by Delynn Royer
Sean judged him to be all of thirty, though he looked still younger with his neatly gelled carrot red hair and pale, boyish complexion.
As his four guests seated themselves, Mr. Fabersham took his place at the head of the conference table and shuffled through a stack of files. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’re here today for the reading of Mr. Murphy’s last will and testament,” he said, making eye contact only with Nell.
She had not failed to make an impression on the young lawyer, who had earlier practically tripped over his own Oxfords to be the first to pull her chair out for her. “Let me start by offering my condolences to those of you who were close to Mr. Murphy.”
As Fabersham droned on, Arnie, who sat across from Sean, started to fidget, loosening his bow tie and glancing around the room as if to mark his exits. By contrast, Egan, who sat next to Arnie, listened with deadpan patience. What had become of Egan’s attractive companion from the funeral? If Egan was romancing her, it apparently wasn’t serious enough for him to include her in these proceedings.
Sean cast a measuring glance at Nell, who sat to his left, calm and dry-eyed, her lovely features somber and focused on Mr. Fabersham. Sean doubted she was as collected as she appeared. Some people babbled when they got nervous. Not Nell. He’d sensed mounting tension from her during the ride here as her banter had subsided and she’d taken to staring out the window.
“...and so, let us begin.” Fabersham flipped open a manila folder. “I, John Fitzpatrick Murphy, a resident and citizen of New York City, New York, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this instrument to be my last will and testament...”
* * *
When Trixie cracked open the door to the ladies’ room, Lenore stood over a sink peering in the mirror, sniffling and dabbing at smudges of mascara with a handkerchief. She was alone.
Trixie entered, closing the door behind her. “You’re Lenore Stewart, right?”
“What?” Lenore turned and, for the first time, Trixie saw the puffy, purpling bruise beneath her left eye. Even so, with all the tears, the running mascara, and a shiner Jack Dempsey could have been proud of, Lenore was still stunning.
“I couldn’t help overhearing what happened in there,” Trixie said.
Lenore sniffed and looked at her askance. “Say, I know you from somewheres, don’t I?”
“Trixie Frank with the Morning Examiner.” Trixie waited to see how Lenore would react.
The other woman blinked several times, slowly absorbing this information. “Say, I remember you now. You was at the wake. You wrote that story, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Lenore stared at her for another minute, sniffing, giving no indication of what was going through her mind. Was it possible nothing was going through her mind? “That story, it wasn’t very nice,” she said finally.
“I wrote it like I saw it. I hope you’re not too sore.”
“Sore?” Lenore cocked her head. “Why should I be sore? My agent says there ain’t no such thing as bad publicity.” She pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from her purse. “You want a cigarette?”
* * *
“...do hereby bequeath the sum of thirty thousand dollars to my brother, Egan Murphy, of London, England...”
Egan absorbed this news of his brother’s bequest with a deep intake of breath, then he bowed his head as if struggling with his emotions. He raised his head a few seconds later, though, still in command of himself. He looked at Nell, who didn’t return his gaze. She remained focused on the lawyer as he read on from the head of the table.
“...and do hereby bequeath the sum of twenty thousand dollars to my loyal friend and bodyguard, Arnold Cavanaugh...”
To this, Arnie let out a sound that sounded like a choked-off sneeze and reached for the inside pocket of his suit coat. Under other circumstances, Sean would have felt compelled to lay a hand on his service revolver, but instead of a gun, Arnie extracted a wrinkled handkerchief and dabbed at his nose.
Nell shifted in her seat and caught Sean’s eye. If she was surprised at Johnny’s bequests, she showed no sign of it.
As part of the investigation, Carter had obtained the details of Johnny’s three-year-old will, so Sean already knew that Nell was Johnny’s primary heir, that she had inherited the bulk of his estate after two sizable bequests, one to Egan and the other to Arnie.
Sean knew this, but Nell did not.
Or did she?
Could she have somehow found out before the fact that Johnny had made an appointment with Mr. Fabersham just a week prior to his death to draw up a new will, one in which Egan became the primary heir and Nell would have received a much smaller sum to be put into trust?
Johnny had lived long enough to dictate those terms to his attorney but not long enough to sign the final document. That appointment had been set for this week. Nell couldn’t have known how close she had come to becoming nothing more than a passing mention in her deceased husband’s will. Could she?
Nell looked away as Mr. Fabersham continued. “After payment of all debts, expenses, taxes, and special bequests as directed hereunder, I give, devise, and bequeath all the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, including all lapsed legacies and devices, and any property over which I have a power of appointment to...”
* * *
If Trixie had known Lenore was such a blabbermouth, she would have interviewed her long ago. Then again, most of what the Ziegfeld girl had to say revolved around her jealousy of Nell and was of questionable worth.
Lenore leaned against the sink, took a puff from her cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. “And so now I suppose she’ll get everything, and I’ll get nothing and everyone’s gonna think Johnny was still in love with her, but that wasn’t true. Did I tell you he wanted to have kids?”
