Then there were the emails that Susan had mentioned. Perhaps they held a clue about the bequest. Susan had said that it was never discussed, but I was doubtful about that. Gloria had known that her condition was getting worse and was clearly aware that there would come a time when she would no longer be able to discuss these matters. I doubted whether it had occurred to Susan that her emails might be retrieved now. I wasn’t even sure that they could. Perhaps Gloria had taken the secret of her email password to the grave with her; or the arboretum. My own email account automatically kept emails for years without any need to delete them to free up space on the server. Gloria’s emails might make very interesting reading. I wondered if Greg would be agreeable to letting me have access to her email account if he knew what the password was, or access to the computer itself where the password may have been saved. I guessed he would if he considered it relevant to my investigation. I had little to go on at the moment, and those emails might be illuminating. I would ask Greg over the weekend; it would give me something to occupy myself with while I was awaiting the DNA results.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Lucy said. We were back indoors.
“Some of the things Susan said have a ring of truth about them, but I just can’t accept that she’s unable to provide any details about her background. She knows it’s important. She probably thinks she’s got me on a hiding to nothing. It’s like a criminal trial in a way. It’s for the prosecutor to prove the defendant’s guilt, not the other way around. Prima facie she has all she needs. Gloria refers to her by name and place and date of birth. She has the birth certificate and other identity documents. It’s not sufficient to raise a doubt about her identity; unless she can be proved to be an imposter she’s likely to succeed.”
“How about trying to buy her off? Pretend that you’re onto her and that it’s only a matter of time before the game is up. Maybe she’d settle for a smaller slice of the cake.”
“No, that’s not the way Greg wants things run. It’s all or nothing I’m afraid.”
I found myself staring out of the front window. The people across the street were moving out. I doubted it was because of anything I’d said or done. I felt like a drink. I wasn’t sure whether this was because I wanted a drink or because I needed one. I hoped it wasn’t the latter. I’d read somewhere that a moderate amount of alcohol was actually good for you; it lowered the risk of heart failure quite significantly. It was better for you than not drinking at all. They knew this because someone had been paid to research it. On the other hand drinking excessively was dangerously bad for you, worse than drinking moderately or not drinking at all. I thought that whoever was responsible for these rules must have had a wicked sense of humor. I needed exercise though. I’d hardly been running at all since I’d left my apartment. I used to run a lot in the park when I was living downtown. But I preferred the anonymity of exercising in a public park rather than in front of the prying eyes of neighbors. If I wanted to run now I’d have to go past Lucy’s house which would be a good thing in a way because she’d approve, but bad in another way because she’d probably buy a matching outfit so that she could go with me. It occurred to me that I’d seen more of Lucy in the past few months than I had in the previous few years. I had a sudden and vivid picture of us both about forty years on sitting next to each other in bath chairs on the lawn of a nursing home in Florida. I shuddered slightly and tried to get rid of this picture but I couldn’t dispel it entirely so I filed it away in the back of my mind where I hoped it would be difficult to retrieve.
“I’m off for cocktails and girlie talk,” Lucy announced.
“See you around kiddo,” I said, and went into the kitchen to cook some dinner.
Chapter Eleven
A Nightmare
I’ve never needed an alarm clock because I always wake up at six o’clock in the morning, no matter what time I go to bed, even on a Sunday; and I hate lying in bed after I wake up, at least when I’m on my own, which is most of the time. So I was up scrambling some eggs just after dawn and planning the day ahead. My car would be ready at nine tomorrow so I wasn’t going anywhere. According to the forecast it was going to rain most of the day but it was deceptively sunny at the moment. I sat out on the front porch and drank my first cup of coffee, trying to read the news on my tablet. The tablet was a gift from Lucy who had told me it was time I ‘got with it’. There was almost nothing that you couldn’t do on the tablet. I could read newspapers online, download entire books in a matter of seconds, trawl the internet and I could even have checked my emails if someone ever sent me one. I could book hotels, airplane flights and, with the right know-how, I could even purchase a cup of coffee in Starbucks. This was the theory at any rate. Unfortunately the morning sunshine made it impossible for me to read anything on the screen.
It seemed to me that most of the technology over the past fifty years or so had been designed to save time; but time for what? TVs so we didn’t need to go out to the movies, portable music players so that we didn’t need to go home, cell phones so we didn’t need to look for payphones, remote controls so that we never had to get off our butts. Now we had tablets to ensure that we didn’t have to waste time going to a book shop or library, travel agent or bank. And how were people enjoying all this extra time? By messaging friends and telling them what they’d eaten for dinner. I decided Lucy was right; I was an old fuddy duddy.
