George had not gotten back to me since I asked him to do a search on his computer for possible distant relatives under the deceased’s maiden name. After getting all the discouraging news I aimlessly paced my floors for awhile before impulsively ringing George’s number. If he didn’t have anything for me yet a little mindless chatter could be therapeutic. It was only five thirty. If the phone rang four times I would hang up before the answering machine started and try again later.
He picked up right after the third ring. He sounded tired. After identifying myself I told him so.
“Deadlines and new cable,” he explained wearily. “It’s been like this for two weeks. I only got home at a decent time tonight because we ran into a snag that can’t be fixed until tomorrow.”
He had worked Saturday, too, and taken his one weekend day off to do a multitude of other things. It wasn’t necessary for me to ask if he had gotten into a search for the Tuckers of Yorkshire. Obviously there had been no time.
“Aren’t you getting a little old to keep up a pace like this?” I asked bluntly.
“Absolutely. Every bone and muscle in my body is reminding me of that fact right now.”
“Sounds like you need a long, hot, relaxing shower.”
“I hope I don’t fall asleep and drown. Probably won’t; it hasn’t happened yet.”
“I’m sorry, George,” I said it sincerely but my giggle probably ruined the effect.
“I’m hungry, too,” he groaned, “and I would ask you out to eat with me, but I just don’t think I can make it any further than the microwave tonight.”
“You are in bad shape.” After pausing for thought I said, “Tell you what. Go on with that shower, and I’ll scrape something together and come over to feed you. It won’t be fancy, but it should beat a frozen dinner.” This was a very generous gesture on my part. In order to keep things in perspective and keep the neighbors from speculating, I didn’t visit George very often. This old fashioned attitude would be considered archaic by most people. I couldn’t care less.
His gratitude was touching. After the feeblest protest about putting me to all that trouble he signed off to clean up and told me to hurry.
Fifty minutes later put me on George’s front porch. He has the most wonderful front porch, one that extends the entire width of the house, and about eight feet from the front door to the porch steps. Once more he keeps it orderly. He likes to sit out there on stormy nights and watch the lightening and thunder roll across the sky, which I envy him for. One night before Michael died we were fortunate enough to join him for that treat. For the hour we had before the storm drove us indoors, we sat together sipping our beverages and exclaiming over the panorama lighting the sky. I savored the memory as I rapped on the door, balancing our supper in the other hand.
The barking on the other side of the door, accompanying George’s heavy feet, reminded me about the pooch in temporary residence. With instinctive preservation I lifted our meal to about the level of my head as George opened the door with one hand, hanging on to Muffy’s collar with the other. He ordered the dog to behave with stern authority in his voice, and the animal was obviously torn between obedience and the tantalizing odors coming from my direction. It was a toss up as to whether I could stay on my feet if Muffy leaped. Not taking any chances, I eased into the hallway and leaned up against the wall for support.
“I said ‘stay down,’” George thundered impressively, and the canine finally acquiesced. She stopped straining against the grip pulling on her collar, but looked at me expectantly, whining softly.
“She looks like you feed her well, even if she doesn’t act like it,” I commented, carefully handing over our dinner to George. “This is the main course. Dessert is in the car.” I turned around to retrieve it, leaving George to make sure our food made it to the table.
There had been a generous portion of sweet and sour chicken in my freezer, complete with vegetables. While it thawed on the defrost option of my microwave I boiled up some long grain rice and threw the whole thing into a casserole dish. A stop at a convenience store on the way over for a quart of fudge ripple ice cream completed the menu.
I glanced around appreciatively as I reentered the house. George is not a stereotypical bachelor. In fact he is rather a neat nick, putting things away fastidiously when he is finished using them. Once a week he has a woman come in for the day to dust, vacuum, clean the bathroom he uses, and scrub the kitchen floor. In between he does his own laundry and keeps up the yard. The lawn was freshly mowed so George had fit that in on his Sunday off. While one of my brothers was a bachelor for three years I hated to visit his apartment and while there had tried not to have to use the bathroom. George’s habits were a relief. Looking at the cream colored sofa in the living room as I walked past, it was apparent Muffy was not allowed on the furniture. Her dark brown fur would have been a dead giveaway.
George was in a clean pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt, his feet bare and his wet thinning hair slicked back. He gave me a boyish grin, but signs of weariness were apparent in his eyes and slouch of his shoulders.
“You cannot keep up a pace like this forever,” I scolded with the liberty of a long time friendship, as I took another liberty and put the ice cream in the freezer myself.
