Major Vices (15 page)

Judith raced down the stairs. Renie followed, looking baffled. At that moment a helicopter landed on the lawn of Major Manor.

 

Everyone seemed to have crowded into the kitchen. The back door was open, and the whirr of the helicopter stopped as the cousins joined the others. In answer to Judith's question about what was going on, Jill shrugged.

“It's one of those flying ambulances. Somebody must have called them by mistake.” She went over to the sink and poured herself a glass of water.

It was not, however, a mistake. A moment later, Trixie was heard squealing with pleasure: “Mason! He's here! Oh, how divine!”

Sure enough, Mason Meade was returning to Major Manor. Exercising great care, the attendants lifted Mason's litter out of the helicopter and carried him across the frosty grass to the back porch. Everyone but Trixie stepped aside to allow the patient's passage through the narrow rear entrance. Slipping and sliding on the slick back porch, Trixie greeted Mason effusively. At last the litter was brought into the entry hall. Trixie was still cooing over her beloved, who appeared to be bandaged from head to toe.

“Where do ya want him?” one of the attendants asked.

Trixie tapped her front teeth with her finger. “Oh—the
master bedroom, for now.” She shot Judith and Renie a swift, faintly malicious look. “You
are
leaving soon, aren't you?”

“You bet we are,” Renie retorted, then turned to the attendants. “What's it like out there in the rest of the world?”

“Tricky, at least around here,” the other attendant replied. “We lucked out with the fog. It's cleared off at Bayview Hospital, but Heraldsgate Hill and The Bluff are still pretty bad. At first we thought we might have to land over at the playfield, four blocks down.”

Derek had moved to block the main staircase. “Just a moment, gentlemen. Why are you here at all?” His cold gaze lighted briefly on Trixie.

On the litter, Mason raised his bandaged head. “I hate hospitals. I insisted on being discharged.”

The explanation didn't satisfy Derek Rush. “Then you should have been sent home, not here. This isn't a convalescent center, it's Major Manor, and,” he added with a touch of spite, “now that Uncle Boo is dead, it's
mine
.”

Aunt Toadie, who had been standing near the coat closet, flew across the entry hall. “That's a lie! You don't own this house, Derek, you miserable egg-sucking leech!
I
do!”

Gazing down at Toadie's irate form, Derek sneered. “You're wrong, Aunt Toadie. Go get Uncle Boo's will.”

Toadie, who was practically standing on Derek's shoes, thrust her jaw up at him and snarled. “Go get it yourself! Meanwhile, if my daughter wants to put her fiancé in the master bedroom, that's what she's going to do! Get out of the way before I have the police move you bodily!”

Under the living room arch, Zoe let out a piercing laugh. All eyes turned to the maid, who assumed her typically languid pose.

“If you bunch of crooks want to read the will, why don't you go look for it?” With a feather duster, she gestured around the corner toward the den. “Of course, you'll have to get the cops to release my parents first. They're still holed up in there.”

As if on cue, the three Rushes, along with Toadie and
Trixie, charged the den. The attendants from the helicopter exchanged glances, then began trundling Mason Meade into the living room.

“To hell with it,” the first attendant shouted. “We're getting out of here while there's still a weather window.” He and his companion dumped Mason on the sofa. Taking the litter with them, they made their exit. Mason Meade moaned pitiably.

Zoe ignored the patient, but Judith couldn't help but be moved. She went into the living room and asked him if he needed anything.

“I could use a drink,” he said in a feeble voice.

Hedging, Judith asked Mason if he was on medication. He asserted that the only medicine that would do him any good was a slug of scotch. Meanwhile, Renie was going through the manila envelope that had been attached to the litter.

“I'm no nurse,” she said, “but it looks as if you're on some heavy-duty painkillers. Percodan, for one. I'd skip the booze if I were you.”

Mason began to whine, but Renie turned her back on him. “I'll make you a cup of tea,” she volunteered.

