The Vaught Family Dairy - Ch 09

- 9 -

Farr's Post - August 1st, 1952 - 7:00 a. m.

Alice didn't know when it all became a dream. She rolled in her bed, enjoying the strange euphoric feeling of stretching as she sifted reality out of the blur of her memories. The man was gone. The bed was already cold where he'd been. It was meant to be that way, she thought. He was a test subject and nothing more. He'd performed his duty admirably and with great enthusiasm. Then he took his leave before things grew more complicated. She told him that's what she wanted, nothing more than a wild fuck. Then why do I feel so disappointed? His name? God, what was his name?

She tried to focus, but the only images her mind seemed concerned with involved the man's dick. Frustrated, she sat up in bed and felt the weight on her chest shift. The serum had worn off, but its residual effect remained. They looked small after their full size during the previous night, but still considerably larger than her normal body. She hoped her clothes still fit, but otherwise didn't mind the increase to her bust size. If her understanding was true, the effect would diminish further over the next day, but a small amount of permanent flesh had been added. It was how women who used the serum habitually eventually had to buy an entire new wardrobe. Alice knew this academically, but never considered its presence in the real world. The changes always happened gradually, so it was no easier to notice than someone adding a few pounds of weight. Had Elizabeth been so well endowed when they first met? Yes, Alice thought, but they hadn't been that big.

Shaking her head, she climbed out of bed and didn't bother with her robe. She didn't have the chance during the night to examine her body in a mirror. The echo of her full transformation was significantly less profound, but she still marveled at how much more it made her. Heavier breasts, wider hips, rounder ass, and thicker thighs. Her complexion was clearer, and she didn't feel tired despite having been up quite late lavishing praise on a stranger's cock. Deciding to make notes on her experience, she went to a nearby table for her notepad. Sitting on top of it was a torn sheet bearing a message.

"Wonderful time. You are lovely. -- Maddock"

Maddock. The name unlocked something in her head, and her memory of his face returned. Rough, handsome, and reserved. She'd picked him for a reason, after all. She frowned. He didn't leave an address or a telephone number. Not that he'd want me anyway without the serum. Some part of her disagreed with this assessment. Her self-esteem tried to remind the rest of her addled mind that Maddock had told her she didn't need the serum. It also tried to point out that the note didn't specify her Milktec enhanced tits as being "lovely", but her. Already, a fiendish need to get more of the stuff was forming in her mind. But that would mean doing what Elizabeth wanted.

Alice let out a long sigh as though the air might blow away her troubles. It didn't. She took one last look of admiration at her pert body before grabbing her robe and heading off for a shower.

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Her walk to work involved a silent debate between the battling parts of her mind as to whether she needed to do Elizabeth's work or not. First, she argued the merits of the serum itself. She quickly failed to argue that it wasn't worth the trouble. It quite obviously was. Alice almost panicked when she considered that she might not ever feel as wonderful as she had the previous night. Not to mention the benefits to her body and energy. Her normal work dress usually sat on her like a potato sack, but after one night on the serum she was filling it out enough to garner glances from men she passed on the street.

Once she firmly decided that never taking the serum again wasn't an option, she moved on to debating whether Elizabeth was a trustworthy source. This ended in a roadblock. Alice had no idea how to get her hands on an illicit and heavily regulated sex drug. For that matter, she wasn't terribly sure about how Elizabeth managed it. Obviously it came through Abby, but even so, such a casual distribution was surely against the law. She guessed that other illegal dealers existed, but the idea of handing over an envelope of cash in some alleyway so that she could grow her tits and get a proper fuck seemed like a bridge too far. For one, she had no idea how to find such an alley. Also, she reasonably trusted Elizabeth to give her something safe. Too many stories about women turning up as full blown hucows to risk taking something from an unreliable source.

