to go over such things as the casket, the number of limousines, and the time of the funeral. He seemed to know about the White funeral plot. So, I chose a mahogany casket, the urn, after cremation, to be placed inside it, and on his suggestion, set twelve noon on Monday as the time of the funeral. He suggested his chapel for the services, and the Rev. Archibald Fisher as the minister. “He was Mr. White’s rector, and I think would be indicated.” I accepted all his suggestions, ordered four limousines, “just in case,” and then accepted his suggestion that he send one more car, just for me. “One of my men, of course, will take you over-and be at your disposal in case something comes up.”
“It’s on the air,” said Araminta, coming in right after he left. “Mr. Wilcox, he act like it was his brother.”
“You mean, the radio?”
“Yes’m.”
As Ethel kept hers on all the time I knew she must have it by now- the death, I mean. I wondered what I would say when she called. I found it was one thing I did not have to worry about. She didn’t call.
By nightfall Saturday I’d had it, and thought I would go insane if I didn’t get some peace. Suddenly I told Araminta I was going out, not to bother with dinner for me. I picked up a coat, went out, got in the car and drove to the Garden. I got there before the dinner rush started, so I could grab my regular table, and Liz was terribly sweet. She kept company, standing near whenever she could, meaning whenever she had a minute. She wouldn’t hear of my going out in the kitchen, but brought me my dinner right there, with knife, fork, spoon, and napkin. I had steak, and was surprised to find out I was hungry. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Next day was Sunday, and when I answered the bell three people were there, a man and two women. I instinctively knew who they were, and as a matter of fact had been expecting them as soon as the story of Earl’s death had made the papers. I asked them in, offered them tea, which they didn’t take, and water, which the two women did. Then the man said: “Mrs. White, my name is Olson, and these ladies are my sisters, Mrs. Hines and Mrs. Wilson. Our mother was the first Mrs. Earl K. White, and we’ve come to find out if he did what he said he would do, make provision for us in his will, so we come into our proper inheritance, the money our mother left us, which he got from her by a trick, then told us he didn’t mean to help during his lifetime, ‘you’ll have to wait till I die.’ So, we had to wait. And what we’ve come to find out, Mrs. White, is whether he made provision for us, in his will. Have you seen it, Mrs. White?”
“Yes, so happens, I have.”
“What does it say about us?”
“Nothing. It leaves everything to me.”
He got up and took his hat. “O.K., Mrs. White,” he told me, “you’ve been very pleasant to us, and perhaps don’t know the details of how Mr. White cheated us. We do, however. We’ve been getting the proof together, so you can expect a lawsuit, to be filed against you tomorrow. That will is going to be contested.”
“That I seriously doubt.”
“It will be. That’s a promise.”
“Want to bet?”
“You being funny or what?”
I opened my bag which was on the sofa, took out a one dollar bill, pitched it down on the cocktail table, and said: “There’s a buck that says no suit is going to be filed.”
“This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Who’s joking?”
Reaching into his pocket, he put a dollar beside my dollar.
“O.K.,” I asked him, “how much did my husband owe you?”
“… Well that I couldn’t say precisely without figuring up.”
“Then figure.”
“It would take me some little time.”
“We have all day.”
“Hey, wait a minute-”
“For heaven’s sake, Vincent, she’s asked you how much-so,
That was Mrs. Hines-so loud Araminta popped in, asking: “You need me, Miss Joan?”
“No, Araminta. Thanks just the same.”
She left, and when I turned back to my visitors they were huddled around the table, using it as a desk to write on a half-sheet of paper Mr. Olson had fished out of his pocket, taking down information from several documents he’d laid out in a neat row. At last he turned to me, saying: “By the bank statements she left, she turned over cash to him, our mother I’m talking about, four different amounts, one of fifty-two thousand dollars, one of thirty, one of seventy-five, and one of one hundred ninety-seven-three hundred and fifty-four in all, that she meant to leave her children, to be divided equally between us.”
“And when was this?”
“Our mother died six years ago.”
“May I have the paper please?”
I took the paper, turned it over, borrowed the ballpoint, and wrote $354,000. Then I multiplied by.06, and got $21,240. I did that five more times after adding $21,240 to $354,000, so I was figuring compound interest. After six years, it came to $502,155.77 and I asked them to check my arithmetic. Then I got my checkbook, for the joint account Earl had arranged with me, and wrote three checks for $167,385.26 each. It was almost all the money in the main account, and I could understand why Earl hadn’t done it sooner-the account probably hadn’t had enough in it until he’d sold that new partnership interest in his company, and afterwards he’d wanted to hold onto the money to cover the expense of raising Tad. Well, I would still have that expense, and others besides-but paying the amounts these three were owed was the right thing to do. They had been on my mind since the day Earl first told me about them, and I wanted to square things up.
“You’ll just need to sign this to make it all legal,” I said, handing them, along with the three checks, a sheet of paper I’d asked Bill Dennison to prepare the day before. “I accept the amount presented herewith in settlement of all claims, past, current or future, against Joan White, the estate of Earl K. White, or any other,” it began, and went on in similar vein for the rest of the page. At the bottom were three lines for their signatures. One by one, they bent over the table and signed.
On his way out, Mr. Olson all but kissed me, and both his sisters did. “Mrs. White,” he said, “you’re so decent, I don’t know what to say.” He turned back at the door. “You win your buck, of course.”
“I said I wasn’t joking,” and smiled at him, the first honest smile I’d had since Earl’s death-and the last I’d have for some time.
30
Not an hour later, the bell rang again. I opened, and Sergeant Church was there, by himself this time. His expression wasn’t neutral any longer. “May I come in?”
“… Of course.”
He stepped inside and followed me to the drawing room. “Where’s your partner?” I asked as we went.
“Not working today.”
“But you are?”
“It’s an important case.”
“My husband’s death? Why?” He stopped in the doorway and took a moment just looking at me. It almost made me long for the other sort of look, as this one had no affection in it at all. “It’s important to me,” I said, “but why is it to you? The man was sick, his doctor told him this might happen-”
“Were you pleased, Mrs. White, when it did?”
“How can you ask that?”
“Some women would be. If they were young and their husband old. If they were poor and their husband rich.”
“How dare you-”
“We completed the autopsy on your husband’s body,” he went on. He strolled over to the bookshelves and
