Family Vault

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “Stay here. Let it ring twice more before you pick it up.”

  He hurried down the hallway. Puzzled, Sarah obeyed. When she answered, Harry Lackridge was on the line.

  “Sarah, what took you so long? Is something the matter?”

  “No, no problems,” she lied. The last thing she wanted was to have him and Leila galloping to the rescue again. I’m tired, but that’s to be expected.”

  “What are your plans for the day?”

  “To get through it as best I can.”

  “Might I interest you in lunch at the Ritz?”

  “That sounds elegant, Harry, but I couldn’t possibly. There’s so much to do.”

  “What, for instance?”

  “I have to see Mr. Redfern again.” She didn’t, actually, but that was the first excuse that popped into her mind.

  “Why?” he prodded. “Didn’t you get squared away about the money on Monday?”

  “Not to my satisfaction. Mr. Redfern claims that ridiculous will of Father’s is still in force, and all he can do is dole me out a measly housekeeping allowance until a new trustee is appointed. I’m thinking seriously of getting a different lawyer.”

  “Now, Sarah, calm down. Don’t be hasty, Alex wouldn’t want that. All that another lawyer would do is stall around and run up fees against the estate. If Redfern wants to talk to me about the trusteeship—”

  “I can’t imagine why he would,” Sarah snapped back, then realized how rude she was being. “Harry, I know you’re trying to help me for Alexander’s sake, but you must realize that nobody could ever take his place, and nobody can live my life for me. I can’t be relying on you or anybody else to manage my affairs, and right now I just want to get on with what I have to do. Surely you understand?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, at any rate. Sure you won’t change your mind about lunch? Maybe another time?”

  “That would be lovely.” Sarah rang off gratefully and went to see what her other self-appointed guardian was up to. She found him taking the telephone apart.

  “Mr. Bittersohn, whatever are you doing that for?”

  “To see what’s inside.”

  He took a tiny metal object out of the mouthpiece and showed it to her on the palm of his hand. “Know what this is?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Not—not one of those bug things?”

  “Nothing else but. Furthermore, this is practically an antique of its kind. Your phone must have been tapped for a good many years. Mind showing me where you and your husband were sitting when you had that talk?”

  “In here.” Sarah led him into the library.

  “Is this where you’d normally spend a good deal of your time?”

  “Yes. It’s cozier than the drawing room and has a better fireplace. We’ve always been big on open fires because there’s all that free wood lying around out at Ireson’s.”

  In the daylight, the library looked shabby like the rest of the house. Yet there was still charm in the crowded bookcases that stretched from the parquet floor to the nine-foot ceiling, in the oriental rugs with their softened blues and crimsons, in the scuffed brown-leather armchair and sofa, in some oriental artist’s quaintly stylized portrait of the merchant prince who founded the fortune that Caroline Kelling paid over to a blackmailer.

  Max Bittersohn wasted no time absorbing the atmosphere. He got down on his knees and began pulling out books from the bottom shelves, prying off the ogee molding that finished off the tops of the painted pine baseboards. Sarah started to ask what he was doing, but he motioned for silence. A second or two later, the man was holding up a length of snipped-off wire.

  22

  “THIS IS HOW YOU were overheard, Mrs. Kelling. I’d say this room has also been bugged for a considerable length of time. See how the wire is discolored and furred with dust?”

  “I don’t believe this,” she said through stiff lips. “What you’re trying to tell me is that every time one of us has used the telephone or entered this room, somebody has been hiding outside the window listening in on every word we’ve said.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. What usually happens is that the wires are connected to a hidden tape recorder somewhere that may be kept running or, more probably, just gets switched on at certain times. Who are your next-door neighbors, do you know?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. These used to be all private homes, but now most of them have been cut up into apartments. People come and go.”

  “I think we’ll find somebody came and stayed. I’m going to have an electrician come in here and trace this wire, if you don’t mind. You wouldn’t have any recollection of electrical work being done in the house, I don’t suppose? I’m just wondering when and how it might have been installed.”

  “Edith’s nephew,” Sarah gasped.

  “Who?”

  “Our maid,” she stammered, “the one I was telling you about. She has a nephew who does television repairs. Wouldn’t this sort of thing be in his line?”

  “I don’t see why not. Did he ever have access to the house?”

  “Dozens of times. We often left Edith here to mind the house when we went to Ireson’s, and told her she could have people in for company. The nephew used to come with his wife and children, and I’m sure she gave them the run of the place though she wasn’t supposed to.”

  “Ever meet this nephew yourself?”

  “Once or twice. Not oftener than I could avoid. He’s one of those smarmy little men with a mustache that looks as if it’s pasted on.”

  “Good-looking guy?”

  “I suppose so, if you’re fond of lizards. But surely you’re not thinking about him and Aunt Caroline. He’s much too young, aside from anything else.”

  “He had a father, didn’t he?”

