Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005
- Автор: Dean David, Dempsey Timothy F.
- Год: 2005
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: ISSN 1054-8122
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005». Краткое содержание книги:
It was nearly December before I woke to the acceptance that I had worked myself into a mindless obsession, and, more practically, a pointless one involving a worse than merely juvenile, unhinged, and outrageous remedy. Despite the several methods Ihad devised in the dead of wide-awake nights to “do in” Aunt Gloria — far more refined and foolproof, I should add, than the “squirrel hole” of my untutored youth — the damage to me was done, and, no matter how sweet the revenge, murdering her would not undo it. The true cause of my initial fixation was not highfaluting injustice, but lowest-level filthy lucre, and once I had come to that demeaning truth, the obsession gradually dispersed. It’s a free world, and my aunt was entitled to leave her money to whomsoever she wished — damn her hide.
At least I had a “modest legacy” to anticipate — and I hoped it would be big enough to fund the luxury cruise to historic Greece that my mother had always longed to take, but to which she had never allowed me to treat her. It would be a nice irony if Aunt Gloria could be made to pay for it, even posthumously.
It was during the following February that my mother called me at the office to say that my aunt had died as the result of an accident. She had tripped over her ailing Pekingese, while moving along uneven ground through the rhododendrons. She had broken a hip and, it transpired, her heart had not been able to withstand the rigours of the operation that followed. Poor Aunt Gloria. I was relieved, well, mildly, when it later transpired that the event had taken place a good twenty yards from my early excavation.
My mother went on to explain that it had been Mrs. Amhurst who had telephoned the sad news, and who had also wanted to know if we wished to make the funeral arrangements, or whether we would prefer her or my aunt’s lawyers to do so. She had wanted to call me about this, but had not been able to find my address or telephone number in my aunt’s address book. Aunt Gloria’s Christmas cards had always been addressed to my mother and myself at my mother’s house, no doubt to save money on cards and postage.
I said I’d deal with Mrs. Amhurst, then rang the lady. We agreed that she and my mother should make the funeral arrangements together, referring all expenses to the lawyers, whom I promised to call to regularise the arrangements, since funeral costs are tax deductable. Mrs. Amhurst said she knew that. It was one of the reasons she’d hesitated to do anything without my sanction. I realised then that, of course, as a vicar’s wife and widow she would probably be all too familiar with the legal consequences of a death in the family.
I rang Henry Houghton first thing next morning. I had known him since we were boys: He is three years older than me. His father, Percival, now retired, had been my uncle’s family lawyer. Henry is now the senior partner in the practice in Stratford. Amongst other things, he administers the trust fund of which I have been the beneficiary since my father’s death, so that, perforce, we have been in touch quite frequently over the years.
After expressing his condolences on the phone, Henry sounded a touch hesitant. Assuming this might well be because he had drawn up my aunt’s will and was embarrassed to be speaking to her disinherited heir, I broached the subject myself.
“About Aunt Gloria’s will, Henry,” I said lightly. “I know she’s only left me the small change.”
“Ah, you know the contents of the will, do you?” He responded in a tone that suggested more of concern than relief, something I found rather touching.
I chuckled. “Certainly I do. She thoroughly relished telling me about them not long ago. I assume Mrs. Amhurst knew them, too? That she’s to inherit nearly everything?”
There was a pause from the other end of the line. “Actually, she didn’t know, Digby.”
“You mean until you told her?”
“Well, it’s more complicated than that.” He cleared his throat. “I called at the house on my way home last evening. That was after you’d spoken to Mrs. Amhurst on the telephone. I needed to pick up the original copy of the will which I’d sent to your aunt to sign nearly six months ago.”
“You didn’t have it in safekeeping at your office?”
“No... no, we didn’t. We had a copy, of course, but not the signed one which I’ll need to submit eventually to the probate office.” He paused again. Henry never did go in for fast repartee. “The fact is, she never sent it back to me after she’d signed it.”
“Probably because you didn’t enclose a stamped, addressed, legal-sized envelope,” I joked, knowing my aunt’s thriftiness.
“It’s possible you may be right about that, Digby,” Henry responded guardedly. “We normally do send one, but it may have been left out this time. Anyway, she’d put the will in the locked strongbox she kept in her desk. But our standard instructions to clients about how it had to be signed and witnessed, and by whom, and so on, were certainly in the covering letter we sent with it. I can assure you of that.”
“You sound defensive, Henry,” I said. “Has something gone wrong? Was there a special reason why Mrs. Amhurst didn’t know she was the chief beneficiary?”
“Yes. But not the one you think. She mentioned to me, almost in an aside when I arrived, that she knew she couldn’t be a beneficiary because your aunt had asked her to be one of the witnesses, the witnessing signatories, when she signed it.”
I swallowed slowly before commenting as soberly as I could manage: “You mean she knew that no one who witnesses a will may be a beneficiary from it? That otherwise his or her signature invalidates the thing?”
“Renders it null and void, yes. She knew that, even if your aunt didn’t,” Henry responded even more soberly.
“My aunt was a very ignorant woman. And Mrs. Amhurst never mentioned to her that she couldn’t be a beneficiary if she was a signatory?”
“Apparently not. Why should she? She’s a well-mannered person. I took it she felt that the contents of the will were none of her business.”
“And did you tell her—?”
“That your aunt intended her to be a beneficiary? Certainly not,” Henry interrupted, uncharacteristically. “I needed to look into the legal consequences of the new circumstances. I was about to call you when you rang.”
“So what’s the next step with the will, Henry?”
“There isn’t one. As I first assumed, it’s null and void.”
“What if Mrs. Amhurst wants to fight it?”
“No lawyer worth his salt would advise her even to try. There are far too many legal precedents to make it worth even risking the costs involved, especially since there are no other beneficiaries to complain except you. In any case, Mrs. Amhurst has made it clear to me she expected nothing. No, to all intents and purposes your aunt died intestate, like her husband, though for a different reason.” Henry paused before adding, “As her only close relative, you’ll inherit everything, of course.”
“Everything,” I intoned after him.
“That’s what the law of intestacy will confirm, Digby. There’ll be inheritance tax to pay, of course, but what’s left will be... will be quite substantial.”
In the end, the value of what was left was substantial enough for me to provide the admirable Mrs. Amhurst with a handsome source of solid extra income, though I had to fight to make her accept it — my mother was the same. They now share Mother’s house — two merry widows, as they describe themselves, with common tastes. At the moment they’re on their second cruise — an extended tour around South America. It seems that my Aunt Gloria attracted folk with opposite values to her own, and who lived in hopes that by example they might convert her to the right way.
My mother and Mrs. Amhurst never succeeded in this, but I’m glad I spared her life to let them try.