Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

Myrtle’s body arrived at South Georgia Medical Center’s emergency room. A doctor moved the sheet from Myrtle’s face, checked again for a pulse, shook his head and said to the EMTs, “Morgue.”

  Ninety minutes later Wayne McKenzie’s body arrived and the doctor repeated his routine.

  Allen Ridley received word within ten minutes of the accident. One of Myrtle’s neighbors called Allen and told him his mother was in an accident and he should go to the hospital. Allen acted uninterested.

  “Okay. Thanks,” he said.

  She sensed Allen’s lack of concern. In desperation, she shouted to him, “You need to go, Allen, you need to go now!”

  Allen showed up at the hospital an hour after his mother’s accident. He stumbled around the emergency room trying to find someone to give him information until a nurse recognized him and asked him to step into an examination room.

  A few seconds later the emergency room doctor entered and gave Allen the bad news. “I’m sorry Mr. Ridley. She was dead when she arrived here. There was nothing we could do.” The doctor explained the nature of the accident. Allen was surprised to hear she was out walking.

  Allen nodded his head as the doctor spoke. Allen tried to comprehend everything. In the distance, he could hear the doctor asking, “Mr. Ridley, where should we send the remains?”

  “Call Burke’s please,” Allen said.

  The doctor left Allen alone. Allen sat on the edge of the bed in the exam room. An evil smile crossed his face.

  I am the last Ridley standing.

  It was good to be alone. He had hated his mom, and he was sure she had hated him.

  Oh, she put on a good show but she hated me, the meddling old witch. She never forgave me for Dottie. She was all that mattered to you, right mom? Well, you are gone and everything is mine, all mine!

  Burke’s Funeral Services came and received Mrs. Ridley’s remains from the hospital. Roger Burke was a friend of the family and had been a high school classmate of Allen Ridley. Burke’s father and Harvey Ridley had been great friends and golfing buddies. Roger Burke attended the same church as the Ridleys.

  When the call came in that Mrs. Ridley was dead, Roger rushed to the funeral home. He wanted to be there for Allen, to offer sympathy and support and to help him plan the funeral arrangements.

  Roger stood as Allen entered the funeral home. He said the obligatory, “I am sorry for your loss Allen.” He gave him a hug which Allen returned even weaker.

  Roger was about to begin when Allen spoke up, “Roger, I just want to keep it simple, graveside service—Friday at 10 AM, no visitation.”

  He wanted to object. The whole community loved Myrtle and “no visitation” deprived her friends of a proper goodbye. In Valdosta, funerals were an important social function. “Okay Allen,” he said. “Let’s go select a casket.”

  I don’t care. Wrap her in a sheet and throw her in a hole.

  “No,” Allen said. “Just use the same thing you used for dad.”

  Roger frowned. The funeral arrangements troubled him. It was his duty, his job, to offer closure for Myrtle’s friends as well as Allen. But Allen was paying the bill.

  “Allen, since there will not be a visitation, would you mind if I put a registry book in our lobby? I know her friends would like to come and sign the book to offer their condolences,” Roger said.

  “Okay, that’s fine.” Allen stood to walk out.

  “One last thing, the obituary?”

  “You knew her, you write it.”

  Allen turned and left. He did not bother to thank Roger or shake his hand.

  Allen walked to his car and called Marie—no answer, voicemail. “Marie, Allen here. My mother passed away this afternoon. Please tell the employees. Close the business and reopen Monday, a black wreath on the door and all that. Please cancel my appointments. Thanks.”

  * * *

  Allen wasted no time in driving to his mother’s house. A buzzard to carrion, he arrived in record time. He parked his car in the drive. Allen fished around on his key ring and located the key to the back door. It was dark outside—inside the house, even darker. A flick of a wall switch bathed the house’s kitchen with light.

  A white van parked near the end of the Ridley’s drive had followed Allen’s here.

  Allen left the kitchen and entered the den. This was the house where he spent his teenage years. His mother had not yet put out the Christmas decorations. Allen walked over to the fireplace mantle, a wide, thick, solid piece of wood which ran the full length of the wall over a massive stone fireplace. Family photos loaded the mantle, Harvey, Myrtle, and Allen in various places and poses.

