I explained that it was of limited use to repeat to the police either Craig's story of the jewel robbery to save the Herald or his accusations of homicide against his father because Craig had vowed to deny to the police and the prosecutors that he had told me anything at all. I said, 'I could fill Bill Stankie in confidentially, but at this point there isn't much he can do with the information He certainly can't put the interrogatory thumbscrews to Chester-or June, or Tidy-on the word of a convicted murderer and jewel thief and notorious liar.'
Janet, Dale, and Timmy were listening solemnly as I laid out this frustrating addendum to my revelations of the past hour-when we heard a sudden shriek from inside the house
A cop car was supposedly parked across the street, but my fear was that somehow an attacker had entered the house and gotten to Ruth Osborne. I led the way as we hurtled through the kitchen-Timmy not so fast on crutches-and down the dim hall and into Tom Osborne's study.
But no intruder was present. Ruth Osborne stood alone at her husband's library table The urn with the label that read 'William T. 'Tom' Osborne -1911-1989' was resting on the table. The lid had been removed and lay next to the urn. Mrs. Osborne stood staring with a look of horror into the urn. Her eyes came up to us, and she cried out, 'Where is my husband! This urn contains cornmeal! Where is my husband!'
20
At first I thought Mrs. Osborne's mind was faltering again. But when I looked down at the brass container on the table, its contents were indeed fine-grained and pale yellow.
Looking both disgusted and fearful, Janet said, 'Mom, how do you know that's cornmeal? It doesn't look like bone fragments, but… how can you tell what it is?'
'I tasted it.' Mrs. Osborne's big hands were trembling and her face twisted with grief. 'It looked like cornmeal, so I tasted it, and please take my word for it, that's what it is. But where are Tom's ashes? Someone has taken Tom's ashes and substituted cornmeal. Why in God's name would anyone do something so cruel? Is this-is it some pathetic joke one of you has pulled on me?'
'Of course not, Mom! We'd never do anything as ridiculous as that. What were you doing getting into Dad's ashes anyway? I know you like having them around, and I can more or less understand that. But why do you want to look at them? I really can't see how that gravelly stuff can ever remind you of Dad.'
Looking flustered and annoyed, Mrs. Osborne said, 'I decided to scatter the ashes out-of-doors, as your father said he wanted done, and as you and Eric and Dan always said I should do. Well, I was finally going to let you all have your way. I called Slim Finn a while ago and asked him if there was any legal reason I couldn't spread Tom around in my herb garden. Slim said not if it would make me feel better, and not if word didn't get around Edensburg, and not if nobody ever found out he expressed an opinion on the subject So forget I ever mentioned Slim.'
Janet said, 'In your herb garden, Mom? Mom, Dad wanted his ashes dropped over the mountains from the air. Isn't spreading him in the backyard a little-shall we say-more domestic than what Dad had in mind?'
'It seemed to me a reasonable compromise,' Mrs. Osborne said. 'In marriage there's always give-and- take.'
I asked, 'When was the last time, Mrs. Osborne, that you looked inside the urn and saw what appeared to be your husband's actual remains?'
She grimaced and stared into space. Remembering was a struggle for her, and she seemed to be laboring almost physically 'Quite a while ago,' she said after a moment. 'A year or two, I suppose. It's been a while since I actually lifted the lid and looked in. It's true that all that stony stuff just looks like stony stuff, and it doesn't help much in summoning up Tom's memory and spirit.'
'Who has access to this study besides yourself, Mrs. Osborne? Who's gone in here in the past two years? From the look of the place, I'd guess the traffic hasn't been heavy.'
'No, no, hardly anybody comes into this musty old room. Just myself, and Elsie to clean. The children, I suppose, from time to time, to look at their father's books and papers. Janet, you've been in, of course-but you didn't get into the urn, did you?'
'Mother, of course not!'
'Dan comes in once in a while-and June once in a blue moon. June's husband, Dick, perhaps. Chester? I don't believe so. Chester generally comes in the back door, shakes his fist at me in the kitchen, and leaves by the same route ' Then she seemed to go blank.
Timmy said, 'What about workmen or other outsiders, Mrs. Osborne? Have you had any electrical or telephone or other work done in this room in the last few years?'
Both the old black Bakelite telephone and the wall sconces, as well as the metal gooseneck desk lamp, looked as if they dated to the first Roosevelt administration, and Mrs. Osborne said, 'Does this room look as if anyone has replaced a single item in it in the last half century? We should have done some modernizing-I always approve of technological progress if it frees people up to get on with what's truly important-but I can't recall anybody coming in here to fix or replace anything in years and years. No, no workmen stole Tom's ashes, I don't think, and filled the urn up with cornmeal. It must have been someone in the family, is all I can think. Tidy has been in the house from time to time-and Tacker before he flew the coop. But why would either of them do such a thing?'
Dale said, 'What about Eric?'
Mrs. Osborne's face drooped, and she said, 'Well, naturally Eric came in here often. He borrowed books- which he always was careful to return-and he read Tom's files and papers. He liked being around Tom's things, just as I do. Eric loved his father and enjoyed being around him so terribly much, and after Tom was gone Eric liked coming in here and regaining a sense of the man. But why would Eric steal Tom's ashes without telling me, and what in heaven's name would he ever do with them?'
Janet gave Dale a quick glance, and Timmy gave me one. Janet said, 'Mom, did Eric know that you sometimes actually looked inside the urn at Dad's ashes?'
'Of course not. There was no need for him to know. Not that he would have found it peculiar, I'm sure Lord knows what June would have said, or Chester-it was just too morbid, those two would surely insist. Eric, on the other hand, would have understood-as I'm sure you do, Janet And Dale, of course. But, still, there was no need, really, to tell him I ever looked inside the urn, so I didn't.'
'Mom,' Janet said, 'Eric was the one of us who was most upset when you didn't follow Dad's wishes and scatter his ashes over the mountains. Don't you remember what a pain in the neck Eric was over that?'
'Yes, he was upset with me.'
'He nagged at you for months.'
'Years.'
'He saw it as some kind of betrayal of trust.'
'Yes, Eric made a moral issue out of it. He thought gravel tossed to the winds was more important than my mental comfort We disagreed about that.'
'So maybe Eric took the ashes,' Janet said, 'and scattered them over the mountains himself. He figured-you know-what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you.'
Mrs. Osborne's face tightened. She said, 'What a dishonest thing to do. It doesn't sound at all like Eric '
'I suppose his rationale would have been that since you went against
Dad's wishes in this one matter, he could go against yours.'
Looking hurt, she said, 'But I'm not dead.'
Janet sighed deeply. 'You're right, Mom. If Eric did take the ashes, he should not have done it without at least admitting it to you afterward so you wouldn't open the urn one day and find this… stuff. That was wrong.'
'Well,' Mrs. Osborne said, 'I suppose what's done is done. If indeed that's what happened. Is there some way we can verify that it was Eric who took the ashes? I do need to know that, if only for my own peace of mind. Eric I can forgive, of course, but I do need to know for certain exactly what has become of my husband's remains.'
'Mrs. Osborne, I think I can do some detective work on the ashes,' I said. 'In fact, the mystery of the
