Last Puzzle & Testament

by Parnell Hall

  “Yes, that’s who.” Daniel Hurley cocked his head at Sherry. “She’s the Puzzle Lady? Just what is that?”

  Chief Harper put up his hand. “If you don’t mind, we’ll socialize later. For the moment, I’m interested in who else noticed when these three left. By that I mean, Jeff Beasley, you, young man—and your name is?”

  “Daniel Hurley.” He smiled. “Hurley relative and profit participant.”

  Philip Hurley stiffened. “Now, look here, young man—”

  “Please,” Chief Harper interjected. “If we could move this along. And the third person in the parking lot was a man known to your aunt, Miss Carter? And would you know who might that be?”

  “Harvey Beerbaum,” Sherry replied. “He’s a cruciverbalist. A crossword-puzzle expert. He was boring Cora with his expertise.”

  “And did you see Mr. Beerbaum leave?”

  “No. Cora and I left first.”

  “Uh huh. How about the rest of you? Did any of you see this man leave? Or Daniel Hurley or Jeff Beasley, for that matter?”

  “I wasn’t in the Country Kitchen last night,” the flat-faced woman next to the Applegates declared.

  “Yes, Annabel, I quite understand,” Chief Harper said. He took out a notebook, flipped it open, and wrote. “Annabel Hurley, no. And is there anyone else who was not in the Country Kitchen last night?”

  “I wasn’t.” The elderly man sitting next to the Hurleys had a surprisingly clear voice for one with such bad teeth.

  Chief Harper smiled. “Yes, Chester, I’m sure you weren’t.” He jotted on his notepad. “Chester Hurley, no. And you, Mildred,” he said to the woman Sherry had categorized as a spinster, “weren’t there either. Mildred Sims, no. And Kevin Holbrook,” he said to the teenage boy, “who I would not have expected to be drinking at the Country Kitchen.” Kevin Holbrook tugged at his shirt collar, looked embarrassed. “Fine. That’s who I don’t have to deal with, that leaves the ones I do. How about it? Aside from Daniel Hurley, did anyone actually see Jeff Beasley or the puzzle maker in the parking lot?”

  No one said anything.

  “Okay, I guess that’s it. I’m sorry to hold you all up. I have just one more thing to ask. Would anyone mind if I stuck around to hear the will?”

  Arthur Kincaid frowned. “For what purpose?”

  “Probably none,” Chief Harper answered. “But Jeff Beasley broke into the Hurley mansion, spent last night harassing the Hurley heirs, and wound up dead. I know it’s a long shot, but I have to ask myself, is there any possibility that there’s anything in the Hurley will that could shed some light on that. So would anyone object if I heard the will?”

  “I insist on it,” Daniel Hurley said.

  All eyes turned to him.

  “What?” Phyllis Hurley Applegate demanded.

  “Absolutely,” Daniel Hurley said. “And you should insist on it too. I have nothing to hide. I know that there is absolutely nothing in that will that could possibly implicate me in this man’s death in any way. And I would think that would be true of all of you. But I must say, I would be utterly fascinated to see which of you might possibly object.” He looked around the room, smiling broadly. “Are there any of you who feel threatened at hearing the contents of Auntie’s will? If so, please speak up. If not, then let’s let the nice policeman stay. Let’s let them all stay. Sherry, wouldn’t you like to hear the will? You can stay. And the reporter and the lawyer. You can stay too, if you weren’t already invited. Does anyone object to these people staying?”

  There was a very sullen silence.

  “Fine,” Daniel Hurley continued. ȁ [inup filepos-id="filepos164182">

  Daniel Hurley tilted his chair back, cocked his head.

  “Let’s hear the will.”

  Arthur Kincaid snapped open his briefcase, took out a sealed envelope, and held it up. “This is Emma Prentice Hurley’s will, executed entirely in her own hand, sealed in this envelope, and not to be opened until we were all assembled here.”

  “If you didn’t open it, how do you know that?” Phyllis Hurley Applegate demanded.

