“I need some lab work, Miles,” he said to the sergeant. “I want to know if these things are hollow, and whether they can be closed to look as if they’ve never been tampered with.”
“No sweat. We can do that in half an hour. Somebody hiding stuff in robots?”
Carson didn’t move a muscle in his face. Miles was a good friend, but he didn’t want a conversation about those robots. “All things are possible, man. You know me; I turn every dime sideways.”
“Don’t I! That’s what makes you the best detective anywhere around here.”
He followed the sergeant, a man who had been his squad-car partner when he joined the police force years earlier. Not only did X-rays fail to show a will in any of them, but the procedure proved that if they had been taken apart, it would have been almost impossible to reassemble them anywhere but in the factory that made them. Disappointed and dispirited, he drove back to the Farrell house, put the robots where he found them, and went home. Nothing, nada, zip for a day’s work. He considered taking a shower, heating a slice of pizza, drinking a can of beer, and going to bed.
That could have been understandable, when I was eighteen, he said to himself, but accepting defeat doesn’t cut it these days. As he dialed Shirley’s cell phone number, he remembered that he had a date with her. Wake up, man. You were about to lay an egg of colossal proportions.
“Hi,” he said. “I won’t be good company tonight, Shirley, but I want to see you.”
“Hi, hon. I gather you didn’t have any success today. I know just the tonic for you. Come over here. I’ll put on my favorite movie, and we can have pizza, beer, and a lot of laughs. Gunther’s out tonight, so I told Mirna not to cook and sent her home early. It’s a riotously funny movie. You’ll love it.”
“Okay, I’ll bring ice cream.” It did not occur to him to question his elevated mood as he dressed. He bought a quart of black walnut ice cream and a six-pack of pilsner beer and arrived at Gunther’s apartment within the hour.
He put as much enthusiasm as he could in his greeting, but he hastened to tell her that the kiss belied his feelings. “What will we be watching?” he asked her.
“The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming. It’s a cold-war movie. If you don’t laugh, I’ll know that you need urgent medical care.” She looked at him then, seeming to scrutinize him. “You are down, aren’t you? I’m sorry, darling.” She opened her arms, and he walked into them, immersing himself in the healing love that she offered.
“You will find it, Carson. If it exists, you will find it. I am as certain of that as I am of my name.”
This time, his hug reflected his true feelings for her. “You’re what I need, Shirley,” he said, took her hand, and walked with her to the kitchen. They heated the pizza, opened the beer, and ate in the kitchen.
Later, when the movie ended, he got up and held out his hand. “I’d better leave now. I have to appear in court at nine tomorrow morning as an expert witness for the state, and that means being in Baltimore by eight-thirty. Walk me to the door, and don’t lay it on too thick.” The last thing he wanted was the embarrassment of having Gunther Farrell find him in bed with his sister.
“Give me three rings when you get home,” she said. “I’ll call you tomorrow evening from Fort Lauderdale. Good luck tomorrow morning.”
He wrapped her to him, more tightly than was wise, he realized, when he felt the stirring in his loins. Her kiss sent him a message that he didn’t need right then. “Get there safely,” he whispered, and left while he had the will to do so. As soon as he walked into his apartment, he phoned her and waited until she answered.
“I still love you,” he said. “Good night.”
“And I still love you.”
With his testimony behind him, Carson returned to the work that occupied most of his thoughts. As usual, he parked in the garage, locked and secured all of the ground-floor doors after entering the house, and headed straight for Leon Farrell’s secret closet. He told himself to search shelf by shelf, and then search for a hideaway place within that closet. He had already searched the top shelf, so he began with the second.
He nearly fell backward when his hand slid under what seemed to be a plastic envelope beneath a man’s woolen scarf. He grabbed the envelope, rushed to Leon’s desk, and sat there. Folded inside of an old newspaper, he found a document the heading of which read, “Last Will and Testament.” He closed his eyes and took deep breaths for several minutes. At long last!
