Sonny was scowling. I looked at Cindy, and she seemed as bewildered as I was.
"Trish," I said, "Why would Lillian say she's pregnant if she isn't? And why check into Mountain View Maternity Hospital?"
She laughed shortly. "Because big money lets you do a lot of things the rest of us can't. Follow me closely. On or about December tenth at Mountain View, a baby will be born to Lillian and Richard Sanhope. That is the way the baby's birth certificate will read, Parents, Richard and Lillian Sanhope. Then one other thing will happen. Maureen Delaney will be told her child was stillborn. Oh, she'll still get her money because the Sanhopes feel sorry for her loss, but she never had a viable baby."
"My God," Cindy nearly whispered. "So the baby is 'born' a Sanhope, not adopted at all!"
Sonny couldn't stay quiet. "This is all highly irregular! They should be stopped. Trish, as an officer of the court, you have to report this to the proper authority." Sonny was sounding pompous again.
"Yes, possibly and no. Yes, if I am right, it is illegal. Possibly it should somehow be stopped. I'm not so sure. You seem to have forgotten the child." She looked at each of us in turn and, in turn, each of us looked away.
"This is the only scenario where the child does not suffer. If it were put up for adoption, who is ever absolutely certain it will be a good match? Adoptive children sometimes have more emotional problems. No one is sure why, but they do. If Maureen keeps the child, do you really think she's parent material? I don't. And I doubt she'll stay with Mary, who would at least provide some stability. And no child in the country will be more loved, I'll bet, or have more advantages, than little Whosis Sanhope. An abortion, obviously, is self-explanatory. So, no, Sonny, I have no intention of propounding this theory to John or anyone else 'in authority.' It's unprovable, for one thing, and reporting it would simply alert Mountain View and the Sanhopes to do it some other way, for a second. Not to mention getting me fired as a meddlesome big mouth, for a third. Case closed."
"Boyohboy," I breathed. "The child is half Sanhope anyway. Now he or she suddenly becomes all Sanhope and Jack becomes the loving uncle. He said he wanted a role in his child's life. Well, he'll have it. One thing for sure, it ought to be a gorgeous kid. But, really, what about Maureen? She could be deeply grieved over her presumed loss."
"I seriously doubt it." Trish smiled wryly. "You were there, Alex, in John's office. After a few little maidenly squeaks about love and religion, Maureen hunkered right down to hard money. A damned lot of money, if you recall. She will mourn the 'lost baby' all the way to the bank and then get on with life, probably in a large city sans Mary . . . who will, unfortunately, probably be the one who gets hurt in this."
Sonny was still frowning, but brightened visibly when Cindy said, "Who wants chocolate ice cream and who wants butter pecan?"
It looked as if the case were indeed closed.
Chapter 18
It's funny how you feel that Monday is a work day, even when you're someone like me, who doesn't work a steady schedule. You have to do things. So, after Cindy left for the bank, I did some laundry and some housework . . . vacuuming myself into a fairly foul humor. I think people who are always telling you what satisfaction they get from doing household chores have some terrible guilt about something and use the dirty work to assuage it. Me, I don't get no satisfaction. Does that mean I have no guilt?
It was nearly noon when I sat down to a second cup of coffee and cigarette number three. Fargo came in to get a drink and stretch out on the cool tile. He had spent the morning outdoors, being no more enamored of what I was doing than I was. I suggested that when I finished my coffee, we take a run down to the hardware store and pick up the boards and brackets for Cindy's shelves. That would put us near the Wharf Rat Bar just in time for lunch. What a lovely coincidence!
He agreed, with a tail thump and a roll onto his back for a tummy scratch, and the phone rang. It was Trish, asking if I could stop by sometime during the afternoon.
"Oh, God," I moaned, "What have they done now?"
"Nothing," she laughed. "This isn't about them. Remember an old man named Erno Malik?"
"Sure." I took a sip of coffee. "He ran that beat-up auto repair shop until he died a few months back. But he was good. The two young guys who have it now are good, too, if you're looking for a place to go."
"No, no. It's not that. Those two young men have been just sort of running the place since he died. They want to buy it, but we seem to have misplaced May and June."
