Mr. X

by Peter Straub

  My scalp tingled.

  “Frenchy had nothing on him sharper than his fingernails, but he figured out a way to cut his throat. He looked a lot like Toby back there.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “You mentioned Clothhead Spelvin the other day,” Mullan said. “Might you be able to shed a little light here?”

  C. Clayton Creech’s indifferent gaze at the pawnshop counter recommended silence.

  “I wish I could,” I said.

  Mullan rocked on his heels. “Nelson, take Mr. Dunstan to headquarters. You can give Mr. Creech a ride, too.”

  “Thank you, Captain, but I believe I will take the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air.” Creech interrogated me with a glance directed at the ceiling. I looked over his shoulder in the direction of the storeroom and the hidden ledger.

  Twenty minutes later, C. Clayton Creech padded into the interrogation room and communicated by his usual mysterious means that all was well. The stolid Nelson opened his notebook and began asking questions. Creech folded into the chair to my left and stayed there for the next three hours. Now and then he uttered a gentle reproof to whoever was grilling me at the moment. He seemed about as involved in the procedure as a lizard stretched out on a warm rock. Just before 12:30 P.M., the Edgerton Police Department released me with instructions to keep in touch.

  Creech and I went past the desk sergeant, who conspicuously ignored him. “All is copacetic,” Creech said. When we came to the top of the steps down to Grace Street and Town Square, Creech said, “My office at two o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there,” I said, and Creech was gone.

  91

  In an anteroom lined with hunting prints, a woman with the face of a hanging judge looked at me from behind a desk the size of a coffin. “We are Mr. Dunstan?”

  “We are,” I said.

  She picked up a stenographer’s notebook and a pen and opened the door to the inner office.

  Seated in wooden chairs with high, narrow backs, Clark, Nettie, and May turned their heads when I entered. Hats trimmed with black lace perched on top of the aunts’ white hair. A scuffed leather couch stood in front of a wall of law books, and brown threads showed here and there through the pattern of the faded Oriental rug. The high windows looking onto the bright park at Creech’s back admitted a weak light that died as soon as it entered. In the tenebrous gloom, the lawyer was a faceless outline.

  Creech took a paper from a folder on his desk and positioned it in front of him. He placed a fountain pen on top of the paper. “Before you get seated, Mr. Dunstan, please sign this agreement formalizing our relationship in the terms we discussed this morning and give me the sum of one dollar in fulfillment of its terms.” To the others, he said, “Mr. Dunstan is merely signing an authorization engaging me in the capacity of legal counsel. This authorization is necessitated by his discovery of the deceased’s body and has no bearing on the matter before us now.”

  I signed the one-paragraph statement and unfolded a dollar bill onto the paper. The dollar disappeared before he put the paper in a drawer, but I never saw him touch it. I went past the chairs and sat on the near end of the leather couch. The secretary perched at the other end. Creech said, “Miss Wick will be taking notes during this conference.”

  She opened the notebook and held the nib of her pen over an empty page.

  “Mr. Dunstan, I have informed your great-aunts and great-uncle of this morning’s events on Lanyard Street. I offer my heartfelt condolences. I knew Mr. Kraft only in my capacity as his legal adviser, but I filled that capacity for many years, and Mr. Kraft’s personality made a great impression on me.”

  “Scoundrels will do that,” Nettie said. “But I can’t say that Toby didn’t have his good points. He visited our niece on her deathbed.”

  “My client had a great fondness for his stepdaughter,” Creech said. “However, now that Mr. Dunstan has joined us, we may turn to the business at hand. It was my client’s instruction that the contents of his last will and testament be made known in timely fashion upon the occasion of his death, if possible within twenty-four hours of that event, and be it noted that we have assembled in observation of that instruction.”

  “So noted,” said Miss Wick.

  “Be it further noted that the parties desired by my client to be present at the reading of said last will and testament are assembled, with the exceptions of Mrs. Joy Dunstan Crothers, who is absent of her own volition, and Mr. Clarence Aaron Crothers, who is absent by reason of ill health.”

