Things Beyond Midnight (29 page)

“Oughta go over there an’ innerduce yourseff, Arly,” Ted Aker tells him. “Seein as how you’ll he plantin’ her mister tomorrow.”

Rollins and Aker exchange grins.

“What you figure to get off the old man, Arly?” Aker wants to know. “New watch, maybe? Silver tieclip?”

“I’m an honest man,” protests Arly. “I just do my job.”

“Yeah,” says Rollins. “I hear you do a
job
on them stiffs, once they’re proper buried.”

Aker chuckles. “Little extra diggin at night, eh Arly? Kinda like your own personal treasure hunt.”

“Shut your holes!” Arly’s face is flushed with anger. His eyes are slitted.

He pushes his stool back and walks over to Ben and Laura. They look at him as he smiles down at them, a gold tooth glinting in his lower jaw. “Hi, there, folks. Welcome to Sutter Creek.”

“Who are you?” Ben asks.

“Arly’s the name. Arly Stubbs. I caretake out at the cemetery.” He fixes his dark eyes on Laura. “You’d be Mrs. Ansford—am I right?”

“I’m Laura Ansford.” she says.

“Well, now...” He wipes his hand along the edge of his trousers, extending it toward her. “Real proud to meetcha.”

Laura ignores the grimed hand. Arly slides into the booth, facing them. “I’ll be buryin’ your mister out at Summervale. The cemetery, that is.”

Ben gives him a hard look. “We prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, I can understand that, me bein’ a stranger to you an’ all—but I figure you oughta listen to what I got to say.”

“And just what is
that?
” asks Ben, with an edge to his tone.

“It’s about the plantin’... the burial. I got orders to put the deceased in the Old South Yard.”

Laura nods. “That’s what my husband wanted. His parents are there—and it was his wish to be buried in the Ansford family plot. Is there any problem?”

Arly scratches his chin with a dirty-nailed finger. “It’s just that the Old South Yard has been closed for years now. Kinda dangerous. Grounds all ate out.”

Laura frowns. “I don’t follow you.”

“Well, ma’am, it’s the rats. They got tunnels dug all through that section. Real
active
they are.”

“Doesn’t every cemetery have a few?” Ben asks.

“Oh, these ain’t a
few.
Must be...” More scratching. “Thousands of ’em. An’
big,
too. You’d be sorely surprised.”

“Can’t you eliminate them?”

“Well sir, we tried poison... traps... the lot.” Arly shakes his head. “Don’t do much good, though. They just keep on breedin’ down there.”

“Sounds dreadful,” Laura says.

Ben pats her arm. “I’m sure this man is exaggerating the situation.”

“No, mister, nosir! I’m givin’ you gospel. You take that coffin you folks got him in. Won’t last long down there. He should be in one of our all-steel jobs.”

Ben laughs harshly. “Now I get it. You come over here and give us your rat-scare story—and we’re supposed to buy an expensive new coffin from which you make a fat commission.”

Arly looks offended. “I was just tryin’ to do you folks a favor.”

“Then do us one.” Ben snaps. “Leave us alone.”

Arly stands. His face is pale. “All right, then... I’ll see you tomorrow at the buryin’... sorry to have bothered you.”

And he walks back to his bar friends.

Watching him go, Laura shudders. “I’ll be glad when all this is over.”

“By tomorrow night we’ll be back in Boston.” Carrick assures her. He smiles coldly, his voice soft. “And if the rats want old Ansford, they’re welcome to him.”

The South Yard at Summervale. This section of the cemetery is in ruin. High grass, vines and heavy brush intermesh over the chipped, slanted stone grave markers. The grass has been cut back from the Ansford family plot, creating a raw-earth starkness.

Ben and Laura stand among the group of mourners. A flower-draped coffin of polished oak rests on stretched webbing above the open burial trench as a bony minister in black completes his eulogy. “... and thus we consign the body of Thy faithful servant, Charles Murdock Ansford, to the good earth that he may sleep content in the bosom of his family. Ashes to ashes... dust to dust. Amen.”

The minister raises a hand, and Arly Stubbs begins to lower the coffin into its dark slot.

Ben takes Laura’s arm, leading her away from the burial site, back toward the parked Mustang. A somber-faced man falls into step beside them. The estate lawyer, Peter Janeings. He speaks in a low, respectful tone. “Are you all right, Mrs. Ansford?”

She nods. “Yes, Peter. Thanks to Mr. Carrick. He’s been a great help to me.”

“The will is scheduled to be read tomorrow at our office. At two. If you feel that this is too soon, we could delay it until—”

“No, no. Tomorrow is fine. Ben will drive me over.”

