Conduct in Question

by Mary E. Martin

  Within the hour, Suzannah, Katharine, and Gerry would meet in this room to settle Marjorie’s estate. Copies of her wills were stacked on the boardroom table. The first one divided the estate equally among the three of them; the second gave Suzannah the house and split the cash three ways. Natasha thought the fair market value of the house was two million, five hundred thousand. With the cash adding up to three million, there was plenty to fight over. Would they insist on litigation to settle ancient family scores?

  Harry strode from the library. “Miss Giveny?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please have coffee ready for the Deightons. I’m going to take a walk before they arrive.”

  Outside, he turned east toward the grassy lawns around the cathedral, where office workers were packing up remains of their lunches and heading back to work. The street shimmered in the early-afternoon heat. Harry turned northward up Victoria Street, seeking the shade of the buildings. He watched as an ambulance pulled under the portico of St. Michael’s Hospital. Further north, parking lots sprawled on either side of the road, creating a desolate scene.

  He stopped and smiled. Only a block further, he saw the large overhanging street sign. Massey Hall, it read in huge gold letters on black. It had been one of Marjorie’s favorite places. Suzannah had recounted her aunt’s haunting dream so vividly that he saw it before him. She struggled to be free of the tubes snaking about her, to rush to the door of Massey Hall. Running toward the music. He breathed deeply and thought of Marjorie marching to the sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance” in her parlor.

  He loved her spirit, her desire to be free. Marjorie, the maiden aunt, had fallen helplessly in love with an older married man, his partner. When he had gazed at her face, peaceful and stilled by death, he had not been able to conceive of such wild passion stirring within her breast. But then, it needn’t make sense to him. Despite the restrictions of the Victorian era, she had found her own way. After bearing the child, Marjorie had made proper arrangements for her and remained close at hand as she grew up. Reflecting on the upheaval in his own life, he knew how hard it was to break free, to be yourself. He opened the tall, heavy doors of the concert hall, to see a lone figure sweeping away paper cups and empty soda cans.

  Beyond the next set of doors, he could hear the somber tones of a chamber ensemble in rehearsal. Sometimes his life seemed spent in doorways, looking beyond to the future, longing to step forward into the light, but fearing to do so. And so he had spent years clinging to a dead marriage and a hopeless position under Crawford’s thumb. What was the old adage? The only regret is the risk not taken.

  Gently, he pressed his hand upon the ornately scrolled door. Silently, it opened. Smiling, he gazed into the auditorium, darkened except for the stage. The music stopped. The conductor began to laugh at some wonderful private joke. The musicians set down their instruments and began laughing quietly with him. Soon their jokes and comfortable chitchat rippled within the auditorium. Delighted, he let the sounds flow over him for long moments, and then closed the door and hurried from Massey Hall.

  With the horrendous events of the past two weeks, he thought, surely to God, some good can come from such an unholy mess.

  When he arrived back at the office, Gerry Deighton was in the foyer, fussing with his calculator.

  “Gerry, it’s good to see you,” Harry began warmly. “Is Donnie all right?”

  “Donnie?” Gerry seemed surprised. “Oh yes, fine…I suppose.” He broke off and stared down at his shoes. Then he looked up, with his chin jutting out. “Are we going to settle this estate once and for all?”

  The office door opened. Harry drew his breath in sharply. Suzannah entered first, guiding Katharine, who wore a soft green-and-gold scarf tied around her chin, dark glasses, and a broad-brimmed hat. Her movements were pained and tentative.

  A broken spirit, was his first thought.

  With surprising authority, Suzannah preceded her and shook Harry’s hand. She acknowledged Gerry with a brief nod. “So, Mr. Jenkins, we’ve managed to get here.” She turned to Katharine. “This is the first time my sister’s been out since…”

  “The attack,” Katharine murmured. “Where shall we meet, Mr. Jenkins?” Katharine asked, not quite looking at Harry. “I’d like to sit down, please.” She removed her dark glasses.

  Everything in Harry screamed with outrage. Around her nose, the bruising was particularly black. Over the cheekbone, the injuries had begun to yellow. He caught just an edge of the petal design under the scarf.