Since Zoe was still cleaning the living room, Mason wouldn't be totally abandoned if Judith defected, too. Off the entry hall, the family members were stuffed into the little passageway that led to the den, still shouting, still pounding on the door. Officer Foster surrendered just as Judith was about to ask Jill what, if anything, was happening.

Harangued by Aunt Toadie and browbeaten by Derek, Foster finally gave in and agreed to vacate the den with his prisoner. Or, it appeared to Judith, prisoners, since Mrs. Wakefield was under escort along with her husband. While Weed looked unaffected by his detention, his wife took her stand in the entry hall.

“This is all ridiculous!” she declared, her chunky figure and pugnacious expression making her look not unlike an indignant bulldog. “If you people want lunch, you'll have to spring me! And unless you want to freeze to death, Weed has to go check on the furnace.”

Wearily, Officer Foster insisted on accompanying Weed Wakefield to the basement. Mrs. Wakefield trotted off to the kitchen, grumbling under her breath. Judith followed the rest of the relatives into the den, but stayed in the doorway. Toadie and Derek assaulted the desk, quarreling over who was going to open which drawer first. Jill was at the open-faced bookshelves, removing the volumes and shaking them out, apparently in the hope of finding the missing will. Using the shears that Weed Wakefield had brought into the den, Trixie was dismantling the big cardboard carton. Meanwhile, Aunt Vivvie and Holly were trying to jiggle the latches on the locked bookcases. They weren't having much luck.

Toadie, who was standing on Derek's foot and wrestling him for one of the file folders, looked up sharply. “Stop that!” she commanded her sister. “You'll break the glass! Nobody's opened those bookcases in years! Who reads that old stuff anyway?”

“All the more reason,” Derek shot back, kicking Toadie in the shins, “to hide something there.”

Flinching at the family's callous behavior and blatant greed, Judith skirted Trixie and the pinking shears. She joined Jill, who at least wasn't engaged in any sort of violence. Watching the younger woman go through the books, Judith felt a nudge at her brain. Suddenly she remembered: Someone—Derek?—had picked a book up off the floor after Uncle Boo's body had been discovered.

“Here,” Judith whispered excitedly to Jill, pointing to Will Rogers's autobiography, “check this one.”

With a puzzled glance at Judith, Jill slid the book from the shelf. Dusting it off, she riffled through the pages, then stiffened, and a strange keening sound emitted from her throat. Judith gazed over her shoulder. A legal document was neatly folded in the middle of the Rogers book.

Judith's back was turned on Derek and Toadie, who were still wrangling as they pawed through the desk. Vivvie and Holly, giving in to defeat, had joined them. Jill edged closer to Judith, closing ranks.

“It's the will,” she whispered. “Look!”

Judith did. The document stated that this was the last
will and testament of Bruno Ragland Major. Scanning the standard printed legal form with its handwritten passages, she saw that the testator's intent was clear: Being a widower and having no issue, he did “give, devise, and bequeath” his entire estate unto his beloved nephew by marriage, Derek Maurice Rush. The date was September 29, three years earlier.

Jill howled with glee. Trixie and Toadie merely howled.

P
ANDEMONIUM BROKE OUT
in the den. Aunt Toadie whirled on Jill, trying to tear the will out of her hands. Derek embraced his daughter, which wasn't easy, since he had to fend off his aunt's clawing fingers. Holly fanned herself with her hand and leaned against one of the radiators. Aunt Vivvie beamed—and fainted again. Judith called for Mrs. Wakefield and the smelling salts.

It was Renie, however, who showed up. “What the hell…?” she muttered, encountering the chaotic scene.

“Derek won,” Judith said in her cousin's ear. “Jill found the will.”

“Well.” Renie stared at Aunt Vivvie, who was lying on the parquet floor and making little mewing noises. “Did you say smelling salts? I think she's coming around.”

Renie was right. Vivvie was not only conscious, but also smiling, if in a trembling, anxious manner. “Oh, my!” she gasped out, allowing Judith to prop her into a sitting position. “Oh, my, my! Bless Boo! My son is so deserving!”