“Another week, two at the most,” he replied, putting a pot holder on the table, setting my casserole dish on top and deftly producing a serving spoon out of a kitchen drawer. He had opted for the small dinette set in the kitchen rather than the dining room table. Our places were already set. I put my handbag aside and sat down in the chair he indicated. Muffy had been banished to the garage and I could hear her whining. “What do you want to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.”
Smoothly he produced a large glass of milk for himself and a glass of ice water for me, and slid with a contented sigh onto the remaining chair.
“Can’t blame the dog for acting up,” he commented. “This smells great.”
“Dig in then,” I encouraged, and he did, but serving me first. The poor guy acted starved.
“What have you been eating lately?” I continued my domestic tirade.
“Grabbing a bite here and there,” he admitted between mouthfuls. “I did throw a steak on the grill on Sunday.”
“No wonder you look like you lost weight.”
“Could be.” He grinned again. “That will just give me some leeway when I have time to eat again. But this is great, Sally, really nice of you.”
“You’re welcome.” We ate for a bit in comfortable silence, Muffy’s sniveling and the ordinary evening sounds of the neighborhood for background. I had to admit it was nice to have company for dinner. After I finished my meal and while George had seconds he asked about Everett and family, and about Janelle. I filled him in briefly. He raised an eyebrow when I told him about my daughter’s love interest but made no comment.
“It’s been a while since you’ve seen Joel, hasn’t it?” he asked instead.
“Yes, and it’s about time I went. He asked me when I was coming the last time we talked on the phone. Maybe this weekend.” I countered, “How’s Robin?”
Robin was fine, new job and new apartment seemed to be working out.
“He asked me to keep the dog for a couple more weeks,” George admitted, “since he can’t get away to collect her.”
“Oh? Is that a problem?”
“Not really,” George admitted. “The cat’s getting used to her, and so am I.”
“Aha! You’re going to miss that mutt when Robin comes to take her!”
“Maybe a little,” he allowed. “She stays amused in the back yard while I’m gone all day, watching the neighbors and sparring with the cat, so she’s not much trouble except for the amount of dog food she can put away, and the poop I have to clean up. She’s pretty good company when I’m home and she’s learned to behave in the computer room. I’m wondering how it will go when she goes back to Robin. She won’t have as much space there.”
“And she’ll be alone just as much,” I finished, getting his point.
“You never said why you called me,” he changed the subject, pushing his plate aside.
“I got sidetracked by your pitiful state of affairs,” I admitted. “How about if I clear the table while you make some coffee? Could we have coffee and ice cream on your porch? I called you with no definite agenda, but now that I’m here I do have something I want to talk you about.”
“You have lots of good ideas today,” George said happily.
It was getting dark and getting cooler. I made another trip to my vehicle for the flannel shirt I knew to be in the backseat. Putting it on, I settled comfortably in the large wicker chair opposite an identical one occupied by George. Our ice cream and mugs of steaming decaf sat on a low outdoor table, which put about three feet between us.
“Which one is mine?” I asked innocently indicating the ice cream bowls. George gave me a warning look. One had twice as much in it as the other, and we both knew it was not so one of us could share with the dog. Muffy had been let out, given a bone, and commanded to sit at her master’s feet. Seeming to realize she would be banished again if she didn’t, her first five minutes had been compliant ones.
I returned his glare with a grin and picked up the lesser amount, two scoops which was plenty for me, as George knew very well.
“You were going to tell me something,” my companion prompted me reprovingly. There was definite defiance in the way he shoved a large spoonful of the fudge ripple into his own mouth.
Slowly, meticulously, between bites and sips, I related my visit to Betty the hairdresser and my conversation with the detective.
“It looks like back to square one,” I finished glumly. “Some questions answered, more cropping up, but no closer to finding out who Amelia Marsh opened her door to that day, the person who killed her with a giant blow to the head.”
George was silent. I scraped the rest of my desert bowl clean and took both of the bowls back to the kitchen. I rinsed them in the sink and returned with the coffee pot to give us each a refill.
“Where do you go from here?” he asked finally as I resettled myself and picked up my cup. “Are you going to give it up?”
“I’ve considered doing that,” I admitted, “and I’ve wondered what Miss Carey would think about it. She doesn’t know about what I’ve told you, yet. Do you think I should, or to be precise, we should?”
He sighed deeply and took a sip of his own coffee, then pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. I waited patiently, feeling drowsy. Through swirling clouds the first star of the evening appeared. The warmth of my drink kept the breeze from giving me a chill. This porch was wonderful.