Having accomplished nothing other than mapping out the corner she'd been backed into, she arrived at the newspaper office to find a massive stack of paperwork waiting on her desk. The newspaper was never terribly busy, but it was always loud. The presses were on the other side of the building, and, other than catastrophes, they never stopped rolling. She shared space with the rest of the reporters, which might have been a creditable distinction if it didn't mean having to listen to the constant clacking of typewriters working on actual stories while she was typing up nonsense busy work that would at best be filler to meet the margins.

Clyde came in nearly an hour late. While the editor was ostensibly Alice's boss, Clyde was her direct manager as the senior reporter. She didn't know if she was actually obligated to do what he said or not, but she did since that was the only way of ever getting anything done at all. He was on the far side of middle age with thinning, gray hair and the attitude of a man who'd used up his youth in a trench rather than a co-ed dormitory. "Morning," he grumbled and sat down a cup of coffee for Alice before he did a double take. "You, uh, change your hair or something?"

"No," Alice said with a cheerful smile. "Got a good night's sleep for the first time in a while, that's all."

Clyde grunted and sat down to read a newspaper, which seemed redundant to their current position. Over a sip of his coffee he said, "You're working on those troop reports?"

"Almost done," she said as her fingers nimbly moved. She found herself looking at Clyde a little more sympathetically than usual. He wasn't a taskmaster by any measure. Given some of his colleagues, he was a saint. The others made lewd or hurtful comments about her. Clyde simply gave her the dull work and went about his day. Last Christmas, he'd even given her a gift, the coffee mug which he typically filled and brought to her once per day. Clyde was of the opinion that any reporter had to have a crippling caffeine addiction. He was supposed to be her mentor, at least that was typically how it worked. Alice spent most of her time assuming she'd been assigned to the notoriously apathetic Clyde as a way to suppress her career and keep a woman out of the newsroom. It had been a while since she'd bothered to test that theory, though, and, for reasons which she didn't want to admit had anything to do with having the best sex of her life less than ten hours earlier, she decided to ask Clyde a question. "Clyde, if you had a lead on a controversial story, what would your first step be?"

The reporter dropped his paper and leaned back in his chair to take another swig of coffee, "Controversial how?"

"In the regular way, I suppose?"

Clyde shrugged. "There's different kinds of controversial. It's a relative condition. What's outrageous to you might be normal to me. Is it a political controversy? 'Cause those play different than religious ones. National interests, local interests, personal interests. Each kind has a different path."

He was talkative, which Alice suspected had something to do with her unusually good mood and slightly bustier chest.. Alice made certain not to interrupt her typing so as not to give him a reason to tell her to stop chit-chatting and get back to work. She hit the return with a flourishing ding as she considered which type of controversy she was dealing with. "What about an illegal one? Say, someone was distributing an illegal substance?"

"Well that would be a standard kind of controversy, I think," Clyde said, losing interest.

"What if the substance was Milktec serum?"

She had her eyes on the report she was transcribing, so it took until the end of the line to notice that Clyde had sat up in his chair and leaned across their shared desk. His brow was furrowed in concentration. "You didn't change your hair," he said with the air of someone making a firm decision. "Drink your coffee. It'll go cold." He leaned back again, but swiveled in his chair to scan the room. She had no idea who or what he was looking for, but he sat watch like he was in a sniper's nest until she had finished the entire page. When she changed out the paper, he swiveled back to face her, "Milktec has a finger in every pie in the country. One way or the other, everything always winds up back at their feet. Years ago, a big story got squashed by the editor after a phone call. The top end of it was all political daggers. The bottom end was something else. It was a local who acted as the source for comments and information. The source disappeared. Meetchum, the reporter working the job, took a big promotion and headed west. Is that the kind of controversy you're talking about, Alice?"

"I'm not sure how I would begin to know. I suppose that's what I'm asking you. How would I start?"

"You wouldn't, if you had any sense. Milktec always ends one way for reporters. Especially female ones." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "But, when you need to know more about someone, every reporter starts in the same place. Money. Every secret, every bad deal, and, hell, every insane thing in this world can be traced back to money."