“No,” Trixie said, dubious. It was hard to imagine a guy like John Murphy wanting children.
“Oh, yeah he did. He and Nell never had any, but he wanted to have them with me. He loved me best, that’s why. She was a shrew, that’s the truth, but now no one will ever know. They’ll think he still loved her ’cause she’s in his will, and where am I?” She raised her arms and looked as if she might start to cry again. “In the toilet!”
Lenore was drifting off track. Trixie tried to coax her back. “Oh, I don’t think so. He was the one who filed for the divorce, right?”
Lenore wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Well, yeah.”
“And that’s public record, plain for everyone to see. What was Nell’s reaction when she found out? Do you know?”
Lenore laughed as she tapped the ashes of her cigarette into the sink. “I wasn’t there, but she turned up at Johnny’s place one night a couple weeks ago. She was just served her papers earlier that day. That’s the first I seen her in person.”
“What happened?”
“You ain’t going to print this, are you?”
Trixie started to agree, then changed her mind. “Not if it doesn’t have anything to do with Johnny’s murder.”
Lenore seemed to contemplate this. “Well, I don’t see how it could. It was weeks ago. Johnny and I was out that night at the Bacchus Club. We got in a little after midnight and when we walked in the door, who did we find sitting fine as you please on his sofa sipping a highball?”
“Nell?”
“She was dressed fit to kill with her hair all dolled up like she’d been out and just decided to drop by real casual-like for a nightcap. The way she was dressed, I don’t think it was so casual, and I don’t think she expected to see me.” Lenore dropped her voice an octave to mock Nell’s silky tones. “‘Hey, Johnny,’ she says, cool as a cucumba, ‘Who’s the bimbo?’”
A picture of Nell looking like a million bucks as she’d strolled into Bickford’s Cafeteria formed in Trixie’
s mind and she was inclined to agree with Lenore. Nell’s visit that night would have been anything but casual. “And so what did Johnny do?”
“Nothing. He told me to step out while they had a little talk. I had to wait over twenty minutes in the hall. Like I was the maid. Can you believe that?”
“Terrible,” Trixie agreed. “Did you hear anything?”
“Nah, but when Nell came out, she wasn’t happy. She didn’t look at me, just sashayed out of there like the Queen of Sheepa.”
“Johnny tell you anything about what she wanted?”
“Nah, just that she’d been served her papers. We ended up having a big fight. What really burned me was that he didn’t seem surprised to see her there, like she stopped by all the time. Turns out she still had a key, but I fixed that. I made him call down to the desk the next day and have them change the locks.”
“Do you know if they ever did?” Trixie asked.
“Oh, yeah, you’re darn tootin’ they did. I was there when the locksmith showed up. Watched him do it myself.”
Trixie nodded but doubted that Lenore had really won that round. Johnny had had plenty of time before ever meeting Lenore to have his locks changed. Part of him clearly still wanted Nell around. How would Lenore know if Johnny had simply given his wife a new key?
* * *
The reading of the will held no surprises for Sean—and it appeared no surprises for Nell either since she took the news of her financial windfall with barely the bat of an eye. By the time she rose from her seat at the table to take Mr. Fabersham’s extended hand, both Arnie and Egan had already left. Egan had parted after little more to say to his sister-in-law than a dry, “So, I hope it was all worth it, Nell. For all the crap John put you through, huh?”
Of course, Sean couldn’t blame Egan if he was a little sore at how it all turned out. Maybe he even knew of Johnny’s intentions to change his will. If so, he was remarkably controlled.
As for Mr. Fabersham, the attorney was being overly solicitous toward his deceased client’s widow. Perhaps he hoped for more than just a wealthy new client.
“If you can spare the time, Mrs. Murphy, I’d like to go over an inventory of Mr. Murphy’s assets. Aside from the personal property, there are several parcels of real estate, some vehicles, a speedboat and a schooner. We must decide what’s to be sold and what’s to be kept in kind.”
It was getting late. By now, a uniformed officer should have been out in the waiting room to take Sean’s place with Nell. The next thing he had to worry about was getting Danny moved from the newspaper office to his cousin’s home. Sean glanced at his watch and interrupted the lawyer. “I’d like a copy of that inventory.”
Mr. Fabersham looked disconcerted. “That’s highly irregular. The inventory will be duly filed with the court later today. Then it will be public record. Until then—”
“It’s all right,” Nell said smoothly. “Let him have it. We’ve nothing to hide from the authorities, do we?”
“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.”
“You have a mimeograph machine, don’t you?”
“Well, yes. I can have my secretary—”
“There, it’s settled. We’ll wait here. Then Detective Costigan can be on his way and you and I can have a nice chat.” Nell placed a black-gloved hand on Mr. Fabersham’s arm.
The physical contact seemed to have the effect she intended. The man visibly relaxed. “As you say, Mrs. Murphy. I’ll see to it.” With a curt nod at Sean, he left the room.
