Family Vault Page 2

  “Mr. Kelling,” said the foreman, “would you care to do the honors?”

  “With pleasure.”

  Cousin Dolph picked up the implement, studied it curiously, hefted it once or twice, then brought it down with a mighty wallop. The entire wall gave way. He stumbled forward into a mess of brick and mortar.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Kelling?”

  Pleased with his feat, Dolph brushed away the men who rushed to help him. “I’m fine. Didn’t know my own strength, that’s all. Damn shoddy construction, though, I must say. Good God, what’s that?”

  Ritling crowded in beside him. “Why, it’s—” He rushed off among the gravestones and began to retch.

  The Cemetery Division foreman was clearly disgusted with this weakness. “What’s the matter? Vaults are made to hold bodies, aren’t they? Here, let’s have a better look.”

  He took a butane lighter from his pocket and shot a candle of flame into the cavity. Sarah, wondering what the to-do was about, peered over his shoulder. A gust of beer told her that her new-found friend was right behind.

  She’d been braced for something nasty, but not for what she saw. On the stone floor of the vault, sprawled as if it had been thrust in with no regard for funerary decorum, lay a body. It must have been a woman’s. The flesh was rotted away, but the skeleton was still encased in the moldered remains of an hourglass corset and a crimson skirt. High black boots with frisky red heels held the leg and foot bones together.

  But what had turned Mr. Ritling’s stomach and would haunt all their nightmares forever after were the tiny chips of blood-colored rubies that winked flashes of burning scarlet from between the grinning teeth.

  2

  “CHRIST ON A CRUTCH!” gasped the old man with the breath. “It’s Ruby Redd!”

  “You know her?” Dolph Kelling turned on him like a charging bull. “What’s she doing in our vault?”

  “Dolph, don’t be ridiculous,” Sarah protested. “He didn’t put her there.”

  “That’s right, miss. I won’t say me and Ruby was ever any great buddies, but I’d never of done a thing like this to nobody. So this is where she disappeared to.”

  Suddenly conscious that he had become the center of attention, the old man stepped back, mumbling, “I didn’t mean to butt in.”

  “We’re tremendously grateful that you did,” Sarah urged. “Please don’t go away. Can’t you tell us more about this—Ruby Redd?”

  “She was a—well, she called herself an exotic dancer.”

  Cousin Dolph’s bulgy eyes took on a knowing glint. “My God, I remember Ruby Redd! Jem and I used to drop in at the Old Howard every so often, to watch her strut her stuff. She had a sort of Gold Rush routine, supposed to be a dance hall queen on the Barbary Coast, or some damn thing. Always wore that black corset affair with a pair of knockers bulging out over the top the size of watermelons. Sorry, Sarah, but damn it, you’re a married woman.”

  “All right, Dolph. So that’s why she had those rubies in her teeth? Wasn’t there a real dance hall girl once who did the same thing with diamonds?”

  “Stands to reason she stole the idea from somewheres,” muttered the old man.

  “Why? Was she a thief?”

  “Ruby was a lot of things, but mostly mean. Meanest woman I ever run acrost in all my born days, and that’s sayin’ plenty, though I suppose I shouldn’t be speakin’ ill of the dead. Funny, I can’t seem to take it in that’s Ruby layin’ there. Got to be, though. I lived in Boston all my life, and I ain’t never seen anybody else struttin’ down Washington Street with a grin on her puss like a row of taillights on a wet night.”

  “How long ago did she disappear?” Sarah asked him. “Those plastic boots look like what girls have been wearing within the past few years.”

