The letter continued with more of that solid, good advice but contained a little extra something that was amazingly prescient:
"And, for goodness' sake, be sure to go out and live. I know those of you who are living through this Depression are bound to be cautious, thinking that the sky may fall at any moment, like it did on your parents. But, my dear niece, may I assure you that the sky will never fall on your head. So, go out there and grab the apple. Live life and, please, be kind to yourself and the ones you come across. And, for my sake, be nice to your brother. He's a good soul and is walking the same path as myself, which is not always a happy journey. I wish you all the very best with this gift I am so very pleased to make for you. Take it and live long in health, joy, and love."
I handed this letter to Carter, who was munching jammy toast. Marnie, who was the world's best busybody, read it over his shoulder, which was hard to do since he was so much taller than her.
I then pulled out the two official documents. One detailed the terms of the trust. I was familiar with this one. I had one just like it. I scanned the document to see if there was anything different about it, and there wasn't.
I then looked at the second one and it was her will. And, look at that, Jeffery Klein, Esquire, was her attorney. Well, bully for Janet. And bully for Jeffery. I guess all he had to do was get out the boiler plate from mine.
I read through it and was surprised by nothing. The Williams Benevolent Foundation was about to get a whole lot larger.
"Well, Marnie, the house isn't mine to let. But I will make a handsome offer to purchase it from the Williams Benevolent Foundation and I have a feeling they will gladly sell. I think you'll find the rent to be very affordable."
She said, "Thanks Nick. That's real swell. Mother's going to love living close to the ocean."
I said, "And think of all those soldiers at the Presidio, just over the hill from you."
Marnie said, "You know I ain't interested in that. I'm going to the market. When do you leave?"
I looked at my watch. It was just right at 11. "In about 15 minutes. Stay as long as you like. Don't rush on our account. By the way, where is Mike?"
Marnie shrugged. "Beats me. He was gone when I came down."
She came over and gave me another peck on the cheek. She looked at Carter and said, "I know he's a pain, but you got a good man there, Carter."
He smiled at her and said, "He is. And I know it. Thanks, Marnie, for coming in on this deal with us."
She waved at both of us and hurried out the front door. I think she was trying not to cry in front of us again.
Carter looked at me and asked, "So, does the foundation get it all?"
I nodded.
"How much?"
"Based on the trust document, the endowment is about to double."
Carter just shook his head. "How did he do it? That's... That's a hell of a lot of money, Nick."
I nodded. "I know. And, truth be told, we really don't want to know how."
He just grinned at me. He had a spot of red plum jam on the corner of his mouth. I had to lick it off, of course. Good jam should never be wasted.
Chapter 18
On the way to Grace Cathedral
Saturday, May 16, 1953
Just before noon
It was one of those perfect San Francisco days. The sky was that kind of blue that you only see in our fair city. Not a cloud anywhere. A nice breeze and a warm May sun.
We took a cab to the cathedral. I had an idea that maybe we could walk down to Grant Street afterward and have some dim sum. I didn't want to have to deal with parking where there wouldn't be any.
I turned to Carter. "I should call Jeffery and let him know all about our new plan."
"He'll show up for the service, won't he?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know how things are with his new friend."
"Well, you have to take the will to him, right?"
"He already has a copy. That's why I don't know if we'll see him. He should've already called me, as the sole heir."
I noticed that, as we were talking, the cab driver kept looking in his rear-view mirror at me. I asked him, "So, did we make the front page this morning?"
The guy snapped his fingers and said, "I knew that was you. I fuckin'..." He looked contrite for a moment. "Pardon my language..."
"Have at it, brother," I said.
"I fuckin' hate them Hearsts. Good for you! And, you know, I grew up on a farm. I know the good Lord made everyone to His liking, so you won't get no trouble from me on account of your, uh, proclivities."
This actually shook me a bit. Maybe we should have looked at the paper before venturing out.
"Do you have a copy with you?"
"Sure! It's the Call-Bulletin, if you don't mind that."
"And such a venerable newspaper in this City? Of course not."
Carter whispered, "Lay off the high-hat talk," as the man passed the paper over the back of the seat.
I spread it out and we both looked. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't good.
"Gay Ole Time at the Top of the Mark." That was the main headline. The sub went like this: "Great-nephew of Paul Williams Keeps Family Legacy Alive."
That one made me laugh. Carter was looking at the photo. "You're right. I am a giant. They almost cropped my head off."
I elbowed him. "That's what you're looking at?" I looked over at him and he grinned.
We both turned back to the story. It was written a bit floridly, but that was the way the queer stories always came out. Apparently, I had stood up, both hands on my hips, and spat at the horrified Mr. George Hearst. Mrs. George Hearst was reportedly terrified, according to witnesses and family friends.
No mention was made of his brother, Randolph, or his lovely sister-in-law, Catherine, which I thought strange. I looked for the byline. Oh, ho. There was none, of course.
