Maybe.
David took Koesler’s silence as confirmation of his inference. “Hey, that’s not very cool. You have to remember that ol’ Dad was sort of unique. It may seem extremely odd to you for a father to blackmail his son into a lifetime of peonage. But that’s because you never had the bad luck to do business with Dr. Moses Green.
“Let me assure you, Padre, that-probably to varying degrees-practically everyone in this church tonight had some sort of similar arrangement with Dad. Most of ’em were into Dad in some way or other-they’re all victims.”
Koesler did not respond.
“Besides,” David continued, “if you’re looking for someone who, at this moment, wanted Dad dead, it certainly wouldn’t be me.”
“Oh?”
“No. Not me. Not now. It has to do with inheritance.”
“Between you and your sister?”
“Judith? Not hardly. Pop disowned her once he found out who was coming to dinner-matter of fact, that’s kind of funny: Bill, Judy’s fiance, is in better shape than I’d ever get to be as Dad’s personal lawyer. He’s got better connections than I have. He’s smarter than I am.
“Dad could’ve bargained: Bill’s servitude for Pop’s blessing on their marriage. A guy with as much social standing and clout as Dad publicly opposing his daughter’s marriage would have negative impact on Bill’s career. Sure, Bill might recoup, but he’d be starting in the hole.
“I guess it just goes to show how strong Pop felt about having a
“No, Sis is no factor in the inheritance scheme. It’s between my mother and me.
“See, Pop moved the inheritance back and forth like the donkey and the carrot. We’re talking real money here, Padre. And Pop was forever changing the direction that money was headed.
“His latest move-after he cut Judith out entirely when she defied him over Bill-was to name Mother sole beneficiary. He sliced me off-I think mostly to get my attention.
“Then, just a couple of days ago, he informed me that he was going to change his will again: I was going to be the sole beneficiary. Mother was going to take her turn on the outside looking in.
“I don’t think it bothered Mother all that much. She’d been on the Green roller coaster too long not to recognize the old man’s machinations. She was about to disappear from the will. But if you didn’t like what Dad was doing, wait a while. He could change his mind as easily as Michigan changes its weather.
“So you see, Padre, if I wanted Dad dead, I sure wouldn’t want him to leave this life while my mother stood to gain everything. If I wanted Dad dead, I sure as hell would have waited until he had time to change his will. A few days from now, I would have been sitting pretty as far as inheritance goes.
“You want to see someone who stood to lose everything in a few days …” Koesler followed David’s gesture, and found the widow walking hurriedly toward them.
“I am so sorry, Father,” Margie said. “I had no idea so many people would be here.” She noticed Koesler’s expression of doubt. “Honest.”
Koesler looked at his watch. Only a couple of minutes.
Margie detected a touch of unease in Koesler’s demeanor. Whatever anxiety was there she did not share. In fact, as far as Margie was concerned, everything was just fine. She didn’t particularly care whether the ceremony began anywhere near on time. In any case, they would not call this a night until Aunt Sophie arrived. And only God and Northwest Airlines had a clue to when that would be.
But she was sympathetic to Koesler’s perceived plight. “I heard a lot of good words about your hospitality … I mean in offering your church for the wake.” She gave Koesler’s arm a friendly, almost motherly pat.
Margie, from the vantage of one step below the sanctuary and one above the church’s main floor, scanned the crowd. She shook her head knowingly. “Isn’t it the way of things? Nowadays the only time you get together with relatives and friends is at weddings and funerals.”
Caught by her observation, Koesler looked more closely at his one-and-only-one-time congregation. Outside of Father Dan Reichert-still perched like a hawk in the back of the church taking mental notes for tomorrow’s promised confrontation with Koesler and Cardinal Boyle-Koesler didn’t recognize anyone. No, wait: In the third pew from the front was someone he knew: Patricia Lennon, respected reporter at the
Had she found out about this from one of her many sources? Did an editor assign her to cover this event? It didn’t much matter. She was here. And that meant that some sort of story would be in tomorrow’s paper. That was the bad news. Added to the possible summons by the Cardinal, decidedly bad news.
The good news was that Lennon was a good journalist-fair and reasonable. Over the years, their paths had crossed when Koesler had assisted in various police investigations and Lennon had covered the action.
Margie touched her son’s arm as she addressed Koesler. “Has David given you some useful background on his father?”
Before Koesler could reply, David, with a brief laugh, answered. “Oh, I was definitely not alone in briefing the good father. Quite a few people bent his ear. If the father has an active imagination, he probably could write a book on Dad right about now. How much of what we’ve contributed will prove useful for what Father has to say tonight is anybody’s guess.
“Now”-David stepped away-“if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get myself a ringside seat. Good luck, Padre. You’ll need it.” He headed for one of the seats that his sister was saving.
Now that nearly everyone was seated, the congregation did not seem quite as daunting as it had when milling about. Still there were many more people here than Koesler had anticipated.
“I wouldn’t blame you at all,” Margie said, “if you were quite angry with me. I talked you into all this.”
Now that she had invited the thought, Koesler agreed. He felt like the victim who had been gulled into a trap.
“Believe me,” Margie continued, “I never thought it would turn out like this. So big … I mean so many people. But Moe and I talked about this. I didn’t take him seriously. I didn’t think he was going to die. Now that I look back, I shouldn’t have expected him to live with that pain. But I just didn’t anticipate Moe dead.”
“You talked about this?”
“Well, yes. Except we never thought there’d be any problem with Kaufman Funeral Home. If I had taken him seriously, I would’ve checked all these details and been prepared. He wanted the wake. Now that I look at all these people … well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know that he has more than a very few friends here. Everybody else … well, they couldn’t be described as friends-or even close.”
She gazed into Koesler’s eyes. “I’ll try, I’ll honestly try to make this up to you. It’s just that I would’ve felt as if I had betrayed Moe if we hadn’t been able to do this just the way he wanted. And, as it turned out, you made it happen. I owe you, Father.”
“No, you don’t.” Koesler had been taken aback by Margie’s obviously sincere apology and expression of gratitude. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to play this out as we planned it.”
“The eulogy! I haven’t had an instant to supply you with any background information on Moe. And I promised you. People kept coming up all evening. But you were talking to some people, weren’t you? Maybe they were a help?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“I’ll tell you who talked to me, and in what order. And you can judge for yourself.
“First was Jake Cameron …”
Two vertical lines formed at the bridge of Margie’s nose.
“… then Claire McNern …”
The lines deepened.
“… followed closely by Stan Lacki.”
She seemed puzzled at this name.
“Then came your daughter …”
The lines returned.
