The Recycled Citizen Page 6

  “It was on a form he said he got at a stationery store,” said Joan. “Only he hadn’t signed it, see. He told us he was supposed to sign first with us two watching him. Then we had to sign underneath, to prove it was really him that signed it. He said that was what made the will legal.” She shrugged. “So we did. Why not? It wasn’t going to hurt anybody.”

  “Mr. Arthur followed the correct procedure,” said Sarah. “Did he show you what he’d put down in the will?”

  “No, just the printed part about him being of sound mind,” said Joan.

  “What the hey, Chet was no nuttier than the rest of us, as far as we know,” Annie added. “Like about them buildings falling down in the Back Bay. I almost got clobbered myself once, back when the windows were falling out of the Hancock Tower. They had to keep the sidewalk roped off for I don’t know how long. You can see where Chet got the idea the whole place might go. He used to be in some kind of construction himself, wasn’t he, Joanie? Maybe he knew something we didn’t.”

  “I thought he’d been a foreman at the Navy Yard.”

  “Did he tell you that himself, Joan?” Sarah asked.

  “Gosh, Mrs. Bittersohn, I don’t know if it was Chet or somebody else that told me. Or maybe one of the guys said they used to see him over in Southie and just assumed he worked at the yard. There’s always a lot of talk around the center, people shooting their mouths off, and half the time they’re talking through their hats just to have something to say. Me included, I suppose.”

  “I just wish I knew if Chet was talking through his hat about that will.” Annie was casually tucking sugar packets into her bag as she spoke. “I asked him how come he bothered, and he said everybody ought to make a will. So I kind of kidded around a little about who was he leaving his millions to, but he just clammed up. All he said was he couldn’t talk about it or it wouldn’t be legal. I don’t know if he was giving us the business or what. Do you, Joanie?”

  “I sure don’t, kiddo. I never knew anybody before who made a will. I never knew anybody who had anything to leave. Did they find it, Mrs. Kelling?”

  Mary glanced at Sarah, got a nod and replied cautiously, “I believe my husband has some papers Chet left, but I can’t give you the particulars. I expect we’ll all hear sooner or later, if there’s anything to tell. Well, girls, I’m afraid I’d better get back to the center before Osmond Loveday puts a black mark on my card for loafing on the job.”

  Annie and Joan took the hint and made their goodbyes.

  “What are you going to do, Sarah?”

  “I’m going straight home and give my child a nap. Why don’t you and Dolph stop over later? We have lots to talk about, don’t you think?”

  “Looks that way, doesn’t it? Perhaps we will, but not to eat. Genevieve’s making Dolph a boiled dinner.”

  Sarah shuddered and turned away. She really did want to lie down. Nobody had told her how badly a pregnant woman’s feet could swell. Of course not all pregnant women spent the day traipsing from one side of Boston to the other. She was tempted to take a taxi back to Tulip Street, but the Puritan ethic proved too much for her and she walked.

  A couple of hours later Max found her on the sofa with her shoes off and her eyes closed. He knelt and scooped her into his arms. “Feeling all right, sweetheart?”

  “Just resting.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his face down for a kiss. “Mm, that was lovely. Oh, I meant to call Brooks and Theonia. I’ve asked Mary and Dolph to come for a drink. What time is it?”

  “Quarter to five.”

  “Then I’d better stir my stumps, if I have any left. Give Theonia a ring, will you, and see if they’d like to pop over for a little while. I’ll get the ice out.”

  “Shall I call Jem too?”

  “If he’s free.”

  Sarah wormed her way into the undersized apartment kitchen to begin cutting cheese and setting out glasses. It was going to be heavenly having a kitchen she could move around in and she’d enjoy having Max’s people closer, but she was going to miss the daily contacts with her own relatives. And what should she do about the house next door?

  She’d given Brooks and Theonia the job of managing the boardinghouse when they got married a while back, not because she’d cared about keeping it going but because they’d needed a place to live. Theonia hadn’t a cent and Brooks’s little trust fund couldn’t have supported them in any kind of comfort. But Brooks wasn’t hard up any more. He’d inherited Uncle Lucifer’s coin collection and Christie’s was making him pots of money auctioning it off.