  “Gosh, I couldn’t say about the boots, but Ruby’s been gone a long time. Maybe ’fifty or ’fifty-one it was. I’d been tendin’ bar at Danny’s for a good many years by then, I do know that. Danny Rate’s Pub that was, right near the Old Howard. I knew the girls, see, because a lot of ’em used to drop in after the show. Nice kids, most of ’em. Snappy dressers, all but that Ruby. She never wore nothin’ but that costume onstage or off, with a ratty old sealskin cape over it in the wintertime. I dunno where she got them boots, some theatrical costume place most likely. You can tell they ain’t real leather, they’d o’ rotted away by now, I should think. Anyways, I wouldn’t of asked and she wouldn’t of told me. Ruby wouldn’t give nobody the time o’ day unless there was a buck in it for her. Besides, I never had much time to stand around chinnin’ we was always busy after the show. I bet I served you guys a few times. Prob’ly conned me with fake I.D. cards, too.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” grunted Dolph Kelling, by no means displeased to be cast as a stereotype of flaming youth. “So now we know who she is, what do we do with her? This vault’s got to be cleared out pronto.”

  “We’ll have to call the police,” said Sarah.

  “What for, damn it?” He turned to the man from the Cemetery Division. “Can’t you just open one of the other vaults and shove her in there?”

  “Not on your life, Mr. Kelling. Nobody’s going to convince me this Ruby Redd walled herself up in here and committed suicide. There’s no statute of limitation on murder, and I’m not sticking my neck out. As you said, this is your family vault, so that makes her your responsibility.”

  Pleased with himself, the man backed away and fished in his pocket for a smoke. Dolph tackled the other official.

  “Well, you’re in charge here. Do what you have to and make it snappy.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Kelling. As Ralph so properly pointed out, the contents of the vault belong to you. I think this young lady’s suggestion that you call the police would be your wisest course of action.”

  “Oh, the hell with it! Sarah, since you’re so determined to turn this unfortunate incident into a public scandal, go phone Station One. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Unexpectedly, Mr. Ritling caught Sarah’s eye and winked. “Shall I go, Mrs. Kelling?”

  “No,” she replied demurely, “why don’t you stay and take notes? After all, we are adding another chapter to the family history. Try to think of it that way, Dolph. Oh, and I’m afraid somebody will have to lend me a dime for the telephone. I came away without any money.”

  “I got a dime.”

  The old man who had mixed drinks for Ruby Redd came to the fore again, taking Sarah’s arm and steering her among the gravestones. She was touched by his gallantry. This was probably the most excitement he’d had since Danny Rate’s Pub went the way of urban renewal.

  Behind them, the foreman slammed shut the tall iron gates. The man should have thought of that sooner, Sarah could hear Cousin Dolph telling him so. She’d never before realized Dolph was quite such a pompous jackass.

  As events turned out, she didn’t need the old bartender’s dime. They were heading for the phone booths near the subway entrance when a police car pulled up at the stoplight. Its driver held up traffic to hear their story, made a highly illegal U-turn, and pulled up on the sidewalk close to the ornamental palings. Sarah led the officer over to the vault. It wasn’t until the policeman was trying to take down the particulars of the grisly find with Dolph Kelling, the foreman, Mr. Ritling, and the man from Parks and Recreation all talking at once that she realized her self-appointed escort had quietly melted away.

  She didn’t blame the old man for leaving. If she’d had any sense, she’d have gone with him. It was rude, silly, and entirely typical of Adolphus Kelling to make her do the dirty work. He’d go gassing around at the funeral, no doubt, about how he’d tried to hush things up for the sake of the family, but young Sarah had insisted for some ill-judged reason on getting them embroiled in a three-ring circus.

  Sarah realized that she honestly didn’t care what the family thought of her, and that, in fact, it was some time since she’d quit caring. This new feeling of detachment could not have
come at a better time, since it helped her to get through what turned out to be an extremely sticky day.

  Adolphus Kelling had obviously assumed that they need only tell their story for the bedizened skeleton to be whisked away to some discreet hiding place and the vault got ready for its part in the scheduled obsequies. He could not have been more wrong.

  After an enthralled examination of the ruby-studded corpse, the young officer got on his car radio to notify headquarters of this fascinating break in the monotonous round of muggings, traffic accidents, armed holdups, and drunken brawls. From then on, pandemonium was let loose. Crowds pressed against the wrought-iron fence. Television cameramen struggled for angle shots of the glittering skull and were shooed away by lieutenants of Homicide trying to determine how Ruby Redd got to be Ruby dead. Reporters pestered for statements. Sarah, brought up to be courteous, was politely answering questions when she became aware that microphones were being poked at her face.