I assumed the story in the Chronicle would feature the embarrassment to the Hearsts and would skip much of the rest. In this paper, there was a separate story, with a byline, about the mayor's vow to clean the city ranks of any known homosexuals, Communists, and other deviants. Good ole Rob-Rob.
The cab pulled up on Jones at the entrance to the partially-completed cathedral. There was a mob of reporters waiting. I threw the guy his paper, a twenty, and said, "Thanks!"
He replied, "Don't mention it. Good luck with them jackals."
We jumped out and I let Carter, my personal giant, run interference. He pushed his way through and we dashed up the steps and into the safety of the sanctuary.
It was dark inside, as it always was. The stained glass was beautiful, as always. A minister of some sort extended his hand and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Williams." I nodded. He then shook Carter's hand. "And, I'm so sorry for all that has happened in the last day, Mr. Jones." This was nice. Real nice.
"Won't you follow me in here? I wanted to have a few words with you both before we begin."
We followed the minister, or priest, I really had no idea of his title, into a small room. He closed the door behind us and said, "I am the Right Reverend Simon Acre. I am the Bishop of California. I will be performing the memorial service for your sister."
I said, "Thank you..." I paused, not knowing the right word.
"Bishop."
"Thank you, Bishop."
Carter and I were holding our hats in our hands nervously. I felt like we'd been called into the principal's office and were in trouble.
"I wanted to speak with you both briefly before we started. I have two objectives. The first being that I would like to add any particular anecdotal stories about your sister that you would like for me to share. Are there any that come to mind?"
I thought for a moment and then remembered what I'd heard the previous day in that old pile of rocks a couple of blocks away.
"Janet was a very happy baby. I loved to listen to her laugh, even when no one was in the room with her. She seemed to think everything was funny back then."
<
br /> The bishop smiled and nodded. "Anything else?"
I said, "I don't how you'll take this or whether you can use it. But we had a miserable childhood. And it was lousy. But she seemed to take it all in stride. And she was very generous." I thought about the Foundation. "In fact, you can share that her sizable estate has been left absolutely to the Williams Benevolent Foundation."
The bishop smiled again and asked, "Oh, is that a family tradition?"
I said, "Not really. Let's say it's starting with our generation." I remembered one other thing. "You could also say that she got in a lot of trouble every time she tried to sneak bread or fruit or anything, really, to the men who were lined up on California Street, you know."
The bishop shook his head and said, "I know. Why don't I just say that she was generous to a fault, even as a child?"
I smiled and said, "That's perfect."
The knot in my stomach was growing tighter. I looked at Carter, who was somber, and then at the bishop.
"What was the other thing, Bishop?"
He looked a little pained. "Would you be amenable to sitting only with immediate family?"
I wasn't and wouldn't be but this was Janet's day. I looked at Carter, who shrugged. "This is about your sister, Nick."
The bishop put his hand on Carter's arm and smiled up at him. "Good man."
For some reason, I burst into tears when he did that.
. . .
I sat up on the front pew, quite alone. The cathedral was packed with well-wishers, gossip mavens, curiosity seekers, professional Williams family haters (and there were plenty of these, as they had every right to be), and assorted other types.
Carter was back, a couple of rows behind. He was seated with Ben, Carlo, and Mike, who had all shown up unannounced but not unwelcome. This show wasn't anything I would wish on an enemy, not to mention a really good friend. Pam and Diane were there, too, seated with them. Pam was wearing the dress she'd worn to our last function together.
My father was nowhere to be seen. Nor were any of his siblings or the assorted cousins, first, second, or third. In fact, it looked like I was the only Williams present because, in the time-honored tradition of our crazy family, Janet's ashes were up on the altar. I guess it was only the safe thing to do. Cremate the bastards just in case they weren't actually dead.
It was ten after and the bishop looked at me from where he was seated. The massive organ was playing some beautiful Bach, which I was very much enjoying. I shrugged and mouthed, "Go ahead."
The Right Reverend Simon Acre, Bishop of California, stood and the organist very quietly brought that particular fugue to an end. He looked across the crowded room and said, "Today we remember the life of Janet Leticia Williams."
At that moment, I heard a sound in the back. There were several people whispering and I could hear people turning in their pews. I turned around and could see only a single man standing in the door to the great cathedral. He was in shadow as the blinding light of the beautiful San Francisco day made it impossible to see anything else.
"Wait! I killed her." It was, of course, my father.
I stood up and began to walk quickly down the aisle. The organ began again. Carter caught up with me and whispered, "Do you think he's drunk?" I nodded.
"I killed her! I killed my baby!" There were exclamations and furious whispers that were getting louder as we walked the long gangplank to the back of the cathedral.
When we could finally see him, it was obvious that he was drunk. There were journalists outside, snapping up all the juiciness of the latest Williams family scandal.
I said, not kindly, "You're drunk, old man. Come on."
I pulled on him and he pulled away. "Don't touch me, you faggot."
Carter grabbed the man, who was only 5'8" tall and weighed maybe 130 pounds when wet, and began to carry him towards the small room where we had met with the bishop.
As we walked briskly, my father started howling, "Put me down, you fucking fairy. Let me go!"
