role in probating Katherine Street's estate going forward, they took a short break until he arrived.

At eleven forty-five Henny once again knocked on the study door, this time to announce that Mr. Henry Brocton, Jeremy's partner and corporate specialist had arrived bearing a lunch of sandwiches, cole slaw, and French fried potatoes from Judy's Diner. They ate in the dining room on her grandmother's finest china, which gave Della and Perry an opportunity to get to know Hank, as he insisted they call him, and become quite comfortable with him playing a part in the execution of the plan in regard to the mill.

By two-forty enough of the legalities, contingencies, forms, contracts, and documents had been completed to draw a nearly simultaneous sigh of satisfaction from everyone in the study. As Marilyn efficiently placed the last piece of paper in its designated folder and put the lid back on the portable typewriter she'd brought, Della stood and moved to one of the windows that overlooked the curving driveway. She parted the curtains and leaned her head against the glass, thankful for the cool breeze being generated by the gentle rain that had begun falling during lunch. Perry unbent his long frame from a leather wing chair and joined her, his hands gently massaging her hunched up shoulders. She closed her eyes as his long fingers worked their magic.

"It's all over but the shouting," Perry whispered in her ear encouragingly. "We'll be almost to the lake by this time tomorrow."

"Careful your hands don't slip again, Perry," Jeremy cautioned, winking at Marilyn.

"Not a chance, Jeremy," Perry replied snappily. "Della's father and brother just pulled into the driveway. And right behind them is a woman I don't recognize."

"It must be June, my stepmother," Della said without opening her eyes. "She's the only original invitee you haven't met. She's early to everything."

"Well, what say we all take a break and then get this show on the road, as your father said." Jeremy rose from his chair and stretched cramped muscles. "Do you think Miss Vander Velde made a fresh pot of coffee?"

The parlor furniture had been arranged similarly to the meeting called previously by Emmett Childers for the reading of Katherine Street's will, and Della felt a bit self-conscious to be seated behind her grandmother's desk in the position of power. 'The gang', as Perry had dubbed them, as well as a few additional invitees, were making themselves comfortable on the perfectly preserved antique couches and chairs that arced around the gathering of attorneys and legal secretaries, all of whom were seated on straight-backed dining room chairs. Della marveled at the legal prowess surrounding her, cognizant of the astounding hourly rates charged by each, and had a fleeting thought that such a high-powered team might be over-kill in the matter at hand. That is until she caught the rancorous look directed at her by Miranda Allensworth, the oldest friend she had on earth, and suddenly four attorneys didn't seem enough by half. Sometimes it felt good to Lord your position or connections over certain people. Now was one of those times.

She glanced down at the stack of neatly typed notes contained in a folder marked 'MILL' and realized she didn't recognize any of the words, and wondered if Marilyn Grabinski had typed up everything in Polish. Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily brought the letters into greater focus, but her brain still couldn't decipher anything as English. A rhythmic noise filled the relative quiet of the room until Perry reached out and covered her hand with his, stopping her from tapping a pencil on the leather inlay of the desk top.

Her eyes flew to his as he removed the pencil from her fingers and then lifted her hand to his lips. Knowing he was beside her, that he loved her and supported what she was about to do brought what she was about to do into crisp clarity. He would never allow her to do anything not in her best interest, and it was confidence in what they were together that had guided her decisions in regard to her inheritance first and foremost.

Perry's kiss on the back of her hand was a feathery caress that nonetheless sent an electric shock of desire directly to her core, and quickly spread to the tips of her fingers and toes. When this was over, she vowed to take him as far away as possible from her grandmother's lifeless house with its painfully restrained memories and even more painfully restrained inhabitants, and with unrestrained enthusiasm would show him exactly how much she appreciated his affection for her.

Della gently extricated her hand from Perry's and stood to face the assemblage of people from her past, most of whom were attempting to disguise their curiosity behind either studiously bored or elaborately perturbed expressions. She knew everyone in the room fairly well, save for one invitee, but when she looked out at them only estrangement and a life left behind were reflected. There was a twinge of sadness at this realization but she couldn't let regrets, real or imagined, override what she had to do.