  “So noted,” said Miss Wick.

  Creech looked up from the folder before him. “My client also instructed that his mortal remains be given a swift burial. Of course, Mr. Kraft did not anticipate that his demise should be the result of homicide. The procedures of the County Coroner’s Office and our Police Department may render it impossible to observe the letter of his instructions. Therefore, let it be noted that the spirit of the instructions shall be honored and the aforesaid remains given burial within twenty-four hours of release to the Spaulding Heavenly Rest Funeral Home.”

  “So noted.”

  Mr. Creech appeared almost to smile at his audience, although the dim light and the character of his face made it difficult to tell. “I am instructed to inform those present of several matters. My client provided for all arrangements necessary to the disposition of his remains, including the purchases of coffin, headstone with inscription, and burial plot adjacent to that of his late wife. Furthermore, he desired no memorial or funerary service in a house of worship, whether Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, or any other faith or creed. Said burial is to be conducted without benefit of clergy, and may be attended by any persons who wish to be present. My client stipulated that any mourners in attendance shall be free to speak in a spontaneous fashion. Let it be noted that these instructions have been read and understood.”

  “So noted,” said Miss Wick.

  “Did I hear the word ‘inscription’?” Clark asked.

  “Let me find the exact wording.” Creech turned a few pages. “The inscription on my client’s headstone is to read as follows: first line, TOBIAS KRAFT, in capital letters; second line, the dates of his birth and death; third line, TRUST IN THE UNEXPECTED, in smaller capital letters, followed by an italicized attribution to Emily Dickinson.”

  “ ‘Trust in the unexpected’?” Clark said. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “I gather that my client found it a helpful sentiment.” Creech turned the page and looked back up. “We have now reached the reading of Mr. Kraft’s last will and testament. May I assume that the parties assembled here are willing to forgo a reading of the introductory paragraphs and move directly to section C, his bequests?”

  Nettie leaned over to whisper to May, and Creech said, “I assure you that nothing relevant to your concerns shall be neglected by moving to section C. In any case, copies of the entire document will be distributed at the conclusion of this meeting.”

  “Skip the mumbo jumbo,” Nettie said.

  “Be it noted that it has been agreed to begin the reading of the will at section C, Bequests.”

  Miss Wick uttered her echo.

  Creech began reading in his flat, emotionless voice. “I, Tobias Kraft, therefore direct that upon the occasion of my death the entire contents of my estate be distributed in the following manner. (1) The sum of five thousand dollars is to be given anonymously to the Red Cross. (2) The sum of five thousand dollars is to be given anonymously to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, located in Washington, D.C. (3) All clothing in my possession at the time of my demise is to be donated to Goodwill Industries. (4) The remainder of my estate, including all funds in checking accounts, money market accounts, stocks and bonds, mutual funds, and real estate held either by me personally or by the legal entity T.K. Holding Corporation, I hereby bequeath to Valerie Dunstan, known as Star Dunstan. Should Valerie Dunstan predecease me, the bequest shall be made to her son, Ned Dunstan.”

  He l
ooked up from the will. “Let it be noted that Mr. Tobias Kraft’s bequests have been read and understood.”

  Nettie drowned out Miss Wick’s response. “Either you left something out, or I didn’t hear you right.”

  “Let me explain it clearly, then, so that there will no misunderstandings. The terms of my client’s last will and testament donate ten thousand dollars to charitable causes. His clothing goes to Goodwill. The majority of his estate has been inherited by the young man seated on the couch behind you.”

  In varying degrees of shock, they swiveled their heads and gaped at me.

  Clark looked back at Creech. “What kind of estate are we talking about here?”

  “If you will give me a moment …” He took another bundle of papers from the folder, scanned the top page, put it aside, and glanced at the second. “In liquid funds, the estate consists of five hundred and twenty-five thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars, not counting interest earned since the last statements. Mr. Kraft also owned the building in which he resided and conducted his business, as well as one multiresidential unit on Chester Street and two commercial properties in downtown Edgerton. Their accumulated value would be approximately eight hundred thousand dollars, taking into account the insurance settlement due on the property recently destroyed by arson.”

