“Yes, ma’am.” Turtle stared down at the carpet, wondering if she had given Angela away.
Judge Ford rose and placed an arm around Turtle’s bony shoulders. She had never wished for a sister until this moment. “Turtle, will you give me your word that you will never play with fireworks again?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“While we’re at it, do you have anything else to confess?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was in the Westing house the night Mr. Westing died.”
“Good lord, child, sit down and tell me.”
Turtle began with the purple-waves story, went on to the whisperings, the bedded-down corpse, the dropped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and her mother’s cross, and ended with the twenty-four dollars she had won.
“Did either you or Doug Hoo call the police?”
“No, ma’am, we were too scared, we just ran. Is that a crime?”
The judge said it was a criminal offense to conceal a murder.
“But Mr. Westing didn’t look murdered,” Turtle argued. “He looked asleep, like he did in the coffin. He looked like a wax dummy.”
“A wax dummy?”
Now Turtle was the one surprised by the excited response. The judge thinks it might have been a real wax dummy, not a corpse at all. Then what happened to Sam Westing?
The judge regained her composure. “Not reporting a dead body is a violation of the health code, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Is there anything else, Turtle?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Turtle replied, glancing at the portable bar. “Could I have a little bourbon?”
“What?”
“Just a little. On a piece of cotton to put in my cavity. My tooth hurts something awful.”
Relieved at not having a juvenile alcoholic on her hands, Judge Ford prepared the home remedy. “Is that better? Good. You may go home now.”
Home meant going to Baba. Baba loved her no matter what, and Turtle didn’t care if the others thought she was the bomber—except Sandy. He was walking toward her right now, walking his bouncy walk, but not smiling. Sandy is disappointed in her, he thinks she hurt her own sister, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore.
“How’s my girl?” Sandy said, cupping his hand under her chin and lifting her head. “Whew! Hitting the bottle again?”
“It’s just bourbon on cotton for my toothache.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
“Honest, Saaan-eee.” Turtle was pointing inside her wide-open mouth.
The doorman peered in. “Wow, that’s some cavity, it looks like the Grand Canyon. Tomorrow morning you’re going to see my dentist—no back talk. He’s very gentle, you won’t feel a thing. Promise you’ll go?”
Turtle nodded.
Sandy smiled. “Good, then down to business. My wife’s having a birthday tomorrow. I thought one of your gorgeous striped candles would make a swell present.”
“There’s only one candle left,” Turtle replied. “It’s the best of the lot. Six super colors. I spent a lot of time making it; that’s why I wouldn’t part with it. But since it’s for your wife’s birthday, Sandy, I’ll let you have it for only five dollars. And I won’t charge you sales tax.”
“TRY NOT TO stick your fanny out so far,” Angela said from her chair. Now that Sydelle Pulaski depended on crutches, she lurched clumsily, hobbled by old habits.
“Just keep reading those clues.” The secretary straightened, shoulders back, stomach in, until her next step.
With their telephone switched off and Contagious Disease added to the No Visitors sign, the bomb victims had privacy at last. Sydelle had twice read the entire will aloud. Now Angela, her hands unbandaged, was reshuffling the collected clues.
GRAINS SPACIOUS GRACE GOOD HOOD
WITH BEAUTIFUL MAJESTIES FROM THY PURPLE
WAVES ON(NO) MOUNTAIN
“Again,” Sydelle ordered. “Change them around and read either the word on or the word no; both together are confusing.”
GOOD SPACIOUS GRAINS WITH GRACE
ON THY PURPLE MOUNTAIN HOOD WAVES
FROM MAJESTIES BEAUTIFUL
“Shh!” Someone was at the door. Angela picked up the note that was slipped underneath.
My darling Angela: I guess the sign on the door means I should stay away, too. I understand. We both need time to think things over. I’ll wait. I love you—Denton
“What does it say, what does it say?” Sydelle pressed, but Angela read only the postscript aloud:
P.S. You have another admirer. Chris wants to give you and Ms. Pulaski one of our clues. (Flora Baumbach has seen it, too.) The word is plain.
“Like an airplane?” Sydelle asked.
“No, plain, like ordinary. Like the wide open plains.”
“Plains, grains. Quick, Angela, read the clues again.”
GOOD HOOD FROM SPACIOUS PLAIN
GRAINS ON WITH BEAUTIFUL WAVES
GRACE THY PURPLE MOUNTAIN MAJESTIES
“That’s it, Angela. We got it, we got it!” Sydelle could barely control her excitement. “The will said, Sing in praise of this generous land. The will said, May God thy gold refine. America, Angela, America! Purple mountain majesties, Angela. Whoopee!”
Fortunately Sydelle Pulaski was close to the bed when she threw her crutches in the air.
22 Losers, Winners
SATURDAY MORNING, A new message was posted in the elevator:
I, TURTLE WEXLER, CONFESS TO THOSE FOUR BOMBS. I’M SORRY, IT WAS A DUMB THING TO DO AND I WON’T DO IT AGAIN. BUT! I AM NOT THE BURGLAR AND I NEVER MURDERED ANYBODY, EVER.
YOUR FRIEND, TURTLE
P.S. TO MAKE UP FOR SCARING YOU, I WILL TREAT EVERYBODY HERE TO AN EXQUISITE CHINESE CUISINE DINNER WHEN I WIN THE INHERITANCE.
“Poor Grace,” Mr. Hoo said. “One daughter almost killed, the other one a bomber. Smart-aleck kid, first she blows up my kitchen, then she advertises my cuisine. Win the inheritance—ha! Maybe I’m lucky my son is a dumb jock.”
“Boom,” Madame Hoo said happily. She knew where they were going. Always on the day when Doug ate six eggs for breakfast, he ran around and around a big track and people
