An Uncollected Death

by Meg Wolfe

it’s literally in pieces, in different notebooks, and it means what Olivia wanted, to put all the notebooks together?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. But knowing my sister, it probably isn’t that simple.”

  Charlotte was about to ask Helene why, but Simon returned just then, with lights, tripods, and a camera. She was impressed by how quickly he set everything up to begin the overview video of the contents of each room, along with a commentary. As he worked, Charlotte made written notes, and occasionally asked Helene to identify antique items, such as a pants press and a collection of darning eggs, as well as providing date ranges for certain styles of hats, dresses, and lampshades. It was time-consuming and often awkward, because of the sheer number of things in every room, and because there was so little room to move around in.

  The contents of the bedrooms took most of the morning. When she and Simon went back to the living room, they found Helene at the writing desk, absorbed in a ledger book, which she showed to them as they approached.

  “Historians say that the most fascinating information about any period of time comes from the small things like household accounts, and I’m beginning to see why.” She pointed to a line that said “coffee,” at the end of which there was a price.

  Simon looked as if he was suppressing a laugh. “Yes, well, now we know they had coffee as long ago as, what, 1972?” He peered more closely to see the date in the first column. “Interesting.”

  Helene knew she was being teased. “Oh, stop it. What’s interesting is that she’s put down an amount that was more like the 1982 price, after the price of coffee skyrocketed. I was just looking through this to remember what one bought and how much things cost back then, and everything seems right except for the coffee, and maybe the milk and eggs.”

  Simon burst out laughing. “Oh that’s an old trick, that one. Clever girl, your sister.”

  “Why, how do you mean?” Helene looked genuinely puzzled.

  “She was skimming. Probably her husband had her on a tight allowance, and it looks like she also had to account for every penny she spent. The only way to get him to fork over more money was to show how much necessities cost, and then she pocketed what she didn’t actually have to spend. What about cigarettes? Are those in there?”

  Helene checked the list. “Yes. The price seems about right.”

  “And beer?”

  “That seems about right, too.”

  “Yep,” nodded Simon. “She put down the right prices on the stuff he was likely to know the prices of, too, like beer and cigarettes. Some women would skim for their own drink and smokes, or to save up for something special or to slip to a relative who needed it.”

  Helene sighed. “My poor sister. Her life was so different than mine, so much harder.”

  These observations made Charlotte recall a friend at school whose family thought buying books was a foolish luxury. The girl collected cans and bottles to turn in for deposit and scrap metal money, and then bought a copy of Alice in Wonderland, which she kept hidden under the floorboards in her bedroom closet. From there, Charlotte realized that if Olivia kept detailed grocery purchases, she might have kept purchase details for everything else.

  “Helene, is that just groceries, or the other things, too, like the collectibles?”

  Helene checked. “Oh, it appears to be everything. I see here there’s baseball cards—a rather lot of baseball cards, actually, nylons, a Roseville vase, and even gasoline. I have no idea if the Roseville vase is the right price, or the baseball cards, but the gasoline seems to be about right, ten gallons for $3.50. Of course, Ronson would have known that.” She pointed to the bottom row of the bookshelf next to the desk. “There’s dozens of these ledgers.”

  “I find it interesting,” said Simon, “that there are things like baseball cards listed, and extras like the vase, which meant Ronson probably knew about them, and was okay with them. He might have been strict and controlling, but he wasn’t a tightwad. I mean,” he gestured around to the curio cabinets, “clearly he didn’t have a problem with her spending money on this stuff. Would the baseball cards be something their son bought?”

  Helene shook her head. “The cards were Ronson’s, I’m remembering now. He was a baseball fan, but Donnie never cared for sports. Ronson was also a Notre Dame football fan, as was Paul. I remember being glad that there was something he and Ronson could talk about when we would see them during the holidays. I think Olivia was collecting the Hummels and pottery and such when she went to sales and antique shops with him.”