  Suzannah led her into the library. Only when she had difficulty seating herself did he realize that her vision had been affected.

  “Is your eye injured?” he asked.

  She gave a slight smile. “It’s too early to tell yet. Hopefully it isn’t permanent.”

  Harry looked away, then motioned the others to the chairs. Beside her sister, Suzannah seemed to radiate light, softness, and youth. Her creamy silk blouse and tailored skirt gave her an unaccustomed elegance. Seated furthest from the window, Katharine seemed dark and angular. Two completely different women, Harry thought, yet strangely well-paired.

  Suddenly he knew what had to be done first. “I am hopeful,” he said, “that we can come to a settlement of Marjorie’s estate. I know she would want that.”

  Underneath the table, he could see Gerry’s pant leg flapping as he jiggled his right leg incessantly. Suzannah smiled tentatively. Katharine remained impassive.

  “But first I must give you some important information.” He reached for a file. “While it affects all of you, it pertains most directly to you, Suzannah.” Harry withdrew two envelopes from the file and handed them to her. “Marjorie addressed them to you.”

  Alarm flashed in Suzannah’s eyes, but then she began to open the first envelope. She spread the single sheet out before her and began to read. The room was silent. Suzannah’s mouth dropped open, and her breath came in sharp draughts.

  “Oh, dear God!” she cried.

  Gerry bit his lip and leaned across the table. “What is it, Suzie?” he demanded.

  Tears trickled down Suzannah’s cheeks. Katharine stared at her bandaged hand.

  “God damn it! What’s the matter?” Gerry shoved his chair back.

  Suzannah, wide-eyed, looked up at Harry. “Mr. Jenkins, I did not know.”

  “Suzie?” Gerry nearly shouted. Suzannah slid the paper across the table to Gerry.

  Harry saw every muscle in his face tighten. Gerry grew pale, and his hand shook violently. “You’re her daughter?” Marjorie’s secret trust lay open on the table. “Jesus! That really does it. So you get the house after all.”

  Katharine spoke quietly. “That does seem fair, doesn’t it, Gerry?”

  Her brother turned on her. “And I suppose you knew all along, Katie.”

  Katharine nodded.

  Gerry’s mouth twisted. “Just like you too. You and your goddamned secrets. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  Katharine lifted her bandaged hand and set it on the table. “Because, obviously, that is what our Aunt Marjorie wanted. I respected her wishes.”

  Gerry slumped down in his chair.

  “That’s why she asked me,” Suzannah whispered, staring at the trust and the letter.

  “What do you mean?” Harry asked.

  “She wanted me to help her end it all, if it got too hard for her.” She twisted her fingers together. “She had all these pills, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Wait just a minute!” Gerry shouted. “You mean she asked you to assist in suicide?”

  Suzannah nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Gerry jumped up and towered over her. “And did you?”

  “Me? Of course not, but…” Suzannah began to groan. “I told Frank and I think maybe he got them. The pills, I mean.”

  “What? You mean Frank poisoned Marjorie?”

  Fearing Gerry might lose all control, Harry stood up to intervene. “No! Sit down, Gerry. That’s not what happened. Tony McKeown,
the Florist, confessed to her murder. I was there. I heard every word of it.”

  Katharine fingered her bandaged hand.

  Gerry continued. “The Florist? I thought he attacked Katie. What’s he have to do with Marjorie?”

  “He was at the root of everything. He murdered and ravaged. He nearly slit your son’s throat. And he poisoned Marjorie, because she resisted him. She refused to sell her property to him.”

  Gerry was stunned. “She was murdered because she refused to sell her house?”

  “Perhaps she wanted to have it to give to Suzannah,” Katharine said quietly.

  Harry tried to settle Gerry back into his chair. “No. There’s much more than that. McKeown was assembling the whole block of land, including the church, as part of a money-laundering scheme. The man was totally unhinged, and when Marjorie refused to sell him the last piece in his scheme, he got rid of her.”

  Harry sat back and regarded the three of them. Suzannah’s only mistake was telling Frank. She wasn’t involved, and Frank was dead. No good could come from their knowing Tony had used Frank as a pawn, just as Frank had used Donnie.

