Miss Julia Inherits a Mess (8 page)

When I have something to do, I do it. I don't put it off, hoping it'll get easier with time or just go away. No, I get right to it and get it over with.

So, with my usual alacrity, I stopped at Mattie's apartment on my way home. Leaving in the car all the papers—folders, envelopes, and so forth—that Mr. Sitton had loaded into my arms, I walked into the building, went directly to Mattie's door, and inserted the key—no hesitation this time. I had a job to do, and the more I didn't want to do it, the quicker I wanted to get it done.

When I walked inside, I didn't even think of it as invading Mattie's personal space. Uppermost in my mind was where I should start in clearing it out, for clearing it of all furniture, clothing, food, bibelots, papers, and general accumulation of junk that's found in any household was what I had to do. And do it quickly so I could release the apartment before more rent payments came due.

Lord, I didn't know where to start. The apartment was crammed full, especially the living room, which looked like a furniture warehouse with chairs and tables and chests having been pushed aside to make space for the emergency workers. And I hadn't even looked into closets and cabinets. The place had been Mattie's home for years and years, and, from the looks of it, had rarely, if ever, had a great and wonderful housecleaning. I almost turned around and left.

But
food,
I thought, as I headed for the small kitchen, glancing at my watch as I went. There was time before my own dinner to make a start, so I decided that I should tackle the refrigerator first. Opening the door, I found the shelves filled with small, foiled-covered bowls of leftovers. Noting that Mattie did not have a garbage disposal or a dishwasher, I quickly began to empty the bowls into trash bags and stack the bowls in the sink. Holding my breath, I continued to dump out small servings of spaghetti and green beans and beef stew and stewed apples and—well, after that I stopped identifying Mattie's menus. I emptied a milk bottle, an orange juice container, a half-full bottle of zesty Italian salad dressing, and jars one after the other of mayonnaise, mustard, pickles, horseradish, olives, and jelly—blueberry, cherry, and orange marmalade. Three eggs went next and a head of lettuce that was turning brown, a wrinkled tomato, and two potatoes that were growing sprouts.

The small freezer at the top of the refrigerator held a few unidentifiable packages—they went into the trash, as did the frozen peas and half carton of rocky road ice cream, along with a package of frost-bitten ground beef.

When I'd wiped the insides of the freezer and refrigerator, I turned down the inner thermostat, closed the doors, and wondered what to do with the Hefty bag of recyclable jars and plastic containers, as well as the squishy bag of food scraps. It occurred to me that a lot of hungry children in Africa or somewhere would love to have what I had just discarded.

Well, I had no way of getting it to them, and to have left it would mean further deterioration and an unpleasant odor. I lugged the trash bags to the door, wondering where a Dumpster might be. Just as I put the last of the bags outside the door, that nice Mr. Wheeler came loping down the hall.

“Looks like you could use some help,” he said.

“I sure could. I've just emptied Mrs. Freeman's refrigerator, but I don't know what to do with what I've emptied it of.”

“Well, here, let me take them. The Dumpster's out back.” He
gathered all the bags with no effort, while I thanked him profusely. Then I pondered how to tell him he'd just lost a tenant, which, considering how word gets around in Abbotsville, turned out to be totally unnecessary.

He hesitated a moment, then said, “I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Freeman. I didn't know her well, but she must've been a close friend of yours.”

Hardly,
I thought, but thanked him for his expression of sympathy, misplaced though it was.

“By the way,” Mr. Wheeler said, “do you know the funeral plans? I'd like to pay my respects.”

“No, nothing's been decided yet. In fact, I guess that's next on my list.” And I went on to tell him that I was the executor of Mattie's will, so even though I wasn't yet sure of what that position entailed, he'd most likely be seeing a lot of me going in and out of her apartment.

“Well,” Mr. Wheeler said with that nice smile of his, “I'm around if you need help with anything. And please do let me know about the funeral.”

Assuring him that I would, I stood for a minute at the door and watched as he walked down the hall, clutching the trash bags as Mattie's empty jars clanked with each step he took.

Then I locked the apartment door and went home.

_______

“You been cleanin'
what
?” Lillian stopped in the middle of the kitchen and stared at me.

“Miss Mattie's refrigerator and freezer,” I said, putting my pocketbook and the stack of legal papers on the table.

“They Lord,” Lillian said with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, don't act so shocked. I've done cleaning before. Besides, I had to get rid of the food before it turned green.”

“Did you clean the insides real good? The drawers an' shelves an' everything? And leave a box of Arm and Hammer inside?”

“I did the best I could in the time I had,” I said, just a mite
huffily because I'd expected a little appreciation for my efforts. “However,” I went on, pulling out a chair, “now that you mention it, I forgot to wash the dishes I emptied. Just left them in the sink where the remains will harden and have to be scrubbed. Well,” I said, sitting down with a sigh, “I can't think of everything.”

