Jack and Susan in 1933 (20 page)

“You haven't seen the will?” the detective asked. He was balding and fat and probably not as bright as he thought he appeared—just the sort of detective who picked the obvious suspect.

“Ah, no, not really,” said Jack. “I haven't seen my father-in-law's will.” It was the absolute truth, in that he hadn't actually seen Marcellus Rhinelander's final will, because Susan had torn it up before he had had the chance to look it over. Jack may have spoken the absolute truth, but it wasn't quite the real truth.

“Everything's left to your wife, which is right and proper,” said the detective. Jack thought he should probably be relieved, but he couldn't manage it. The chair was too uncomfortable, perhaps, for that.

“Except for one very strange bequest. A legacy for Mr. Richard Grace, his chauffeur,” said the detective, consulting notes. “Mr. Grace may take any amount of money from the estate from one dollar to fifty thousand dollars, with the proviso that an equal amount be sent to Generalissimo Franco in Spain to help in his war against the Communists.”

This time Jack was genuinely relieved.

No peculiar bequests involving Susan Dodge, nor himself for that matter.

“What do you think of that?” the detective asked.

“I think that last wills and testaments are no place for practical jokes,” said Jack in a huffy, lawyerly manner.

He couldn't put it off any longer.

It was Grace Grace's last embalmed chicken from the larder. Who knew when there'd be cash in the country again and she could buy more?

“I couldn't,” said Jack with truth both absolute and real. “Please, you and Richard have it. To yourselves. Please. I must see Mrs. Dodge down at the Quarry.”

“I'll telephone and tell her you're on your way,” said Richard Grace, and added with little enthusiasm, “unless of course you'd like me to drive you—”

“Oh no,” said Jack. “Stay. Enjoy the chicken.”

He hurried out and into his car.

Susan awaited him at the door of the Quarry, flanked by Scotty and Zelda.

She was quiet, sober, but not unfriendly.

“Have you eaten?”

“No,” he admitted.

“You're welcome to share what we have,” she said, leading him inside. Scotty and Zelda retreated, as if expecting a kick. He smiled at the dogs. The terriers still didn't come any nearer him.

They didn't sit at either end of the long table. Susan set places for herself and Jack directly across from each other, and even moved the centerpiece entirely away. “I'll take care of everything, Louise,” she said to the servant, invisible in the kitchen. “You go out and practice.” She came back into the dining room with a tray of food, but called out as an afterthought, “Leave the dogs here with me.”

“Her aim is better all the time,” Susan confided to Jack in a low voice, “but I'd rather not take chances. If Mr. Beaumont says it's all right, you may come in,” she said to Scotty and Zelda, sitting on their haunches beside each other in the doorway.

“Of course,” said Jack. The dogs trotted in.

“Zelda,” said Susan, “you keep Mr. Beaumont company, and Scotty, you can stay with me today.” The dogs took up their positions.

This was getting more and more difficult for Jack. Since Susan didn't ask why he'd come, he put it off a bit longer. The lunch was the best he'd had in a long while. A simple casserole of meat and vegetables, exactly the way it was served in Parisian brasseries. A salad of watercress and romaine, and then to finish, Camembert and apples. Simple, elegant, and more continental a repast than was ever provided by the most expensive of New York restaurants sporting French names.

“Did you spend time in France?” he asked as she was bringing in coffee.

“Yes,” she replied without elaborating, “but now it's time for you to tell me why you're here.”

Jack hesitated. He thought he'd delay till he'd at least tasted the coffee. He was certain it would be good. He spilled it on the tablecloth, his tie, and his shirt, and shrieked with the scalding.

Susan sighed, and shook her head. “We have to talk about it sometime.”

Jack plucked at his shirt, pulling it away from his skin. “Talk about what?”

“Oh please,” said Susan, closing her eyes in pain. “Don't you know how difficult this is for
me
as well? I like you, Jack, I like you very much.”

“You do?” He looked up in surprise and overturned what was left of the scalding coffee in his cup. It poured down on top of Zelda, who yelped once and then at once dropped down on her belly, all four legs outspread in submission.

“It wasn't a punishment, darling,” said Susan to the quavering dog. “You didn't do anything wrong. It was just a stupid clumsy accident on Mr. Beaumont's part and it won't happen again. I hope.” She threw a napkin down on the stained cloth and poured Jack another cup of coffee. “I don't mind about the linen, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn't maim the pets. I've grown fond of them, even if it was Barbara who gave them to me. Sorry. I didn't mean to say that.”

“This is difficult for me, too.”

Susan smiled a sad smile. “You don't believe I killed Marcellus, do you?”

“No, I don't. But how did you know I don't?”

“If you did think I'd killed your father-in-law, you wouldn't have sat through lunch and eaten absolutely everything I put in front of you, and you certainly wouldn't be so eager to spare my feelings that you spilled your coffee
twice
.”

“I don't think you'll be charged,” said Jack. “There's no record of the last will—the one you tore up—so as far as the police are concerned, you have no motive. The only evidence remains the brake cables that were cut.”

Susan laughed.

“What's funny?”

