Merry, Merry Ghost (11 page)

Clearly her dreams were troubled.

In Susan’s room, the clock on the mantel chimed, twelve soft bells announcing midnight. She sat in her chair in front of the gas fire. The china cup held a little cocoa, the remnants of her evening drink. In her lap was the manila envelope Keith had brought. She held the papers in her hand, a smile on her face.

All was well at Pritchard House. I felt free to depart.

The computer monitor glowed
. I rubbed my eyes as I completed reading the exceedingly complex disposition of the estate of Susan Pritchard Flynn. Upon Susan’s death, her heirs would receive the equivalent in land, stocks, bonds, mineral rights, or property of several million dollars each. Inheriting, after substantial bequests to several charities and St. Mildred’s, were Jacqueline Flynn, Margaret Flynn, Tucker Satterlee, Gina Satterlee, and Harrison Hammond.

I checked the telephone book and jotted down addresses. I knew the location of Burnt Creek, one of Pontotoc County’s largest and most prosperous ranches in my day. I had no reason to doubt that Burnt Creek was still a prime piece of property.

I took a last look at the electronic files and noted one entitled
FlynnEstateRecording
. I opened the file and found a brief enigmatic statement:
Recorded discussion on CD with client Re: Disposition of Flynn estate,
Cabinet 3
.

Two metal filing cabinets sat behind Kim’s desk. Obviously, neither would be Cabinet 3. In Wade’s office, I turned on the light. I checked and the drapes were drawn. Built into the wall behind the desk were several walnut cabinets. Cabinet 3 revealed shelves with small plastic containers with what appeared to be small records. Apparently, they were called CDs. How interesting. Possibly they didn’t work too differently from the old 33 rpm record players.

I spotted a device on a marble-topped table with spindly-legged chairs. The chairs didn’t look especially comfortable. I snagged a squashy red cushion from the sofa and placed it on a chair. After some punching of buttons, I popped up the lid. Yes, that looked like a turntable. I placed the little record on it, experimented further, and watched with a sense of accomplishment as it began to whir.

There was a moment of silence, then a murmur. “I think that’s got it. I’m all thumbs with recorders. Okay, here we go.” He cleared his throat. “Wade Farrell and Susan Flynn Re: Disposition of the Susan Flynn estate.” Wade’s cheerful voice announced the date.

“My, aren’t we formal.” Susan Flynn’s aristocratic voice sounded amused. “Is this necessary, Wade?”

“This is for your protection.” Wade spoke with dignity. “Since your heirs have no blood ties to you, I feel that it is wise to make a record of your wishes so that there can be no doubt about the instrument reflecting your decisions. Please explain in your own words the circumstances.”

“Very well. I have no family.” There was a pause.

The tape whirred.

After a moment, Susan continued in a brittle tone. “It is my wish that the following persons, who are not related to me, shall share in my estate: my sister-in-law Jake Flynn, her daughter Peg Flynn, Jake’s nephew and niece, Tucker and Gina Satterlee, and my late husband’s cousin Harrison Hammond. I have chosen them to be my legatees because of close association over a number of years. After Jake’s husband died, Jake and Peg came to live with us. At that time our family consisted of my husband Tom, our son Mitchell, and our daughter Ellen. Peg and Ellen became close friends. A few years later, Jake’s sister and her husband were killed in a car wreck. Tom and I offered a home to their children, Tucker and Gina, because Jake was her sister’s only relative. Harrison Hammond was my husband’s first cousin. Tom was very fond of Harrison.”

Susan sighed. “Will that do, Wade?”

“That’s perfect, Susan.” Wade sounded satisfied.

“Do you know what?” She sounded distant, weary. “I don’t care what happens to any of it. They might as well inherit as anyone. They’ve been a part of my life. If Mitch and Ellen…But they’re gone. Mitch loved the ranch. Ellen would have created such a happy life, such a good life.” Another pause. “My time is running out. I’ll see them soon. And now, I’m tired. If that’s all, Wade, please go.” The last few words were scarcely audible.

I pictured Susan Flynn in her bed, weak and ill, turning away from the careful lawyer, her eyes seeking the photographs on her wall and the children who would never reach out again to her in this world but awaited her in the next.

I returned the CD to its container and the cushion to the sofa. Now I knew the ins and outs of Susan’s estate. I felt chilled. When Susan changed her will, the current heirs would lose the prospect of certain wealth.