  Arthur Kincaid took a second envelope from his briefcase. “From this,” he replied. “Emma Hurley’s instructions to me. Which I have read, and which I shall read to you now.”

  The second envelope was unsealed. Arthur Kincaid took a letter from it, unfolded it. Again, he cleared his throat.

  “To my solicitor, Arthur Kincaid. Since you are reading this,” Arthur Kincaid read, “it means that I am dead. I must say, rather than depressing, I find the concept quite liberating. Since I am dead, there is nothing anyone can do to me. And yet there are still things that can be done, things that I can do, actions that I can take, through you, as my solicitor. My wishes can be carried out in death, perhaps even more so than they ever were in life. I find it, by and large, quite a satisfactory arrangement.

  “I hope that you will pardon my whimsy. If you won’t, too bad. Be that as it may, please think of me as smiling with glee as you carry out my instructions.

  “But, to be serious: I have given a good deal of thought as to who should inherit my estate. None of my relatives are what you would call close, unless you count false flattery and sycophantic toadying as forms of endearment. Indeed, I have few good feelings for the most solicitous of my kin, knowing from what rapacious motivation their attentions sprang.”

  “Aha!” Philip Hurley said, grinning wickedly and pointing his finger at Phyllis Hurley Applegate.

  “Aha yourself!” Phyllis shot back. “You’re the one she’s talking about.”

  “Yes, Philip, I’m talking about you,” Arthur Kincaid read. “You and your get-rich-quick schemes. Which you were always ready to embrace as long as they didn’t involve any actual good old-fashioned work.”

  “See?” Phyllis gloated.

  “And I’m talking about you, ^inup>height="1Phyllis,” Arthur went on, “and your never-ending quest to marry for money. Did either of you ever succeed? Somehow I doubt it. I must admit, I long ago lost touch with my family through the simple expedient of burning all correspondence unread. So I have no idea if any of you ever amounted to anything, indeed, if you are even still alive. If you are, it pleases me no end that your very greed shall force you to stay and hear my insults. So hold your snippy little tongues, and prick up your avaricious little ears.”

  Daniel Hurley’s grin grew enormous.

  “Are you enjoying this, Jason? You probably are. You always loathed your brother and sister, didn’t you? At least you pretended you did, knowing I loathed them. Just as you pretended not to like me. Or was that really pretense? You certainly acted as if it were. Tried to give everyone the impression you were a romantic renegade, turning your back on the family fortune. Why did you do that, Jason? Did you see some movie where the dying patriarch turned out to be secretly fond of the renegade son? Well, guess what? Bad news. I am no more enamored of those who despise me openly than I am of those who love me only for my wealth.”

  “Aha!” Philip and Phyllis said it in unison, gloating gleefully at Daniel. The effect was disconcerting, to say the least.

  “None come in favor, all come in sufferance, any could I cut off with nary a qualm.

  “So, whom shall I call? Why, all of them, of course.

  “I charge you to summon my heirs. All of my siblings, and all of their descendants. Specifically, my sister, Alicia Hurley, deceased, and her daughter, Annabel Hurley; my brother Randolph Hurley, deceased, and his daughter, Phyllis Hurley, and sons, Philip and Jason Hurley. I bid you summon them and their offspring to the reading of my will.

  “To this number add the following: my trusted companion, Mildred Sims, whose loyalty and service were unequaled, would my relatives only have been so nice; my yard boy, Kevin Holbrook, who kept the view from my bedroom window pleasing to the end; and last, but not least, my brother Chester, who will resent being mentioned, and will not want to come. Drag him, kicking and screaming, for I hereby charge you that my will shall not be read
outside his presence, be he still alive. I am sorry, Chester. You may have avoided me in life, but you will not in death. So close that gap-toothed mouth of yours, sit quiet, and give ear. After this, you’ll be free to do as you like.

  “I charge you, Arthur Kincaid, to assemble the aforementioned people, and then—and only then—in their presence, to break the seal and read my will.

