Monument to the Dead (12 page)

“I know. So, Rodney is a washout, but at least we’ve warned him. Are we going to see
Louisa next?” It was only two thirty—plenty of time for another call.

“Sure. But we have to stop at a liquor store. Rodney likes his sweets, but Louisa
likes to keep a little nip on hand, and the rehab place won’t let her have any. Not
the greatest thing for someone who’s trying to relearn how to walk after busting a
hip, but who am I to judge?”

“How old is she?”

“Eighty-something. I think Rodney was the baby of the board—you heard him say that
his mother kind of passed her slot on to him. But Louisa still has all her marbles,
and she remembers everything.”

I hoped she remembered something useful. Maybe the closing of the trust wasn’t moving
forward quickly, but I wondered if someone might be interested in stopping it.

After a detour to a liquor store, we arrived at Louisa
Babcock’s rehabilitation center. If Rodney’s modest tract house had shaken my assumptions
about Marty’s friends, Louisa’s current if temporary residence more than compensated:
it looked more like a pricy hotel than a medical facility. Everything about the tasteful,
spacious lobby confirmed my original notion of her friends’ wealth. There was a surprisingly
large and elegant concierge’s desk to the right, with a low arrangement of fresh flowers
on one corner, and a well-dressed middle-aged woman watching our every move. “May
I help you?” she asked.

“We’re here to see Louisa Babcock,” Marty said.

“Are you on the approved list?” said the woman whose name tag read Esther. It had
never occurred to me that we would have trouble getting in.

Marty apparently knew the drill. “Martha Terwilliger. I’ve been here before.”

The woman behind the desk turned to a sleek touch screen and looked at something we
couldn’t see. “Ah, of course, here you are. I’m sure Louisa will be delighted to see
you. If you’ll just sign in? And your guest as well?” She slid a leather-bound register
across the desk. Marty signed, then passed it to me, and I did the same.

When I had returned the book to Esther, Marty led the way down a long corridor, turned
left, and followed another corridor until she stopped in front of a door halfway down.
Along the way I caught a faint whiff of what must be dinner, but it actually smelled
tempting; happily there was no smell of urine or illness that I had unfortunately
noticed in other facilities of this kind. This place was well-managed on all levels,
it seemed.

Before rapping on the door, Marty turned to me. “Louisa’s sharp, and she doesn’t care
for mealymouthed people. You have a question, ask it. Don’t condescend to her just
because she’s old.”

“Marty, when have I ever . . .” But she had already turned to the door and rapped
sharply on it.

“Louisa? It’s Marty. You decent?”

“As close as I get,” a gravelly but surprisingly strong voice replied. “You’ll have
to let yourself in—this damned hip!”

Marty pushed open the door and held it while I entered. Louisa was seated in a classic
high-backed wing chair near the window, but she made no move to rise.

Louisa all but licked her lips on seeing me. “Ooh, you’ve brought me fresh company.
I’ll owe you one. Who are you, dear?” she asked me.

I resisted the urge to curtsey—my mother did teach me to respect my elders, and Louisa
wore her eighty-plus years proudly. “I’m Nell Pratt. I run the Pennsylvania Antiquarian
Society in Philadelphia.”

“You can stop now if you think I’m going to give you any money.”

“Nothing like that.” I glanced at Marty, who nodded. “We need to talk to you about
the Forrest Trust.”

Louisa looked at Marty. “Now that’s something I didn’t expect to hear. Martha, did
you bring my, uh, mouthwash?”

“Of course. Shall I refill the bottle?” Marty asked, holding up an unmarked bag.

“If you would. I’d offer you some, but I need every drop my friends can smuggle in.”

Marty went into the attached bathroom, and I could see her transferring the contents
of a pint bottle of vodka into a brand-name mouthwash bottle by the sink.

When Marty had accomplished her mission (and hidden the empty bottle in her own bag),
Louisa asked, “I could ring for tea, if you’d like?” She looked hopeful, and I turned
to Marty for guidance.

Marty winked at me. “Sure, go right ahead.”

Louisa beamed, then said, “Just push the call button over there and hope someone shows
up.” Marty did as requested.

“Sit, sit.” Louisa gestured imperiously toward the two brocade-covered visitor chairs
in the room. “Now, what’s this about the Forrest Trust?”

“You still a member of the board?” Marty asked.

“Yes, last time I checked. Why?”

“Because six of your colleagues are dead, and we think it wasn’t from natural causes,
although the authorities do.”