"Strange," I replied. "I can see them right here on my kitchen calendar." Fargo moved to the door to let me know he was ready to leave any time.
"Very funny. May and June Malik are his nieces and his only heirs. They moved to Louisiana some time ago, and now we can't find them. John hired a local PI down there last month, who says they've disappeared. At first the PI said one of them had died. Then he said, no, they had just up and driven into the sunset. John thinks the PI is simply a dud who did nothing and sent a big bill. Now he wants you to find them."
"So he wants me to do something and send a small bill?"
"Something like that."
"I'll see you later." We hung up, and Fargo and I went forth.
The shelves at the cottage would perforce be short, so I had no problem getting boards, brackets and screws into the car's trunk. Convincing Fargo to move out of the driver's seat took a little longer. Finally, we edged into Commercial Street's endless stream of summer traffic, falling in behind a giant camper whose driver should have known better than even try to navigate in town.
We inched forward toward a cross street where I could go over to Bradford, which would be marginally faster. Then an ancient but beautifully kept station wagon in front of the camper pulled to the curb and stopped to discharge passengers. The camper tried to ease around it, decided he couldn't make it and stopped halfway. I eased up behind the station wagon to give the camper some wiggle room, and that allowed me to watch the wagon. I saw Grace Sanhope, in the front seat, say something to the chauffeur, open the passenger door and get out. Two younger women in the back seat began to move, leaving two men waiting patiently, perched in the third bank of seats.
At that moment I saw Mary Sloan break through the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk, pushing people aside, headed for Grace Sanhope. Then we all went into slow motion. The chauffeur was yelling at the camper to move so he could get out of the driver's door. The two men were climbing clumsily across the women trying to reach a rear door. I turned off my ignition, grabbed the hand brake and started climbing across Fargo to the only door I could exit.
Mary moved faster than the rest of us. When I got to her, she already had Grace up tight by the collar of her dress and was screaming into her face and shaking her like a bobble-head doll.
"You will not do this again! You cheapskate, meddling bitch, you will not ruin my life a second time! Maureen is beside herself! She could lose the baby over this, all because you have to run the world! So help me, I'll kill you first, you miserable—"
"Mary! Let go!" I yelled. I grabbed her arms and saw Grace's collar rip, but I kept pulling till I could get between them and pin Mary's arms at her sides. "Stop it! Mary, damn it, can you even hear me?"
At last I felt Mary's body slump and eased my grip. "Mrs. Sanhope, are you hurt?" I asked over my shoulder.
"Not fatally, I think." She fingered the collar of her dress and managed a smile. "Thanks to you."
By now her family and friends or whoever they were had crowded around her, making soothing murmurs and glaring at Mary.
"Madam, shall I get a policeman?" The chauffeur put his oar in our roiling waters.
"No, Tom. That won't be necessary. Alex, can you keep that woman under control until we can escape into the restaurant?" She moved her hand again. I could tell that collar was bothering her.
"With a one-two punch if necessary." I gave Mary a glare of my own. "Probably somebody in the restaurant has a safety pin," I continued. "The tear really isn't al
l that bad." I don't know why I was trying to comfort her. Maybe because she looked shaken and frail, maybe because she appreciated Fargo, maybe because I'd had it to the eyeballs with the Bobbsey twins. "And a shot of brandy wouldn't hurt you."
She momentarily rested her fingertips against my cheek, and I felt an almost sexual frisson. It was not an old woman's touch.
"Well, the cub is not only brave, but kind." She smiled. "My hero." She turned and walked steadily up the shaded walkway to the elegant restaurant where I assumed they had luncheon reservations. I felt something for the woman. I didn't even try to figure out what it was.
One of the men, who looked like an older Jack, thanked me also, as did one of the women, whom I presumed was his wife Lillian. The chauffeur and I returned to our respective vehicles, to the irritable horn blowers and the probably five-mile traffic jam we and the camper had caused. I still had Mary firmly by the arm and shoved her unceremoniously into the back seat, which seemed simpler than convincing Fargo to move from the front. She appeared spent and subdued as we drove to her house.