  Nettie and May sat rooted to their chairs.

  “In addition,” Creech said, turning to another page, “my client held two insurance policies on his life. His wife was the original beneficiary of both policies. Upon her death, he named Valerie Dunstan as his beneficiary or, in the case of her demise, her son, Ned Dunstan. Each policy provides a three-hundred-thousand-dollar death benefit, so the total death benefit is six hundred thousand dollars. I have spoken to Mr. Kraft’s insurance agent, and he and I will be handling the forms. With luck and the cooperation of the authorities, the checks from the insurance companies should arrive within three to four weeks.”

  He may have smiled again, but I could not tell. “Mr. Dunstan, soon you will be a rather well-off young man. If you do not already enjoy the services of a good accountant, I suggest that you find one.”

  “I didn’t hear my name yet,” May said.

  “You aren’t going to,” Nettie said. “How much are you getting out of this deal, Creech?”

  “I will overlook that remark, Mrs. Rutledge.” Creech straightened the papers and closed the folder. “Under stress, people often speak rashly.”

  “You haven’t begun to hear rash,” Nettie said. “How much was it?”

  “Well, let me think,” Creech said. “For the preparation of Mr. Kraft’s will, I was compensated at my usual hourly rate. The total fee probably came to something like five thousand dollars, what with the various changes made over time. Mr. Dunstan and I have entered into no prior arrangement, apart from the one executed in front of you, for which I received one dollar. Mr. Dunstan will be invoiced for the time I spent on his behalf earlier today, which had no connection to this matter. Far from colluding with me to change the terms of Mr. Kraft’s bequests, I believe it is clear that Mr. Dunstan had no prior knowledge of those terms. I would go so far as to say that Mr. Dunstan is flabbergasted.”

  Nettie whirled in her chair and sent out storm signals. “I want to hear the truth. Did you know what was going to happen when you came in here?”

  “I had no idea,” I said. Miss Wick’s pen flew across her pad. “I’m flabbergasted, all right. Toby told me he was going to take care of me, but I thought he was talking about a job in the pawnshop.”

  “Now I see it,” Nettie said. “Now I know why you told the old scoundrel he should come to the hospital. I bet you’ve been paying him social calls.”

  Creech’s emotionless voice was like a splash of cold water. “Mr. Kraft’s will was last amended two weeks after the death of his wife. The date was April seventeenth, 1965. At the time, I believe Mr. Dunstan was a few months short of his seventh birthday. I also believe it is clear that Mr. Kraft’s intention was to bequest the bulk of his estate to Mr. Dunstan’s mother, and that he has inherited by default.”

  “Nettie,” May said, “did the old swindler leave everything to Star?”

  “He sure did,” said Nettie. “And because she was taken from us, the whole wad comes down to her little boy.”

  May craned her neck to look at me. “Neddie, you’re not going to keep it all, are you? Maybe you haven’t gotten very far in life, but you’re a good-hearted boy all the same.”

  Without deigning to turn his head, Clark said, “For a factory hand, you’re getting a whole lot of money, boy. I hope you can stay on the straight and narrow.”

  “Mr. Dunstan,” Creech said, “have you any intention of assuming my client’s pawnbroker business?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, we can arrange to liquidate the shop and sell the property. If you wish, we can also put the other properties on the market. My client’s will must be probated, a process that customarily takes at least a year to conclude, but it would be advisable to take care of these details now.”

  “Thank you, yes,” I said. “Arrange to sell Toby’s properties.” I watched Miss Wick’s pen dance over her notebook.

  “Fast cars,” Clark said. “A big house. French champagne and buxom girlfriends. You know what they say about a fool and newfound wealth. If you were to let me handle that money, you might have a chance of coming out of this with a few cents in your pocket.”