  Suppose she converted the house back to a private dwelling, would Brooks and Theonia like to stay on and share the expenses? Mariposa the maid and Charles the butler, who’d been such props and mainstays during these hectic years, could have the basement rooms for as long as they wanted them. The top-floor rooms would be reserved for however many Bittersohns and Kellings might need an in-town pied à terre in the years to come.

  As she was arranging the drinks tray, Max came back to report. “Jem and Theonia will be along. Brooks is going to hold the fort next door. Shall I set this tray in the living room?”

  “Please. How was your meeting with Mr. Redfern?”

  “In a word, dull. Did you get anywhere with Annie and Joan?”

  “I think so. They did sign the will and they did witness Chet Arthur’s signing, but he wouldn’t let them see the provisions. They confirm what Mary said, that Chet Arthur had a phobia about the Back Bay, and they thought it odd that his body was found where it was. Annie supplied a new bit of information, for what it’s worth, that Chet used to hang around the Broken Zipper sometimes. That’s over in the Combat Zone, isn’t it? Mary said it was an awful section. Annie used to work there. She says they have topless waitresses.”

  “Was she one?”

  “No, she claims to have been a victim of mammarian emancipation, but I rather doubt it. Annie must be well over seventy, from the look of her. She’s rather fun, I thought. So is Joan, and they’re both longing desperately for a decent place to live. You know, Max, I do think this warehouse project of Dolph’s and Mary’s is a marvelous idea. I want to help all I can on their fund drive. You won’t mind, will you?”

  “Of course not, so long as you don’t wear yourself out. Oops, there’s the bell. That must be Theonia.”

  For once Max was in error. It was Dolph and Mary. “We snuck out a little bit early,” Mary explained. “Osmond Loveday offered to stay on through the supper hour, much to our surprise. We haven’t had much time to think about it, but he’s all excited about the benefit auction, and he’s going to update his mailing list of the haute monde for us,” she added with a wicked grin.

  “Count on Loveday to know whose pockets to pick,” Dolph grunted. “You talked to Sarah about the will yet, Max?”

  “I haven’t had time. I just got home myself. What are you drinking?”

  Mary wanted a little bourbon and water and lots of ice. Dolph said Scotch and ice and damn the water. As Max was fixing their drinks Theonia rustled in wearing her new black taffeta with the Merry Widow flounce and said she’d like sherry because theirs was so much nicer than the boardinghouse’s, which came out of gallon jugs at about ten cents a drink. At last Jem chugged down the hill and up the stairs, and the party was on.

  Chapter

  7

  SARAH SIPPED AT THE glass of fizzy grape juice she was trying to pretend was champagne so that she wouldn’t have to listen to another of Uncle Jem’s lectures on the perils of teetotalism; and let them all chat until Max finished fixing the drinks. Then she called the meeting to order.

  “Max, why don’t you fill everybody in on what’s been happening?”

  “God, you sound like your Aunt Caroline at the Beacon Hill Uplift Society,” Jem cackled.

  Dolph said, “Shut up, you old reprobate,” and Max began his report.

  “Most of you know about Chet Arthur’s will already, so I’ll be quick about that.” He was. “So Dolph a
nd I took the papers over to Redfern this afternoon. He says the circumstances are somewhat unusual—”

  “Old poop,” Jem growled.

  “But that the will itself appears to be perfectly legal and should be filed for probate according to the usual procedure. He believes that unless some relative comes out of the woodwork and tries to contest it, Mary should get her forty thousand without a hitch.”

  “Less expenses,” Dolph modified.

  “But what if it does get contested?” asked Jem. “Would those two witnesses hold up in court?”

  “I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” said Sarah. “They struck me as responsible women. Don’t you think so, Mary?”

  “Absolutely. Their work records at the center are excellent and we’ve got Osmond Loveday’s cute little file cards to prove it. Don’t you fret yourselves about Joan and Annie.”

  “What’s their story on the signing of the will?” Jem insisted.

  Sarah repeated the women’s words pretty much verbatim, with a few assists from Mary.