“Do you want to?” George finally countered. Men, I thought in exasperation, so often answering your question with a question.
“No, I don’t think so. If you had asked me that right after my conversation with Detective White my answer might have been yes. But now it seems to me there are a couple of things I can still do before giving up on this. If I don’t follow through on what I can, the regret will always be there.”
“I’ll play along,” my host obliged. “What?”
I was about to answer when he added an apology for not getting to the name search.
“It’s obvious you’ve had no time. But that is one of the leads, if you want to call it that, still open. You say your schedule will loosen up soon so you can get to it then. What I’m really thinking about is going to see Elaine Fisk Barclay.”
“You don’t say?” George looked at me in mild surprise. “Is she coming up to claim her inheritance?”
“I don’t know how that will be handled. But I thought I would call the lawyers and find out. It may not be kosher, but it occurred to me misters Harmon and Bedeman might allow me to be a courier.”
“Oh, you’re thinking of making a trip to Texas to deliver the goods.”
“What do you think about that? It would be an opportunity to have a long talk with the Barclays about their relationship with and memories of the Marshes.” I sighed. “If that doesn’t work out, I’ll have to think of a way to get them to open up to me on the telephone. That could be difficult. They don’t know me at all.”
“You might get an introduction from that Miss Carey,” suggested George. “From what you said before she hit it off with them pretty well.”
In fact I had considered asking Anne Carey to come with me if I did drive to Texas, and shared that with George too.
“But since she just got back from helping her sister get through surgery she might not want to go away again so soon.”
“Go for it,” George encouraged. “At least make that phone call to the lawyer. What have you got to lose? All they can do is say no.”
It was nice talking to someone who made things sound so simple.
“When I talk to them I’m going to ask for something else, George,” I set my coffee mug down and got up to stretch. It was about time for me to go home and for George to go to bed. He looked like it would be an effort for him to get out of that chair, and if he waited much longer the dog would have to climb up on his lap and keep him warm for the night. “I’m going to ask them for Leonard’s Marsh’s birth date. They must have a copy of the marriage certificate, at least. When you finally have time to get back to your computer would you also see if you can find anything on a former special service government employee who retired in about nineteen sixty-five?”
It was almost eight thirty when I got home, and the phone was ringing. Blast. Sure enough, the hospital. The post partum unit and a pretty young nurse named Heather Rasmussen in particular. Her sitter had called. Eight-month-old Egan Rasmussen was running a temperature of a hundred and two. Daddy Rasmussen could not get home until midnight, and Heather could not locate Grandma. Would I, could I, please, come in and relieve her for about four hours?
What was a grandmother to do? At any rate, four hours was not so long.
It was four and a half when all was said and done, but not a bad thing to play rescue squad and be so appreciated for it. I got to bed about two a.m. and slept well. By the time my head hit the pillow my resolve was completely back in place. It was not time to give up on Amelia Marsh and her demise just yet.
At ten a.m., still in my nightie, I called the offices of Bedeman and Bedeman. With the positive attitude born out of a rested mind I made an appointment. After introducing myself to the secretary who answered I told her my business concerned the estate of Amelia Marsh, and brought up the possibility of delivering Elaine Barclay’s inheritance myself. She agreed it would be advisable for me to see one of the estate lawyers personally. Yes I was willing to drive to Springfield for a conference, the sooner the better. No, three the following afternoon was not a problem at all. She gave me directions.
Amazed my brain could function so well with only half a glass of orange juice on board, I then rang up Anne Carey. She was at home and answered on the second ring.
“Miss Carey, I have some things to tell you,” I said. “I worked half the night and just got out of bed. Would you be at all interested in joining me for my breakfast?”
Miss Carey was game. “What a wonderful idea,” she twittered. “I can’t seem to get myself into anything constructive this morning, and all I had for breakfast was a bowl of bran flakes.”
What I had seen of my elderly friend’s driving did not inspire any confidence. Fortunately she was easily persuaded to let me pick her up. An hour later we were comfortably seated across from each other at the Twin Oaks Café, a small and cozy spot known for the huge trees that stood as sentinels in front of the building, and for their homemade muffins. I asked Miss Carey if she would choose the restaurant and she chose well. The Twin Oaks was open only for breakfast and lunch and their patrons could get breakfast anytime. I chose one egg poached medium hard, and an order of crispy bacon to go with my banana nut muffin. Wonders never cease. Miss Carey ordered a full stack of blueberry pancakes. The server bustled off with our orders and the amiable spinster beamed at me over our steamy cups of fresh coffee.