“Bunk!” shouted Toadie. “Let me see that will! It must be a phony!”

With an air of victory, Derek waved a hand at his
daughter. “Let her read it, Jill. Let everybody read it. I always knew Uncle Boo loved me best.” His off-center smile revealed his gold molar, making him look vaguely like a pirate.

Toadie snatched the document from Jill's grasp. She read hurriedly, then sneered. “This thing is three years old! He wrote this just after Rosie died. Do you really think he didn't make another will?” Toadie crumpled the legal-sized paper and hurled it at Derek. “I should make you eat that, you swine!”

Trixie's blond head bobbed up and down like a puppet's. “That's right, Mummy! Uncle Boo promised
us
his money! And the house! And…” Trixie took a deep breath, her cleavage straining at the deep ruffled neckline. “…
everything!
Let's go through those other books!”

Chaos reigned in front of the open bookcase. Shoving, pushing, and otherwise stampeding one another, the four Rushes, including a rejuvenated Aunt Vivvie, vied with the two Grover-Bellews. Books began to fly from the top shelf. Her librarian's sensibilities enflamed, Judith called a halt.

“Wait!” she cried, practically vaulting over the desk. “Stop!” To her amazement, the combatants did, staring at her with varying degrees of curiosity and hostility. Swallowing hard, she made a calming gesture with her hands. “I have an idea. There's a better way to find that will than to tear this place apart. Would all of you agree to a truce and to appointing Renie and me as neutral searchers?”

Aunt Toadie's face turned mulish. “We would
not
. Why should we trust you two?”

Renie had joined Judith by the desk. “You sure don't trust each other,” she asserted. “Furthermore, if you don't knock it off, the cops will come in here and throw you out.”

Renie's threat didn't strike Judith as a likely possibility, but it sounded good. Toadie and Trixie exchanged perturbed glances; the four Rushes muttered among themselves. Derek was the first to speak up.

“Very well. We'll go out in the living room and wait. You have precisely ten minutes.” He looked at his watch.

The closing of the door was music to the cousins' ears. Peace fell over the den. Judith began replacing the volumes that had been pulled off the top shelf; Renie put back the half dozen that had been yanked from the lower parts of the bookcase.

“Well?” asked Renie. “What's your brainstorm?”

Judith pointed to the Will Rogers autobiography that Renie had just slid into place on the middle shelf. “I don't think the will—or wills, if there's more than one—was hidden at random. Do you remember what happened after we found Uncle Boo's body? I kept trying to recall something I'd seen, but it eluded me until I saw Jill going through the bookcase just now. While we were all gasping and shrieking over poor Boo, Derek picked up a book that had fallen off the shelf. It was the Rogers bio. Now why should it be on the floor? I reasoned that it was because Boo had been looking at it, perhaps while the murderer was with him. What would cause Uncle Boo to take out that particular volume? I couldn't think of any reason—unless there was something hidden among the pages. And there was.” Judith gave Renie an eloquent look.

Renie gave Judith the bird. “Stop being obscure, coz. I get the part about the book on the floor and all that, but now where do we find another will—if there is one?”

Turning away, Judith scanned the shelves. Unlike the glassed-in cases, which seemed ordered by chronological publication, the more popular collection wasn't organized. But there were no more than two hundred books. It didn't take Judith long to find what she was looking for.

“Here,” she said, a note of excitement rising in her voice. “Try this one.” She handed Renie a copy of
Say Hey
, the autobiography of Willie Mays. “And this,” she added, giving her cousin George Will's
Men at Work
.

Still mystified, Renie began flipping through the Mays autobiography. In the middle, she found a folded legal document. Enlightenment struck.

“Aha! It's people named Will—or Willie. Here,” she said, hurriedly unfolding the single sheet of paper, “let's
see who the next lucky heir is—and hope it isn't Toadie or Trixie.”

But it was, both of them. The second will was identical to the first one—except that it left the entire estate of Bruno Ragland Major to Theodora Lott Grover and Trixie Bellew Longrod. It was dated October 4 of the previous year, and revoked “…all previous wills and any codicils thereto at any time heretofore made by me.”