Once there, I followed her inside and sat at the kitchen table. "For God's sake, give me a beer. Then I want to know what gives between you and Grace Sanhope. And if I hear the phrase 'little misunderstanding.' I'll crown you." It was indicative of both our states of mind that I wiped neither Fargo's feet nor mine, and that Mary did not comment on the omission.
I waited quietly while Mary uncapped two bottles and placed them on the table without even the offer of a glass. Finally she sat. "She likes you."
"I'd like me, too, if I rescued me from some raving lunatic trying to choke me."
"I'm not a lunatic, and I doubt I would have choked her." Mary spoke softly, tiredly. "It all kept building up ... until, I guess, when I saw her, so hoity-toity in that antique station wagon with her chauffer, I just sort of blew. It won't happen again."
"Gee, that's good to know." I stood and took a saucer from the dishrack to use as an ashtray. Mary didn't seem to notice. "Twice now, you have said something about Grace Sanhope ruining your life for the 'second time.' What were you talking about?"
Mary gave a big shuddery sigh. "Years ago, when she was a young girl, my mother was a maid for the Sanhopes. First in Boston and then here in Provincetown, when they came out for the summer. Late one summer or maybe early fall, Mrs. Sanhope went to Europe with some lady friends for a couple of months. Old Peter—well, he wasn't so old then—hit on my mother. She was lonesome, he was still pretty good-looking, and Mother hadn't had much to do with men."
Mary took a sip of beer and looked at the bottle as if she weren't sure what it held. "Well, Grace was away, and he told my mother it was a legal separation, convinced my mother he loved her and intended to marry her and, wouldn't you know? Managed to get her pregnant."
I shook my head. "What a nice guy! But then, what? Grace came home?"
"Yeah, and blamed the entire thing on my mom. Fired her on the spot and sent her back to Boston."
"Couldn't your mother do something? Was she a minor?" I couldn't believe this.
"No, she was nineteen. All she knew was fired and pregnant. She went back to my grandmother . . . who was Irish, widowed and Catholic. Grandma was mortified at what people would think. They came up with some story that Mom had been engaged to a young Marine who went to Vietnam and got killed. I guess it was the best they could do. It's what they told me, too, when I got old enough to ask questions. When they got a letter from the Sanhope's lawyer a little later, they just took what was offered. I doubt either of them had a thought of getting their own attorney."
I could understand that. An unsophisticated immigrant woman alone, now with a "fallen" daughter. And the daughter, still a teenager and probably still wondering how it had all happened so quickly and so disastrously. Then it hit me. "My God, you're old Peter's daughter?"
"In the flesh. And isn't that a barb in Grace's flesh! Damn them all, anyway!" Mary continued. "So, Mother and my grandmother went to see this Sanhope lawyer and signed a bunch of papers agreeing never to file any claims against the family or contact them in any way. The Sanhopes paid for my mother's medical bills during pregnancy and provided a hundred dollars a month, paid through the lawyer, until I was eighteen." Mary looked across at me with a wan smile. "Believe me, Alex, even back then you couldn't raise a kid on a hundred a month!"
"No, I guess not." I tried to smile back, but it didn't work too well.
"Anyway, we lived with Grandma, who had a small pension, and Mom waitressed and we limped along until I graduated high school. I tried waitressing and store clerking and didn't like either. I had just gone with the telephone company, when Mom got the flu. She kept trying to go to work and got sicker and sicker. Finally, she collapsed at work and died of pneumonia some days later. Grandma didn't last a year. I think she had really loved my mom an awful lot. So had I. She was nice and warm and fun and funny. She should have been married and had a big family. She would have been good at it." I saw the tears come up and reached across the table to take her hand.
"You poor thing! What terrible losses! What on earth did you do?"
"Some soap opera, huh?" Mary was trying to hang tough, and I couldn't help but applaud her for it. "Let me get us another beer." She stood and swapped new bottles for old, this time remembering to add napkins and glasses.
"Well," she said, wiping her mouth, "After Mother and Grandma died, I was cleaning out the papers in the desk when I found the legal file and learned the truth about my father. Strangely enough, the phone company had just offered me a transfer for continued field training in Ptown. I jumped at it. You know why? Talk about simple! I thought it would be nice to be near my remaining family!"