  Harry saw Gerry’s eyes gleaming through narrow slits. He could read his thoughts. If Suzannah had any part in Marjorie’s death, he would argue that she should not benefit from the estate. Time to step in.

  “Listen, Gerry, Suzannah acted solely from compassion—an act of kindness, if you will. We all like to think we’d do the so-called right thing at any given moment, but that’s only clear in hindsight. Can you honestly say you would have done otherwise?”

  Gerry fussed with his notepad. “If she hadn’t told Frank, maybe—”

  “That’s ridiculous. Frank didn’t murder Marjorie,” Harry said quietly.

  Katharine spoke. “That’s beneath even you, Gerry. Suzannah loved Marjorie. She only wanted to comfort and reassure her, which is more than either of us did.” Katharine suddenly sat forward and with one swift motion, she removed her scarf. The ugly petal design was only beginning to heal.

  “Marjorie was extremely intelligent. She would not fall prey to McKeown’s charms. She stood up to a true monster because she was a principled woman.” Slowly and with great dignity, Katharine retied her scarf.

  Clasping Katharine’s hand, Suzannah said, “Mr. Jenkins, is there any way we can legally change Marjorie’s distribution?”

  Harry nodded slowly. “Yes, provided you all agree and the church gets its legacy.”

  “How can we settle this mess?” asked Suzannah.

  “I have a few ideas.” Harry was on familiar ground. “The house is valued at two-and-one-half million. There’s cash of three million. The wills are conflicting. But the second one, leaving you the house plus a third of the cash, was apparently procured under duress by Frank.”

  Suzannah bowed her head. “I know, and I want to set things right. But I would like to have the house.”

  “There are a number of ways to settle this,” said Harry. Katharine folded her hands in her lap. Gerry began doodling on his pad of paper.

  “But first, I think we should all acknowledge Donnie’s role. Had he not been so brave, we would have had a quite different result. Your son, Gerry, got McKeown to confess. Marjorie was very concerned about him. She thought he suffered greatly from your lack of love and attention.”

  Gerry looked up sharply from his doodling. “What? Jesus. I’ve spent a ton of money on psychiatrist’s and lawyer’s bills for that kid.”

  “That’s just it. You pawned him off on others to look out for him.”

  Gerry tossed down his pen. “Fuck. What was I supposed to do? He’s been in trouble since kindergarten.”

  Harry shrugged. “I know Marjorie wanted to help him any way she could. So we could do this. Suzannah gets the house, less the commission, should she decide to sell. And the three million in cash gets split among you, Gerry, Katharine, and Donnie, in trust.”

  Gerry punched numbers into his calculator and moments later began to smile. Katharine merely nodded.

  A slow smile broke over Suzannah’s face. “I agree, Mr. Jenkins. I want to do something with the house.”

  “I don’t think the city would let you turn it into a hostel, Suzannah, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Katharine said quietly.

  “I know, but maybe some of the proceeds could be used to help out at Emma’s Hostel.”

  For the first time, Katharine smiled slightly. “Yes. That would be good.”

  “So what do you think, Gerry?” Harry prodded.

  “Done. As long as I control Donnie’s trust.”

  Harry shook his head. “Ask Suzannah and Katharine. They have to approve.”

  “I think the three of us should control it,” said Katharine. “Marjorie wanted Donnie to have some independence.”

  Gerry’s mouth twisted sharply downward. “I suppose you’ll want a fee for your services?”

  “Of course not.” Suzannah spoke sweetly. “But I certainly want some say in Donnie’s future.” She turned to Harry. “Isn’t that the right thing to do, Mr. Jenkins?”

  Harry simply nodded. “If we’re all agreed,” he said, glancing at Gerry, “I’ll prepare a draft trust for everyone’s review.”

  Katharine rose unsteadily. “If there’s nothing more?”

  “By the way,” Suzannah said, holding out an envelope to Harry. “I found a few more papers at Marjorie’s.”

  Harry took the envelope, and everyone left.

  Prior to the meeting, Harry had prepared a preliminary inventory of the estate assets. It was a tedious but often revealing task.