“Damn,” Renie breathed. “Derek's out, Toadie and Trixie are in. Why don't we burn this?”

With a pained expression, Judith shook her head. “We can't. Unlike those creeps in the living room, we're honest.” Suddenly she brightened. “Wait—let's see that George Will book.”

To the cousins' elation, a third legal document appeared, from the middle section of
Men at Work
. Judith and Renie read frenziedly.

“Yikes!” gasped Judith.

“Egad!” cried Renie.

“Mrs. Wakefield wasn't kidding,” Judith said in dismay.

“I guess not,” Renie replied in a hollow voice.

The third will was dated January 11 of the current year, and left Boo Major's entire estate to Space Aliens.

 

The cousins could find no other volumes written by or about men named Will, Willie, or Wills. They tried Ted Williams, William Styron, and even an historical novel about William the Conqueror, but the pages held nothing but words.

Renie sighed. “Now what? How do we face that crew with this?” She waved the most recent will at Judith.

Taking the document, Judith carefully reread the handwritten portion. “He's actually specifying an organization of UFO watchers, so legally this will is probably on solid ground. The American Society for Sighting and Studying Alien Beings Outside Ourselves may or may not be a local group.”

“It doesn't matter,” Renie said with mixed emotions. “As long as they exist somewhere—which is more than I can say for the Space Aliens—they get the loot. Now, how
are we going to tell the would-be heirs that they're cut out of the will? We may be the next victims, coz.”

Resignedly, Judith started for the door. She stopped, looking into the cardboard box, which had been partially shredded by Trixie. “I wish Buck Doerflinger's theory didn't actually make some sense. I keep thinking of what Mrs. Wakefield said.”

“You mean about Boo not…” Renie faltered.

“About Boo not being killed…” It was Judith's turn to be stumped. “I'm not exactly sure how she put it, but I think what she meant was that Boo wasn't shot in a locked room. Which may mean,” she continued, gathering steam, “he was killed somewhere else and brought in here. But I don't see how.” She gazed again at the carton, then shook her head. “No, he couldn't have been transported in here via this box. That's too crazy. Mrs. Wakefield probably doesn't know what she means. The whole thing's so…illogical.”

“But,” Renie countered, “if Buck's right, what's Weed Wakefield's motive?”

Judith's wide shoulders slumped. “That's it—I don't know. Unless…” Her dark eyes narrowed. “The jewels? Did Weed take them? If so, why kill Boo? I'll bet he didn't go out to that safe once in a blue moon. Except to show the stuff off to Vivvie Rush.”

On the other side of the door, a fist pounded so hard that the frame shook. The cousins leaped backward, practically falling over each other. Judith half-expected to see a hand plow through the fine-grained Philippine mahogany.

“Open up!” bellowed Buck Doerflinger.

Judith started for the door again, but Renie held her back. Putting a finger to her lips and her other hand on the knob, she waited for Buck to pound a second time. At the precise moment that his fist made contact, she whisked the door open. Buck careened across the threshold and crashed into the cardboard box.

“Oh, fudge,” Renie said in a mild voice. “You just wrecked your evidence! Now what will you do?”

Shooting a malevolent look at her, Buck untangled him
self from the cardboard remnants and struggled to his feet. “I ought to haul you in, too,” he growled, then began to shout. “Impeding justice! Refusing to cooperate! Sassing an officer!”

Renie assumed her middle-aged ingenue's expression. “Busting a box?” She flinched a bit as Doerflinger loomed over her. “Boxing a bust? Get your paws away from my chest, Doerflinger, or I'll sue you for sexual harassment.”

Weary from her efforts at trying to keep the peace, Judith intervened. “Say, Buck—uh, sir—we found some wills. Here.” She thrust the two latest editions at him. “There's another one in the living room.”

“There's a goddamned
patient
in the living room,” Doerflinger roared. “This isn't no hospital! Who sent that bozo back to Major Manor?”