Could I keep Keith safe until Susan signed her new will?

Sunlight spilled into Susan’s
bedroom. The bed was made. Jake dusted and straightened. “It’s a shame to have to deal with business matters over the holidays. You don’t want to overdo. Are you sure you want to see Wade today?”

Leaning on her cane, Susan walked slowly to a tufted gold seat in front of a French provincial dresser. “Stop fussing, Jake. I feel wonderful this morning. Now, come and help me choose a necklace.” Susan was elegant in a high-collared silk-blend jacket and matching slacks in a lovely shade of antique rose. Her makeup was perfectly applied and her narrow face with its fine features echoed past beauty. How lovely she must have been as a young and vibrant woman.

Jake’s pudgy hand hovered over the open silver jewel case. Necklaces lay in a heap. “How about the beaded glass necklace, the one with the green and white strands? The colors are such a good contrast to the rose jacket.”

“Let me see.” Susan held out her hand.

Jake stepped behind Susan. “I’ll fasten the clasp.”

In the mirror, Susan appeared distinguished in the silk jacket and trousers, Jake frumpy in a too-tight brown angora sweater and dark brown tweed slacks.

I cautiously edged a necklace of beaten silver coins to the top of the case.

Susan’s pale face had an unaccustomed blush. Her eyes sparkled. She shook her head in rejection. “The white strand disappears.” She glanced again at the case. “My silver coin necklace! That will look best. Tom bought that for me in Santa Fe. Let’s try that one.”

I nodded in satisfaction as the loop of silver coins glittered against the rose jacket. “That’s perfect.” I clapped a hand to my mouth.

Susan’s eyes went to the mirror, seeking the person who spoke. Jake half turned, looking puzzled. Each glanced at the other.

I held my breath. Perhaps each would conclude it was the other’s voice, even though mine is far huskier than Jake’s and much more vigorous than Susan’s. Once again I had acted without thinking. I must remember: I am not here, I am not here, I am not…

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

Susan stroked the lustrous coins and gave them a satisfied pat. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Wade is always punctual.”

Peg held the door. She looked young and cheerful and pleased. “Good morning, Susan. Wade’s here.” She stood aside for the lawyer to enter.

Jake swung toward the door with a forced smile. “Good morning, Wade.”

Peg darted a concerned glance at her mother.

Susan slowly rose, steadying herself with the cane. She stood stiff and straight and looked across the room.

She didn’t speak.

Wade Farrell’s brown eyes were kind. “Keith is Mitchell’s son.”

Susan wavered, one hand on the cane, the other on the dresser, struggling for breath.

Jake fluttered her hands. “Susan, this is too much for you. You’ve had a shock. You know you mustn’t be upset. Wade can leave the file with me.” She looked at the lawyer. “Susan can look at the papers later, when she’s rested.”

Susan’s smile was tremulous. “My grandson.”

The lawyer glanced from Jake to Susan. “Would you like for me to leave the folder? We can talk another time.”

“We will talk now.” Susan’s tone was sharp. She waved a hand toward Jake. “You and Peg may leave.”

Jake’s plump cheeks flushed. Her lips pressed together.

Peg hurried to her mother. “We’ll go down and help Keith decorate the Christmas cookies.”

“Certainly. If we aren’t wanted here.” Jake’s words were clipped. She darted a resentful glance at Susan, then walked swiftly toward the door, her shoes clumping on the floor. She brushed by Wade as if he weren’t there.

When the door closed behind them, Susan gripped her ebony cane and took slow steps to her chair in front of the fireplace. She gestured toward the opposite chair. “Please sit down, Wade. I appreciate the effort you made to get the facts on such short notice.” She paused, struggling to breathe. “And you are wonderful to come here on a Saturday morning.”

He smiled. “I will always come when you call, Susan.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Her breaths came in quick gasps as she lowered herself into her chair.

The lawyer looked at her in concern.

“I’m all right. I’ll get my breath.” Slowly, her breathing eased.

He handed her a green folder and sat down in a Morris chair. “You’ll find everything documented. Mitchell joined the Army two years after he left home. We weren’t able to trace his movements before then.” His voice was carefully uninflected with no hint of the despair that drove Mitchell away and the lost days that now would never be accounted for. “He trained at Fort Sill. He served a three-year tour in Germany and was stationed at the U.S. Army Garrison in Schweinfurt.”