  “Why did your Great-uncle Frederick want to be buried here, Mrs. Kelling?”

  “I’m sure my cousin could answer that better than I,” she hedged. “I expect you might say it’s because he had a strong sense of history. Don’t you agree, Dolph?”

  “Yes. Well put, Sarah. A strong sense of history. The Kellings have always had a strong sense of history.”

  Dolph was off and running. Sarah managed to slip away from the newshounds and check on what was happening at the vault. Somebody had asked why she thought the Kelling vault had been selected as the hiding place, and she’d said she had no idea. It wasn’t the biggest or the best-hidden from the street. It wasn’t the easiest to get at, being close to the church and far from the gate. She supposed it just happened to be the one somebody was able to open. No, the caretaker hadn’t had any particular difficulty unlocking the door. Yes, those primitive old locks would probably be simple enough to jimmy if one knew how. She wouldn’t have the faintest idea, herself. One would have to ask—she’d stopped herself just in time from saying, “my husband.” This was not the time or place to advertise that Alexander had also taken a course in locksmithing.

  The Homicide people worked as meticulously as archaeologists, photographing the skeleton from various angles, packing up as much of the moldering costume as they could salvage, making especially sure not to overlook any ruby chips that might have fallen out of the teeth. It was a long time before they completed their task. Sarah was chilled to the bone, half-starved, and desperate for a ladies’ room before the police showed any inclination to let the Kellings go on with their personal business.

  “This old man who said he knew the woman,” somebody asked her for about the sixth time, “where did you say he went?”

  “I didn’t say because I don’t know,” she replied somewhat waspishly. “He was with me when I went out to call for help, and he wasn’t when I got back. I don’t remember seeing him go off because I was talking to the policeman.”

  “How long was he here?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. He was in the cemetery when I got here, that’s all I can say.”

  “Did he say why he was in the cemetery?”

  “Oh, I doubt if he had any particular reason…”

  “How did you happen to start a conversation with him?”

  “As I recall, he made some remark about the weather, then asked me if I was a tourist. I thought he might be hoping to get a tip for showing me around, so I explained about having to meet my cousin. Then we chatted a bit, to kill the time. I’d got the impression my cousin wanted me to meet him right away, but as it turned out, I had quite a wait because he stopped to do some other business first.”

  Dolph had taken it for granted, of course, that Alex’s wife had nothing better to do than hang around a chilly graveyard waiting on his convenience.

  “Did this old guy know the vault was going to be opened?”

  “Not until I told him, if that’s what you mean. Even then, I’m not sure he grasped what it was all about. He kept asking me whom we were going to dig up. I didn’t know what was happening myself, until my cousin phoned this morning, and I don’t believe he did, either, till shortly before he called us.”

  The man from Homicide turned to Dolph. “Is that right, Mr. Kelling?”

  “It is correct,” Dolph replied sourly. “As to whether it’s right, I leave you to decide. I’d naturally assumed Uncle Fred would want to be buried at Mount Auburn with the rest of us. I made all the arrangements, put the notice in the papers, called the relatives, went over to see Uncle Fred’s lawyers first thing this morning, and got hit straight between the eyes with this outrageous codicil. That gave me roughly twenty-four hours to undo everything I’d done and do it over, and now this infernal trollop has to get herself planted in our vault! Hardly seems decent to go on with it now.”

  Dolph sputtered awhile longer, then sighed, “Well, it’s what Uncle Fred wanted, so I suppose we’ll have to go ahead with it come hell or high water. Haul away the bricks and sweep up the rubies, eh? Gad, what a situation! Sarah, do you think Alex is back yet?”

  “No, I don’t,” she replied, “and there’s not a thing he could do if he were. Officer, if you don’t need us any more, could we please get on with what we came to do?”

  “I guess so.”

  The police lieutenant gave Sarah a remarkably human smile which, for some reason, made her want to burst into tears. “You folks go ahead with your funeral. We’ll see that everything’s in order for tomorrow. Right, Ralph?”

