Final Arrangements (22 page)

"Speaking of Phil, he should be here by now,"
she said. "And we can't say what we'll do with any of Dad's estate,
because we don't know what condition it's in. I don't even know if
Dad had any money."

"He must have had some. After being an
engineer for his entire life. He's like my parents. From the
thrifty generation. They saved 10 percent and tithed 10
percent."

"You're probably right," Shannon admitted.
"Now that I think about it, Dad never talked about finances to me.
Like it was some kind of secret."

"Did you ever ask?"

"No."

"Your Dad only gave advice when asked,"
Stretch said.

"That's right."

"A sign of great wisdom."

"We've got to go upstairs," she said. "To his
office. If he's got anything we need, it's somewhere up there."

The office was cramped, furnished with an
ancient desk piled high with paperwork, in no discernible order or
pattern, and a folding table which supported a computer of less
than up to the minute vintage. Dust covered everything.

"It's like nobody has lived here for
centuries, Stretch," she said. "Can you believe it? My father was a
lonely, dry, dusty old man. How come I never noticed it
before?"

"We see what we want to see and ignore the
rest."

"Will you stop with the Chicken Soup for the
Soul one-liners?"

"Sorry. Hey, your dad was like most old men.
They have a dry, leafy smell, wear sweaters instead of jackets,
lean on canes when they get dizzy and give off wisdom in soft
voices. Hardly leave a footprint. These are people the world takes
no notice of, but they're the same people who built practically
everything you see around you."

She opened the shutters to get the southern
exposure, but one of the shutters, having loose screws, collapsed
with a bang to the floor.

"I can't deal with this," she said.

Stretch moved close, putting his arm around
her, his size seeming to suck all the space from the room.

"I'm going to take a shopping bag," he said.
"And I'll rummage through here and collect whatever seems likely
you'll need to show the probate attorney. You go out by the pool
and just try to breathe."

"Okay. No. Don't use a shopping bag. Stuff
everything into my straw purse."

A half hour later, it was over, and he
appeared by the arbor, under which Shannon sat.

"I don't know if I can wait for Phil," she
said. "I've been calling him every 10 minutes but he's either not
answering, or not home, or on his way here, or I don't know what. I
left a message for him to meet us at the attorney's at 12 o'clock.
That gives us an hour to empty the safe deposit box at the bank,
and an hour to have a snack before we sit down with the
attorney."

Stretch got on his cell phone, walking around
the pool and talking to somebody.

"Who was that?"

"I just put a man on this pool," he said. "My
treat for the duration, until Phil moves in or you sell it, either
way. And your Dad has a gardener, so we don't have to worry about
the lawn."

Dad has a gardener? That's something new in
the past year. Are you sure?"

"I found some receipts. Eighty bucks a
month."

"Seems reasonable."

"Well I don't know. It's such a dinky front
yard."

"Thanks, but we're not going to quibble about
a few bucks. There's so much to do. We've got to have somebody keep
the flyers picked up, and sell the furniture, and give away his
clothes, and my mother's clothes as well ... no, I'm not going to
cry. I'm sick of crying."

"At least he didn't have 50 stray cats
running in and out through a broken window," Stretch said.

In spite of herself, she smiled. It was
funny. A small laugh sneaked out into the cloud of psychic gloom
with which she had surrounded herself.

"There's something else you should know," he
said.

"What?"

"From what I could tell of all the bank
statements and such I gathered up, it looks as though your dad had
a lot of money."

"No. Dad took early retirement when Mom died.
He took less than a full pension, and wasn't even drawing much
social security. He spent all his money on my education, over
$200,000, if you must know, and yes, I feel guilty about it. But
tell me, how much money do you think Dad has in his savings?"

"About three million dollars."

Shannon stood up. "What?"

He reached into the straw purse and fished
out a statement from Dad's Merrill Lynch account.

"Dear Lord," Shannon said.

"That's all you're going to say? Dear
Lord?"

