Kiss Them Goodbye

by Stella Cameron

  “Nothing terrible is going to happen.” His smile had disappeared. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  The door opened again. Slammed open would be closer to the truth. “Friggin’ hick towns,” George Martin said to his brother Edward as they blew in. Beautifully cut dark suits had replaced the light ones they’d worn the last time Vivian saw them. “Did you see the greasy overalls on the guy at the hotel? Servin’ breakfast in dirty work duds and wearin’ a friggin’ baseball cap.”

  Vivian couldn’t imagine this duo staying at the Majestic, but she recognized Gator’s description so they had obviously been there.

  “Mornin’, gentlemen,” Spike said, getting to his feet. “Not the best of times.”

  George and Edward smiled at each other. Edward said, “Could be. Our father wouldn’t want any mopin’ around. He was all business and so are we. Sooner this is dealt with and we’re on our way back to N’awlins, the better.” Both of them ignored the hand Spike offered and didn’t as much as acknowledge the presence of Charlotte and Vivian.

  Vivian said “Good morning” anyway and earned herself grunts.

  George Martin addressed Spike. “We don’t know why someone like you would be here and you’re not wanted. Clear out.” His broken nose bone whitened.

  Vivian was ready to defend and almost on her feet when Spike landed her back on the sofa and said, “I’m here at your late father’s request. End of subject.”

  George came a step closer and opened his mouth to say more to Spike, but changed his mind and turned to Joe’s assistant instead. “Mr. Gable in his office?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.” The lady at the desk sounded cool.

  “We’ll go on in, then,” he said. “My brother and I, bein’ the deceased’s only kin, would like a word with his lawyer first.”

  Vivian thought, I just bet you would.

  “Mr. Gable has his ways of doing things. Promptly at ten he’ll be ready to start. He won’t see anyone first.”

  “Did you hear what I said to you?” George asked, looming over the woman. “We are the deceased’s sons, his only living kin, and we want some words with his lawyer—alone and before the rest of these people go in there. Not that we know what they’re doin’ here anyways.”

  “Ditto,” Vivian heard her mother mutter under her breath.

  “So,” Edward said to the woman. “We suggest you get your…Just trot in there and be quick about it.”

  “Hold it right there,” Spike said, going to stand between the Martin twins and their victim. “I’ve got instructions on how this will go. Why not sit down quietly until we’re told we can go in?”

  Vivian could tell how much his restraint cost him.

  “When we start taking orders from some small-town—”

  “Mornin’.” Gary Legrain came in with a pretty woman who could be Creole. Her features were fine and her skin the palest of polished gold. “I had to wait for Mrs. Angelica Doby to get here. I hope we haven’t kept you waiting.” Angelica might be in her late thirties but not a line showed on her face. Louis Martin could pick out beautiful women.

  A chorus of “Mornin’” went up but the Martins didn’t say a word. They only had eyes for the newcomer. Dressed in conservatively cut black clothes, she remained standing at Gary’s side.

  “You’ve got some explainin’ to do, Legrain,” Edward Martin said. “You never said a word about the will being anywhere but in our own offices.”

  “Wouldn’t have been appropriate,” Gary said, still looking tired. “And I didn’t know where it was until Mr. Gable contacted me to be present today.”

  “Louis told you he had a will somewhere else and you didn’t tell us?” Edward said.

  “He was my boss,” Gary said. “And he instructed me not to discuss his arrangements, not with anyone. He named you specifically. What would you have done?”

  “Let it go for now,” George said to Edward. “We’ll take up the loyalty issue later.”

  Vivian said to Charlotte, very quietly, “Agatha Christie, eat your heart out. Maybe we could work all this into a new board game.”

  Charlotte didn’t move a facial muscle when she muttered, “I’ve got the name already. Who Gets The Money?”

  Vivian laughed and got herself center stage with an audience which, apart from Spike, looked irritated.

  Joe opened his door. He was still shrugging into his dark suit jacket and looked up at them with his almost painfully blue eyes. “Good morning. Come on in. I think we’ve got plenty of seats.” His curly black hair just touched the collar of his white shirt. Joe Gable was…noticeable. Noticeable was an understatement.