She considered this old nugget of wisdom as it applied to her current situation. Money flowed through plantations like the Vaught estate easily enough, but how much of it was coming from Milktec. The answer likely held information about Benny, too. If Alice could manage to sniff out where Benny was scurrying off to on a daily basis, that would surely lead to his mistress. And if her snooping turned up a line from Elizabeth to corruption in government, it would be an amazing story. One that would risk ruining my chances at ever taking the serum again, one side of her thought.

Or giving me leverage to make sure the Vaught sisters keep me stocked with the stuff for years with all the assurances of staying un-cowed.

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After lunch, she told Clyde she had an appointment. Either he had already forgotten their earlier conversation or no longer cared. He waved her off with a dismissive hand before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk for his afternoon pick-me-up. Alice didn't leave the paper, though. She went down to the basement where the archives were kept. Figuring that dirty secrets never stay entirely hidden, she thought browsing through old newspapers would be a good start to learning a bit more about the Vaughts. The paper kept copies and records going back to the start of the First World War. It was started by the editor at the time, who wanted to be certain people who came looking had the resources to find information about war casualties. He hired a woman to oversee the archiving job, and people speculated that Clara had not left the basement since.

Clara was likely over seventy, but strangely spry and energetic for a woman who spent most of her time in a dim and highly flammable basement. No one had the heart to dismiss her, nor did they want to live without her. She'd become as much a part of the archive as the papers themselves. She had some arcane system for finding specific issues or topics, but without her the whole thing would have to be reorganized. The archivist was in the middle of a tomato sandwich when Alice came down the stairs. A long chunk of red dangled out of the corner of Clara's mouth as she grinned and waved from her small writing desk. Once she'd tidied up the tomato, she asked, "Can I help you, dear?"

"I'm doing some research on a few of the local plantations. Vaught, in particular, is giving me trouble. I was wondering if the paper ever ran any stories about it in the past."

Clara held up a finger and took another bite, chewing as she thought. "Well, I can tell you that you won't find much, and most of what you will find has been in the last ten years or so. The twins, you know, Elizabeth Vaught's girls, they popped up in the announcements a few times. Birth, christening, that sort of thing. There was Emmanuel's passing of course, but it was dry even for an obituary. I never went for gossip myself, but people said he was an unpleasant man. The obituary was less a praise of the man's life and more a statement on its end. Before that, you'd have to go back to Elizabeth's wedding. Have you got your pen?" She took another bite while Alice pulled out her notepad. Clara rattled off a few dates followed by the strange numbering system. "Those will get you to Elizabeth's wedding announcement and day, but that's probably not what you're interested in."

"Well, somewhat," Alice said. "I've heard in the past that her marriage was meant to help keep the plantation solvent."

The rumor had apparently never appeared in a paper which meant Clara wrinkled her nose at the idea. "Mmm, she married a young man named Benjamin Nicholson. The society column was written by Agatha Delyle at the time. Horrendous woman, always sucked her teeth. Don't make a face, she died six years ago. Wrote her own obituary, flowery nonsense. Anyway, Agatha never liked the Nicholsons. They came from what us old folks call 'new' money and tried to fit in with the high society cabal. Getting one of the Vaught daughters to marry their son was, as I understood it, quite the victory. Of course, no one knew at the time that the Nicholson fortune was already squandered."

"Pardon?"

Clara rattled off another three number sets. "It was all in the paper if you knew where to look. Those will take you to editions that have stories, small ones, about Almond Crops Incorporated and, oh what was that other -- Leviticus Holdings. Both of those were owned by Mason Nicholson. Now, he would be Benny's uncle, if my lines are right. Mason was a nice fellow from what I remember of him. He came to my church a few times. Mostly to shore up investor interests, but the Lord doesn't mind." She paused and frowned. "Actually, He might. Wasn't fond of money changers, was He?" She cackled and popped the last bit of the tomato into her mouth. "Mason mortgaged everything he could to keep the doors open on those companies. Based on the warrant they put out for him -- it ran in the public notice section of that second paper I gave you. Yes, that's the one. -- he used one company to hide the debts of the other and vice versa. Tied up his brother in the whole mess. So, Benjamin only brought more debt to the Vaught plantation. Is that the kind of thing you're looking for?"