  “So you see, there can’t be any question of Chet Arthur’s intent. He knew what he was doing and he was anxious to do it right. He was wrong about its being illegal for the witnesses to read the will, of course, but I expect he only said that to discourage Joan and Annie without hurting their feelings. Don’t you, Mary?”

  “Oh yes. He wouldn’t want them to know he had money for fear they’d spread the word and somebody would try to rob him. Gosh, do you think it did get around and some skunk took the notion he carried his savings with him? Anyway, I don’t see that it matters if Joan and Annie didn’t see the whole will.”

  “Not a bit,” Dolph assured her. “They only had to testify that Chet signed the will in their presence, which he did. Redfern’s going to file right away. He did natter a bit about telling the police but I told him we would when we were damn good and ready.”

  “You’re taking an awful risk, though, you and Max.”

  “And we’re all accessories,” said Jem cheerfully. “Not that I personally give a hoot.”

  Theonia said she didn’t give one, either. Dolph snorted.

  “What risk? Be sensible, Mary. We can’t even guarantee that bag belonged to Chet. I got a thousand of them, all alike, and at least half are gone already, God knows where. The police had the bag before they turned it over to us. They didn’t find any heroin in it, so why should they think we did? If it was in fact Chet’s bag, did he know the dope was in it? And what if he did? Suppose he bought a dose from some street peddler just to see what it was like? What are the police supposed to do about that, haul his body out of the coffin and ship it off to a methadone clinic? You didn’t tell that chemist where you found the heroin, Max?”

  “No, I only said I’d run across it in a case I’m working on and wanted to find out what it was.”

  Dolph gave his wife a satisfied nod. “There you are, dear, nothing to worry about. Hell, I’ve run risks a darn sight more hazardous than this one.”

  Jem sneered. “Like what, for instance?”

  “Like the time Uncle Fred took a notion to reform the girls at Madame Jolene’s Palais de Joie. Osmond Loveday damn near had a heart attack over that one. Jolene took umbrage in a big way, and Jolene had connections. Before she was through, she’d come within a hair of getting both Uncle Fred and me jailed on a charge of moral turpitude. I beat that rap, and I’ll beat this one if I have to. My head is bloody but unbowed, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Really?” said Jem. “I’m always so put off by the disgusting general effect that I never notice the details. Bloody but unbowed, you say?”

  While Dolph was trying to think of a sufficiently crushing comeback, Theonia defused the situation. “I have always felt strongly that dear Dolph is the master of his fate and the captain of his soul. Jem, surely you must agree to that?”

  Under duress Jem agreed. The captain of his soul cleared his throat and took charge of the quarterdeck.

  “So as far as I’m concerned, it’s a case of damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Redfern says we’re better off not publicizing the will, except for the mandatory announcement of probate; but that won’t hinder us from starting our fund drive, and the sooner the better. Mary wants one section open by Christmas, if it’s humanly possible.”

  “If we don’t, we may find we’ve lost some of our members by Easter.” Mary sighed. “The shelters get filled up so fast, and there are so few rentals available at prices our members can afford. Half of them wind up sleeping in the bus terminals. How soon do you think we can hold our auction, Sarah?”

  “How soon do you want it?”

  “I’d say tomorrow if I could, but I know it’s impossible. I don’t know anything about arranging those swell affairs. What’ll it be, next month sometime?”

  “How about Saturday night?”

  Mary gasped. “This coming Saturday? Are you serious?”

  “I don’t see why not. We’ll call it a secret surprise auction. Goodness knows the patrons will be surprised enough when they see some of that stuff we’re going to sell. I’ll hand-letter an invitation tonight, take it to one of those instant copying places first thing in the morning, and we can have them in the mail tomorrow night if Mr. Loveday has his list together and Theonia will help with the addressing. Uncle Jem, you’ll be auctioneer. I can’t think who could do a better job.”

  “Neither can I,” said Jeremy Kelling, “but I’m supposed to be dining with the Whets Saturday night.”

  “Tell them it’s an emergency situation and that they’re to bring their guests and come along. We’ll serve wine and things. Dolph, you still have all those crates of champagne Great-uncle Frederick ordered for that victory celebration he never got to hold back in 1978 because his candidate lost. It ought to be drunk up, anyway; champagne doesn’t keep long. Theonia, has Mariposa any relatives we can hire to be waiters and runners?”