  Joe looked past all of them as they gathered in front of him. “Hey, Cyrus.” He grinned and Vivian had the thought that some lucky woman would make it easy for him to catch her one day—when he was ready.

  “I’ll be making myself comfortable out here,” Cyrus said. He wore his collar and his hair looked as if he’d been using it to exercise his fingers. The result was another “wow.” The man and the mystery. Temptation out of reach maybe?

  “Why the fuck is a priest here?” George Martin said. Even the appalled silence that followed didn’t stop him. “There’s nothing for you here. No weeping, sentimental survivors for you to comfort. No handouts in the offing. So why not run along?”

  Cyrus’s face lost all expression but the color along his cheekbones rose.

  ”Pig,” Vivian said, shocking herself. “Well, you are a pig, George Martin. You don’t get it that there isn’t anyone here who gives a darn about you and your brother and what you think. Apologize to Father Payne now.”

  “Vivian,” Cyrus said quietly. “People are all different. There’s only one like you, that’s for sure. Let it go. We’ll talk later.”

  “Like myself,” Spike said with a cold fury he didn’t try to hide, “Father Payne was asked to come along today.”

  Joe, as if trying to maintain his professional position but sensing he could have a big problem on his hands—like a fight—said, “Take your seats in my office, please. Thanks for coming, Cyrus. Joan will pour you some coffee.”

  The Martins strode past Joe, followed by Gary and Mrs. Doby. Vivian put a hand on her mother’s shoulder and made to follow but Angelica Doby turned back. “Father,” she said, her husky voice quite clear, “I’d surely appreciate it if you’d come along and sit with me. It would be a comfort.”

  “Christ!” Edward Martin spun around, his eyes rolling. “Does this have to turn into a melodrama? You heard what we said, lady, no priests.”

  Vivian looked at Spike who shook his head slowly.

  “If Mrs. Doby would like Father present, he’ll be present,” Joe said. “Louis Martin provided for that eventuality, the same way he asked for a law officer to be here.”

  Angelica Doby went to Cyrus and tucked her hand under his arm.

  “God,” Edward Martin said, “let’s get this three-ring circus on the road. We need to get back to the Quarter and sanity.”

  Charlotte and Vivian chuckled at the ridiculousness of the statement, but composed themselves quickly and moved forward to sit in Joe’s cherry-paneled office.

  As soon as Joe had closed the door and taken his place behind his desk Edward Martin said, “My brother and I request that we hear our father’s will on our own. Our privacy should be put first. Whatever these people need to hear can be dealt with at another time.”

  Joe’s lips parted a fraction. His face let everyone know he either didn’t understand or didn’t believe the request.

  “You’ll have folks warnin’ off our prospective clients,” Gary said to Edward. “They’ll think you didn’t go to law school after all. The deceased makes the rules here.”

  “We won’t forget this,” Edward said to him, leaning forward. “Changes will have to be made.”

  Gary shrugged. He looked like a man who no longer cared about much.

  Reading from an open file on his desk, Joe started into the standard preliminaries. The r
oom grew still.

  “Now, to the details,” Joe said. “To Gary Legrain, the man I wish had been my son, I leave fifty-one percent of my corporation.”

  Vivian caught Gary’s blank, shocked reaction, and the venom in the Martins’ eyes.

  “To my son, Edward Martin, I leave fifteen percent of my corporation. To my son, George Martin, I leave fifteen percent of my corporation.”

  Not a soul breathed in that room until George, his nose a bone-white ridge now, said, “Over my dead body, Legrain,” and stood up, his fists balled.

  Spike said, “Sit down, please, sir.”

  “Best let me get through this,” Joe told the man. “So, going on. To Angelica Doby who nursed my wife as if she were her own kin and who has continued to keep my home and life running smoothly, I bequeath my New Orleans house and its furnishings.”