I remembered watching my father slip away in the last few weeks before he died. When younger I’d asked him why people who were old and infirm still wanted to hang onto life even though they had little or any enjoyment left, and he had said this to me: ‘Life is sweet’. But when it was his turn to go he seemed completely at peace with the prospect of death and I thought I knew why. The world he was leaving was not the world he had grown up in, no longer the world he knew; It was no longer a familiar world in which he felt comfortable, it was a world in which he’d become a stranger to the environment. Maybe I’d feel the same one day; I was beginning to feel that way already.
Although it was my designated day of rest the Lord had other plans for me. I rang Greg to make an appointment for later in the week as there were things I needed to discuss with him. Greg said that he was having lunch at the country club with Bill Saunders and I was welcome to join them. It seemed a good opportunity to ask Bill about any private papers he might have pertaining to the adoption, so I agreed. I’d have to borrow Lucy’s car. That would raise a few eyebrows at the club. Luckily she already had other plans so I wouldn’t have to invite her. I mollified her by telling her it was going to rain.
As I drove to the clubhouse I received a look from the man on the gate which was meant to convey either condescension or pity, or maybe both. Lucy’s car stuck out like a sore thumb in the club car park. The club itself was much quieter than on my last visit, the bar and the dining room both subdued, probably because of the weather. The threatened rain had by now arrived in spades. Greg introduced me to Bill Saunders and told me he’d already updated him on my progress. Greg and Bill seemed to be about the same age. Both seemed to have a sort of military look about them; they were wearing almost matching blazers and cravats, but my impression might have been influenced by Bill’s carefully clipped moustache.
I dug out one of my business cards, the one that said simply ‘Private Investigations’. Bill did a double take at the office address and seemed impressed, although I couldn’t tell whether he was impressed with me. Actually I’d gone to quite a bit of trouble to emulate Greg’s smart casual look, not an easy thing to do with my rather limited wardrobe. Nobody complimented me. Bill said politely that he’d bear me in mind if he needed my services in the future but there was no way of telling whether he meant it or not.
During lunch I raised the matter of whether he was in possession of any private papers of Gloria’s which might have details of the adoption, but he said he wasn’t aware of any, so I asked Greg to check and see if he could find any such documents at home. Bill briefly touched o
n the subject of wills, probate and intestacy. He knew little about Gloria’s personal affairs.
“The only thing I know about the adoption,” said Bill, “is that the father of the child was lost in Vietnam.” He turned to Greg. “Were you in Vietnam, Greg?”
“No,” said Greg.
“Nor me,” said Bill.
Neither of them had been in Vietnam. The talk returned to wills and probate.
“People think they can do it all themselves nowadays, by downloading forms from the Internet, but I can tell you it’s not as simple as it seems. It can be a nightmare sometimes,” he said; “a nightmare.”
I asked him whether he’d ever had to deal with a case involving the identity of a beneficiary before and he said he hadn’t.
“I thought I’d seen everything,” he said, “but this is a nightmare.”
I got the point. I refrained from asking him about other possible difficulties that had exercised my mind during the week. I decided to liven things up by telling him about Skipper.
“Are there any legal requirements for burying a pet in your backyard?” I said.
“Not as far as I know; I’ll have to look it up,” he said. He looked at his wristwatch and said he’d have to be going. As I stood up Greg asked me if I could stay behind for a while. There was something he wanted to discuss with me. After Saunders had left the dining room we resumed our seats and Greg turned to me.
“There’s something I would like your opinion about,” he said, leaning across the table towards me. “It’s not connected to your enquiry, it’s a personal matter, but it occurred to me that you might be able to give me some objective advice. I hope you don’t mind; only I seem to have got myself into a bit of an awkward situation.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” I said.
“During the last few months of Gloria’s, uh, illness I accepted the help of a young lady who was advertising for part-time housekeeping work. Her name’s Gwen Pallow and she’s a divorcee with a grown-up son. She kept the house clean and tidy, did the shopping, washing and ironing, that sort of thing. It was to free me up so that I could spend more time tending to Gloria’s needs. At first it was a couple of hours three times a week but after a while she started to come more or less every day, and gradually I found myself rather dependent on her. Not because of the chores but because she was someone to talk to, to unburden myself I suppose. So she started to eat meals with me and stay longer and later. I’m afraid the boundary between work and friendship got rather blurred. She insisted to stay on and help even after Gloria’s death; well until just after the funeral. After that I wanted to be alone and I found that doing all those mundane household chores actually helped me to cope; they kept me busy. Now Gwen has started to pester me rather. It seems she got the impression that I might be interested in her as a partner following Gloria’s death. She’s a good deal younger than me – she’s in her forties - and I know from our long chats together that life as a single woman doesn’t appeal to her. She made no secret of her hope to marry again one day. The problem is that I didn’t know she had me in mind as a prospective husband.”
“And does she?”