"Clara! Yes, that's amazing. How can you remember all that?"

The old woman winked. "Practice."

Alice chatted a little while longer, but Clara had no further insights. With a rough map of the Vaught history in hand, Alice delved into the large drawers and boxes that contained the archive. Clara's photographic memory remained infallible as the stack of old, carefully preserved newspapers stacked up on the table at the center of the archive. It took Alice a while to find the exact articles or bulletins, but it was all there. Little by little, a picture of the Vaught plantation came into view. Almost lost to debt, nearly saved by a marriage of politics, and then pushed back to the brink due to the false representation of the Nicholson holdings. Then all the speculation on bankruptcy and debt disappeared, replaced by wedded bliss and birth announcements. It didn't make sense.

After making notes for two hours, Alice went back to Clara. "The other Vaught sister, she came back when Emmanuel died, isn't that right?"

"I'm not sure," Clara answered. "Abigail was not the society woman that her sister was. Oh, but they built that new house about that time. The husband, Greg, came and put out an ad for skilled labor. I spoke to him myself. Happened to be in the reception at the time. Borrowed a lovely piece of blue stationary that Lillian had. She told me where she got it from, but it was a mail order. I never got around to remembering it. Oh, anyway, I took down a message calling for any skilled laborer to inquire at the Vaught plantation for construction. I asked him why not go the other way like a normal fellow and enlist his own professionals rather than having a ragtag bunch show up. He said to me that he'd rather have men who need the work. Seemed a sensible fellow."

"Greg Smith, right? Where did he come from?"

Clara opened her mouth to answer, but snapped it shut a moment later. "You know, other than that advertisement, I don't think I've seen his name in the paper even once."

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The county records office was run by a man with close set eyes who was the polar opposite of Clara in helpfulness. He seemed irritated by the existence of other people outside of names on tax receipts. After directing Alice to a pair of shelves that contained enormous ledgers, he went back to his desk mainly to sneer at her from a distance instead of up close. Alice did her best to ignore him as she combed through the land records looking for properties once owned by either Vaught or Nicholson.

The former appeared often enough, paying regularly on the plantation as far back as the records went. The Nicholson family was a blip comparatively. They showed up in 1916 and acquired a great deal of land throughout the county. Other than a plot which was presumably the family home, all of the land was sold to Leviticus Holdings in the 1920s.

This necessitated Alice finding a different ledger, but at least the record system was more sensible than Clara's labyrinth. The businesses got their own books separate from private citizens. Alice assumed this to have some practical use for tax collectors, and it was perfect for her own goals. Leviticus Holdings recorded payments throughout the 20's on all their acquisitions, but in 1930, the land was sold to banks. Comparing the price per acre listed between the original purchases and the bank acquisition, the banks got it all for a steal. Significantly smaller and less regular tax payments continued until 1940 at which point the final plot of land was sold. At that point the company likely owned nothing and should have been dissolved.

Except, nine months earlier, Leviticus Holdings listed a new address. Alice recognized the area as being outside of the District. If I wanted to hide an affair from my wife, I could certainly use an old company to mask funneling money to my mistress. Or even just getting money out of the marriage for myself. If Elizabeth is as manipulative to her husband as she is to me, then of course he would want an escape plan.

Alice gathered her things. If she hurried, she could make the five-thirty train.

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Outside of the Apartment, Washington D. C. - August 1st, 1952 - 6:12pm

Alice didn't know exactly what to do once she arrived. She expected to find either a shady warehouse district or a scandalous brothel. Instead, the address led to an ordinary old house. It felt strange to knock on the door asking for a man she didn't particularly know in order to confirm he was using the house as a spot to have an affair. The sun was still up, so she went to the opposite side of the street and sat down on a bench thinking she would wait a while and see if anyone came or went.