  “It wouldn’t be the father. He was some kind of factory worker, and Aunt Caroline wouldn’t have gone to such drastic lengths to protect his professional reputation. But there is some uncle or cousin or something who’s a fairly well-known surgeon at one of the big local hospitals. Edith used to brag about him every chance she got. It’s not so farfetched to think of Aunt Caroline falling in love with a handsome but penniless young intern who had a brilliant future to jeopardize. That would explain what she wrote about marrying her little love no matter what the world might say. The family would certainly have said plenty if Gilbert Kelling’s widow tied up with a relative of her housemaid. That might also be why Aunt Caroline kept Edith on when she got rid of the other servants. I never could understand why she kept the worst of the lot, but if Edith’s been functioning as a go-between all these years—”

  “Or as a blackmailer?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her, but what would she have done with the money? Don’t forget there was a very large fortune involved. If she got hold of it, why should she have stayed on here, whining and crabbing about being overworked?”

  “Good question. Hey, don’t you have an appointment with your lawyer?”

  “Actually, no. I said that to get out of lunch with Harry because it was the first excuse I thought of. He and Leila are determined to be kind to the poor little orphan, and it’s a bit more than I can take just now.”

  “Nevertheless, you must have had the lawyer in the back of your mind, or you’d have thought of something else. What do you say we go anyway?”

  “We can’t simply waltz ourselves down to State Street and barge in on Mr. Redfern!”

  “Why not? He works for you, doesn’t he?”

  Sarah blinked, then managed to smile. “I suppose he does. I must say I’d never have thought of Mr. Redfern as my employee.”

  “That’s what gets these guys believing they’re God Almighty. You go on in there, and if he tries to give you a hard time, just tell him. ‘Listen, Buster, if it weren’t for clients like me, you wouldn’t be eating.’ ”

  “I cannot imagine saying, ‘Listen, Buster,’ to Mr. Redfern.’”

  “Then I’ll say it for you. Get your co
at.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Never more so,” Bittersohn assured her. “I want him to open that safe-deposit box Mrs. Kelling would never let anybody get a look into, and find out exactly where we stand. There’s no question of your being the lawful heiress, is there?”

  “Oh, no. Everything comes to me. Alexander said so.”

  “Is Redfern executor of the estate?”

  “He must be. The Redferns have always handled all our family affairs.”

  “Then he’d be apt to have a key to the box?”

  “If he doesn’t, I do,” Sarah replied. “I found it hidden in one of Aunt Caroline’s bureau drawers.”

  “Okay, we’re in business. Come on.”

  “But doesn’t the will have to be probated first, or whatever you call it?”

  “No, it works the other way around. The box must be opened and its contents inventoried along with all other properties before probate can begin. If Redfern has both your husband’s and your mother-in-law’s wills in his possession, there’s no reason whatever why we can’t all three go straight to the bank and take care of it right now. If he balks, we’ll sic my Uncle Jake on him.”

  “Your uncle the pawnbroker?”

  “No, my uncle the lawyer. He stands four-feet-eleven in his Adler elevator shoes, and he’d take on the whole American Banking Association with one hand tied behind his briefcase. Uncle Jake will know what to do if this Redfern starts giving you the runaround.”

  “I’m not sure he hasn’t already started. You heard what I said to Harry.”

  Sarah explained about her father’s overly cautious will and the trouble she was having getting money out of his estate.

  “Does that sound reasonable to you?”

  “It doesn’t sound as though he’s ready to go out on a limb for you, anyway,” Bittersohn replied. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Would you mind waiting two minutes? I’d better put some decent clothes on. If I turn up in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, he’ll think I’ve gone soft as a grape.”

  Sarah was not sanguine about this venture, but what difference did that make? The worst Mr. Redfern could do would be to toss them out. Even that would be preferable to sitting around the house by herself, wondering what was going to happen next. That wiretapping was the absolute end. Finding out that her most intimate, most frightening, yet most precious conversation with her dead husband had been overheard in such a disgusting way was almost as bad as losing him again.

  Bittersohn’s discovery threw the possibilities wide open. Sarah had thought only Edith and Lomax knew in advance that the Kellings were going to Ireson’s Landing for the weekend. Who else had heard Alexander calling up the caretaker, had listened in while they were making their plans, had been in a position to anticipate every move they’d be apt to make?

  Whoever had been monitoring those tapes must know how rigid Aunt Caroline was about doing the same things in the same ways again and again and again, must have been aware that if the weather was even halfway decent, Alexander would take the Milburn out of its wraps and give his mother a ride along the shore road. The weather reports had promised the fog would lift around noontime that day, and it had. With the information he’d gleaned, the murderer could almost have pinpointed the moment when the Milburn was going to top the rise and fly out of control, could have planted a plausible witness down on the shore to make sure the fatal accident went off as planned.

  Any eavesdropper would know about the old electric’s dynamic braking relay. He, or she, must have acquired a vast library of tapes over the years with Alexander’s dear, quiet voice explaining the Milburn’s internal workings to anybody he could persuade to listen. Oh, if she could only hear them, too!

  Sarah began to cry again, ran to the bathroom and dabbed water on her face. It wasn’t fair to keep Mr. Bittersohn waiting while she indulged her grief. However, when she ran downstairs a few minutes later in the black wool dress and coat, she found he’d made good use of the time.

  “I’ve checked out your locks, which haven’t been tampered with as far as I can tell. Also, you may be glad to know there’s no bug in your kitchen phone.”

