Fletch stared at the filigreed box lid.
“Open it,” she said. “Go ahead. Open it.”
“I don’t need to.”
She opened it. Inside were ashes, looking as if they had settled toward the center while still wet.
“Do you have any more questions, Mister Fletcher?”
“Yes,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
She sat in the chair again. “I will tell you everything,” she said, “if you will just go away and stop this insane harrassing of us.”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
“My husband had a form of blood cancer. Which means that, in order to stay alive, his blood had to be changed regularly. That is, his own blood had to be drawn out while fresh blood was being pumped into him. You can imagine what a horror that is.”
“Yes. I’m sorry,” he said. He closed the lid of the box.
“You’re going to hear me out.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“You can imagine how debilitating all that is—having your own blood drained out while new blood is being pumped in. No, of course you can’t.”
“Yes,” Fletch said. “No.”
“Over time, of course, it weakened him more and more. Poor Thomas. Running the company he wanted no one to know how sick he was. Alex Corcoran, the president, is really only chief of sales—a big, hale-and-hearty fellow whose mind is permanently stuck on golf. In fact, he’s playing in some tournament over at the Southworth Country Club this afternoon. Charley Blaine, the Vice-president and treasurer, is a superb backroom man, but one of the most dependent characters you ever saw in your life. If everything isn’t just perfect, he overreacts and does crazy things. And Thomas was the kind of man who didn’t want his children worrying about him. They’re beautiful, happy, successful children. Ta-ta—our daughter, Roberta—is teaching at her old prep school, Southworth Preparatory, and half-way through her first teaching year they’ve made her Head of House. And Tom is finishing up his pre-medical studies at the College. They are both doing extremely well. My husband wanted to live. But these treatments, these blood exchanges, had to happen more and more frequently. It was a cumulative disease, Mister Fletcher. He was getting weaker and weaker.
“Then we heard about this new technique the doctors in Switzerland had developed. I can’t pretend to understand it, or explain it. It has something to do with not letting the new blood mingle with the old blood, during the exchange. I take it you don’t know anything about medicine, either?”
“No.”
“Vacuums or something were to be created in the body. I’m not sure only Swiss doctors are doing it, but Thomas heard about this doctor in Switzerland who was the first, or the best, or something. The most respected. So, while I stayed to run the company as well as I could, he went to Switzerland for these extensive treatments. All the news was good. He was doing fine. And then he died.”
She was looking directly at Fletch as she spoke, rather in the manner of someone insulted. Then she put a hand to her brow and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Mister Fletcher, will you please leave us alone, and stop this insanity of yours?”
Fletch tried to make himself comfortable in the soft divan. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Mrs. Bradley,” he said, “why did your Vice-president and treasurer, Charles Blaine, refer last week to your husband as alive? Why did he show me recently dated memos purportedly from your husband?”
Enid Bradley raised her head and blinked her eyes around the upper corners of the room. She spoke gently. “That’s why I’m seeing you, Mister Fletcher. I’m now convinced of your innocence—that you meant to do nothing cruel. I’m afraid we’re both victims of someone else’s sickness.”
“Why would he do such a thing, Mrs. Bradley?”
“Charley is a worrisomely tight man, if you know what I mean. Anything out of the ordinary rattles him. He was terribly fond—worshipful—of my husband. Thomas would make the silliest little joke, and Charley would repeat it and laugh all night. I tried to break the news of Thomas’ death gently. No, I did not offer the local newspapers obituaries. No, I did not run a memorial service for him locally. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had done so all this painful confusion would have been avoided. You see, I took over the company only in Thomas’ absence. Everybody believed he was coming back. Then Thomas died. I didn’t know what to do. Thank God for Francine. She’s been such a help.” Enid Bradley looked into her lap. “She suggested I break the news slowly, gently, to each person individually—which I did. I even waited months—until last fall—to tell people, so the hurt of his death would be somewhat removed from them. I don’t think Charley ever accepted Thomas’ death. I think it drove Charley off the deep end. He didn’t see Thomas die, so he doesn’t believe Thomas died.”
“Who is Francine?”
“Thomas’ sister. She lives in New York. She and Thomas were always extremely close.”
“Mrs. Bradley, how do you explain the memos I saw from your husband?”
“If you saw such memos, Mister Fletcher, then they were forgeries. Obviously, Charles Blaine forged them. What else am I to think? Once or twice, Charley has referred to Thomas as alive, in speaking to me. You know, referred to Thomas in the present tense. I thought his tongue was just slipping. Then, when I saw your article … Wednesday night … I figured it out. Charley must be having some sort of a nervous breakdown. Thursday morning I told Charley, as forcefully as I could, that Thomas is dead and has been dead for a year. Then I sent him and his wife away for a long vacation.”
“Mexico.”
“Is that where they went? Oh, yes, I think they’ve gone to Mexico before for their vacations. We’ll just have to see how he is when he comes back. If he really went so far as forgery … I don’t know. You don’t have any copies of those memos, do you, Mister Fletcher?”
“No.”
“Well. You see. I haven’t known what to do. It’s all been very difficult.”
“Do you intend to continue running the company, Mrs. Bradley?”
“No! Thank God.” She appeared horrified at the thought.
“Are you selling out?”
“No. That wouldn’t be fair to the children. No, Francine is coming West to take over the company, as soon as she can settle up her own business in New York. She’s much cleverer than I. As I said, she and Thomas were very much alike. It’s almost as if they had the same mind. She’s run businesses before.” Enid Bradley looked absently across the room. “She should be able to come West in a couple of months.”
Fletch said, “I guess I don’t know what to say.”
Enid said, “There is nothing to say. I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm. It’s just that the man you were talking to was temporarily deranged. How could you have known that? If you like, I’ll call your managing editor again. Tell him that you and I talked. Tell him about Charley, and how insanely fond he was of my husband …”
“Thank you, but it wouldn’t do any good. I’m famous in the business now for having quoted someone who wasn’t alive at the time. I’ll never live that down.”
“Mister Fletcher, is there anything I can do to help you? Reporters don’t make much money, I know, and now you’ve lost your job. I guess it’s partly our fault. I should have known Charley Blaine was going off the deep end.”
“That’s very nice of you, but no, thanks. It was nice of you to see me, under the circumstances.”
“This is all very distressing.”
Enid Bradley rose and showed Fletch to the door. Neither said another word.
14
“C O L D B E E R,” F L E T C H said. “If you’ve got any left.”
The barman at the Nineteenth Hole, the bar of the Southworth Country Club, looked Fletch in the face, obviously considered challenging him, then drew a beer and put it in front of Fletch.
“Thanks,” Fletch smiled. During a tournament weekend there were apt to be many strangers in and out of a golf club.