She didn't have to wait long before a car pulled into a side drive, and a familiar face hopped out. Though she didn't know Benjamin Vaught well, he was a hard man to miss. He went to the front of the house where an old woman was sweeping away small furls of dust. Alice got an uneasy feeling that the woman had been watching her as much as she'd been watching the house. Benny spoke to her for a while before going inside.

Alice frowned. Benny was a known womanizer, but the woman on the front porch was old enough to be his grandmother. Maybe it is his grandmother, she considered. His father and uncle are dead. He could have bought this house years ago with money he hid from creditors. And then recently started using it as a mailing address and place to stay closer to D. C. Maybe I'm chasing a ghost. She didn't think Elizabeth would have gone to such trouble unless she was sure this particular mistress existed. She wished she'd thought of bringing a set of binoculars and perhaps a trench coat.

A few minutes later, Benny emerged from the house. A woman came with him. They paused a moment to talk with the old woman, and Benny's mistress stepped out into the light. Alice was shocked that she recognized her. Melanie Cunningham. The two walked across the yard arm in arm to Benny's car. He opened the door for Melanie, let her hop inside, and jogged around the back to get to the driver's seat. Alice watched the two silhouettes lean together and kiss.

Melanie Cunningham. She must be half his age! Alice met the girl a few times, likely at the same parties where Benny encountered her. She gnawed at her bottom lip as she considered what Elizabeth's reaction would be. For that matter, Senator Cunningham was notoriously protective of his daughter. Several years earlier, Melanie had been caught being overly friendly with a young man who'd gotten a college exemption from military service. The next day the exemption was revoked, and a week later the poor fellow was on a ship to France. Alice doubted Benny could be shipped off to war at this point in life, but that didn't leave better options on the table.

Alice folded her hands together in her lap as she watched the car pull away. Was this all she needed to do? Had she been so lucky that she'd done what Elizabeth wanted in less than a full day? If she called, would it be enough to earn her other doses of the serum? The echo of how she'd felt the previous night remained. She'd managed to get through the day distracting herself, but now that getting more was a real possibility, something that could happen as quick as a train ride, her body hummed with excitement. She even suspected her breasts of swelling a little with anticipation.

It would be an easy end to the whole ordeal, but Alice had always been plagued by curiosity. If she put aside her experience with the serum, everything about Elizabeth was off from the woman Alice once knew. Not the manipulation and deceit, those were common enough around women like Elizabeth. Relying on someone outside of their circle, though, that was unusual. In particular for such a private issue as a cheating husband, but that, too, rang false. Benny was a womanizer with a long history. If Elizabeth knew who the mistress was, then it might make sense out of jealousy of youth or social position, but the whole point of it was to find out Melanie's identity. Which left only the truth, that Benny was in love with the younger woman and intended to abandon his spouse. But after decades together in apparent enmity, why would Elizabeth care? For that matter, why would Benny feel the need to leave?

Alice frowned. Thinking with the constant pulse of horniness in her body was difficult. At the moment, though, it helped to remind her of the outstanding factor. The serum. If it comes from Abby Vaught, and she's supplied by Milktec... Senator Cunningham is on the regulatory panel. He would be able to influence contracts and direct money toward Abby's work. Maybe he's been doing it for years. That would explain how the plantation remained solvent with Benny's fortune being lost. And it would explain why Elizabeth wanted to put a stop to this affair. But that only makes sense if she knew it was Melanie.

Her frown deepened. She opened her notebook and scribbled down the ideas as fragmented thoughts, hoping they would magically form together on the page. By the time she emerged from her thoughts, the streetlights had flicked on. She gathered herself and headed back to the train station. The trip hadn't been wasted, and she knew what to do next. Clyde's advice had led her down the right path once, and she knew it would do so again. First thing in the morning, she was going to the bank.