  No pictures of Dottie, those pictures were at the lake house, his mother’s private refuge. Behind a locked door upstairs was the only remembrance of Dottie—her room. A room not opened or changed since the day Dottie died.

  Allen stood in the house of his dead parents as the day of Dottie’s death and the years living with his mother’s shame replayed in his mind. He tossed aside the bad memories and returned his focus to his task, find Myrtle’s will.

  I’ll bury you and settle the estate. After that, I’m stripping Dottie’s bedroom and having a bonfire in the backyard. Then the lake house and the same—burn everything of Dottie’s.

  Allen planned a methodical search for the will. First, his father’s study, move to his mother’s sewing room and then the bedrooms.

  Allen went to the kitchen, pulled a glass from the cabinet. Myrtle and Harvey were not big drinkers, but he found a bottle of cheap vodka hiding in the food pantry behind the canned vegetables. Allen filled the glass with ice from the refrigerator door and poured the glass half full of vodka. Allen finished filling it with orange juice and took a big swallow.

  Let the games begin.

  Walking out of the kitchen he stopped and studied his mother’s appointment calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. His eyes stopped on a calendar entry that made him take another sip of his drink. An entry for Tuesday of the current week: “Steven Pruett’s office—10 AM—sign will”.

  Maybe the old bat discovered an extra penny to leave me. It will be fun to find the new one and see what she’s changed.

  Allen was confident his mother’s will was a carbon copy of his father’s will with one exception—Myrtle would leave everything to him now.

  He entered the study. Allen went to his father’s desk and opened drawers. Allen guessed that his mom used Harvey’s desk after he died and his theory was correct. His mom’s checkbook sat on the desk. He went through the checkbook but paid little attention to the stubs.

  Show me the balance!

  After scanning the checkbook, he checked every drawer in his father’s antique desk. A few old deeds, patent papers, a notebook of his father’s scribbling about the company, a few letters, but no will.

  Still determined, he walked into the sewing room and rifled through the drawers there with no success. He moved to the master bedroom—failure. Allen spent another three hours looking in closets and drawers—no will. He stopped searching. He laughed at his impatience. Allen made another drink on his way out, closed the lights and locked the door.

  * * *

  Martha and Marie entered Seiffert’s kitchen at seven-thirty on Thursday morning. Martha slammed the back door so hard the dishes in the cabinets chattered. Seiffert was eating corn flakes as they entered. They stood in front of Seiffert with their arms folded, both had scowls on their faces.

  “To what do I owe this…um…pleasure?” he asked.

  Martha spoke first. “You killed her, you old coot.” Martha spat the words at him.

  Marie was friendlier. “Did you kill her uncle? We want an answer.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “You know damn well who,” said Martha. “Myrtle Ridley. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  “I didn’t kill her. I heard she was in a terrible accident,” said Seiffert, a hint of a smile on his face.

  “No. You didn’t kill her, but one of your p
atients did and you arranged it. You might as well admit it,” said Martha.

  “Is this true Uncle?” asked Marie. “Please tell us the truth.”

  Seiffert looked at Marie, then Martha.

  “It’s true. Mrs. Ridley had to die.”

  “Why Uncle? Why did she have to die?”

  Seiffert waited. Martha lifted a chair. “Why?” she shouted.

  Marie jumped as Martha hammered the chair on the floor, Seiffert did not flinch.

  “It was necessary. I had Harvey Ridley killed too.”

  Martha opened her mouth to speak, but Marie held up her hand. “Uncle, we agreed to support you in your punishment of Allen Ridley. Allen must pay for your grief, and our pain, but we never agreed to include innocents like Myrtle or Harvey Ridley. Why was it necessary?”

  “Harvey and Myrtle Ridley were as much to blame as Allen,” Seiffert said.

  “And how do you figure that?” asked Martha, she was shaking and gritting her teeth.

  “It’s simple. If they had done the right thing when Allen killed his sister and told the police, had him put away. Imagine, Allison and Lorna, still with us—no grief, no sadness,” Seiffert said.