  “My dear, we shan’t have to hire anyone. Charles knows scads of out-of-work young actors and actresses who’ll be thrilled to do it for a free meal and a chance to mingle with the right people. It would be divine if they could all come in costume.”

  “There are lots of old clothes in the attic,” said Mary. “Gay nineties, roaring twenties, all that stuff the hand-me-down boutiques are peddling nowadays. We could have the actors put on a fashion show and auction off the clothes.”

  “That’s a marvelous idea.” Sarah got up to fetch paper and pencil. “I’ll make a list, like Aunt Emma. And I’ll phone her this evening and tell her to come and bring her orchestra.”

  Emma Kelling did in fact have her own band of musicians. Among the Kellings this was not considered unusual.

  “If I know Aunt Emma, she’ll charter a bus and bring all her friends. That would be lovely.”

  “Provided she leaves Mabel home and doesn’t expect us to pay for the bus,” Dolph grunted.

  “Of course Aunt Emma wouldn’t ask you to pay,” Sarah retorted. “When has she ever? And I’m sure she’ll have the presence of mind to tell Cousin Mabel everybody’s expected to spend wads of money and give a large donation besides. You know Mabel, that will keep her away if anything would. Isn’t it lucky Great-uncle Frederick never went ahead with that notion of his to turn your ballroom into an indoor skating rink? That will be the perfect place to hold the auction. Is the room in usable condition, I hope?”

  “It’s clean and empty, if that’s what you mean,” said Mary. “Nobody ever goes in there except to brush down the cobwebs. I don’t think it’s been used much since Dolph’s Aunt Matilda gave up fencing.”

  “That was after she speared Uncle Samuel straight through the brisket,” Dolph reminisced fondly. “Remember, Jem? You and I were hiding behind the draperies and made the mistake of yelling touché! Uncle Fred thrashed us both with that rattan flyswatter he brought back from Tierra del Fuego.”

  “Who cared?” said Jem. “It was worth every welt. Ah, the golden memories of a misspent childhood.”


  “You did a damn sight more misspending than I ever got a chance to. All right, Sarah, have it your own way. I daresay if we spread the word around and send out plenty of invitations, we’ll get enough customers to make the evening worthwhile, even if it is awfully short notice. Do we have to ask Appie?”

  “Why not? She’s wallowing in money, and I can’t think who else would be likely to buy those seaweed mottoes.”

  “Darling Sarah,” cooed Theonia, “always so ready to see the best in everyone. I shall be delighted to help with the addressing. Shall I also make myself responsible for the decorations and the buffet? Perhaps I might also choose the costumes for the models and plan the fashion show. Brooks would love to pitch in, too, I’m sure. He can arrange the merchandise for the auction and set up the chairs.”

  “I’ll send Egbert to help,” said Jem, nobly making his ultimate sacrifice for the cause.

  “You will not,” said Mary. “We’ve got Genevieve and Henrietta to clean the house and fix the food. Once we get some kind of idea how many chairs we’re going to need, we’ll call the rental place and get their men to set them up. Theonia, you can do some flower arrangements and help me hostess on the night and pick out the clothes for the fashion show if you want. We can get plenty of people from the center to lend a hand. Harry Burr would, I know.”

  “Is he that nice-looking man who was reading the church magazine?” Sarah asked her. “I noticed him at the center.”

  “Must have been. I can’t think who else would. And that sidekick of his.”

  “Billy Joe McAllister?” Dolph shook his head. “I wouldn’t trust that bird within two hundred feet of a bottle.”

  “Who said anything about bottles? Billy Joe can lug the knickknacks downstairs, can’t he?”

  “I don’t know that I’d trust him with a knickknack, either, not if he thought he could pawn it for the price of a drink. What about that new feller, Ted Ashe? He looks husky enough.”

  “What you can see of him for dirt,” Mary sniffed. “Ted would be fine if you could get him to take a bath first. We do have a shower at the center,” Mary explained to the others, “but some of the members don’t seem to have any clear idea what it’s for.”