But almost as soon as he began reading, his spirits sank. He had before him a copy of Catherine Farrell’s mother’s will. Flipping pages, he saw a bequest, recognized its implications, and sprang from the chair. Shirley’s maternal grandmother had left her a hundred thousand dollars, which she was to receive on her eighteenth birthday. If Shirley had been given that money, he doubted that she would have struggled through Morgan State on fellowships and whatever part-time jobs she could get. He noted that the will was probated eleven months after Catherine’s death.
“The more I learn about Leon Farrell, the less I like him. Well, I’m not rocking this boat,” he said aloud. “Riggs can handle it.” A quick perusal of the newspaper revealed a detailed obituary for Shirley’s grandmother. He poured coffee from the thermos he’d brought along and drank it as thoughts of possible hiding places for a will occupied his mind. He began searching the next shelf item by item until it occurred to him that before he handled the tissue-fine embroidered linen handkerchiefs on that shelf, he’d better put on the latex gloves he’d brought along.
He answered his cell phone after several rings. “Montgomery speaking.”
“This is Gunther. You’ve probably checked this, but I wondered if Father had more than one lawyer or if he’d filed that will anyplace. Just a thought.”
“Thanks, Gunther. I can’t exclude the possibility that he had more than one lawyer, because he was certainly capable of that, but I can say he didn’t file his will in this state.”
“Just a thought. Shirley thinks you’re being asked to do too much. I want you to know that I don’t hold you to that contract.”
“Thanks, man, but I’m holding myself to it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. See you soon.”
I’ll finish this next shelf, he said to himself, and then I’m getting out of here. This place is depressing.
On the fourth shelf sat nine wooden robots, eight of which were painted different colors. One unpainted robot that was larger than the others stood before him like a challenge. Did he dare dismantle Leon Farrell’s masterpieces? He noted that Leon had signed and dated each, until he looked under the belly of the big, unpainted donkey, which had neither a date nor a signature. Carson surmised that Leon hadn’t finished that robot. After examining it, he went back to the second shelf and retrieved the sketches of robot construction that Leon had stored there. The diagram of a donkey showed that that robot had been constructed as if it were of two halves. But how were the parts joined?
He spread out a newspaper, put the donkey on it, and began to examine it. Not that he expected it to contain the will; storing it in the robot that stood out from the others in several ways would have been too obvious. But its construction would tell him whether he’d waste time examining the other wooden robots. Carson turned the feet slowly so as not to damage them. He moved the joints and the tail. This guy turned in a clever job, he said to himself. But how the heck did he put these two halves together, since the head seemed to have been carved from a single piece of ...
“I’ve got it!” he yelled aloud. He unscrewed the donkey’s head and stared at the inside of the body. He put the robot down and drank the remainder of the coffee from the thermos. Icy, sleetlike darts seemed to attack his arms and legs, and he rubbed his arms as if trying to warm them.
Thinking that he wanted so badly to find that will that he’d lost perspective and was seeing a mirage, he grabbed his leather jacket, went outside, and ran as fast as he could. Oblivious to the dark, overcast
sky, the icy wind bruising his face and the sticks, leaves, and other debris swirling around his feet and legs, he ran for three long blocks before turning and running back to the house. Winded, he released a satisfying expletive and told himself, Go back in there and face it, man. If that’s not the will, you’ll find it somewhere else.
After locking and securing the house, he went back to Leon’s office and picked up the headless donkey robot, took it to the desk, and sat down. Slowly, with his thumb and forefinger, he eased the sheaves of paper from the belly of the donkey and unfolded The Last Will and Testament of Leon Farrell. His last tear had dropped from his eyes at the grave of his mother seven years earlier. Shaken, he said a prayer of thanks and wiped his eyes. Then, for fear that the papers in his hands could be one of Leon’s tricks, he turned to the last page, saw Donald Riggs’s signature as one witness, and laughed aloud.
He’d done it! It had taken him half a year, but he had finally found Leon Farrell’s will. I’d better make a couple of copies of this thing, he said to himself. At this point, it’s as valuable as my stocks. I wonder what mischief Leon’s done with this will.