I said, "Shut up, old man, or I'm gonna sock you in the face."
That shut him up.
Chapter 19
Grace Cathedral
Saturday, May 16, 1953
A quarter past noon
We got to the room and Carter dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. He sat there, crying. Carter stood with his back to the door. No one was leaving or coming in.
I pulled my father up by his arm and pushed him into one of the wooden chairs that were arranged in a circle.
"Why are you here, old man?" I was mightily pissed but I was also feeling a terrible pity for him. I knew why he was there. He felt guilty. But he felt guilty for all the wrong things, as usual.
"I killed her. Don't you understand? She wouldn't be dead if it weren't for me." He was still sobbing. His suit was a mess. He smelled of vodka, his drink of choice.
I sat down on my haunches and said, "You are an evil bastard but you're no killer."
He looked at me, astonished that I would call him that. "But Marlene—"
"But Marlene nothing. That was pure circumstance."
He shook his head. "No. No. She came to me begging for a job because she knew—" He started sobbing again.
"She knew what?"
"She knew I was lonely. All those late nights."
"I know, old man. But even if you were the mark, how did she even know about Janet inheriting money?"
"It was that boyfriend of hers." He suddenly got angry. "She was a two-timing whore!" He spat out that last word. I looked up at Carter, who was grinning like he was watching the horse races and had the ticket to win on the longshot and it was coming around ahead of the pack by two lengths. It was infectious that smile. I started realizing the absolute absurdity of this entire conversation and how richly ironic the whole story was.
My father looked at me and then looked at Carter. The shadow of his real self suddenly showed up. "How dare you treat me that way, you... you... pansy!"
I looked up at Carter, who had his thick arms crossed, and said to my father, "That's a pansy? That's a fairy? Who do you think you're talking about?"
He spat at me. "I can't believe you have disgraced this family. You're just like that uncle of mine." He was beginning to either sober up or come to his senses, as appalling as they were.
I said, "This whole family is a disgrace. Janet was the one decent member. Remember how you used to beat her for taking bread to the men on California Street?"
He looked at me, now feeling some powerful emotion. At first, I thought he was going to cry again. But his real self was asserting and that show was over. "Those men were weak. They could have had any job they wanted."
"No, Father, there were no jobs to be had."
"Well, we can't run a charity for any slob down on his luck."
"Well, old man, Janet got you back for that." I briefly explained her trust and the will. I omitted any mention of the letters.
"The whole thing goes to your pansy Foundation?"
"Yes. It does."
He puffed up. "I'll sue!"
I shook my head. "I'm sure your white-shoe attorneys will be happy to take your money but I doubt the California State Supreme Court will be happy to see your bony ass back in front of them again. They already told you to take a hike once. Besides, you're loaded! What do you want more money for?"
He dropped his head, which was shocking. "All I've got is what's under the floor. And I've been selling off land. I'm not rich. Not anymore."
This knocked me back. I got up off my haunches and sat down in the chair next to him.
"Well, if you still have the mountain, you could live like a king and not have to worry about anything."
He looked at me, confused. "The mountain? What mountain?"
"That's the name Janet and I used to call that stash under your office."
He cracked the tiniest of smiles and then hid it, fast.
"No. There's not much there anymore. Only about a million."
&nb
sp; Carter burst into laughter at this. I looked up at him and smiled. He covered his mouth quickly and then coughed.
My father looked up at Carter and said, "Don't laugh at me, young man. You may be big but you don't know what it's like to lose everything."
Carter said, "You must not have read today's paper, Dr. Williams."
My father turned to me and asked, "What's he talking about?"
I said, "First, he is a person. His name is Carter Jones and I love him."
My father shuddered. "Keep all that pansy stuff to yourself."
I pulled on my father's arm and said, "All that pansy stuff is on the front page of all the papers this morning."
"Except the Examiner," added Carter.
"What's that about the Examiner?" asked my father, looking at Carter and expecting an answer. I almost fell out of my chair.
"Your son, the genius, told off Mr. George Hearst in no uncertain terms last night when we were having dinner at the Top of the Mark."
My father turned to me and looked... proud? I wasn't sure what his look was, since I'd never seen it before. "You did?" He cracked the tiniest of smiles.
I nodded. He looked back up at Carter. "Well, boy, tell me what he said."
Carter looked mildly surprised and then gave a brief description, with lots of emphasis on my use of the word "rag."
My father, the evil old man that he was, actually cackled at one point. He looked at me, now smiling, and said, "Well, good for you."
I said, "Carter left out why I called him out."
He looked at me and said, "Oh, who cares? George Hearst is a pompous ass and I don't care why you did it. All that matters is that he was humiliated in public." He cackled again.
I stood up. "Well, it looks like you're back to your usual evil self, so I guess we'll just go in and have ourselves a memorial service if you're so disposed."
He shook his white head. "No. I'm going to stay in here until it's over. Then I'll go home. Do you think your giant friend will stay and keep me company?"
The Unexpected Heiress (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 1) Page 10