“I think you ought to take me next time you go.”

“Thank you, Lillian. I think you're right.”

_______

“Sam,” I said as we sat around the table after dinner, “I am overwhelmed with the magnitude of executing Mattie's will—mainly because I don't know what I'm supposed to do first and what can wait. I don't even know where to start, except that nice Mr. Wheeler reminded me that I need to set a date and time for a funeral.”

“That probably should come first, honey,” Sam said, putting his hand on my arm. “You don't have to do everything all at once, you know, and there's no reason you can't ask some of her friends to help. As for the funeral, didn't Sitton say that Mattie had made all the arrangements?”

“Yes, and paid for it all, too. Which is a relief to me, because from the state of her checkbook, we'd have had to bury her in the backyard.” I rubbed my forehead at the thought of it. “Of course, she does have a few thousand in a money market fund, which I guess should go to honor the bequests she's made. I just hope there're no unforeseen expenses that come up. That's the problem with this whole thing, Sam,” I said, sitting up straight. “I don't know what to expect.”

“Make a list, then tackle each item, one at a time. And, again, ask some of the ladies to help. They were all Mattie's friends, and they'll be happy to pitch in.”

“Well, I know one who will be—if I present it to her in the right way.” I smiled as I thought of LuAnne's hurt feelings that Mattie had not honored her with the power of attorney. “Sam,” I said decisively, “I've just made my first executive decision. I'm
going to ask LuAnne to oversee the funeral. Of course, I may have to imply that Mattie wanted her—specifically named her—to do it. But I know LuAnne will take charge and do a good job, although she'll end up with everybody, including me, mad at her. The best part of it, though, is that she'll take it off my hands. And,” I went on, “since the funeral is preplanned, what damage could she do?”

“All right,” Sam said with approval, “that's one thing settled. I do suggest, however, that you call the funeral home yourself and double-check Mattie's plans. Make sure it's all paid for, so you're not hit with an unexpected bill. Now, what else can you delegate?”

“Well, all that furniture,” I said, sighing. “I have to get rid of it some way, but I can't see having a yard sale. Who would want it, I ask you. Everybody I know already has all the furniture they need. Oh,” I said, having had a sudden inspiration, “I know! Helen! Helen Stroud, that's who I'll ask to help. Remember, Sam, she had to sell most of her beautiful furniture when Richard left her with nothing but bills. She'll know what to do.”

“Excellent idea. You've always thought a lot of Helen, and I expect she could use the extra income.”

“You think I should pay her?” I hadn't thought of that, although I recalled that she was accepting payment for teaching a flower-arranging class.

“I think
Mattie
should pay her. You can ask Helen if she'd prefer to be paid by the hour or by a percentage of what's made on the furniture. And if she's done it before with her own things, she'll know an appraiser, as well as some dealers who'll buy it.” Sam leaned back in his chair, studied the ceiling for a few seconds, then said, “The one thing you'll have to watch for, Julia, is appearing—not actually, because I know you won't, but
appearing
—to benefit in any way by what you do with Mattie's belongings. And that goes for allowing anyone else to benefit. Just approach everything you do on a businesslike basis, and realize that you are accountable to the court for however you handle Mattie's estate.”

“Yes. Yes, you're absolutely right, that's exactly what I have to do.” I sat up even straighter, accepting the heavy responsibility of pleasing the court—whoever or whatever that was. “So that means that I can't allow any of Mattie's friends, or mine, to go into her apartment and take even a memento to remember her by. Right?”

“Right. And that reminds me. How many gifts and bequests are in her will?”

“I haven't even looked. I was too busy cleaning the refrigerator, then coming home to tell Lillian, and then spending the last hour or so telling you what Mattie left to
me
. I don't know what she's left to anybody else.”

“Then,” Sam said as he got up from the table to get the coffeepot, “I suggest you study that will until you know it by heart. Figure out how much she's left to each person or charitable group, then see if she has enough money to cover it. If she only has what's in her money market fund, then you may need every cent you get from her household goods to meet the will's requirements.”

“Oh, my,” I said, “every time I think I'm getting on top of this job, something else comes along to remind me that I'm not. What if there's not enough, Sam, even with selling everything in her apartment? Used furniture won't bring in much at all.”

“Well, you can't get blood from a turnip, as they say. So you go with percentages and distribute whatever the total ends up being. Just keep accurate records, whatever you do.”

“That means,” I said with a moan, “that I'll have to do arithmetic—adding and subtracting and multiplying and dividing by fractions and I don't know what all. I'm not good at that, Sam. You'll help me, won't you?”