He turned to the second page and began reading. Suddenly, the air swooshed out of him. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and told himself to breathe. After reading all terms of the will, he screwed on the donkey’s head and put it back in its place on the fourth shelf. Then he slid the wall panel in place, and with the will secure in a zipped-up pocket inside his leather jacket, he turned out the lights, walked down the stairs, and locked the door behind him. If luck was on his side, he’d been in that dreary place for the last time. The few choice words he spat out didn’t begin to express his concern. The Farrell siblings were in for one hair-raising shock.
While Carson fretted over the terms of Leon Farrell’s will, Gunther sat with Medford and Cory, checking the distributor’s receipts from Pipper, the video game that featured Cory on stilts and that had become Gunther’s second best-seller. “I want to continue designing handheld electronic games,” Gunther said, “because I think that’s what I do best, but I can see that Pipper is going to be a bigger hit. I’m in something of a dilemma about this.”
“I suggest we do both,” Medford said. “Let’s continue Bravado and Pipper as series. I think people love series, because we’re already getting requests for the next edition of each one. What are you thinking, Gunther?”
“I think it’s great, but we need what amounts to a novel or a story for each one. I’m thinking of a long novel presented in installments, sort of like a soap opera. Did you ever do any dancing, Cory? I have in mind a story for Pipper trying out as a dancer.”
“I danced plenty in college, even learned to tap, but I don’t think I could do that on stilts.”
A grin spread over Gunther’s face. “You do the choreography and the dancing. We’ll photograph it with a green screen behind you, and the computer and I will put the stilts under you.”
“I’ll make it kid friendly,” Cory said, his face the picture of happiness.
The three men talked for several hours, offering ideas, accepting and rejecting them as if they had worked together in harmony all their lives. “I couldn’t ask for a better team,” Gunther said.
Later, he sat alone in his office with his elbows pressing his knees and his hands together in the shape of a pyramid. Thinking. With his business solidly on track, he could afford to spend more time getting his life in order and, hopefully, getting his brother on the way to becoming a useful citizen. To his mind, changing Edgar required the skill of a good psychotherapist, and getting Edgar to admit he needed one would require a Herculean effort. He’d do what he could.
His thoughts went to Caroline. He cared for her, but with his concerns about the will, his business, and Edgar, he’d been dragging his feet. And he couldn’t seem to forget his experience with Lissa. She was nothing like Lissa; indeed, they hardly seemed to be members of the same species, and he had to stop acting as if they had anything in common.
“I’m past the age by which I should have a family,” he said to himself. “I haven’t behaved fairly with Caroline, and she has a right to know where she stands with me. If she backs off, I’ll be in trouble, and she might, because she won’t let me string her along.” And he didn’t want to. He reached for his cell phone. “I’m going for it and I’m going to put my attention on what matters most to me.”
He phoned her.
“Hello, Caroline. Could we have dinner this evening and spend tomorrow together?” He got it out in one breath so as not to give her time to question his plan to have dinner with her on Friday evening. Women liked to be busy on Saturdays.
“Sounds like a good plan, but I’m busy this evening. Tomorrow’s good. What time?”
Taken aback, he didn’t have an immediate response. And it did not escape him that she said not a word but waited for his response. “I suppose I deserve to be disappointed, Caroline, but I’m not going to lie and say I hope your evening is enjoyable. As for tomorrow, I thought we’d put on some really comfortable and warm clothing and go bike riding through a forest trail that I love.”
“Where would we go?”
“Out toward Font Hill. I often ride out there alone. It’s lovely any time of year, but especially now when it’s so quiet and still. I’ll pack a lunch, and we can make a fire and rest at a spot I know. If you’re not too tired after we get back to Ellicott City, we could have a nice dinner.”
