“Sam Westing is dead and buried. Come on, if we don’t go we gotta give the money back, and we already spent it on the soup kitchen.”
“I feel his presence, Otis. He’s looking for a murderer, Violet’s murderer.”
“Stop scaring yourself with crazy notions, you sound like you’re on the bottle again.”
Crow strode ahead.
“I didn’t mean that, Crow, honest. Look up there at that moon. Isn’t it romantic?”
“Somebody’s in real danger, Otis, and I think it’s me.”
23 Strange Answers
LAWYER PLUM WAS there and one pair of heirs when Otis Amber danced into the game room. “He-he-he, the Turtle’s lost its tail, I see.”
Turtle slumped low in her chair. Flora Baumbach thought the short, sleek haircut was adorable, especially the way it swept forward over her little chin, but Turtle did not want to look adorable. She wanted to look mean.
The dressmaker fumbled past the wad of money in her handbag. “Here, Alice, I thought you might like to see this.”
Turtle glanced at the old snapshot. It’s Baba, all right, except younger. Same dumb smile. Suddenly she sat upright.
“That’s my daughter, Rosalie,” Flora Baumbach said. “She must have been nine or ten when that picture was taken.”
Rosalie was squat and square and squinty, her protruding tongue was too large for her mouth, her head lolled to one side. “I think I would have liked her, Baba,” Turtle said. “Rosalie looks like she was a very happy person. She must have been nice to have around.”
Thump-thump, thump-thump. “Here come the victims,” Sydelle Pulaski announced.
Angela greeted her sister with a wave of her crimson-streaked, healing hand. Turtle had convinced her not to confess: It would mean a criminal record, it would kill their mother, and no one would believe her anyhow. “I like your haircut.”
“Thanks,” Turtle replied. Now Angela had to love her forever.
Most of the heirs had to comment on Turtle’s hair. “You look like a real businesswoman,” Sandy said. “Well, that’s an improvement,” Denton Deere said. “You look n-nice,” Chris said. Only Theo, bent over the chessboard, said nothing. White had moved the king’s bishop since the last meeting. It was his move.
At last the stares turned from Turtle’s hair to a more surprising sight. Judge Ford strode in as regally as an African princess, her noble head swathed in a turban, her tall body draped in yards of handprinted cloth. She slipped a note to Denton Deere then sailed to her place at table four. Goggle-eyed Otis Amber was speechless; they all were, except for Sandy. “Gee, that’s a nifty outfit, Judge. Is that what you call ethnic?”
The judge did not reply.
Applaud, the local hero has arrived! Doug raised his arms, pointing his index fingers to the flaking gilt ceiling in the I’m-number-one sign, and acknowledged the clapping with a victory lap around the room.
“Here come the Wexlers,” Mr. Hoo remarked, seating his puzzled wife at table one.
Turtle exchanged an anxious glance with Angela. The last time they saw their mother she was crying her head off; now the tears were gone from her bleary eyes, but she was staggering, giggling, her hair was a mess.
“Sorry we’re late,” Jake apologized. “We lost track of time.” They had been clinking wineglasses in a small cafe (the cafe they used to go to before they were married), toasting good times. They had had many good times together, many good memories shared, it seems—three big wine bottles full.
Happy Grace waved at the heirs. She felt so wonderful, so overflowing with love for Jake, for everybody.
“Hi, Mom,” Turtle called.
Grace blinked at a young short-haired girl. “Who’s that?”
Jake greeted his partner with a “How are you this fine day?”
“Doug win,” replied Madame Hoo.
Having opened the door to the last of the heirs, a tense and troubled Crow took her seat next to Otis Amber. Ghost-threatened, she waited for the unseen.
“Hey, lawyer, can we open these?” Otis Amber shouted, waving an envelope. A similar envelope lay on each table.
His forehead creased with uncertainty, Ed Plum fumbled through his papers. “I guess so” was his opinion.
Cheers erupted as the heirs withdrew the checks.
Again Judge Ford signed her name to the ten-thousand-dollar check and handed it to the doorman. “Here you are, Mr. McSouthers, this should tide you over until you find another job.”
Sandy’s heartfelt thanks were muffled by Sydelle Pulaski’s loud “Shhhh!”
“Shhhhhhhh!” Grace Wexler mimicked, then she dropped her head into her crossed arms on the table and fell asleep to the sound of the lawyer’s throat-clearing coughs.
TWELFTH • Welcome again to the Westing house. By now you have received a second check for ten thousand dollars. Before the day is done you may have won more, much more.
Table by table, each pair will be called to give one, and only one, answer. The lawyer will record your response in case of a dispute. He does not know the answer. It is up to you.
1 • MADAME SUN LIN HOO, cook
JAKE WEXLER, bookie
Bookie? He really must have been distracted when he signed that receipt. Jake studied the five clues on the table:
OF AMERICA AND GOD ABOVE
Even knowing his wife’s clues didn’t help; he’d have to gamble on a long shot. “Say something,” he said to his partner.
“Boom!” said Madame Hoo.
Ed Plum wrote Table One: Boom.
2 • FLORA BAUMBACH, dressmaker
TURTLE WEXLER, financier
Turtle read a prepared statement: “In spite of the fact that the stock market dropped thirty points since we received our ten thousand dollars, we have increased our capital to $11,587.50, an appreciation of twenty-seven point eight percent calculated on an annual basis.”
Flora Baumbach slapped a wad of bills on the table and two clinking quarters. “In cash,” she said.
Ed Plum asked them to repeat their answer.
“Table two’s answer is $11,587.50.”
Sandy applauded. Turtle took a bow.
3 • CHRISTOS THEODORAKIS, ornithologist
D. DENTON DEERE, intern
Ornithologist? His brother must have given him that fancy title when he filled in the receipt. Maybe he would become an ornithologist someday. He was a lucky