“Then I’ll see you there.” He nods at Carrick and moves off to his black Mercedes convertible.

Ben and Laura exchange glances. She frowns. “I think he may suspect something.”

Garricks eyes flash. “I don’t give a damn what he suspects. He can’t prove anything. Nobody can. Just relax. Were on the last lap.”

Spading fresh earth over the coffin, Arly Stubbs watches them drive away in the orange Mustang. The corners of his mouth twist up into a thin smile.

He spits contemptuously into the grave.

Cork walls, accented by gold-framed hunting prints, deep wine carpet, a Bach concerto, softly-muted, pulsing from hidden ceiling speakers. The waiting room of Janeings and Lang.

Ben is riffling nervously through a copy of
Forbes.
Now he tosses the magazine aside as Laura emerges from the inner office. She looks stunned, shaken.

They leave the law office, walk down the long corridor toward the elevators. “Well, how did it go?”

“Dandy. Just dandy.” Her tone is tinged with sarcasm.

“Any surprises?”

“One or two.”

“He
did
leave everything to you, didn’t he?”

“Of course. Except, in this case, everything is nothing.”

Ben stops walking, stares at her. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s nothing left.”

“But, the company... the stock...”

“The company is virtually worthless. A hollow shell. Charles has been quietly converting everything into cash over the past six months... merchandise, equipment, stock shares.”

“Then where’s the cash?”

“The records indicate that he transferred it to a coded Swiss account somwhere in Zürich.” She looks at him with numbed eyes. “And we can’t touch the money.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because the code book is missing. Janeings saw it once. Charles kept all the account data in it.”

“Well, all we have to do is find it.”

“We’re not
going
to find it, Ben. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Charles left a note in the wall safe of his office, saying that he had burned the codebook. There was another envelope with the note...” Her tone is flat, defeated, “... filled with ashes.”

Carrick is silent as he drives Laura back to Ansford House. He’s stunned by the loss of the prize within his grasp.

“We have each other, Ben.” Laura is telling him. “We don’t
need
his money Maybe this is the way things were meant to go for us.”

“The old bastard did it on purpose. He burned that codebook to keep you or anybody else from—” Suddenly he swerves the GT to the curb, turns to face her, his eyes shining.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look...” he says, “this thing just doesn’t make sense. Ansford had no idea of dying—and as long as he was alive he’d
never
destroy the code.”

“But the note... the ashes...”

“To throw you off in case he
did
die suddenly—of a heart attack or a stroke. He didn’t want you to have his money. He burned the codebook all right—but the
code
still exists.”

“What makes you think so?”

Ben’s tone is intense. “He was a photography nut. It was a big hobby of his. The way he planted those hidden cameras to record our love-making... He enjoyed fiddling around with cameras.”

“But, Ben, I still don’t see—”

“It’s simple. He microfilmed the code.”

She stares at him.

“All we’ve got to do,” he says, “is
find
the piece of microfilm with the bank numbers on it. That’s our solution to the Zürich problem.”

“But if you’re right he could have hidden it anywhere in the house—or the office.”

Ben shakes his head. His eyes are fierce. “No, not Ansford. The old fox would keep it
on
him.” He grips her arm. “You buried him with that fancy antique of his, didn’t you? The biggold pocket watch?”

“Yes. He left instructions that he be buried wearing it.”

Ben smiles broadly. “Well, there you are! The strip of microfilm is
inside
that watch. I’d stake my life on it!”

She glares at him, “Ben, I want this kind of talk to end right now. There’s no microfilm. That’s in your mind. It’s fantasy Charles kept the code in his notebook. He knew he was old and sick and might die soon, so he burned it—just to keep me from having his money. But what he didn’t know is I don’t
care
about the money, I care about you! Let’s just forget Charles and go away together, the way we planned. We don’t
need
his money!”

Ben is silent fora long moment. There is a gleam in his narrowed eyes as he makes an inner decision. Then his glance softens as he leans to kiss Laura’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. Guess I just freaked out a little when you told me about that envelope full of ashes. Christ knows, I was counting on the money—but you’re right, we have each other. That’s the important thing—the two of
us
.”

“Do you really mean that, Ben?”

“Of course I mean it. If the damn money’s gone, then we just have to accept it. Besides, I can earn plenty on my own when I get established again.”

And he kisses her.

Laura has tears in her eyes.

The GT Mustang brakes to a stop in front of the main entrance to Ansford House. Ben and Laura get out and mount the wide veranda steps. At the door, he takes both of her hands in his, smiles at her. “You get packed while I arrange things in town. I’ll pick you up here in an hour, and we’ll head for New York. How’s that sound?”