  “Right,” sighed the foreman. “Mind if I grab a bite to eat first?”

  Adolphus Kelling brightened. “Now, there’s an excellent idea. Come on, Sarah, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Though a bore and a bully, Dolph was no mingy host. Fortified with two cocktails and a great deal of excellent food, Sarah decided she didn’t particularly mind going back with him to the cemetery.

  Spectators were still clustered around the fence, but there wasn’t much to see. The door of the vault was closed and one of Ralph’s helpers was carrying away the last of the bricks in a wheelbarrow. The policeman on guard told Sarah and her cousin they couldn’t go in.

  “But I’m Adolphus Kelling, blast it! That’s my vault.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Kelling.”

  “Come on, Dolph,” Sarah coaxed. “We have to see the minister anyway, and he’ll probably let us go out through the church. Anyway, it looks as though they’re doing what they said they would.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Dolph snorted. However, he had sense enough not to pick a fight with the law. There were still the minister and the organist to hector.

  While her cousin spent upward of an hour discussing a service that was going to take perhaps twelve minutes from start to finish, Sarah rested in the family pew, trying to draw strength from the lovely old sanctuary and wondering how she was going to cope with the multitudes tomorrow afternoon. She ought to be shopping or cleaning or at least letting her own family know about the bizarre discovery in the vault. Nevertheless, she stayed until Dolph had got things squared away to his and presumably Uncle Fred’s satisfaction. By the time they went out it was almost dark.

  “Dolph,” she said, I’ll have to leave you now. Alexander must have got home ages ago. He’ll be wondering where I am.”

  “Alex? Forgot about him. Managed pretty well by myself after all, didn’t I? Maybe we’d better just take one last look at that vault. Don’t want any more chorus girls slipping in unbeknownst, eh? Come on back, we’ll get the Rev to open the side door for us.”

  Reluctantly, Sarah obeyed. The minister, kind as ever though no doubt wishing by now that he were burying the whole Kelling tribe, led them through the vestry and out to the ancient burying ground.

  “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order,” he said hopefully.

  They did, except for one brick that had somehow got left behind. Dolph picked it up and began to fume.

  “Oh, stop fussing and give it to me,” Sarah told him. “
I’ll drop it in a trash basket on my way home.”

  It was rather a nice little brick, actually, small enough to fit inside her leather shoulder bag. She dropped it in, thanked the minister, took grateful leave of Cousin Dolph, and started across the hill toward Tulip Street.

  3

  ALEXANDER HAD THE FRONT door open before she was halfway up the steps. “Sarah, I’ve been watching out the window for you. Where have you been?”

  “With Cousin Dolph. He called right after you left for the hospital.”

  “In a flap about Uncle Fred’s funeral, I suppose. Too bad he wasted your whole day. Harry’s home, and they want us for dinner.”

  “Oh, dear!” If there was anything Sarah didn’t need at this point, it was one of the Lackridges’ spur-of-the-moment dinner parties. “Alexander, the most utterly incredible thing happened!”

  “Tell me later. You’ve about five minutes to change.”

  Furious, she rushed up the stairs to the third floor, the brick she’d forgotten to take out of her handbag thumping against her hip at every step. Trust Alexander to put Harry Lackridge before anyone else. He was wearing his dinner jacket, not because the occasion was going to be all that elegant, but because he’d been forced to buy one ages ago for some function or other and felt duty bound to get his money’s worth out of the investment. It would hardly do for his wife to appear at his side in a ratty plaid skirt and stretched-out oatmeal-colored pullover.

  At least she’d be going fed this time, which was a blessing. She was going warm too. Knowing Leila Lackridge’s disdain for creature comforts, Sarah had devised herself a garment especially for these affairs, long-sleeved, long skirted, cut simply as a paper doll’s dress from thick, soft blanket material in a blue the exact shade of Alexander’s eyes. She needed something more dramatic to set it off than her grandmother’s amethyst brooch and the little string of pearls Alexander had given her when they were married, but those were all she had, so she put them on.