  “And Mr. McKenzie? How do you justify his death?” asked Martha.

  Seiffert glared at Martha. “I will use who I want to avenge their deaths. I shall fill graveyards with people to make Allen Ridley pay and I don’t have to justify this to you or anyone.”

  “You are pathetic,” Martha said. “I won’t be in the office today. Maybe not for a while. I need to go somewhere and pray, pray for your soul and pray for mine for being involved in this mess. You’ve got one appointment today, the fat man. You can handle him alone. I will see you at Thanksgiving and only because I love Marie and Patrick. You can rot in hell old man.” Martha turned and left the apartment.

  Seiffert sighed. “And you Marie?” he asked. “Do you agree with Martha?”

  “I understand most of your reasons even though I don’t condone them. I love you Uncle and I always will, regardless of your actions.” Marie kissed her uncle on the head. “Ridley’s is closed today if you need help in the office. Don’t fret over Martha, she’ll come around.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Thanksgiving feasts and near-freezing temperatures welcomed the last days of November.

  Seiffert, Marie, Patrick, and Martha met in Lewis Seiffert’s apartment for a delicious Thanksgiving dinner which Martha and Marie had been preparing for hours. Martha still refused to speak to Seiffert.

  Dwain was still in Vietnam but after dinner they all gathered around Seiffert’s office computer to give Dwain a video call. During the call, Seiffert told Dwain that it was time for him to come home. Dwain pretended to welcome the news and told his uncle he had “goodbyes to make” before he came back. Everyone laughed, they understood what he meant. He planned to be back on the first of December and Marie volunteered to meet him at the airport.

  Jimmy Miller came back from Atlanta and spent Thanksgiving alone. Seiffert invited him to dinner, but Jimmy refused. When he returned from Atlanta, he accepted Seiffert’s offer and moved into a well-decorated, two-bedroom, two-bath, furnished apartment on the fifth floor. Jimmy was alone, but he didn’t mind, he enjoyed living alone.

  He missed China, he had many friends there and a purpose there. But here, in this apartment, he was alone—and waiting—for what he was not sure.

  Allen Ridley spent his Thanksgiving alone too. Since his mother died his life followed a habitual routine of going to the office and coming home. Patrick’s surveillance team had nothing to report. Allen made no new trips to the seedy, south side of town.

  * * *

  Dwain Seiffert arrived in Valdosta on December first. Marie met him at the Valdosta airport in the mid-afternoon. They hugged and exchanged small talk. She told him Seiffert expected them at his house for dinner. Dwain had expected this when he had made his travel arrangements. He allowed himself two extra days in Atlanta to rest and get over his jet lag before continuing on to Valdosta.

  That night, in Seiffert’s apartment, there was a great homecoming. Seiffert was happy his family was together again under one roof. Dwain’s return made Martha smile, the first time since her argument with Seiffert. She prepared a feast and Dwain ate like a man returning from a twenty-year stay on a deserted island.

  Martha laughed out loud as she watched him eat. “Lord, Dwain, don’t them people over there have anythin’ to eat? You are eatin’ like it’s your last meal. We’re glad to have you home but leave a little for the rest of us!”

  Everyone laughed. Dwain laughed loudest and reached across the table for another biscuit. These biscuits were the big fluffy, buttermilk biscuits that Martha called “catheads.”

  After the laughter had faded, Lewis Seiffert stood, raised a glass of wine and said. “I’m glad we are all together once again. I beg for your patience for a few more months to finish this whole nasty business. We will finish, but we will never forget. We will always remember.”

  With that everyone raised their glass in a toast. Seiffert then turned and lifted a glass to two photos on the wall—a picture of a young woman with a little girl sitting on her lap, and a photo of a young man and woman. He said to the photos, “I swear to you now as I have for years, I will never forget.”

  Seiffert turned to the table. He sat. Everyone followed his lead and sat too. They stared at the table in silence. Tears were streaming down the faces of Martha and Marie.