"Good afternoon," she greeted everyone, her voice well-modulated, firm and assured. "I know you're all very busy, and I greatly appreciate the time you're giving me today. I thought holding the meeting here at the house would be less confrontational than requiring everyone to congregate in a law office. There will be no long-winded preamble to the business at hand, but I will necessarily introduce the gentlemen seated behind me and outline their roles in my decisions regarding the estate of Katherine Street. I would appreciate it if you would all hold your questions and comments until the end of…well, I suppose you could call it an addendum to Grandmother's will."

She paused and turned to her left. "Most of you have met my employer and personal attorney, Perry Mason. Mr. Mason is not licensed to practice law in this state, and since his specialty is worlds away from estate law, I have retained Mr. Jeremy Brandis, a partner in the firm of Brandis, Blandings, and Brocton to function in that capacity. Mr. Brandis will oversee the entire probate process and act as my fully empowered proxy in the matter. Seated next to Mr. Brandis is his secretary Miss Marilyn Grabinski, who drew up mountains of paperwork to facilitate the unorthodox nature of the proceedings today with great efficiency. You all know Emmett Childers, my grandmother's personal attorney for nearly forty years. Mr. Childers has been retained to lend his knowledge of the estate to Mr. Brandis, and to continue an inventory of catalogued items provided by Grandmother herself."

Involuntarily her eyes shifted to Miranda, who stared back at her stony-faced.

"The gentleman seated next to Mr. Childers in Henry Brocton, a partner as well in the firm of Brandis, Blandings, and Brocton. To explain Mr. Brocton's presence is to necessarily address my decisions in regard to Milliron Corrugated."

Perry sat back in his chair, silently marveling at Della's composure. The glimmers of unease he had noticed in the hours since their initial meeting with Jeremy Brandis were nowhere to be seen. She spoke with clear authority, and her audience had no misunderstanding as to who was in charge. Even Miranda sat in rapt attention to her concise words.

"As I have no desire to either own or operate a paper mill, I am gifting it to those who do. My father Jameson and brother Carter shall become majority owners, splitting sixty percent of currently issued shares. I ask in return that my father remain as President and CEO, positions for which he is eminently qualified, and that my brother be removed as Administrative Vice President, a position he has performed admirably, but one which he does not favor."

There was a gasp from Henny, who simultaneously clapped one hand over her mouth in shock and grabbed Carter's arm with the other.

Della let a small smile cross her lips. "Instead, I wish for Carter to create and step into the position of Operations and Development Vice President, working with Gale Shaffer to keep Milliron Corrugated at the forefront of production innovation and systems."

Huge tears rolled down Henny's shiny, flushed cheeks as she continued to squeeze Carter's arm. Carter was slack-jawed, stunned by Della's caveats to ownership of the mill. He swiveled his head to look at Henny as comprehension dawned that his sister and his unofficial fiancée must have been talking to one another about him.

"Also in accepting controlling shares of the mill, Jameson and Carter will without delay or argument discharge the current legal firm of Pierce, Goodwin and retain Mr. Henry Brocton of Brandis, Blandings, and Brockton as head counsel. Mr. Brocton is a stellar corporate attorney, and Milliron Corrugated will benefit immediately from considerable monetary savings, as well as in the long run from his dedication and experience in local manufacturing."

Jameson Street gulped and shot a glance at his son, who at this point was paying close attention to Henny, patting her hand and gently wiping away her tears, his expression that of a man freed, of a man truly seeing the woman beside him for the first time.

Della paused to take in the happiness on Henny's face and the almost befuddled expression of her brother's with satisfaction. "The remaining forty percent of ownership shares will be divided as follows." She dropped her eyes to Marilyn's neatly typed notes which now appeared to be in English, but she didn't really need to read from them. "Mae Kirby shall receive ten percent, Eve Wyman ten percent, Elizabeth Sherwood five percent, and Perry Mason five percent."

Perry fought to contain his surprise by brushing imaginary lint from his pants leg. How had Della and Jeremy kept this from him during their meetings? Since she was the beneficiary of all that was his, the shares would eventually find their way back to her, but his unexpected inclusion in the gifting pleased him immensely. And he looked forward with great anticipation to properly expressing his profound gratitude at her generosity.

