Trophies (37 page)

White paint, blond wood, and blue sofas
abounded in the law office's reception area; I couldn't imagine a
greater contrast to the police interrogation room. Sherlock hung
back while Patty and I introduced ourselves to the receptionist,
who pressed a button and murmured into her telephone headpiece.
Just as discreetly, two crisp secretaries appeared. The blonde
escorted Patty and Lindsay to the conference room, veiled with
blinds, that bordered the reception area. The brunette said Mister
Langstrom wanted to meet me.

Immediately I thought of that old photo I'd
stolen years ago in boarding school, the fiasco that started me on
my life of quasi-crime and alienated me from my family in the first
place. The bottom dropped out of my stomach, leaving that sandwich
dangling in thin air. "Excuse me, what was that name again?"

She smiled. "Langstrom, Albert Langstrom.
It's a bit odd, isn't it? Don't worry, everyone needs to hear it
twice. Now, if you'll step this way?"

He met me just outside his office door, and
there on a plaque was the name Albert Langstrom. His face was the
same, too, only older, with the broad forehead and cheekbones and
the narrow chin so that he looked like an egghead except eggs don't
have perfectly groomed blond hair and little goatees. Experience
had replaced the perpetually anxious expression I remembered with a
gentle confidence, the sort that kept its chin low but met your
eyes, and the relaxed tilt to his face spoke of a kind nature.
Right now, a good joke glimmered deep within him. And of course,
his handshake was firm.

"Ellandun."

"Langstrom." I took another good look. "Aunt
Edith tried to get me down here to meet her estate attorney several
times. But since she always camouflaged it by saying I needed to
prepare a will, I always found a way out. I never considered I was
old enough to need one, you know?"

"I understand. We're all invincible, until
we're not." He must have hopped the pond not long after completing
school; his accent was as uncertain which side of the Atlantic
Ocean to call home as mine.

"Yes, well, I'm just glad she had more
sense." I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Look, Langstrom—"

But he shook his head. "Please don't be
embarrassed and don't try to apologize. A few years have passed,
we've both matured a bit, and that's all water under the bridge.
Now, I recall your aunt telling me you helped her write this will;
is that correct?"

I nodded, still not comfortable. Those
reassurances could be merely polite words.

"So unless she added something without
telling you, none of this should be a surprise, correct?"

"Correct."

"Excellent. Sherry's over there nodding at
me, so everyone's ready. Shall we go?"

I followed Langstrom into the conference
room. The blinds were drawn back now, and the eclectic buildings of
the Financial District were arrayed about us like a garden of glass
and iron and concrete. The opposite wall, into the reception area,
was glass bricks to the hip, panes in white wooden frameworking
above, and beyond their sparkle sat Sherlock in his walking-out
greens. He rested on one of the blue sofas, facing the receptionist
behind her polished desk with the elevators to his right and the
glass wall of the conference room to his left. A tattered issue of
National Geographic
covered his lap; I caught a glimpse of
an exploding volcano spewing lava across the pages, and wondered if
he was actually reading or just using the magazine as camouflage
while watching and waiting in his strategic position.

The wall between my professional and personal
worlds had thinned to a few panes of glass. With the Ellandun
family on one side and Sherlock on the other, was there any chance
of keeping them separate for long?

The rest of the family had arrived while I'd
spoken with Langstrom. They sat about the maple-wood table, various
colored liquids in heavy tumblers before them, and stared as
Langstrom and I took our seats, his at the head of the table and
mine to his right. My back was to the view; I faced William, and
Father was on my other side. I felt surrounded, as Daniel might
have felt about ten steps into that lion's den. I shook my head
slightly at Sherry's offer of a drink — unless it was whiskey; had
this seating arrangement been her idea? — and promptly quit paying
attention as Langstrom launched into his introductory remarks.