  Martha came around the table, leaned down and hugged Seiffert. “I’m sorry,” she said. She kissed him on his head.

  Dwain lightened the mood by taking the last biscuit. Everyone laughed. Marie cleared the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Dwain went home with Marie. Patrick left and then Martha. Lewis Seiffert was alone once again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Allen had tormented Steven Pruett for weeks.

  He called the day of his mother’s funeral asking about the will. Pruett told him, per Myrtle’s instructions, the will was not to be read until thirty days after her death. Allen was not happy.

  He called Pruett again in a week and Pruett repeated Allen’s mother’s instructions.

  The next week Allen tried the “good old boy” approach and invited Pruett to dinner at one of Valdosta’s finest restaurants. Pruett politely refused.

  After Pruett refused Allen’s dinner invitation, Allen became nasty the following week and threatened to sue Pruett and have him disbarred, something they both knew could not happen. Pruett did not cave, Myrtle’s instructions were to be obeyed. Pruett refused to violate her instructions. Defeated, Allen stopped pushing Steven.

  Three weeks wasted, be patient.

  * * *

  Allen Ridley showed up at Steven Pruett’s office a few minutes early. Pruett dreaded this as much as Allen welcomed it. Pruett asked Clara to hire an off-duty sheriff’s deputy to sit in the neighboring real estate office in case there was a problem.

  At ten o’clock Steven Pruett opened the door to his personal office and welcomed Allen Ridley and Clara to join him.

  “Be there in a second,” Clara said. She called the deputy to come and sit in the waiting room. After he had arrived, Clara joined Allen and Steven in the inner office.

  Steven Pruett took a deep breath and started. “Allen, as you know, I have been your parents’ attorney for years. They appointed me to be the executor of their wills. A week after your father’s death, per his instructions, we read his will and it has cleared probate. We are here today to read the last will and testament of Mrs. Myrtle McAllister Ridley. After which, we will send the original document to the probate court per Georgia law. As your mother’s last living survivor, I invited you here today for the reading of her will.”

  Pruett used the word “survivor” instead of the word “heir”. Allen Ridley did not react to Steven Pruett’s careful choice of words.

  Pruett continued, “Now Allen, instead of reading the entire document I will gi
ve you the synopsis. Is this okay with you?”

  “It’s fine with me. Get on with it,” Allen said.

  Pruett kept thinking of the best words to use.

  This could get nasty. I need to soften the blow.

  “Allen, last month your mother came to my office and indicated she wished to change her will.”

  Allen’s face flushed and he raised his eyebrows. He shifted in his seat.

  “As I was her attorney and am now her executor, I am bound by her wishes as set out in this, her last will and testament.” Steven stared at Allen and continued. “Allen, this will not be easy for you, but her instructions were clear. We are to sell her property, real estate, and personal belongings. The proceeds are to pay any of her remaining debts.

  “Once the debts are paid, the remaining funds, plus the proceeds from your father’s life insurance are to be given to a charitable organization. This group is known only to me and the probate judge.”

  Allen stood up and slammed his hands on Pruett’s desk. “You damn shyster piece of shit. You have stolen every penny!” Allen shouted. The deputy heard the shouting and he entered Pruett’s office. Allen heard the door open and turned. The deputy’s presence had a calming effect on Allen.

  “Sit down Allen!” Pruett was firm. The deputy in the room gave Pruett newfound courage. “I will assure you I have not stolen one penny from the estate of your mother. She chose the charitable organization and it is not connected with this firm or me in any way. I vetted this organization and discovered that your father contributed a considerable sum of money to them many years ago. I cannot, and will not, reveal the name of the charity. Your mother’s wish was to not divulge the identity of the charity and since she stipulated this in her will, the courts will not provide this information to you either.”

  Allen slumped in the chair, his body like a jellyfish. “What about the company?” he asked. Allen’s voice was quiet and meek.

  “Well Allen, I guess the business is the silver lining in this. Harvey’s will was clear about the company and your role in it. As long as it shows a profit it’s yours to manage and you will receive a salary. But lose money two months in a row and the board has instructions to replace you, as directed by your father’s will.”