  “Uncle Clark,” I said, “I have to think about what I’m going to do, and I wish you’d all shut up for a second.”

  “I have to speak from my heart,” Nettie said, not to me but to the air in front of her, like Clark. “I have to say one little, tiny thing, or it will magnify itself into a great burden and weigh on me forever. Mr. Toby Kraft married our beloved sister. Although he took Queenie from us, we never failed to welcome him into our homes. When our sister passed away, Mr. Toby Kraft remained a member of our family circle. You could say, he even became a pest. Toby Kraft was in the habit of dropping in uninvited and staying for dinner, and for the sake of my dear sister’s memory I prepared a whole lot more meals for that man than I ever felt like cooking, and the same is true of my sister May. If you were to add up the costs of all the times Toby had the pleasure of a home-cooked dinner, it would come into the thousands of dollars, all out of Christian charity. That old crook never gave any signs of having a fortune squirreled away, did he, May?”

  “He did not,” May said.

  “To look at the man, he barely had two nickels to rub together. Wore the ugliest clothes you ever saw in your life. He was a drinker, as we knew, and a scoundrel, on top of all that whiskey. But we gave him our love, because we knew no other way. That is the kind of people we are.”

  C. Clayton Creech looked at her in undisguised admiration.

  “Neddie,” May said, “think what your mother would do.”

  “I am thinking of what my mother would have done,” I said. “Mr. Creech, I’d like you to draw up an agreement dividing Mr. Kraft’s estate into four equal parts. One for Aunt Nettie, one for Aunt May, another for my Aunt Joy, and the last for me.”

  “Do you want to sleep on it for a night?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Are the death benefits from the insurance policies to be included in the division of the estate?”

  “Yes,” I said. “How much would each share come to?”

  Creech took a notebook from a desk drawer and lit a Lucky Strike from the pack on his desk. “Are we keeping up with these developments, Miss Wick?”

  Miss Wick assured him that the developments were being entered into the record.

  Creech bent over the notebook and exhaled a substantial plume of smoke. “We have five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash on hand. Add to that the probable value of the real estate holdings and the insurance benefits, and we have one million, nine hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. A one-quarter share of Mr. Dunstan’s inheritance
comes to four hundred and eighty-one thousand dollars, more or less.”

  “Draw up the papers,” I said. “Toby left the money to my mother, and I know she would have shared it with her aunts.”

  “Your decision is final,” Creech said.

  “You heard the boy, Creech,” Clark said. “Get hopping.”

  May looked at me again. “You know, Joy doesn’t need all that money. And Neddie, four hundred and eighty-one thousand dollars sounds like an awful lot to give to a young fellow who has his whole life in front of him.”

  I smiled at her. “You’re right. Mr. Creech, I want to donate twenty thousand dollars from my share of the insurance benefits to a woman named Suki Teeter.”

  “Could you spell that name for me?” Miss Wick asked.

  I spelled Suki’s name. “She’s at the Riverrun gallery on Archer Street, in College Park.”

  “That’s all I require,” Creech said. “Would you like me to inform Ms. Teeter of her good fortune?”

  “Please.”

  Nettie glared. “You’re giving money to that Suki?”

  “Star would have,” I said. “I saw Suki Teeter the other day, and she needs the money. If you think I shouldn’t do things like that, I could always keep everything for myself. Which would be … ?” I glanced at C. Clayton Creech.

  “One million, nine hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.” His delivery made it sound like what you would spend to get into a movie and pick up a medium-sized container of popcorn.

  “Suki was a dear friend to Star,” Nettie said. “Your mother would be proud of you. I knew you had a good heart.”

  Creech suggested attaching to my gifts the condition that all funds remaining be returned to me upon the death of the recipients, and Nettie said, “I don’t plan on leaving any money to the Red Cross or museums about Nazis. Draw it up and get probate cracking. I want a gas range with two ovens and a griddle, the kind they have in restaurants, and I’d like to get it before they plant me in the ground.” When we all stood up, Creech asked me to come back at 5:30 to sign the papers.