The tension in the room was so palpable it
was almost a living presence amongst us. Aunt Edith had been the
only member of her generation not to attend university, something I
knew she held against her father to the day she died. Ironically,
despite her lack of higher education, she had done better
financially than either of her brothers, better than the two of
them combined. And yet none of us needed her money. Suddenly I
hoped she'd thrown out the carefully detailed will we'd prepared,
hoped she'd left everything to some Home for Demented Cats or
something similarly wanton, and even as I hoped I knew she'd never
have done it.

"Rather than reading the will," Langstrom
said, "allow me to summarize it for you without all the legalese
thrown in. Does anyone object?"

No one leapt up and shouted, not even me, and
in that moment I felt as greedy as the rest of them. I didn't need
her money either and I certainly didn't deserve it, but I found
that I wanted it. For the first time I felt myself a true member of
this family and the humiliation was almost unbearable.

"Edith left mementos for her brothers,"
Langstrom continued into the false calm. "She felt those would be
more meaningful than monetary presents, but that doesn't mean the
gifts are trivial. There's a marked Paul Revere sterling silver
vase for William Ellandun, Senior. For Preston Ellandun, she left
the best of her collection of hippopotamus gem carvings, with an
option on the rest should you wish them."

After that, the bequests turned green. The
others of my generation — William, Ralph, Miriam, and Patricia —
all received disbursements in the low six-figure range which, as
Langstrom explained, would necessitate cashing in some of Aunt
Edith's stock holdings. The announcement caused a minor sensation
about the table; it seemed no one expected the figures to reach
quite that latitude. William's two children, Trés and Lindsay, the
only members so far of the third generation, both received funds,
too, tied up in trusts until they graduated university or died
trying; Aunt Edith left them no other option if they wanted the
money.

Then there were the odds and ends. The
wedding dress went to Patricia, "in eternal hope," as Aunt Edith
had phrased it, and Patty nearly broke down then and there with
Aunt Viola's maternal arm around her. There was an embroidered lace
handkerchief for Father, "who has always admired it," and for some
reason this simple statement turned him pink and elicited an
unclergymanlike snigger from Uncle Preston. The two Danny Vasquez
oils that graced Aunt Edith's bedroom, featuring roses and
butterflies in a kaleidoscopic riot of colors, were left to Aunt
Viola, and she clapped her hands in delight and murmured, "Thank
you." I was glad she wanted them; as much as I liked Vasquez, those
were two paintings I'd long wanted to see the last of; and I found
that thought didn't bother me any longer, either.

Several of Uncle Hubert's books were left to
William; the armoire in the garret to Ralph and Miriam for their
interior design office; another painting to Trés; and then
Langstrom shuffled his papers together and placed the last one on
top.

"Finally, everything to which Edith Hunter
held title, not otherwise specifically mentioned, is left to
Charles Ellandun."

I waited, wondering who would have the gall
to ask the obvious question. Predictably enough it was William and
the pause before he asked was short.

"What is the total value of the estate?" He
even sounded stunned.

I looked straight into his eyes and waited,
tingling, for Langstrom to answer. I wanted William to know what
the family's remaining black sheep was now worth. And in that
moment I wasn't embarrassed by my greed at all.

But Langstrom straightened his papers and
didn't raise his eyes. "Well, you know, there are lots of
investments and such. Everything hasn't been calculated yet." He
pushed on before anyone else could interrupt. "There are four
codicils to the will."

This was news to me. I swiveled to face
Langstrom. "Really?"

"Yes."

"She had to get the last word in, didn't
she?"

Uncle Preston sniggered again, as if
appreciating either the pitiful pun or my assessment of Aunt Edith.
William glared at me and tapped his fingernails on the polished
tabletop.

Langstrom coughed once into his hand and
sipped from his soda. "The first codicil leaves Edith Hunter's
house jointly to both Charles and Patricia Ellandun."

I hadn't known that was coming. But as I
started to grin, I realized it was perfect. Aunt Edith's final
word, ensuring me a companion, was worth more to me than half a
house, no matter what neighborhood it graced. Patty clutched the
arms of her chair and looked as if she was about to leap through
the ceiling if Aunt Viola's arm over her shoulders didn't anchor
her down. Heads turned back and forth between us and the wondering
expression on William's face was almost impressed.