  “My God,” George shouted. “That house is worth a fortune. And I hope ‘furnishings’ doesn’t include artwork—not that we won’t fight this and win. The old man couldn’t have been in his right mind.” He stared at Mrs. Doby. “Housekeeper? I bet. Never saw her before in my life.”

  Edward had a restraining hand on his brother’s arm when Gary said, “Mrs. Doby worked for your parents for ten years. How many of the household staff can you name, or would even recognize?”

  “Shee-it,” George said. “We got bettah things to do than hang around the folks. You grow and you move on.”

  “But you still expect to be taken care of,” Gary said.

  Angelica Doby was the one whose reaction interested Spike most. She bowed her head but he could see tears falling steadily onto the skirt of her dress. Cyrus rubbed her back and bent over her, talking softly.

  “Touchin’,” George said. “You nursed the wife, then moved on to lookin’ after the husband. Disgustin’.”

  The woman raised her face and said with dignity, “You, sir, are disgustin’. I am a married woman and I love my husband. I loved Mr. Martin, too, but in a different way, because he appreciated everything a person did for him and never treated people who worked for him badly. Oh, he had his temper and he may have cared a bit too much about money, but that didn’t matter to me.”

  “Mrs. Doby’s disabled husband has lived with her at Louis Martin’s house for years,” Cyrus said.

  “Moving right along,” Joe said, rustling a sheet of Louis’s will. “$500,000 goes to Vivian Patin. I owe her.”

  Vivian frowned. She flushed and Spike saw her trying to figure out why Louis had thought he owed her something. For himself, Spike felt queasy. The figure was big and knowing Vivian, she’d build on it, build herself into a rich woman. And she’d take her mother with her. Rosebank would get off the ground very nicely.

  With Charlotte’s hand in hers, Vivian looked at her and a spark of cautious expectation passed between them.

  “What did he owe you for?” Edward asked her nastily.

  “There are a number of bequests to individuals and charities,” Joe said, sounding like a man gasping toward the finish line. “I’ve made copies of these so you can all follow along.”

  He read off a list of gifts to people who had worked for Louis, and to a modest number of charities.

  Joe paused to drink some water and clear his throat. “When we’re done here, I hope you’ll all join me in a drink to toast Louis Martin. He thought long and hard about this will and made some difficult decisions.”

  “Never mind toasts,” Edward said. “By my figuring, there’s still about nineteen or so percent unaccounted for.”

  Joe met Spike’s eye with the faintest of signals. Something was coming and the attorney anticipated trouble.

  “You’re good with numbers,” Joe said to Edward. “Louis Martin’s final bequest is to Mrs. Charlotte Patin of whom he says, ‘Apart from my wife, Charlotte is the only woman I have ever loved and my love for her has only brought her pain. The remainder of my assets, both corporate and personal, go to Charlotte Patin.’”

  Chapter 33

  Louis Martin had left a letter for Charlotte, and Joe Gable had found a private moment in the melee following the reading to give the envelope to her. She’d tucked it into her purse at once.

  If she went to her room to read what Louis had written, Vivian, who knew Charlotte had the letter, would be justified in having suspicions about her mother.

  “Mama,” Vivian said, “I could use a glass of tea, how about you?”

  “Sure.” Brandy held more appeal but she’d only get sleepy. “Let’s sit outside on the little gallery over the front door.” The sound of distant hammering reached her. “Maybe not. Bill and Homer are working somewhere up there.”

  “If we sit out front on the terrace we should be able to avoid any of Bonine’s people who happen along,” Vivian said.

  They’d parked in the driveway and gone into Rose-bank through the front door. They didn’t want to run into Errol Bonine.

  “Mama, maybe you should go to bed. You look tired and I’m sure you want time on your own.” Charlotte did look tired, but Vivian thought the letter she’d been given was responsible for that and Mama would want to read it alone.

  “I’m going to sit out there and let you pour the tea. Thea would make a couple of sandwiches for us—or Wazoo if you can catch her. Viv, hiring that woman is the best whim I ever followed.”

  Vivian thought so, too, but lowered her voice to say, “You do know she’s been seein’ clients here?”