“You know I will, sweetheart.” Sam smiled, passed me the cream pitcher, and went on. “Don't worry about it. Wills get probated all the time, and you'll do fine.”

That was reassuring to hear, but it didn't sink in far enough to do much good.

One thing was for sure, though. All my plans to learn to arrange flowers, teach people to read, and get Mildred on a walking schedule—all in an effort to fill up the time I usually spent worrying—were for naught. As far as I could imagine, there would be no empty time just pleading to be filled in the foreseeable future.

So in order to follow through on at least one of those good intentions, I immediately went to Nick's Sporting Goods, purchased a pedometer, and presented it to Mildred.

“What's this?” she asked, looking at it warily.

“It's a step counter. Try it, Mildred. You'll love it.”

“Uh-huh,” she said with a laugh. “I just bet I will.”

“Helen?” I said when she answered her phone. I wasn't waiting around—I'd dialed her number as soon as Sam and I had adjourned to the library after supper. “It's Julia. How are you?”

“I'm well, thank you. And you?”

“Oh, except for having more to do than I can handle, I guess I'm all right. A little overwhelmed by the responsibility of executing Mattie's will, but I guess you've heard all about that.”

“No, but if that's the case, you've inherited a huge responsibility.”

With that, I knew I didn't have to explain further, so I went right to the reason for my call. “Helen, it looks as if I'll have to back out of the flower-arranging class. I hate to do it, but with all I have to do for Mattie, I just can't fit it in right now. You see, besides burying her, I have to do something with her furniture, and I was wondering if you'd have time to help. Apparently it's incumbent on me to get the highest price possible for it, but I don't have a clue as to what it's worth or who would want to buy it. But I know that you're knowledgeable about the value of such things, and,” I went on hurriedly, “I'm not asking you to do it out of the goodness of your heart. I've been advised that Mattie's estate will pay for any expert help I need to employ.”

There was silence on the line as Helen considered my offer, which didn't surprise me. Helen had always been deliberate and judicious in what she committed herself to do. So while I awaited
her response, I thought about what I'd just said because I had no intention of offering to pay LuAnne for handling the funeral. First of all, LuAnne would do it for the love of being in charge, and second of all, she'd probably pay
me
for letting her do it.

“Well,” Helen said, “I'm not an expert on much of anything. But furniture has always been an interest of mine, so I could probably weed out the reproductions. But, Julia, if Mattie has any really good pieces, you should call in an accredited appraiser.”

“Yes, Sam suggested that, too. Problem is, I don't know any appraisers, accredited or not.”

“I can put you in touch with the one who did a good job for me. Diane Somebody—an unusual last name I can't remember. I have it in my address book.”

“That would be a great help. But, Helen, you won't believe the amount of stuff in that apartment. I could really use you if you have time to help me with it.”

“Well, I have an office job every morning, but I'll be happy to help in the afternoons.” Then, in a voice tight with the strain of shame and need, she went on. “And thank you for the opportunity. A small percentage of any proceeds would be appreciated, if that's all right with you.”

Indeed, it was, so after making plans to meet at Mattie's apartment the following afternoon, I hung up and turned to Sam with a relieved smile.

“I'm on a roll, Sam. One more call and that'll be it for my first day as an executive.”

_______

“LuAnne?” I said when she answered her phone. “Sorry to call so late, but it's my understanding that Mattie would like you to oversee her funeral. So I thought I should let you know the plans she made and make sure that you have the time to take it on.”

Another silence on the line. Then she said, “Mattie wanted me to do her funeral?”

“That's what I was advised. I had a conversation with her
attorney, Mr. Ernest Sitton, and he said you were mentioned as she made out her will.” That wasn't too far from the truth, although I hoped that LuAnne wouldn't push me for any details. If she learned that she was named successor executor—which gave her absolutely no authority unless I was out of the picture—of the entire will, she would question every move I made. My plan was to turn the funeral over to her, thereby taking it off my hands and, also thereby, keeping her too busy to interfere with anything else.

“Well, I am honored,” LuAnne said. “And vindicated for putting up with her all these years. Julia, I tell you, that woman would drive a normal person crazy. Nothing ever pleased her, but, then, I guess we shouldn't speak ill of the deceased. And she did have her good points, although I can't think of any right now.”

I almost laughed, but LuAnne was so deadly serious that I restrained myself. “Then I can leave the funeral in your hands?”

“Of course!” she said, as if it had been a foregone conclusion. “If Mattie wanted me to do it, I most certainly will and, believe me, she's going to be pleased this time. Abbotsville will see how a funeral
should
be conducted.”

“Now, wait, LuAnne, let's not get carried away. Mattie has already planned her funeral and paid for it and everything. All you have to do is see that the funeral home follows through.”