“Not us,” the cousins chorused, then gave each other a bemused look. They waited, however, for Buck to peruse the wills. His face turned red; his voice could have shattered glass.

“Hell! Space nuts! What kind of a deal is this anyway? Does that Wakefield perp think he's from Pluto?”

“His motive does seem obscure,” Judith murmured. Seeing Buck's glare, she hastened on: “I mean, nobody in the family or the household appears to benefit from this will. It's very recent, so it must be the latest. Of course, the others probably don't know that…yet.” Hopefully, she raised her eyes to Buck's crimson face.

“They'll know it now,” he thundered, wheeling out of the den.

Renie made as if to follow, but Judith detained her. “Let's not,” she urged. “Do you really want to hear the family's reaction? I'm worn out from all their quarreling.”

Renie was easily coerced. “It's going on noon,” she noted. “I wonder if Mrs. Wakefield has lunch ready.”

There was one way to find out. Judith and Renie left the den, hurrying through the hall. From the living room, they could hear the cries of disbelief, followed by shrieks of rage. The cousins traipsed on to the kitchen.

Mrs. Wakefield was taking a pan of rolls out of the oven. “Creamed chicken over noodles with mushrooms,
tarragon, and shallots,” she announced. “Avocado, shrimp, and asparagus salad. Rolls. Dessert will have to be ice cream, but I got three kinds in the freezer.”

Renie was ogling the rolls. “Sounds good,” she said.

“You were right,” Judith told the housekeeper, then saw her look of mild surprise. “About the Space Aliens. We found the will. Or wills. But the Space Aliens are the most recent heirs.”

Mrs. Wakefield smirked. “What did I tell you?” She paused to give her sauce a stir. “But there were other wills? Old Boo must have had those drawn up on the sly.”

“He did them himself,” Judith replied. “He used those forms you can buy at any big stationery store.”

“Really.” Mrs. Wakefield seemed intrigued. “Who were the witnesses?”

Judith looked blank. “I don't remember. But there were witnesses to all three of the wills.” Her forehead furrowed in concentration. “The last one had simple names—Brown? Jackson?”

Mrs. Wakefield gave a slight nod. “Davey Brown—he's the plumber. And Cal Jackson comes in for electrical stuff. I suppose Boo got them to sign while they were working here. What about the others?”

Judith didn't remember. Neither did Renie, though she thought one of the signatories had a Polish name.

“Andy Wojiechowski,” the housekeeper replied easily. “He does the heavy-duty gardening. Makes sense, huh? Boo'd sit there in his den and make out wills and get whoever was hanging around to sign them.” She gave a little shrug, then drained the noodles.

Judith eyed her curiously. “Why not any of you?” she asked.

Pouring noodles into a large serving bowl, Mrs. Wakefield arched her eyebrows. “We live here. The others don't.” She glanced out through the dining room to the entry hall, and in the direction of the living room beyond. “I hear a commotion. Do you suppose they'll stop fighting long enough to fill their fat, ugly faces?”

“I will,” Renie volunteered.

Mrs. Wakefield put the rolls in a covered basket. “Boo
had his little secrets. Like I said, I didn't know he made any other wills except for that last one, and I wouldn't have known that if Davey Brown hadn't come out of the den laughing his head off and talking about Martians and money. I sort of guessed what was going on. As far as I'm concerned,” she added, gesturing toward the living room with a long metal spoon, “it serves 'em all right. That Toadie's a real piece of work, Trixie's a man-eating tramp, Derek's a stick-in-the mud, his wife's a doormat, their daughter is a conniver, and the old lady—Vivvie—is a dithering idiot. Oh, she had her hooks into Boo, I'll grant you that. And Jill, coming around here and giving Boo rides in her hot little sports car! Could they have been more obvious? I say, let the two-headed monsters from Mars get the lot. It beats having all that money go to the one-headed monsters from the suburbs.” With a swish of her well-padded hips, Mrs. Wakefield carried the serving dishes out to the dinning room.