Classified as Murder (20 page)

The first person I examined was Eloise Morris. I wasn’t all that surprised to see that she was once again garbed in full Scarlett O’Hara regalia. This time the dress was made of some blue material, probably satin. She sat with her voluminous skirt spread about her. She gazed intently at Pendergrast. He still spoke in platitudes, and I tuned him out while I continued my perusal.

Hubert Morris occupied the sofa about three feet from his wife. Today he wore an outmoded suit of fabric shiny from age and wear. He blinked often and held a handkerchief to his eyes, dabbing at tears.
Crocodile
?
Or genuine?
I wondered.

Daphne, Hubert’s mother, reclined on the other sofa parallel to his. She rubbed at her forehead with one hand while the other clutched at her throat—exactly the same as I had seen on Saturday. Soft moans issued forth as she continued to minister to herself. No one else in the room seemed to be paying her the slightest attention.

Truesdale hovered discreetly near Daphne but did not appear unduly concerned by the woman’s seeming distress. His expression remained impassive.

I noticed that the final two family members, the great-niece and -nephew, had claimed chairs behind Hubert. That’s when I realized that every one of them sat in the same spot he or she had occupied on Saturday.

Cynthia Delacorte appeared as completely detached from everything today as she had been when I first met her on Saturday. Stewart, on the other hand, seemed barely able to contain his emotions—excitement?—as he squirmed in his chair.

I tuned back in as Pendergrast wound up his prefatory spiel. He pulled a thick document from the inner pocket of his jacket and began to unfold the pages.

Before the lawyer could continue, however, Eloise spoke, rustling her skirts about her. “Uncle James loves cookies. I think there are some in the kitchen just for him. Truesdale said so. We always have such a nice time eating cookies.”

Eloise rose from her perch on a stool, but Hubert leaned forward and shoved her back down. “Shut up about cookies, Eloise. Uncle James is dead, remember? He’s not going to be eating any more cookies with you.” Hubert’s voice, high and thin, could have been the voice on the phone last night.

Eloise, to my great surprise, showed no emotion. She remained quiet and stared at the floor.

Daphne Morris, on the other hand, was quick to complain. “Hubert, Eloise, I beg of you, don’t have another argument. I don’t think I can bear it, not with my poor brother so cruelly dead before his time. It was bad enough having all those horrid policemen in the house, going through our personal things. If you two keep arguing, I think I’ll have a heart attack like poor James.” While she spoke, her hands never left off caressing her forehead and her throat.

Her voice, eerily like her son’s, could also have been the one that threatened me last night. Very interesting.

Also interesting to know that the authorities searched the house. If they turned up anything relevant to the rare book collection, I hoped Kanesha would share information with me.

“Give it a rest, Aunt Daphne,” Stewart said. Every word he spoke dripped with acid. “Asking Hubert not to be ugly to Eloise is like asking the government to abolish the income tax.”

Hubert huffed a time or two but didn’t respond. Eloise continued to gaze with a vacant stare, while Daphne moaned a few times and then subsided.

Cynthia remained aloof from it all, or at least appeared to. I wondered if she were truly emotionally disconnected from her family, or only wanted everyone to think she was.

Pendergrast spoke again. “If I might reclaim your attention, ladies and gentlemen, there is the matter of James’s will, which I am about to read to you.”

At those words Daphne sighed in pitiable fashion a couple of times, but no one else spoke. Pendergrast continued, beginning with the standard phrases. “I, James Sullivan Delacorte, being of sound mind . . .”

I let my mind wander as I continued to take covert glances at the family. With the exception of Daphne, none of them seemed all that distressed at the death of James Delacorte. I did catch Truesdale dabbing at his face with a handkerchief, but I wasn’t sure whether he was crying or sweating. The room was a bit warm.

When I focused again on the lawyer’s words, he was reading out the bequests from the will.

“To Stewart Delacorte, the grandson of my brother Arthur, the sum of $250,000.”

At the mention of his name and a large sum of money, Stewart’s face lit up. He didn’t seem so happy, however, when Pendergrast continued.

“Stewart, I heartily suggest you use some of your inheritance to find your own place to live. Your days as a resident of Delacorte House are over. You are to be out of the house three months from the day of my death. And no, before you ask, you may not take with you any of the furnishings except for those things you brought with you when you moved in thirty-two years ago or have purchased since.”

Stewart’s face reddened to the point that I thought he might well have a stroke. He didn’t say anything, and that surprised me. He even stopped squirming in his chair, almost as if he were frozen in place.

If he had killed his great-uncle, he wasn’t getting a lot for his trouble. Although $250,000 was not a trifling sum, the fact that he was being kicked out of the house was obviously painful.

Pendergrast continued, “To Cynthia Delacorte, the granddaughter of my brother Thomas, the sum of $250,000.”

Cynthia at last tuned in. She blinked and actually shifted her position on her chair.

“Cynthia, you need to follow Stewart out of the house. It’s time you had your own place and got on with your life. You have three months to find somewhere else to live. Don’t waste any more time.”

I watched to see whether Cynthia would betray any real emotion. She laughed, startling me and some members of her family.

Daphne Morris started moaning again. “Cynthia, how can you laugh at a time like this? It’s terribly undignified. You were raised better than that.”

“Give it a rest, Aunt Daphne. That invalid belle routine may work on Hubert and Truesdale, but it doesn’t work here. We all know you too well.” The amused contempt in Cynthia’s low, well-modulated voice spurred Daphne into further, wordless sniveling.

Eloise glanced over at her mother-in-law, her expression blank. “When an animal is too wounded to live, it’s a kindness to put it out of its misery.”

Helen Louise had said this family was strange, but I don’t think she knew the half of it.