In her wildest imagination, she couldn't
imagine her father having a sum that incredible. No, not Joe
Ireland, who never bought a new car in his life, and generally
dressed in well-worn clothing and always looked for the bargains
wherever he went, and lived in a modest tract home.

"I thought I knew my father," she said. "But
I had no idea he was a secret gambling addict."

"Say what?"

"Obviously, he hit the California
Lottery."

"I don't think so," Stretch said, rubbing his
jaw. "You're Dad didn't strike me as the gambling type. No, I think
he got the money some other way. But however he got it, we've got a
huge problem."

"Which is?" She wondered what his answer
would be.

"I can't marry you now," he said. "Because
for the rest of your life, you'll think it was for your Dad's
money. I can't believe this has happened. This is a stroke of
incredibly bad luck. I think I'm going to be sick." He moved to a
lounge chair and eased his long frame into it, closing his
eyes.

"Get up," Shannon said, kicking his big
foot.

"Okay," he said, rising, in sections, his
height a seeming liability to him in light of this new sorrow, as
though he no longer had spirit enough to maintain the giant frame
with any lightness of step or being.

"You're a sorry sight," she said. "Pull
yourself together. We're going to the bank."

"Why?"

"Because we have to bury my father. You
promised to help me."

"But you'll think I was only marrying you for
the money. Especially since you found out my pool business isn't
doing all that well."

"If I was worried about it, I could get you
to sign a pre-nup."

"I'll sign it," he said. "We'll have your
Dad's lawyer make one up for us."

"I said if I was worried about it. I'm
not."

"Why aren't you?"

"Because I know you, Stretch Murphy. You're
not the millionaire type. You eat crisp chicken tacos with your
mouth full, and you wear that stupid parrot shirt, shorts, and work
boots everywhere, even though you've got enough money to dress
better."

"You trust me? You know I was a poor orphan.
I could be money hungry."

"I trust you, Stretch. I'm taking you on
faith. I've given this whole thing to the Lord. If my father said
you're okay, then you're okay. Although I have no proof he said
you're okay. I'm simply going to believe God knows what He's doing
in my life. God is either taking care of me or He isn't. I prefer
to believe He is. Now let's get moving."

They made the short drive to the bank and
accessed the safe deposit box without any trouble, Shannon having
been made a signatory on it years earlier, when it appeared Phil
couldn't be trusted. Seated together in the tiny cubicle provided
by the bank for privacy purposes, Shannon opened the box.

"There's no will," she said. "Just this
letter to me, and a couple of pieces of custom jewelry my mother
used to wear. And this--an old pair of glasses, the kind they used
to wear. Probably belonged to my grandfather." She opened the
envelope and looked up. "This was written last week. Stretch, hold
my hand. I'm going to read it out loud."

My Darling Daughter,

I've been having some rather severe chest
pains the past few days. My working life has been spent mastering
the physics of nuclear fluids and flows. I don't need anybody to
tell me my plumbing is shot. Looks like we probably won't get that
chess by mail finished. Too bad, because I had a good move coming.
My lawyer has all my papers at his office in the old Van Nuys
Federal Savings building just off Vanowen. His name is Fishkin.
Sounds Fishy doesn't it? The jewelry is for you. It's all that's
left of your mother's collection after the burglar stripped us
three years ago.

Shannon looked up at Stretch. "The robbery he
mentions happened once when he and mom were vacationing in
Yosemite. This is the jewelry she took with her, so they didn't get
it. They were so trusting. Never had an alarm and just left
everything out. Afterwards, Dad told me he was going to put a sign
on the door for burglars saying, I'VE ALREADY BEEN PLUCKED."

"Funny man," Stretch said.

"Oh," Shannon said, after she'd returned to
her reading.