“She says that I gave her the clear impression that I was interested in her as more than a housekeeper. If I did then it wasn’t intentional; I was really rather pre-occupied at the time. It came as something of a surprise to me as I’d never thought of her in that way at all.”
“Well I can’t really see that there’s a problem, is there? You just need to set the record straight. I’m sure you can let her down in a diplomatic way.”
“Yes, of course. Well I’ve tried to, although she’s rather persistent. But I must say a lot of what she says makes sense.”
“What kind of things?”
“Well, that I’m still a relatively young man by today’s standards. I’m fit and healthy thank God. I might live for another twenty years or more. She says I need a companion, and so does she. Her son’s left home and we’re both alone. We get on well together. That sort of thing.”
“Is she suggesting marriage?”
“I suppose so, although she hasn’t exactly proposed – yet.”
“Well, how do you feel about that? I mean life goes on, Greg.”
“Well I don’t have any feelings for her. I don’t think she does for me either. It would be a partnership of convenience I guess. She would get companionship and security, and I would get company and someone to share things with. A win-win situation is the way she put it.”
“I don’t think it’s something I can advise you about, Greg; except to suggest that you don’t rush into any kind of commitment without giving it a great deal of thought.”
“Hmmm,” Greg grunted.
“Don’t you think it would be something best discussed with your family – with your sons?”
“We haven’t really been on the best of terms since Gloria passed away.”
“My suggestion then, for what it’s worth, is that you continue to see Gwen on an occasional or even a regular basis if you like but keep things at arm’s length, at least for the time being. It seems to me you’re still grieving and I don’t think you’re in the best state of mind to make a decision which will affect your entire future, and one which you might later regret. I suspect that you are particularly vulnerable at the moment because of the relative estrangement between you and your sons.”
“Gwen says that I need to make a decision. She doesn’t want to be kept on a string.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds like a bit of an ultimatum to me.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. And that’s a bit of a red flag, isn’t it?”
“It would be for me. Look, however much time you and Gwen spent together in the weeks before Gloria died the circumstances were such that you can’t possibly know enough about her to make the sort of commitment she’s expecting, or asking for.”
“I do hope you don’t mind me confiding in you, Kane. You know, I’ve lived in this place for more than two decades but I don’t have any close friends to turn to. That’s a bit of a sobering thought, isn’t it?”
“I’m flattered that you felt able to confide in me; although I’m hardly an expert on relationships. But it’s understandable that you’re a bit socially isolated given the type of person you are and the nature of your relationship with Gloria.”
“Yes, it was a rather exclusive one, which was fine by me during our marriage, but there’s no denying it’s left me a bit high and dry now.”
“Fools rush in, Greg. Most of the old adages are truisms - that’s why they’ve stood the test of time. It seems to me that if you decide at some time in the future that you want another relationship with a woman there’ll likely be plenty of fish in the sea.”
“Oh, I don’t think of myself as much of a catch, y’know. But I’m not stupid. I’m well aware of that other old adage – there’s no fool like an old fool. I had an idea of which I’m slightly ashamed, but I’d appreciate your opinion. The reason I asked to meet Bill here today was to ask him − in general terms only, I didn’t open up to him like I have to you – about pre-nuptial agreements. I wanted to find out what the law is in Massachusetts on the validity of such agreements. I thought if I mentioned a pre-nup to Gwen in the event of marriage I might be able to gauge her interest in me as opposed to my net worth.”
“I certainly don’t see any harm in that, nor do I see any reason for her to take offence. You obviously need to put your children and grandchildren first. If she had any objection to that I’d give it a wide berth. The fact that you are alert to that possibility is reassuring.”
“Let’s drink to that, then,” Greg said. We touched our glasses together and drained them.
On my way out of the club I gave the gate man at the country club a knowing look. There was really nothing more to be done until I heard from Jill. As if by telepathy my phone rang at that very moment and it was the lady herself. I pulled over to the side of the road and pressed to answer.
; “Any luck yet?” I asked.
“It’s too early for the DNA result,” she said, “but I’ve been working over the weekend and something else has come up and I thought you ought to know. Where are you now?”
I told her I was on my way home from lunch.
“I hope you’re not talking to me while you’re driving.”
“No, I’ve pulled over. Is it important?”
“I’ve run some other tests on the hair. Something unusual has shown up. I specifically asked you not to give me details of the subject of the analysis” she said, “but I can see it’s a woman.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Can you tell me the cause of her death?”
“It was a combination of respiratory disease, organ failure and pneumonia. I haven’t seen the death certificate itself. The doctor said it was consistent with the natural progression of her dementia. Is it important? ”
I heard an “uh huh” and an audible intake of breath.
“I’m afraid your subject’s death was not a natural one, Kane.”
FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) Page 9