I heard a tiny click. I have acute hearing.

The Morris chair creaked as Wade rose to hand several papers to Susan.

“He met Marlene Schmidt in Bad Kissingen. That’s a resort spa not far from the post. She was nineteen and worked in the gift shop at the Steigenberger Hotel. Here’s a picture taken by a friend. It was sent in a digital file, but I printed it out for you.”

I glanced over Susan’s shoulder.

“What a beautiful girl. What a kind face she had.” Susan’s voice was soft.

Standing amid summer greenery near a placid pond, Marlene tossed a flower into the water. Slender and blond, she was laughing as a light breeze ruffled her pink sundress.

My eyes moved to the hall door. The knob turned ever so slowly, and the door opened a tiny crack.

“Their wedding was an outdoor ceremony in Kurpark an der Saale. Keith was born a year later on June 6 at the Sixty-seventh Combat Support Hospital in Würzburg. Here is a copy of his birth certificate. He is four and a half years old.”

Susan took the printout.

I breezed into the hall.

Jake pressed close to the hairline crack, one hand tight on the knob.

Wade’s voice carried well, as lawyers’ voices usually do. “Mitchell and his wife and son returned to the United States and to Fort Sill. He was deployed to Iraq where he was killed in an ambush in Ramadi. The notification of his death came to you because he listed you and Tom as his next of kin when he joined and never altered the information.”

“Marlene and Keith?”

“They were living in an apartment in Lawton. She thought about going home to Germany, but she decided to stay in the United States for Keith’s sake. She was working at a convenience store not far from the post.”

“Why didn’t she come here?” Susan’s voice was anguished. “She knew about us, didn’t she?”

Wade settled again in the chair. “My secretary spoke to one of the platoon wives who knew Marlene fairly well. She wasn’t certain, but she thought Mitchell had never explained why he wouldn’t go home or contact his parents and Marlene didn’t feel she would be welcome. All she had was your name and the address. You know how it is in the military, Mitchell’s home address was listed here in Adelaide. She approved his body being sent to Adelaide. She wanted him to be buried at home. Last month, Marlene caught a cold and was treated for bronchitis but died four days later of pneumonia. Another friend, Lou Chavez, looked after Keith while Marlene was in the hospital. When Marlene died, Lou took care of him. She decided to bring Keith here because her husband had received orders to Fort Lewis. She didn’t feel she could take Keith with them.”

“Thank God.” Susan’s voice was strong. “My grandson.” She took a breath. “This changes everything.”

The cushion in the Morris chair squeaked. “I assumed such would be the case. I brought a copy of your will.”

Jake took a quick breath, her face strained.

Susan was brisk. “I know the provisions. They don’t matter now. I want Keith to inherit the estate. He will live here. I’d intended to leave Pritchard House to Jake. Instead, I suggest she receive a life interest in the house, contingent upon the house being kept up for Keith. On her death, of course, the house would become Keith’s. That seems a fair solution. I’ll speak with Jake.”

Jake’s face twisted in a scowl.

“More important, I need to choose a guardian for Keith. Peg and Keith have fun together, but she’s still in college. I could ask my friend Jane Ramsey. There is so much to think about. Perhaps Tucker will be willing to remain on the ranch as the operator. Keith may or may not have an interest in running Burnt Creek when he is grown. Oh”—Susan’s tone was passionate—“I wish I could live long enough to see what he likes and what he wants to do and who he will be. Perhaps I’ll get stronger. I have a reason to live now.”

“What about the previous heirs? Do you wish to leave them anything?”

“Yes, of course.” Susan’s answer was quick and decided. “They’ve been a part of my life for so long now. I know the value of the estate has fallen with the hard economic times, but oil is still selling at a fairly good rate. I want to make a difference for all of them. Each should receive a bequest of two hundred thousand dollars.”

Papers rustled. “I’ll put together a draft. Let me check my notes.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked abruptly, “There’s the matter of Dave Lewis. Is that still on the table?”

Susan’s laughter was soft. “Dear Wade. You’ve opposed my loaning money to him from the first, haven’t you?”

Jake’s face folded in a frown.

Wade cleared his throat. “I think it is unwise. He still hasn’t submitted a business plan to me. When I met with him, he was too vague to suit me. And too cocky. With the economy down, it doesn’t seem like a good time to build a clinic that is twice as large and fancy as it needs to be. He’s called me three times to ask when the money will be available.”