I'm recommending you marry John aka Stretch
Murphy. I've already arranged for the marriage with his parents. If
you haven't met him yet, he's the guy on TV who wrestles the hippo.
I know this might seem silly to you. Perhaps even you'll think I've
fallen prey to dementia. But Stretch has been a good friend to me.
Not many young men would spend time with a lonely old man. I would
have told you all about him, and often thought about telling you,
but the Lord has his own ways. Maybe I didn't because I thought it
would be meddling too much. Stretch will have to do his own
courting. I expect he'll do a good enough job. Just remember, time
flies and before you know it, you'll be old like me. Try and find
some happiness before that day comes.

Well, I'll see you when I see you. I want
you to know that I'm not worried about you, but I'm a little
worried about your brother. I'm sure you and Minda will take care
of him for me. I think Phil was meant for a different place and
time. I always thought he would have made a good rancher, in the
days when men had to defend their property against rustlers and
such. But we're not here of our own making, and we have to make the
best of it.

Love always, Dad.

"My heart is breaking," she said. "And I
don't know if it will ever stop being sad."

"In time," Stretch said. "But not for
awhile."

"Let's get out of here," Shannon said,
stuffing everything into her straw purse.

"Wait." He selected one of the pieces of
jewelry, a gold chain upon which was a tiny gold apple with a small
diamond embedded in an attached leaf, and fastened it around her
neck. "You might as well carry a piece of your mother with you
during this."

Chapter 14

It took only 10 minutes to drive to Van Nuys
Boulevard to the law offices, check in and be seated in a small
conference room to wait for the attorney to join them. While they
waited, Shannon filled out a client sheet, listing her phone
numbers and other pertinent information.

"You didn't tell the bank Joe was deceased,"
Stretch said. "Aren't you supposed to tell them before you clean
out a safe deposit box?"

"I didn't want to complicate things. If I'd
told them, they'd have wanted a copy of the death certificate. Or
they might have sealed the box and called in some government
official to look for taxable items, such as hidden cash or
jewelry."

"Smart."

"I manage."

The attorney arrived, carrying a file,
extending his hand. "Lester Fishkin," he said.

"Shannon Ireland and my fiancee John
Murphy."

"The Pool Guy," Fishkin said, smiling.

"One and the same," Stretch said.

"What is in the water?" Fishkin asked.

"You never know. That's why you should call
me."

"My brother Phil is supposed to meet us
here," Shannon said. "He's running late. I'm afraid the news of my
father's death has altered his normally punctual sensibilities. Can
we start without him?"

"No problem," Fishkin said.

Shannon dumped out the contents of the purse
onto the table. "Everything we could find on short notice."

"The first order of business," Fishkin said,
"is to decide if you want me to represent you through the probate
process. You can do it yourself or you can get somebody else."

"What's your connection to my father?"

"I do a lot of probate work. He came to see
me on the recommendation of a friend. Your father wasn't the type
to have much use for a lawyer, other than our serving as the
preparer and keeper of his will."

"But you'd like the business?"

"I would. My fees are set by statute, so
there's no horse trading. I'm experienced, and I'm local. The
probate court is right here in Van Nuys."

"How long does the whole thing take?"

"Uncontested, it could take six to seven
months or longer. But we can usually petition for a release of the
liquid assets early on."

"You're hired," Shannon said.

Fishkin smoothly extracted some forms for her
signature.

"The next order of business is marshaling the
assets," Fishkin said. He examined briefly the papers dumped from
the straw purse, eyes widening at the Merrill Lynch statements.
"I'm going to suggest we do a thorough asset search in light of
this," he said. "Might take about a week."

"I'm wondering what to do about the house Dad
lived in," she said, "what with me living in the Bay Area and all,
and the way the papers pile up."

"My wife's a Realtor," Fishkin replied. "I
can have her take a look if you want to sell it. She can get you a
preliminary title report and a short form appraisal by the end of
the day. In any event, we can hire a service to keep the house
picked up."

"Do," Shannon said.

"No," Stretch said. "She's giving the house
to her brother."

Shannon glared at him. She fished in her
purse and passed him a key. "The alarm code is 262. He chose that
because it was his Scout troop number when he was a boy. And I
decide what to do with the house. Unless it's in the will. Number
262 gets your wife in."