“You may not have believed I killed Marcellus, but you did believe that I was worried I'd be arrested, and tried, and convicted, and hanged.”

“Electrocuted, actually, in this state. Yes, I suppose I did believe you were afraid.”

Susan shook her head. “I've been mourning, that's all. I was quite fond of Marcellus, and I'm very very sorry that he's dead, and it's quite terrible to think that I had
anything
to do with his death. If I hadn't run out of the Cliffs, and he hadn't followed me…”

“Oh, you shouldn't think
that
!” cried Jack, actually in anguish that she should be so troubled. Especially when Barbara took her father's death so much in stride and seemed to want Susan convicted of the crime less because Susan might be guilty than because Susan was Susan. “After all, if it was murder, then it certainly
wasn't
your fault, and if he hadn't died that way, then the real murderer would have gotten him in another way.”

“You're beginning to sound like Charlie Chan,” said Susan.

J
ACK COULDN'T
put it off any longer.

“I came to talk to you about the divorce,” he said.
Crack.

Jack startled and hadn't recovered before there was another, even louder
crack
.

“It's Louise,” said Susan. “And you needn't worry. She never fires toward the house.”

“Ah—” Jack said, forgetting where he was.

“Of course you came about the divorce,” said Susan, taking it up for him. “I expected you yesterday.”

Jack blushed. “I tried to put it off for as long as possible. I hate this.”

“The divorce isn't necessary, you know,” she remarked, but added quickly, “though of course you understand I have no intention of protesting. If Harmon doesn't want to be married to me, then I'm not going to force my continued presence on him. Of course, if he truly believes I'm a murderer…” she mused.

Even though the reason for his visit had been broached and acknowledged, Jack was no more comfortable. If anything, this was rather worse, having to take Harmon's side when he was very much on Susan's and considered that Harmon was a pickled idiot.

“I don't know if you can believe this,” said Jack, “but I really am interested in making this as painless as possible for you.”

“I do believe it,” said Susan. “I told you, I like you. And I don't like people I don't trust. I do trust you. Harmon is your employer and I don't see very well how you can have refused to handle this for him.”

“I think Harmon is making a very bad mistake.”

“That's Harmon's business, not yours. I suppose you want to talk about terms.”

“Ah—yes.”

Susan looked around at the dining room. She sighed. She grimaced. “I'd love to ask for this place, but it wouldn't be right. I couldn't afford to keep it up anyway, and I've never enjoyed spoils. I don't want anything from Harmon. Except, of course, Scotty and Zelda.”

Jack stared. “That's very foolish.”

“Of course it is. It was very foolish of me to tear up a will that would have made me a very rich woman, independently of Harmon. But I do very foolish things sometimes. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I don't want any of Harmon's money.”

“But you told me—” began Jack uncomfortably.

“Oh, I know, I told you I married Harmon for his money, and I did. But I also gave him value for that money. I was a good wife—not in the general manner of the way wives are good, probably, but a good wife for Harmon. But if we're not married, then I don't deserve his money. That's all. If he wants to think himself very generous, then he can let me take a few things from the wardrobe he paid for.”

“I don't like this,” said Jack.

“I thought I was making your job easy,” said Susan with a small smile.

Crack.

“Susan, if you don't get a settlement from Harmon, you won't have anything more than what you had before you married him.”

“I know,” she said, and shrugged. “In fact, I'll have less, with two new dependents.” She reached down and lifted Scotty into her lap. Zelda made a small whine of jealousy, and Susan motioned her over. Zelda leapt into Susan's lap beside Scotty. “For three years I lived on birthday cake and caviar—that was what was usually left at the end of the evening at the Villa Vanity. I suppose I can do that again.”

“I'm not going to Harmon and tell him you don't want anything—”

Susan considered for a moment. “He can pay the expenses of the divorce. I can't really afford that. I suppose he wants me to go to Nevada. That's very fashionable.”

“Probably best,” sighed Jack. “Six weeks' residency requirement.”

“Oh, I don't mind.” Susan shrugged. “In fact, I'm rather looking forward to it. Didn't I ever tell you? I'm a major landowner in Nevada.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I own several thousand acres of land in Nevada, about thirty miles outside of Reno. Some wild-eyed uncle of mine bought it in the nineties, during the gold boom. Of course he was very careful to purchase land on which there was no gold at all. No silver either. Or water, or anything else, so far as I know. The land was all that was left of the Bright fortune after twenty-nine.”

“Why didn't you sell it? Why don't you sell it now?”

“Great God! Why didn't I ever think of that? Then I wouldn't have had to marry Harmon, and I could have waited till I came across a man I actually loved.” She looked at Jack, giving him not too long or lingering a look, but one that made him blush harder than he had since he'd arrived at the Quarry.

Then she laughed. “You find me a buyer, and I'll sell that land in a minute. I'll go down as low as twenty cents an acre.” She shook her head sadly. “No one wants that land. I've tried to sell. Besides, my cousin Blossom lives there now. She was knocked out in twenty-nine, too, and went out there and fixed up an abandoned ranch, makes a living by taking in fat women who want to get divorced.”