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes. After I got here I did a little homework and discovered that Grace had lost all three of her kids. I thought she might be glad to see her husband's offspring, and I figured Richard and Francesca and Jack would be happy to have an aunt, although I'm only a year or so older than Richard and actually younger than Francesca. So one fine day, I simply arrived on their doorstep."
"Oh, no," I said again. I couldn't help grinning, and Mary didn't miss it.
"Yeah, you're right. If my childhood was a soap opera, this was some kind of sitcom. A maid answered the door and I said, 'Hello, I'm Mary Sloan, here to see my step-mother and my niece and nephews, Richard and Jack.' The maid looked kind of funny and said she'd check if they were 'receiving.'"
Mary pushed her beer bottle in a little circle, looking embarrassed. "I didn't know what that meant, so I just followed her into the living room, where she made her little speech to Mrs. Sanhope and Richard. Lillian was there, too. Jack, I learned later was away at boarding school, and Francesca had married and moved away." She stopped, as if her story were complete.
"So," I prodded, "What next?"
"Richard and Lillian obviously hadn't a clue, but asked me to sit down, just trying to be polite, you know. Amazin' Grace popped up and said that wouldn't be necessary, I wouldn't be staying. She told me I had no legal right to be on their property and I could be arrested for trespassing and she was gonna sue my mother . . . she was really raving."
I ground my cigarette out angrily. "What a terrible reception!"
"Yes, I got kind of mad, too, although I was humiliated in front of Lillian and Richard and the maid, who just kept standing there like a dunce. I told Grace my mother was dead and that I hadn't signed anything since I wasn't even born yet. I said I lived here now and had just thought it would be nice for us to get to know each other. She really blew when I said that. Kind of incoherent, you know. Something about shanty Irish bastards daring to move here to bother them, probably for money, and trade on their name and I don't know what all. I just finally backed out and left, and she started screaming at the maid for letting me in."
"Whew," I exhaled, now realizing I'd been holding my breath. "That's unbelievable."
"The end of it is even weirder. A few days later Richard came by my ap
artment, all apologies. Said he had never known anything about me even being alive, said he had got part of the story from his grandmother and part from her personal maid who had been there at the time it all happened. He felt I had been badly treated, start to finish." She sipped her beer and gave a short, bitter laugh. "He handed me one of those 'don't ever bother us' releases to sign, along with a check for ten thousand dollars. He said he had convinced the old lady they owed it to me."
"Did you take it?"
"You bet your butt. They did owe it to me! I used it to help buy this house. Even so, you can see why there's no love lost between her and me. Or any of them for that matter. Uppity bunch!"
"Yes." I could see how she felt humiliated and resentful. Paid off. Condescended to. Not accepted. And none of it her fault. But I could also see why, from their point of view, the Sanhope Clan didn't want still another illegitimate child swelling Ptown's population, and being raised by the first one. It would become a tasteless joke all over town .. . that every generation begat a little Irish bastard whose real last name was Sanhope, no matter what it was actually called.
I realized Mary was speaking and tuned back in. "... and now they're doing it again. Maureen is a wreck over this." Mary sighed and blew her nose. "Dammit all, we were both so happy! You know, Alex, I really was looking forward to having a kid around." There didn't seem much more to say.
On the way out I glanced around Mary's neat, spotless kitchen and wondered if she had any idea what a kid could do to it in thirty seconds. I wondered if Maureen really wanted the child, too, or if Trish was right. I wondered how Amazin' Grace could be so appealing and yet so cruel. Obviously, as a judge of people, I was hopeless. I probably would have told everyone that Caligula was really a lovely boy with a slight attitude.
I mentally drew a line through my leisurely lunch at the Rat. Fargo and I each had a fast hot dog at a crowded stand. As he and I stood and ate, I thought of Mary and what a god-awful time she had had of it. No father. Mother dead at a wrenchingly early age, and Grandma—the last bastion—dead of grief shortly thereafter.
The Weekend Visitor Page 11