“Well, you just wait a minute, Julia. Are you talking bare bones here?”

“I really don't know. I've not seen her plans, but I can't imagine they'll be elaborate. LuAnne, she was not a wealthy woman—not then and not now. You have to stick to what she selected and not add any additional expense.”

Another long silence on the line. “Well, Julia,” she finally said, “you do realize that Mattie Freeman was a longtime member of the garden club, don't you? And the book club and the Lila Mae Harding Sunday school class and DAR and, as old as she was, maybe even a founding member of the First Presbyterian Church. And she could be so sweet, just a
good
person. She deserves
something more than a bare bones funeral, to my way of thinking.”

I knew right then that I would have to put my foot down or LuAnne would present Mattie's estate with a bill that would cut her bank accounts to the bone. “All right, LuAnne, if you think that what she's already paid for isn't enough for a fitting funeral, then you can add whatever
you
want to pay for. But, as executor of her will, I am not beholden to honor any further expense.”

“
You're
the executor?” LuAnne's expression of surprise didn't help my feelings of competence. “I thought you just had power of attorney. How did that happen?”

“I don't know, LuAnne, and since Mattie's dead and gone, I can't ask her. Now, why don't you go to the Good Shepherd Funeral Home and see exactly what she chose? It may be that it will prove perfectly satisfactory, and there'll be no question of any added expense.”

“All right, I'll do that, but I still don't understand why she chose you.”

“Believe me, I don't, either. We can ask her when we all get to heaven.”

“Well, be that as it may, I want you to know that I am not going to be held responsible if her funeral ends up being about half tacky. I'll just let everybody know that my hands were tied because you wouldn't let me give Mattie the send-off she deserves.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Don't worry, LuAnne, I know I'm the one who's responsible. I doubt it'll be the only thing I'll be blamed for.”

_______

Settling back on the sofa, I picked up the stack of papers that Mr. Sitton had saddled me with and began to study Mattie's will.

“Oh, my word, Sam, what in the world was Mattie thinking? You should see this.” I held up the pad on which I'd just listed the names of all the people and entities that Mattie had wanted to benefit from her estate. I rubbed my forehead in despair at the
impossible feat of having to turn almost nothing into enough to go around.

“What is it, honey?”

“This!” I said, waving the pad. “I'm doing what you told me to do—making a list of the beneficiaries and adding up all the bequests. Mattie runs out of money less than halfway through the list.” I stood up and walked across the room, so agitated that I couldn't sit still. “Why did she do this? She must've known how much she had. She
had
to've known that her estate wouldn't cover what she was so blithely handing out. Don't you think? I mean,
what
was she thinking?”

“Well,” Sam said, “didn't you say that she was showing signs of dementia in the hospital? Maybe she was suffering from it long before anyone was aware of it.”

“She was suffering from
something,
if this is any indication.” I grabbed the pad and waved it around again. “But, Sam, we were told it was the aftereffects of the anesthesia because, other than that debutante episode, none of us had noticed any changes in her behavior.” I stopped and considered a few scenes with Mattie over the past year or so. “I never saw any signs of her going off the rails before that. Maybe she was a little more tetchy, a little less tolerant, in recent years, but we were used to her ill humor. And of course, we may not've noticed, because—I hate to admit this—but maybe we didn't notice because we just generally ignored her.”

“Well, there's another possibility,” Sam said, “which I hesitate to suggest, but have you given any thought as to why she named you her executor?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess she trusted me to do it right. After all, she'd seen me follow through on everything I've ever put my hand to in all the clubs and groups we'd both been a part of.”

“I'm sure that entered into her thinking,” Sam said. Then he cocked an eyebrow and went on. “But could she have assumed that you would see that her bequests were honored whether she had the funds or not? Maybe she wanted to be generous—show
her appreciation to her friends—and hoped that you'd fill in the blanks.”

“You mean she hoped
I'd
make up the difference between what she had and what she wanted to give away? So
she'd
appear generous and appreciative? And get all the credit?” I sprang to my feet again. “I've never heard of such presumption! No, Sam, no way in the world am I going to fill her bank accounts so everybody'll think well of her.”

“And you shouldn't,” Sam agreed. “I shouldn't have brought it up, because it's more likely that she wasn't thinking clearly. Didn't you say she was trying to win some kind of contest?”

“
Many
kinds of contests,” I corrected through a tight mouth.

“Well, there you are. She may have been counting on a windfall and wanted to share it with her beneficiaries.”

“Oh,” I said as my anger dissipated, “I think you're right. That does explain it, but, bless her heart, she was certainly counting her chickens before they hatched.”

Then, tired of balancing Mattie's wishes with the balances in her accounts, I said, “I can't worry with this anymore. Let's go to bed.”