  “Should you fail to do so, should this letter in some way disappear, should the provisions of my last will and testament not be carried out in full to every last detail and specification, I assure you I have set the wheels in m ce wovisiootion that this act shall be discovered and exposed.

  “Signed, Emma Prentice Hurley.”

  Arthur Kincaid set down the letter, surveyed those around the table. “You can see why I was unable to give any of you information. Emma Hurley’s last wishes were, to put it mildly, somewhat … eccentric. I have carried them out to the best of my ability. It is my belief that I have summoned and caused to be present all of the persons specified in this letter. Having done so, I may now read the will.”

  Arthur Kincaid picked up the second envelope. “This envelope is inscribed as follows: Last Will and Testament of Emma Prentice Hurley. To be unsealed, opened, and read, only in the presence of my heirs.”

  Arthur Kincaid turned the envelope over, held it up, and pointed. “You will note that this envelope has been sealed in the old-fashioned way, with sealing wax. I shall break the seal now.”

  He took a silver letter opener from his briefcase, inserted it in the flap, and slid it down, breaking the wax seal. He pulled back the flap of the envelope, took out some folded sheets of paper. He unfolded them, adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

  “Last Will and Testament of Emma Prentice Hurley. I, Emma Prentice Hurley, being of sound mind and body, though perhaps not as sound a body as I would like, do hereby make my last will and testament. I hereby revoke all prior wills, stating that this will, and only this will, reflects my true last wishes.

  “Before disposing of my property, I would like time to reflect. I know this will not please you. You are a greedy lot. Indeed, there is probably not one among you who is not delighted to see me dead. Be that as it may, I forgive you all your prejudices. But that is not enough to excuse you from hearing me out one last time.

  “Lately, I have become mindful of the wickedness of the world. This has been brought forcefully to my attention by the recent killings in Bakerhaven. I have followed with great interest both the problem presented by these murders, and the ultimate solution. Doing so has given me a new perspective on life.

  “And death.

  “In the meantime, I have tried to determine to whom I should leave my money. Believe me, it has not been easy. As I have indicated, I have little love for my nieces and nephews, who have little love for me. Still, the money must go to someone. Who should that be?

  “Pause here, Arthur, dramatically, before continuing. Keep them in suspense. Keep yourself in suspense. Try to figure out what I am about to do.”

  Arthur Kincaid did pause at this juncture, coughed apologetically, looked around the room. All eyes were on him, expectant, waiting, impatient. Gr cimpse eedy.

  “But before I tell you,” he read, and the groans were audible, “I would like to reflect again on what I learned from the Bakerhaven murders. I think the first thing I learned is that crime does not pay. Eventually, the chickens come home to roost. I always wondered what that meant. I don’t know what it means now. Perhaps what I mean is the postman always rings twice. Be all your sins remembered, be all your deeds exposed. Both good and bad. Be all crimes cleared.

  “I was fascinated by the solution to the Bakerhaven murders. Probably not unusual for an old lady confined to her room to find a vicarious thrill.

  “It also gave me an idea.

  “An idea to solve all my problems regarding my estate.

  “An idea that pleases me no end. “With that in mind, I hereby make the following bequests.”

  Everyone leaned forward, in anticipation.

  “To my yard boy, Kevin Holbrook, the sum of five hundred dollars, in the hope it will compensate him for the loss of his job, for there is no guarantee he will be asked to stay on by my heir.”

  Kevin Holbrook perked up considerably. “Five hundred bucks?” the teenager said. “I just got five hundred bucks?”

  He was immediately shushed by both the Hurleys and the Applegates.

  Arthur Kincaid held up his hands. “If I may continue. To my faithful companion, Mildred Sims, for years of devoted service, I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars.”

  Mildred Sims didn’t bat an eye. From her expression, it was impossible to tell if the thin woman was disappointed or pleased.

  “All the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate—”

  This was met by squeals of astonishment and protest.

  “What!” Philip Hurley shouted.

  “Ridiculous!” cried Phyllis Applegate.

  Even Daniel Hurley seemed shocked into sincerity. He tipped his chair back on the floor, sat up straight.