  In his office, he opened the envelope to find a passbook. Good Lord! According to the book, Marjorie had an additional five hundred thousand in cash. Quickly, he checked his notes and found that he had no notation of the account, which was located at the Commerce near his office.

  He had an appointment with Mudhali, the paper pusher, in half an hour. He could update the passbook at her bank on his way back from the meeting.

  Banks are not your friends, he reminded himself as he marched up the steps of the Toronto-Royal. In the past two weeks, Mudhali had called at least every other day, but fortunately Harry had still been able to access all his accounts.

  First, he had to get the Chin money; then he would nail the bureaucratic twit.

  Miss Priverts was in her brass cage.

  “I need a bank draft for $175,000 drawn on my trust account, payable to Stephen Barrett in trust.” He surveyed her prune-like face for traces of trouble. “Please.”

  She tapped her computer keys and began the preparation of the draft.

  “Then I need another draft for twenty-five thousand from my general account, payable in the same manner.”

  He held his breath. Pursing her lips, she tapped her keys again. Without comment, she began the preparation of the second draft.

  Harry gave a silent sigh. The Chin money could be returned via Stephen later today.

  Mr. Mudhali approached. “Mr. Jenkins? A word in my office, please?”

  “Indeed! More than a word, I think.” Harry gathered up his bank drafts and marched into the assistant manager’s office.

  Seated, Mudhali began, “We must reach a written agreement, otherwise our lawyers—”

  “Let me see the pledge agreement.”

  “All documentation is in order, sir.”

  “Please.” Harry put on his reading glasses.

  Mudhali handed him the requested document.

  “What did Mr. Crawford do with all this money?”

  The assistant manager rummaged in his file. “On the fifteenth of March, 2000, he required a bank draft payable to cash.”

  “I see.” Harry quickly scanned the pledge agreement, which set out in bold the horrendous sum of five hundred thousand dollars borrowed by Crawford. The only security for the loan was the accounts receivable of Crane, Crawford and Jenkins. At the foot was Crawford’s pinched signature.

  “You have a copy of the firm partnership agre
ement in your file?” Harry asked.

  Hesitating only a moment, Mudhali said, “Certainly, Mr. Jenkins.” He produced the partnership agreement, which Harry set beside the pledge document.

  After running his finger down the page, Harry read aloud from the last paragraph. “If this document secures partnership assets, it must be executed by all partners.”

  Mudhali paled.

  Harry picked up the partnership agreement. “This was in your file. You were on notice that Crane, Crawford and Jenkins was a partnership.” Harry sat back. “My signature is not on that pledge. I was never consulted. My firm is not bound by this agreement.”

  Mudhali appeared to struggle for breath, but he recovered sufficiently to say, “Nevertheless, the amount remains outstanding. You acknowledged the debt by making a payment.”

  Harry tossed down the paperwork. “What?” He shoved back his chair. “You might as well have held a gun to my head! That is no acknowledgement.” Harry was on his feet. “Listen you miserable paper-pusher. You’ve blown it now. Head Office will have you counting paper clips once they see you’ve taken useless security.”

  Mudhali’s face darkened, but he remained silent.

  Harry bore down. “You have no sense of right or wrong. No sense of fair or unfair. To you, these are only pieces of paper with no lives or consequences attached.”

  “Mr. Jenkins, please!” Mudhali held up his hand. “Surely we can work out terms.”

  Harry began to laugh. In arrears…in arrears. Three months in jail! he thought. “If Head Office is so foolish as to pursue this matter, have them contact my lawyer.” Harry slammed the door, leaving the assistant manager gasping for air.

  The bank could never sue on the pledge agreement. Plain as day, his signature was required. Grinning, Harry strode through the hushed concourse beneath the vaulted ceilings and out to the sunshine of Bay Street.

  Next stop, the Commerce Bank. Within five minutes, Harry had updated the passbook for Marjorie, given to him by Suzannah.

  Indeed, Marjorie’s account had been credited with the sum of five hundred thousand dollars by deposit of a bank draft on the fifteenth of March in the year 2000. Of course interest had accrued. It was a substantial sum to be added to the inventory.