“This is just delightful, a gorgeous fall day and company for breakfast. You know, Amelia and I usually went out for breakfast once a week. This was one of our spots.”
“You didn’t happen to eat together that Monday before she died, did you? She had a hair appointment that day, which was unusual, but it was because she had a doctor’s appointment the Thursday before that interfered with her regular hairdressing slot.”
“The police wanted to know when I had seen Amelia for the last time that week, so my recollection is still clear. The last time we saw each other was for the morning church service on Sunday. We didn’t get together for breakfast the day before she died.”
About to ask why, it was not necessary because she continued, “She said she wasn’t up to it. She called me about seven-thirty. I told the police, but they didn’t seem to place much significance in it. You can’t blame them. An old lady not feeling well isn’t too unusual.”
“Do you think she cancelled because she wasn’t feeling well? Did you know about her visit with Dr. Blackwell?”
“Why, yes I did.” Miss Carey looked at me in some surprise. “How do you know about her appointment with Dr. Blackwell?”
“Thanks to Betty and some inside information from my contact with the police department.”
Miss Carey chuckled. “Trust Betty to know. But I’m not sure that was the reason she cancelled. She didn’t specify, but that problem never stopped her social life before. I knew about it, as a matter of fact I gave her the name of that doctor.”
“Have you any opinion why she didn’t keep your breakfast date that day?”
The lady shook her head. “I’ve considered that question many times since she died, wondering if there’s a connection. I don’t know.”
Some acquaintances of my companion stopped by to greet her, and I mulled over this information while they exchanged pleasantries.
When she turned her attention back to me, I told Anne about my appointment with the lawyers for the following afternoon and why I made it. Her expression turned from inquisitive to approval.
“What a good idea.” As we got to know each other better I was discovering what a positive attitude my new friend had. Her face beamed. “I certainly hope they approve. It would be so much nicer for someone to give Elaine her inheritance from Amelia personally.”
“Is there any chance you would consider coming with me?”
She thought about it. As I expected she shook her head. “ It would be lovely to meet the Barclays, but I don’t think so, Sally. I might change my mind so you can ask me again, but I’m still a little frazzled from taking care of my sister.” She added anxiously, “Will you mind making the trip alone? Maybe you have another friend who would like to go with you?”
I grinned. “I could probably find someone who would keep me company, but if this goes through I think I’ll go by myself. It will probably be a quick trip anyway, a business trip, if you will.”
Our food arrived. The stack of pancakes was amazing, but Anne was undaunted. We both ate contentedly and made small talk about other things. My muffin was warm and tasty and the bacon extra crispy, just the way I like it. Only the egg was disappointing, not cooked enough, and after a couple of bites I pushed it aside. One takes their chances ordering poached eggs.
Should her opinion be asked for, Miss Carey promised me a strong recommendation. After I dropped her off at her front door I filled my water bottle and headed out of town with a five-mile walk in mind. The early afternoon was warm and still. I left my flannel shirt in the car; sure my cotton blouse and jeans would be warm enough. They were. The time went by quickly as I again mentally categorized the information I had accumulated about Amelia Marsh. When I returned to my vehicle I retrieved my purse from the trunk and jotted down a question or two for Mr. Bedeman or Mr. Harmon.
There was a message on my answering machine when I got home. My obstetrical supervisor wanted to know if I could possibly cover for Heather Rasmussen again. She had to take the night off due to a still sick baby. My boss indicated another night off might be a possibility if I could do this.
The protocol mandated an answer to the staffing office rather than the unit where I worked. Putting on an assertive air I told Carol yes, I would come in tonight but only if I could have Friday night off instead. She protested but I was firm. Take it or leave it. They had gotten four extra hours out of me this week already. That gave Carol or someone else in the staffing office three days to cover my scheduled shift. It was already mid-afternoon and if I turned her down Carol’s options were very limited. With some more wailing and gnashing of teeth, she finally agreed. I hung up the phone feeling smug and totally unremorseful. After a number of years of playing the staffing games I must be getting thicker skinned.
Naps for me are usually a waste of time. I just can’t sleep. Instead I curled up on my couch and made tentative plans for the rest of the week. I would be tired by morning, but I could sleep until one and easily make my appointment at the law office. Thursday was my other night to work, and now my next two weekends were free, since my last two shifts of the present schedule were for a Tuesday and a Wednesday. I picked up the phone and called Everett and Judy.