"Don't be a twit." I grinned again when her
shock was wiped out by delighted accusation.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?"

Actually, I'd meant the money Aunt Edith had
bequeathed her. But I wasn't about to admit that.

"That's all right, then?" Langstrom's voice
sounded wary, as if he'd feared a different reaction.

I leaned back. "Absolutely peachy."

Patty let go the chair and grabbed her
mother. But her laughing eyes never left me and I couldn't quit
grinning.

"The second codicil identifies an emerald
ring in a hidden safe. Are you familiar with that?"

If he'd asked me three days ago I would have
said no. "Yes, I've seen it."

"That ring is left to Lindsay."

Her eyes, so like Aunt Edith's but in a face
like her mother's, widened.

I nodded. "Next?"

He shuffled his papers again, exactly the way
I shuffle my feet when confronted or uneasy. "The third bars Jacob
Ellandun from any inheritance of Edith Hunter's property."

Only then did I realize which name I hadn't
heard throughout the entire summarization. Patricia's brother
Jacob, the family changeling, sat frozen in his seat, scarlet to
the roots of his pale hair. He stared at the polished wood of the
table as though mesmerized while all color drained from his face.
Then he eased his chair back, rose, and left the conference room.
Heads swiveled as he passed. I stared along with everyone else
until he vanished into an elevator.

I felt horrible and cast about for something
to say, just to shatter the shivery silence. "I had no idea she'd
done that."

Langstrom looked at me oddly for a moment,
rather as William had before climbing into the cab at the police
station. "The last codicil instructs you to clean out Edith
Hunter's garret and finish what she started."

I'm afraid I stared at him. I'm certain I
looked the complete idiot. "I beg your pardon?"

"She said you would understand or would
figure it out."

It was Patricia who laughed and in her voice
was the shrill edge of hysteria. Every head in the room turned,
first to stare at Patty, then at me, and I felt the hot blood drain
from my face much as Jacob's had done. I considered the items we'd
found in the garret and wondered who Aunt Edith wanted me to
blackmail.

Or kill.

current time

As the conference room emptied I hung back,
edging nearer Langstrom in a silent request. He raised his eyebrows
but stayed as well. Father glanced at me as he rose and I realized
he wished to speak, but my inclusion of Langstrom seemed to put him
off. After hesitating he left the conference room, behind Aunt
Viola and Patty, with William at his side.

"Was there something else?" Langstrom asked
as the door closed behind them.

"I can't believe you don't know what Aunt
Edith meant by that cryptic remark. I mean, I'm not trying to
suggest you're a liar, but—" Words failed me. I shrugged.

"Ellandun, surely you know how secretive
Edith could be."

We stood at the head of the conference table.
He gripped the back of the chair before him and leaned on its
sturdy padded wood.

Beyond the glass panes some of the family
lingered. Linda and Aunt Viola left immediately for the hospital,
but Patricia snuggled beneath Uncle Preston's arm and showed no
sign of emergence from that paternal embrace. Lindsay stood on her
other side like a sentinel. Ralph and Miriam, the twins, giggled
near the elevators, their expressions elated; they'd barely known
Aunt Edith and reaped six figures each from the estate. Father and
William stood near Sherlock's sofa. The magazine sprawled across
his lap, but my borderline-insane commanding officer matched stares
with my father, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose at the
thought of those two men, the opposite poles of my life, coming
together.

"One thing I can tell you." Langstrom also
watched the panorama outside. "Although the house thing is rather
new, the other codicils have been in Edith's will for as long as
I've worked with her. That's not something she thought up simply to
torture you. Those are long-standing requirements and they were
extremely important to her." He turned to face me. "Whatever she
meant by that, there's a good reason for it."

Sherlock closed the magazine and rose. Father
limped a few steps nearer. They clasped hands before William
introduced them.