Before anyone could respond to Eloise’s odd statement, the lawyer spoke up. “Let’s continue, shall we?” Without waiting for consent, he went on with the reading.

“To my nephew, Hubert Morris, the son of my sister, Daphne, the sum of one million dollars in trust. The trust will be administered by Q. C. Pendergrast or his duly appointed representative and will remain in effect until your death. When that sad event occurs, the trust will be dissolved and the funds given to Athena College to establish a scholarship in my name.”

“That’s outrageous.” Hubert was on his feet, hopping up and down like an angry child. “Uncle James can’t do that to me. I should be inheriting everything. I’m his closest male kin. I was like a son to him. This is unbelievable.”

The longer he spoke, the higher his voice rose. I was becoming reasonably certain that Hubert was my threatening caller. Right then I wanted nothing more than to get out of this room and away from this peculiar family. It was not in the least pleasant to witness this kind of emotion from people I’d met only three days ago. I much preferred to be in the library, going through the rare books.

I also realized, belatedly, that Hubert wasn’t too worried about the fact that if Eloise outlived him, she’d apparently be out on the street with nothing.

“Oh, stuff a sock in it and sit down.” Stewart jumped from his chair and started around the sofa to confront his cousin. “I had more in common with Uncle James than you ever did. At least I have a job and earn my own living. When were you ever able to hold a job for more than a year? Just tell us that, Hubie.” Stewart pushed the older man back onto the sofa.

For a moment I thought things might turn violent, because Hubert drew back a fist. Evidently he thought better of it, because Stewart was younger and much more muscular. Instead, Hubert folded his arms across his chest and sulked.

Stewart plopped down on the sofa next to him and gestured airily for Pendergrast to continue.

Daphne hadn’t stopped whimpering during the scene between her son and her nephew. Neither Cynthia nor Eloise gave any sign of being perturbed by the ruckus. Eloise plucked at the stitching of her bodice, seemingly absorbed by her task while Cynthia gazed at a spot over the mantel.

Pendergrast cleared his throat. “To Hubert an additional sum outright in the amount of $300,000 for the purchase of a residence for himself and his wife, Eloise. You also have three months to get out of Delacorte House. And don’t forget taxes, Hubert. Don’t spend all of it on the house itself.”

Daphne’s sound effects grew in volume while Hubert shook his head. His face had lost all color. The terms of his uncle’s will were obviously devastating to him. I think he really had expected to inherit the bulk of James Delacorte’s estate.

That was a prime motive for murder.

James Delacorte hadn’t had a very high opinion of his nephew to judge by the terms of the will. I fancied I could hear Mr. Delacorte’s voice, instead of Pendergrast’s, speaking those words, and I wanted to wince on Hubert’s behalf.

“What about me?” The final word came out as a wail that extended for several seconds. Daphne dropped her hands from her face and throat and exposed a pitiable expression to the lawyer. “How cruel is James going to be to
me
, his
dearest
little baby sister?”

Daphne was a piece of work, if this behavior was anything to go by. Whatever happened to dignity in the face of adversity? I couldn’t help but compare her to my late aunt Dottie, who bore the pain and indignity of death from pancreatic cancer with far more courage and strength of character than Daphne Morris was displaying. Her self-absorption sickened me, as did her bizarre emotional display.

Pendergrast remained imperturbable, but I guess he’d known the family far too long to be put off stride by their behavior.

“To my sister, Daphne Morris, I leave a choice. Either go and live with Hubert and Eloise when they depart Delacorte House, or move into an assisted-living facility to be selected by Q. C. Pendergrast, based on guidelines set down by me. If you choose this option, little sister, my estate will pay your expenses, but if you don’t, then you’ll get nothing and be at the mercy of your loving son and daughter-in-law. You have three months in which to decide.”

Eloise chose that moment to speak again, even as Daphne commenced wailing. “I suppose cat food isn’t all that expensive. Or maybe dog food is cheaper. And surely it doesn’t taste that bad.”

Hubert started screaming at his wife, Daphne upped the volume, and Stewart roared with laughter. The cacophony was deafening. Even Cynthia reacted. She got up from her chair and walked to the far side of the room, where she gazed out one of the bay windows.

“That’s enough.” Truesdale’s voice roared out, startling everyone. The three noisemakers shut up, apparently shocked into silence. Truesdale treated them to a contemptuous sniff, adjusted the sleeves of his jacket, and inclined his head in the lawyer’s direction. “Please go on, Mr. Pendergrast.”

“Thank you,” the lawyer said in a wry tone. “I will.” He turned a page and began reading.

“To Nigel Truesdale, my longtime servant, I give the opportunity to retire that he has sought for several years now. I won’t be around any longer to assist you, Nigel, so manage what you have well and carefully. I leave to Nigel Truesdale the bulk of my estate and this house, for his lifetime, excepting certain bequests to be detailed hereinafter.”

Every pair of eyes in the room now focused on the butler. Truesdale’s face blanched, and then he fainted over the back of the sofa, right on top of Daphne Morris.

Daphne went into hysterics. “Get him off of me! I’ll suffocate!” She repeated the first sentence over and over as she pushed and strained in her efforts to shift the inert form away.

Since neither her son nor her great-nephew made any move to help, I scrambled to the front of the sofa, grasped Truesdale by the shoulders and twisted and pulled him into an upright sitting position. Then I shifted him to the end of the couch away from Daphne. When I glanced at his face, I could see he was fast regaining his equilibrium.

I stood back. “Can I get you something?” A stiff shot of brandy might be what he needed.

“No, thank you, sir.” The butler’s face regained some color. “I’ll be fine in a moment. It was simply the surprise, you see.” He sighed deeply. “I never imagined that Mr. James would do such a thing.”