Louisa’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, a mystery! Someone is killing members of a thoroughly
useless charity? Who? When? How?”

Marty repeated our list. I couldn’t say Louisa looked devastated by news of the untimely
deaths of six of her longtime colleagues.

When Marty had finished, Louisa said, “So you really think someone is taking out members
of our little board, one by one? Am I on the list, do you think?”

“I’m sorry to say it, but maybe,” Marty said. “You upset by that idea?”

“Martha, my dear, I’ve been ready to go since I turned seventy-five. Anything past
that has been a bonus. And to be part of a conspiracy of murder! What a treat! More
than I ever could have hoped. So why did you want to see me?”

An attendant arrived in response to the ring. She seemed to have trouble with English,
so it took Louisa a couple of minutes to convey that we wanted tea for three. Either
she finally got the message or she gave up trying, because she left us alone again.
“The help these days! We may get something, but I won’t guarantee what. Now, where
were we . . . Ah, yes, what can I do to help?”

“Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill Forrest trustees?” Marty said.

“Not at all. We’re a small group, and we’re just living up to the terms of the trust.
Nothing has changed since it was written, except for the name of the bank and the
faces around the table. There isn’t that much money, at least by most philanthropic
standards.”

“Your colleague Rodney said there was talk of shutting down the trust?” I said. “What
can you tell us about that?”

“Ah, Rodney. Such a grouchy man! Yes, we’ve talked about it, as recently as the last
board meeting. But then, we’ve been talking about it for years, and you can see how
much has happened.”

“Is something likely to happen now?” I asked.

“Perhaps. We still have money, but it’s getting harder and harder to find ways to
spend it, under the terms of the trust—isn’t that a strange problem to have? The world
that Edwin Forrest knew is long gone. It was kind of him to try to do well by his
colleagues who were down-and-out, but it’s not possible to carry out his wishes now.
End of an era, I suppose.”

“Does anyone benefit if the trust goes away? Or, on the flip side, does anyone lose
if it does?” Marty asked.

While Louisa was framing her response, the attendant reappeared, wheeling in a rattling
cart, complete with china teapot, cups, milk, cream, and a plate of store-bought cookies.
Still, Louisa clapped her hands with glee. “Oh, thank you, thank you! We’ll ring when
you can take it away.”

After the woman left, Louisa said to us quietly, “Actually it looks pretty dismal,
but you’ve got to encourage the staff or you’ll never get anything again. Martha,
you pour.” Marty grabbed the pot and started filling cups as Louisa went on, “Now,
you asked if anyone benefitted or was harmed if the trust went away. I can’t think
of anyone apart from a few lawyers and bankers. Poor Edwin, at least he had a good
run, and his name’s on a few Philadelphia buildings. Do you know much about him, Nell?”

“I didn’t, but I’ve been filling in the blanks lately. You may recall that the Society
houses the Coriolanus statue.”

“Ah, the noble Roman. Did you know that Forrest kept it in his home, when it was new?”

“Really? It’s rather large, so it’s hard to imagine it in a home.”

“True. Have you ever noticed that it’s a tad larger than life-size?” Louisa said slyly.
“Edwin was a star, and perhaps he saw himself on a grander scale than most mortals.”
She took a sip from the cup that Marty handed her. “Lukewarm, as usual.” She sighed.
Then she looked squarely at me. “You know, if I recall, the Society is sitting on
a chunk of our money, and some bits and pieces apart from the statue.”

“You’re right, we are. But we can’t use those funds for anything except taking care
of the collection, so we don’t lose anything if the trust goes away.” Assuming what
I read on the Society’s financial reports was accurate. The lawyers for the trust
were also the Society’s lawyers, so if there was anything odd going on . . .

“So there’s nothing about the trust that you think could push somebody to wipe out
the board?” Marty asked.

“I’m sorry, dear, but no. We’re a very dull bunch.”

Marty looked frustrated. “Okay, putting that aside, let me ask you this: have you
had any strangers come visit you lately? Or call?”

Louisa fixed her with a speculative eye. “You mean killers in disguise, coming to
slip me poison? I don’t think so. But to tell the truth, I wouldn’t really know. You
may have observed that the dragon at the desk is very good at screening people. I
gave her a short list of people I’d be willing to see—and that included you, Martha,
as you know. But I also
excluded
a few of my more obnoxious relatives, and I specified ‘no vendors.’ You’d be appalled
at the people who show up trying to sell you something.” When Marty’s eyebrows went
up, Louisa added, “Nice young priests who want to save your soul.”