Eve Wyman opened her mouth to speak, but Della's frown and pointed stare caused her to rethink the action. She clamped her mouth shut and the practiced pout she put on whenever reality fell short of her expectations pulled unbecomingly at her features.

"Milliron Corrugated has been and shall continue to be a privately held, family-run business. Shares assigned to Mae Kirby, Eve Wyman, and Elizabeth Sherwood total the percentage of shares allotted my maternal grandfather Bruce Sherwood for certain monies invested following the stock market crash. As I understand it, the money was a loan, the shares a form of collateral, and after the loan was repaid dividends would be issued for a period of two years on said shares as interest. The agreement stated that if Bruce Sherwood's death preceded the completion of the investment contract, all shares would revert to Katherine Street – an element of the contract I find appalling, by the way. Upon Bruce's death, Katherine repealed twenty percent of the shares, gifting ten percent to Mae, and continued to pay dividends to Bitty. However, payments ceased following a serious family incident one year later. By that time Eve had forfeited her shares and all claims to Street money in a divorce from Jameson, which left Mae in possession of the only shares not held by Katherine."

Della paused to take a deep breath. Even though she had been old enough to understand much of what transpired during her Aunt Mae's marriage to Garrett Kirby, the discovery of a tragic miscarriage had sent her reeling – mostly because Aunt Mae had never mentioned it to her. The one relative who truly loved her had held onto the same secrets as everyone else, and as painful as that betrayal of trust might be, she still owed it to Mae to put Garrett Kirby in his place. "Mr. Kirby, by all accounts you were less than an ideal husband to Mae and refusing to grant her a divorce unless she relinquished her shares of Milliron Corrugated was despicable." She placed her hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, eyes dark with emotion as she held his gaze from his seat on the red velvet couch. "A requirement to accepting these gifted shares is that they cannot be sold to anyone not born with the last name Street, so there is no way you will ever acquire additional shares. It sickens me that dividends will be paid to you, and that you will have the right to attend board meetings, but part of Mr. Brocton's duties will be to monitor your behavior in regard to the mill and to make damn certain you have no influence whatsoever in regard to its operation. I hope I'm clear on this."

She straightened and shared pointed looks with her mother, her father, her brother, her Grandma Bitty, and finally, Perry. He broke into an exceptionally pleased grin when she winked at him.

"This is outrageous," Garrett Kirby sputtered with great indignation, getting to his feet. "If you think you'll get away with this travesty, little girl, think again. My own team of lawyers will be attending each and every board meeting with me. They'll tie so many knots in the proceedings Mr. Brocton will have to cut them out with whatever deals I put forth in order to keep the mill afloat."

"Garrett!" Bitty Sherwood's normally thin voice was a veritable bark. "Unless you want the entire county, your business partners, and all those high-powered politicians you pal around with to find out what really happened the night Mae lost her baby, you'll think twice about threatening Della. I came across that picture of Lydia in nothing but a sheet outside the motel – she was quite lovely back then, but I really don't think she would be very happy to find her picture in every newspaper in the state, do you? And shall I even bother to mention how what you and Lydia did will affect your son? He's a bit frail, isn't he?"

"You bitch," Garrett said in a low voice quavering with anger. "You leave my family out of this."

"You dragged them into this when you – well, you know what you did, Garrett. Both Jameson and I know what you did as well, and old transgressions aside, I think he'll back me on this." Bitty settled herself deeper into the couch Garrett Kirby had just abandoned. "Won't you, Jameson?"

Jameson Street nodded. "I came across that very same picture myself the other day. The lighting is very flattering to both you and Lydia."

Garrett Kirby's face had turned almost purple with rage, arms held stiff at his sides, fists balled so tightly the knuckles were almost colorless. He made an inarticulate choking noise, turned on his heel, and fairly ran from the parlor.

All present waited expectantly for the front door to slam, and when they were rewarded with a resounding bang, everyone let out relieved breaths simultaneously.

"Good riddance to that pompous heap of dung," Lawrence Allensworth voiced the communal thought aloud.

Bitty Sherwood sat forward so she could see Lawrence, who was seated on the love seat to the side and slightly behind the couch. "You can say pile of shit, Lawrence. I won't be offended."