  “I know,” Charlotte said and smirked. “I’m thinkin’ of lettin’ her hang a special sign outside, how about that? How many hotels do you know of with resident mediums, or whatever Wazoo says she is?”

  “You’re wicked, you just love irritating the neighbors.”

  “That’s something else we need to talk about,” Charlotte said. “I know I’m probably irrational, but I’m suspicious of those people and they’re starting to get in our way. Shoo, away with you and hurry back.”

  Charlotte loved to look at her daughter. Today she wore a long, gauzy dress, red poppies on a white ground, and as she walked toward the kitchen the skirt flipped out around her calves.

  There couldn’t be any benefit in waiting to look at the letter. Vivian would see her reading it and could ask questions if she liked. The dilemma was not knowing what Louis could possibly have had to write to her about.

  Apart from my wife, Charlotte is the only woman I have ever loved.

  How could he have loved her? They were acquaintances, maybe even friends in a way, but he’d never acted as other than a gentleman with her.

  She would have to refuse the bequest and so would Vivian. With Gary getting fifty-one percent of the corporation, the Martin twins had no way of taking control from him. Anyway, what had been given to her wouldn’t just go to the Martins, it would have to be divided up and…She just wanted to run this house as a hotel, with Vivian, and forget the headaches they faced now.

  Arranging two white wood chaises in the shade of a bank of verbena laden with clusters of red berries, she made sure they would be invisible unless someone came looking.

  She sat down on the edge of a chaise and turned Louis’s envelope over and over. He’d written her name there by hand.

  Right now, at this very minute, those Martin twins would be talking about her as if she’d been their father’s mistress. The horror of being speculated about like that sickened her.

  When she opened the envelope her hands shook so badly she ripped the flap in several places.

  The letter was handwritten, too.

  Dear Charlotte:

  You’re reading this letter. That means I’m dead and there’s no other way to put things right other than through the will you’ve heard read.

  I have been wrong. More than wrong, but a man can want something so badly he’ll do just about anything to get it. Or in my case, to try to get it. I know because that’s what I did. Only I didn’t plan for what happened, not for David to die.

  Charlotte dropped the letter in her lap. Her vision
blurred and when it cleared a little, her eyes settled on an ant with a long, skinny body. It scuttled along a crack in the concrete at the base of a wall, carrying some small prize to wherever its home happened to be.

  She blinked, then continued to read:

  I had nothing to do with the money trouble David got himself into. He talked to me about most things because we were friends. David was my friend, even though I hated him at the same time. He didn’t tell me how bad things were until he’d borrowed from the wrong people and was in too deep to get out on his own.

  That’s when he came to me and I bailed him out.

  He’d made some mistakes. We all do. But his were big, Charlotte, and he made them worse by trying impossible schemes. Times hadn’t been so easy and business was down. You’ll know about that.

  What you don’t know is he put money into a Mexican land venture—a lot of money because he needed a big return—and the whole project disappeared. It never existed in the first place. A scam, that’s what it turned out to be and the people running it got away clean, and rich.

  David had expected to start getting his payoffs from the venture within weeks, he counted on that and when he saw there wouldn’t be any, his back was to the wall. He went through everything trying to catch up or at least keep going.

  In the end he sold things, including the jewelry you had from your family. He said it was very old and although you didn’t wear it, you wanted it for Vivian because she would. Only, Vivian wouldn’t take it so you decided you’d leave it to her for when you’d gone.

  He told me everything, and he was suffering, but he still had what I wanted. He had you.

  “Mama?”

  Charlotte heard Vivian’s voice and felt her own tears at the same time. She hadn’t known she’d been crying.

  ”Mama?”

  “You brought the tea,” Charlotte said, wiping at her face with the back of a hand and making much of pushing herself back into the chaise and putting her feet up. She held the letter tightly. “Thank you, cher.”

  “Wazoo made sandwiches with soft shell crab and some of that sauce they sell at Pappy’s Dance Hall,” Vivian said. She put the tray she carried on the other chaise, pulled a small iron table between the two and transferred the tray to it. “Have some tea, please.”