  Arthur Kincaid spread his hands. “Please,” he said.

  “That’s absurd,” Phyllis Applegate snarled. “There’s a lot of us here. Why di c he="1em"d she cut us all out and give the property away?”

  “I don’t know,” Arthur Kincaid said evenly. He held up the will. “Would you like to find out? Or would you like to speculate among yourselves?”

  In spite of this pointed comment, there was considerable grumbling before they calmed down and he had their attention.

  “All right,” Arthur Kincaid said. “To resume. All the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate, I leave to whichever of the following heirs shall prove him- or herself worthy.”

  There were no shouts this time, just open mouths and incredulous looks.

  “Inspired by the puzzle of the Bakerhaven murders, I have constructed a puzzle of my own. It pleases me greatly to have done so. It is an old puzzle, over forty years old, but nonetheless valid. Indeed, it is perfect for the occasion. I hereby charge my heirs with the solving of this puzzle. Specifically, the following and any offspring: my nephew Philip Hurley, my niece Phyllis Hurley, my nephew Jason Hurley, and my niece Annabel Hurley.

  “Included is my brother Chester Hurley. You may play the game, Chester. You may not wish to, but you have the right. You are every bit as much a contestant as any of the others. Should you solve the puzzle, the money would be yours. I know you are old, and would gain little by such a feat, but the Hurley property would be yours to dispose of as you pleased. And perhaps there is some justice in that.

  “At any rate, to the victor belongs the spoils, including my property, and all the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate, excluding the following behests:

  “To each and every losing relative, excluding spouses, either married or divorced, and including all offspring and brother Chester, should he lose, I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars, some lovely parting gifts, and a copy of our home game.

  “For the benefit of the nitpicking lawyers of the aforementioned heirs, the parting gifts and home game were a harmless pleasantry not to be taken seriously, and the ten thousand dollars a genuine bequest to all those who fail to solve the puzzle.”

  “WHAT puzzle?” Phyllis Hurley Applegate bellowed. “What are you talking about? Where’s the puzzle? Do you have it?”

  “I’m reading this for the first time,” Arthur Kincaid reminded her. “Let me finish and we’ll know.”

  “Yes, shut up and let him finish,” Philip Hurley scolded.

  “Don’t take that tone with my wife …” wimpy Morton Applegate ventured diffidently. He blushed violently.

  “Or what?” Philip Hurley snarled. “Didn’t you hear the will? Spouses don’t count. You’re out of it.”

  “Only if we lose.” Morton Applegate held up one finger and lectured his brother-in-law pedantically. “If we lose, my wife gets ten thousand dollars. If we win, the two of
us inherit the estate.”

  “The two of you?”

  Arthur Kincaid folded the will, slipped it back in its envelope, and sat down. This was met with cries of protest from around the table. He merely sat silently and waited for all voices to subside.

  “Thank you,” he said. “If I may continue.”

  He stood, took the will from the envelope.

  “All the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate shall go absolutely, irrevocably, and without question to whichever of my heirs shall be the first to correctly solve the puzzle. I know you are all probably shouting ‘What puzzle?’ and giving Arthur a hard time. Please do not do so. The poor man has no more idea than you do. He did not draw this will. He does not know the contents. He has no idea what I have planned.

  “I will tell you now.

  “To begin with, the puzzle is not your ordinary kind. To solve it will take more than intelligence. It will take ingenuity, intuition, persistence, and perhaps a trace of luck. Solving it will indeed be an interesting challenge. I wish I were around to see it.

  “As to determining the winner. I would find it inappropriate, Arthur, to leave you sole arbiter and judge. Wouldn’t you agree? At any rate, I am taking you out of the loop. Your function shall not be as judge, but merely as observer and facilitator. For instance, the first clue can be found in the rolltop desk in my master bedroom. I charge you with granting access to the heirs. The keys to the estate are in the possession of my banker, Marcus Gelman. His instructions are to open the doors for no one but you, Arthur. It shall be your responsibility to make sure this clue is available. As you shall make available any subsequent clues.