  “I don’t feel particularly glad about anything right now,” Sarah told him frankly. “Shouldn’t we check the rest of the baseboards, too?”

  “The electrician can do that later, but I hardly think he’ll find anything. Wiring the whole house would be a big job and a bigger risk. The library was ideal because that section behind the bookcases wasn’t likely to be disturbed for years on end, and because you use that room so much. I assume most of your acquaintances would know your habits?”

  “Oh, yes. We’d often serve tea or whatever in there because the fire was always going, and Aunt Caroline kept her backgammon board on that little table beside the window. For that matter, anybody passing by outside would have been able to see her there. She and Edgar would play for hours on end. And at night the lights would be on. She and Leila held some of their committee meetings in the library, too. Mr. Bittersohn, you don’t suppose this bugging could be in any way connected with politics?”

  “Their political activities being mostly the sort of thing they were talking about that night at the Lackridges’?” He sounded amused. “What do you think?”

  “I’ve always thought it was a great deal of nothing,” Sarah had to reply. “I daresay I’m trying to make this thing less—personal.”

  “That’s natural enough. Feel like walking?”

  “How else would we get there?”

  “Skateboard, pogo stick, taxi.”

  “Taxi? For that little distance? Mr. Bittersohn, how could you?”

  Sarah locked the door and set a brisk pace toward Brimstone Corner. If they were so foolhardy as to crash in on a prominent Boston attorney without an appointment, they might as well go and get the snubbing over with as quickly as possible.

  23

  “I’M SORRY, BUT I’M afraid Mr. Redfern couldn’t possibly see anyone right now.” Miss Tremblay’s voice held mingled regret and surprise. She was sorry to disoblige a young woman so suddenly and tragically widowed, but nonplussed as to why Sarah could think it feasible to visit Mr. Redfern without an appointment.

  Max Bittersohn reached over to Miss Tremblay’s memo pad, wrote something on it, and handed her the paper. “Give him this. I think you’ll find he can fit us in.”

  “But I—”

  “Try.”

  Pursing her lips, the elderly secretary tapped and entered the sanctum. She came out looking very puzzled indeed.

  “Would you go straight in, please?”

  Bittersohn didn’t even look duly gratified, he merely ushered Sarah past the varnished oak door, seated her in the visitor’s chair in front of the desk, and fetched another chair for himself.

  The lawyer cleared his throat, put on his half-eye glasses, took them off, put them on again, and finally uttered.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, Sarah.”

  “I don’t see why not,” she replied. “We didn’t accomplish much on my last visit.”

  “I was under the impression that we did.”

  She wasn’t about to bandy words. She sat looking straight at him, trying to remember that Mr. Redfern was only a man who worked for her, until the lawyer was forced to speak again.

  “And what brings you here today, may I ask? This is an extremely busy time for me.”

  “It’s a difficult time for me, too,” she snapped back, “and I’ll thank you to bear in mind that you’re supposed to be protecting my interests. If you can’t be bothered, I’ll have to find somebody who can.”

  “Now, now, Sarah. If it’s about your father’s will—”

  “It’s not. Not today, at any rate. I came to get a letter of permission or whatever I need to gain access to my mother-in-law’s safe-deposit box at the High Street Trust.”

  “And you shall have it in due course.”

  “I want it now.”

 
; “That’s not possible.”

  “Why isn’t it? I don’t want to take anything out, I just want to see what’s in the box.”

  “My dear Sarah, one doesn’t simply barge in on people and make demands like a child in a tantrum. There are regular procedures that take place in an orderly fashion.

  Sarah turned to Bittersohn. “Would your uncle agree with that?”

  “I think Mr. Redfern is aware that Jacob Bittersohn would act in the best interest of his client,” he replied. “I question whether he’d compare her to a child in a tantrum. I believe he’d agree that you have the right to look at your own property. Furthermore, I don’t see what the hell you’re stalling about, Redfern. This is not a frivolous request. Mrs. Kelling, who happens to be my client as well as yours, has learned, in going through her late mother-in-law’s effects, that members of her family have been systematically victimized over an extended period of time. To make an effective investigation, we need to know exactly where she stands right now.”

  “Can you substantiate that statement?”

  “We can. We have documentary evidence. We don’t propose to show it to you until we’re convinced that you yourself haven’t been a party to fraud and maybe something worse. So far, your attitude leaves room for doubt”

  “That is a libelous suggestion!”

  “Sue me. In the meantime, could we get on with what we came for? Mrs. Kelling was told by her husband that she inherits whatever the estate consists of at the time of his death, and that this includes a collection of heirloom jewelry that was held by Caroline Kelling for her use during her lifetime but was, in fact, owned by her son. Is that correct?”

  The lawyer squirmed. “In substance, I believe that is the–er–general thrust. Sarah will also inherit the two properties.”

  “Who’s got the deeds?”

  “Mrs. Caroline Kelling also held those in her personal charge during her lifetime. Since she was not the owner, it would have been appropriate for her to leave them with us, but she chose not to do so.”

  “Would they be in the safe-deposit box with the jewelry?”