Nell’s demeanor changed before the door closed. She rolled her eyes, perched a hip on the edge of the conference table, and crossed one long leg over the other, artfully revealing a knee in the process. She reached into her purse for a cigarette. “What a blowhard. I hope he isn’t thinking I’ll be hiring him after all this is over. Light?”
Sean drew a lighter from his pocket. “I think he’s hoping for more than that.”
Nell laughed as Sean lit her cigarette. “Don’t they all.”
“When you lead them on, I wouldn’t be surprised they do.”
Nell exhaled a cloud of smoke and cocked her head slightly. “Do you think I lead them on?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well, a girl’s got to have a hobby. How come it doesn’t work with you?”
“It did. Once.”
“Hmm. So, when you leave me with whatever junior copper they sent over here to babysit me, where will you be off to?”
“Police business.”
“No surprise.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “It’s always business with you, isn’t it? Even with that swell little girl reporter?”
“Even with her.” He refused to be drawn in. He couldn’t figure Nell. She was still playing with him. Amusing herself? Or trying to manipulate him? She wanted him off the case, but why? Was it like she said? To keep him from ending up like Johnny? Maybe. Some of what they’d shared had to have been real. He could remember the night her mother died. He’d held her until five in the morning. They’d been fifteen. That had been real.
Perhaps she saw he wasn’t in the mood to dance. She smoothly changed the subject. “I know how all this will look to the boys downtown, you know.”
“All what?”
She gestured with her cigarette. “The money, the will, the fact that I’m the one who’s made out the most from Johnny’s death. I imagine it could move me up a notch or two on the suspect list.”
“Don’t worry about it too much. It’s a long list.”
“I don’t doubt that, but what do you think?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.”
The playfulness in her manner vanished and something in the depths of her eyes changed. A mask lifted, if only slightly, so that Sean recognized shades of the fifteen-year-old girl he’d been remembering seconds before. “Of course it does, Sean. It matters to me.”
“All right.” Sean moved toward her. He placed a hand on her knee and leaned down close enough so that her tantalizing scent stirred his senses. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull back. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I think that if you wanted the dough, you didn’t have to kill Johnny to get it. I think you can have any rich fool you want, anytime you want. I don’t think it’s the dough that matters.”
“So then, what does matter?”
“I don’t know, Nell. You tell me.”
She stared at him, saying nothing. Sean straightened and stepped back. “Let’s try a different question. Fíorghra. Does that word mean anything special to you?”
Nell blinked twice. That was all, but it was enough. “It’s Gaelic.”
“Yeah, but it means something to you.”
“It’s just something Johnny used to call me. Back when things were good.”
Sean waited but she offered nothing more. Instead, she said, “You want to know what matters?” She took a last drag from her cigarette and leaned over to stab it out in a crystal ashtray. “Johnny was a bastard. He was a liar and a cheat and a damn lousy husband. I couldn’t live with it anymore, but I still loved him anyhow. Maybe that makes me a sap. In fact, I know it does, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter who killed him. Not if tracking them down costs you your life. That’s what matters, Sean.” She paused and met his eyes earnestly. “Let this go before they kill you too.”
* * *
Trixie glanced at her watch. She guessed that the reading of the will would be over soon. Yet Lenore was in the middle of giving her a detailed account of the last two days of Johnny’s life. Trixie couldn’t walk out now.
Lenore, Johnny and Arnie had left the day before Thanksgiving to visit Long Island, spending some time visiting the beaches before traveling farther north where Johnny had recently purchased land. As part
of their wedding plans, Johnny had talked about building a house for them on the island, but when they reached their destination, Lenore’s dreams of a North Shore mansion were dashed.
“I swear, we drove for hours all the way to the tippy top and we ended up in the middle of Arctica or something.”
Arctica? Africa? Antarctica? The Arctic? Lenore was still rambling.
“...and nothing but bushes and sand and sea birds and fish shacks. The water was kinda pretty, sure, but the road to get there was nothing but a dirt lane.”
“And so what did you say?”
“I said, ‘Johnny, there ain’t no way I’m livin’ here in the middle of nowheres.’ And he says, ‘Use your imagination, Lenore. Why, you get the right two guys in a room together and overnight this place could turn into the Miami Beach of the North.’”
“What did he mean by that?”
Lenore let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. He was always talking like that. We spent the night at some broken-down hotel next to a spooky old lighthouse—the Skinny Clock Inn or something like that. It was cold and foghorns blowing and babies crying kept me up half the night.”
As it turned out, Lenore’s disappointment at discovering the future site of her dream house was only to grow worse the next morning when Johnny sent her and Arnie off on their own after breakfast to entertain themselves in East Hampton while he attended to other business in the village of Montauk.
What other business? Trixie was familiar with that remote part of the island. The only “business” that took place on Montauk was commercial fishing. By this time of year, that season was coming to an end.
Lenore didn’t know what Johnny did that day, and she insisted Arnie didn’t either. Johnny was particular that way, Lenore said, kept things to himself. In most cases, Lenore figured it was best not to know too much, but she had felt slighted that day, as if Johnny had foisted her off on Arnie like a toy he’d grown bored with.