“And you said no to them, too?”

“I did. No exceptions. This is
my
recuperation, and I’ll manage it on my terms.”

Marty smiled. “How’s the hip doing?”

“All things considered, not too bad. I may go home next week. Or not. I rather enjoy
being waited on here, even if the tea is cold. I’m sorry, I haven’t been very much
help, have I?”

“Even a negative tells us something. I’ll ask the Dragon Lady if you’ve had any unwanted
callers. Anything else?”

Marty and Louisa launched into a detailed discussion of people I didn’t know. I zoned
out, sipping my tea and studying the room. Louisa had clearly brought some of her
possessions with her, and they were lovely. No photographs, though. No close family?
I wondered if the killer thought that it was less heinous to kill older people, since
they were that much closer to death anyway. Or those with no one left to mourn them
or to ask awkward questions?

Rodney seemed safe, if he stuck to his rules and didn’t let anyone in, physically
or electronically. Louisa I didn’t think we had to worry about, since she seemed well
defended here. I hoped that by the time she was ready to go home we would have eliminated
the threat, although we didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Both lifestyles, however,
felt like a sad commentary on the modern world, if they had to develop strategies
to keep unwanted people out.

Marty signaled that she was ready to leave. I took a quick look at Louisa, who was
beginning to fade, and agreed. “Louisa, it was lovely to meet you. I hope you get
back on your feet soon.”

She nodded graciously. “Come see me when you figure out this puzzle. I love a good
mystery, particularly one with a satisfying ending.”

“We’re doing our best.” I hoped that was enough.

I followed Marty back to the front desk, where she stopped in front of Esther the
Dragon Lady. “What other visitors has Louisa Babcock had?” Marty demanded.

Dragon Lady drew herself up straighter, if that was possible. “We cannot give out
that information.”

Marty wasn’t about to give up easily. “What I mean is, has Louisa had anyone stop
by who asked to see her but who
wasn’t
on the list?”

Esther fixed us with a steely glare. “We do not keep records of people who are not
welcome.”

“But Louisa has so few visitors. Wouldn’t you remember someone who asked for her?”

“There has been no such request. Now, if you don’t mind . . .”

Mind what?
I wondered. We were supposed to feel brushed off, but I refused to give up. “Is there
a person who takes your place at night?” I asked.

“Of course. My hours are ten to six. We discourage late visits, however. Many of our
guests retire early, after their dinner.”

But an outsider might not know that. Marty picked up my cue. “I don’t mean to be pushy,
but there’s a relative who’s visiting the area and really wants to see his aunt, Louisa.
She probably doesn’t know he’s coming—you know how bad kids are these days with writing
or calling, all this texting nonsense. Anyway, he might have stopped by after you
left, some night, and been turned away. Could you leave a note for the night clerk
and ask her to call me if she’s seen anyone asking for Louisa?”

“Him.”

“What? Oh, you mean the person who watches the desk at night is a man. Excellent—would
you ask him to get in touch with me? Or better yet, Nell, here? Nell, you got a business
card?”

I fished a business card out of my bag and I handed it to Dragon Lady, after scribbling
my cell number on the back. I wasn’t convinced that the night guy would ever see it,
but we had to try. Esther tucked my card under a corner of the leather blotter, and
I chose to take that as a yes. “We really appreciate it.”

“Come on, Nell,” Marty interrupted. “We need to get going. I’ve still got to visit
Harby.”

Marty waited until we were back on Route 30 before saying, “Good thinking, asking
about people who tried but
didn’t
get in to see Louisa.”

“I’m just trying to cover all the bases. So we think that both Rodney and Louisa are
safe for now. Which leaves us with, what, four other people on the board?”

“I checked. One’s in Europe, the other two are on a cruise somewhere with their spouses,
and I told you that Irving is living in California now,” Marty said promptly, evidently
having done her homework. “They’re out of harm’s way, at least for now, and there’s
not much point in trying to track them down and talk to them at the moment. So what
we’ve got is . . . what we’ve got.”

“I’ll think it over. Give my best to Harby.”

“I will. Poor guy. Or maybe he’s lucky, being so oblivious. The drinking helps, too.
Never thought I’d say that.” Marty pulled up outside my house, and I climbed out of
her car. “See you at the funeral Monday.”

Marty gave a casual backhand wave as she pulled away.