  Charlotte was sitting in the wingback chair by this time, idly scanning the bookshelves. With the lamp and table upright, she realized this was probably where Olivia sat most of the time to read. From the chair, she could see that a great many of the books had stickers on the spine that showed they were purchased at library sales or second-hand shops.

  “Books,” said Charlotte. “Are there book purchases in the ledger?”

  Helene was silent as she thumbed through page after page. She looked up, with a conspiratorial smile. “Not a one!”

  Charlotte sat in thought, continuing to scan the bookshelves as if they could tell her what she needed to know. Simon sat in the recliner and looked over at her. “Penny for them?” he asked.

  “Olivia clearly loved to read—and write. But she hid her writing and now it looks like she hid her reading, as well.” Charlotte pointed to several books with red heart-shaped stickers on the spine. “I bet a lot of these books were purchased after her husband died. The ones with the red hearts are from Ramona’s Resale, which has only been open three or four years.”

  “That would fit with what I knew of Ronson,” added Helene. “He was the sort that would have felt threatened by Olivia’s intellectual leanings, or wouldn’t want to be outshone by a wife.”

  Charlotte felt it was now safe to reveal something of the notebook she’d read. “Olivia was actually quite bitter toward him, judging by what little I’ve read of her writing. Something very warped about their relationship, I’m afraid.”

  “And it shows in Donovan.” Helene sighed. “I wonder what it all means, though, and if it has anything to do with what happened here?”

  “I would say it does,” Simon asserted. “There are many cultures that believe the way we live contributes to the way we die, that nothing is entirely an accident, even if we can’t immediately discern it. Personally I don’t think it’s karma, just cause and effect. An obvious example would be lifestyle choices affecting our life and health, but more often it’s less obvious, like when the choice of work affects the route we take to the job, which in turn puts us in the path of a drunk driver.”

  “Oh you could take that back to childhood, when seeing something on a class trip triggers an interest that leads to choosing that line of work,” said Helene. “Or still further, when one’s parents chose a line of work that sent them to the town with the school that had the class trip that inspired the child’s profession. We could play the chain reaction game all night.”

  “True,” said Simon. “But this is more direct. Olivia was a collector, and some of the things she collected were valuable. This could have brought her to the attention of someone who wanted those valuable things for himself.”

  Helene looked worried. “Or she was a difficult woman who ended up alone in her old age, and that made her seem an easy mark.”

  “Or maybe both,” said Charlotte, the inklings of ideas beginning to form. The process was interrupted, however, by the sound of a car with a muffler just about to go out pulling up in front. She stretched up to peer out the front window. “Guess who’s here?”

  Ten

  Wednesday, September 18th (a long afternoon)

   

  They watched Donovan slowly emerge from a rusty Dodge Charger and make his way up the walk. He seemed more tired than angry, and didn’t seem surprised that the front door to his mother’s house was open. Charlotte and Helene, however, were taut with caution as he entered with a querying �
�Hello?” Simon moved to stand behind Helene’s chair.

  “Hello, Donovan,” said Helene, and she introduced Simon, who leaned forward to shake hands. Charlotte thought it looked like he was asserting his greater height and physique as a protective gesture, and suppressed a smile when she then realized that was probably Helene’s intention.

  “Aunt Helene, hello,” said Donovan, with quick nods at her and then at Charlotte, “and Charlotte. I owe you both an apology for acting like an ass the other day. Things just kinda caught up with me.”

  He looked so contrite and defeated that they relaxed a little.

  Helene nodded. “Apology accepted, Donovan. It must all come as a shock. It certainly did to me. First there is your mother’s terrible misfortune, and now this unexpected arrangement with the estate. I had no idea she had set things up this way.”

  “I believe it, I really do. You know things have been difficult with Mom for years and years.” Donovan shrugged. “Can’t take it back now, or change anything.”

  “Do you know anything more about what happened, have the police said anything?” asked Charlotte.

  “Not a word. It’s like there’s nothing happening on it at all.”

  “I’m so full of regrets, Donny,” said Helene. “I wish that your mother felt she could have told me about what was really going on when you were growing up and that I could have helped you and her