“You really meant spending the day together. Well, I’m all for it, and I’m looking forward to it.” They talked for about half an hour before saying good-bye. After he hung up, he wondered why he’d thought a woman with Caroline’s looks and accomplishments would have nothing to do on a week-end. Well, I’d better take advantage of what I’m getting.
He phoned Mirna. “This is Gunther. I’m going bike riding with Caroline tomorrow, and I’d like to treat her to a picnic lunch out on the trail. What can you suggest?”
“You just leave it to me, Mr. G. It’s too cold for beer, so I’ll put in a bottle of wine and a big thermos of coffee.”
“Just the coffee, and remember that I have to pack it in the basket on my bicycle.”
“I know that, Mr. G. Just leave it to me. What time you leaving?”
“About eight-thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah? It gon’ be freezing cold, but I ’spect it’ll warm up by noon. I’ll have it for you when you ready to go.”
He dressed in layers, put socks inside his boots, woolen gloves inside his leather ones, and earmuffs under his woolen cap, and got downstairs at eight that Saturday morning. “I fixed you a real good breakfast, Mr. G,” Mirna said, beaming at the table laden with waffles, sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and fresh fruit salad.
She poured their coffee and sat down. “I sure am glad to see you do something besides work. Miss Caroline’s a lovely woman in a lot of ways, and I been wanting to tell you that you should pay some attention to her.”
“How do you know I haven’t been?” he asked after Mirna said the grace.
“‘Cause she don’t never call here, and that’s ’cause she don’t feel comfortable calling you.”
“How do you know she doesn’t call me on my cell phone?”
“She doesn’t. You keep that phone in the inside pocket of your jacket. You come home and pull off the jacket, and half the time you leave it in the foyer closet. If she had a habit of calling you on it, you’d take the phone upstairs with you. Am I right?”
“I’m working on it, Mirna.”
“That’s all you can do, Mr. G. I fixed you a real nice lunch.” She went to the kitchen and returned with a picnic basket. “Everything’s in here, and here’s a handful of fatwood and a box of matches, if you’re planning to stop at a camping site. But you be real careful.” He stared at Mirna, thinking that she wasn’t old enough to be his mother, and wishing that she were. To hell with it. He took the picnic basket from her, set it on the floor, and hugged her.
Caroline opened her door and smiled at him. Dressed in a storm jacket and pants of beige and burnt orange, a matching cap, and heavy boots, she looked like autumn itself. “You always look perfect,” he told her, and handed her a pair of fur earmuffs. “These will keep your ears warm.” He had an urge to hug her, but he didn’t think he’d earned that right.
“I figured that if we ran into a bear, I wouldn’t look too strange to him. He should be used to these colors.”
He couldn’t help laughing at that logic, and when a sense of happiness and well-being enveloped him, he gave in to the urge and hugged her. To his amazement, she returned his embrace. He stared down at her, though he knew that trying to read her would be a useless endeavor. Caroline could camouflage her feelings with the efficiency of an octopus changing its color in order to hide from sharks and stingrays. He stored their bikes on the top of his Mercedes and headed to Font Hill, where he parked and locked the car and its steering wheel.
“I’ve never been here before,” Caroline said, “and I love the outdoors. This is a treat.”
He raised the collar of her jacket, doubled her scarf, and tied it around her neck. “Unfortunately, we’ll be facing the wind, at least for a while,” he said, “and I don’t want you to be cold.”
“If I get cold in all these clothes, you’ll have no choice but to warm me. Where will you build the fire?”
Good thing he didn’t respond to the first part of her comment. “There’s a camping site about seven miles from here, not far from the river.”
“Really? Next time, let’s come prepared to fish,” she said. “I love to fish.”
“If we’re going to do it, we’d better beat the first snowfall. When I looked out this morning, I thought we’d have snow.” Polite talk as if they were strangers, and whose fault was it? His. They should have become closer by now. They pedaled beyond the gravel to the beginning of the winding road, its breadth sufficient to accommodate standard-sized cars and trucks. He knew the road would eventually narrow and lead them into idyllic scenery.
When the Sun Goes Down Page 23