Tymon and I spent the next few hours unwrapping a variety of unusual-looking figurines, clay masks, and jewelry—many of them quite beautiful and all appearing to be Mexican. And then we counted the coins, all 1,123 of them.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked him.
“I have no idea what you’re thinking.” He handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“It was in one of the coin bags.”
The sealed envelope had Anna’s name written on it.
“I can’t open this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not mine.”
“The owner can’t open it.”
“I don’t feel right opening it.”
“You could wait to see if you inherit the house, and then it would be legally yours. But I would say it’s yours anyway. She was your mother.”
“I don’t know that for sure.”
He smiled. “I do.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Anna’s Letters
Tymon and I placed the items from the trunk into three large garbage bags and stashed them in the basement until I could figure out what to do with them. I put the letter to Anna in my nightstand drawer.
The cache of what appeared to be valuable art was a reminder of the photographs I’d taken of the paintings we’d found in the attic earlier. I’d never had the film developed, so I put that on my mental list of errands for the afternoon.
I puttered around the house until the sudden rain shower let up and then headed for Six Corners where I dropped off the film and stopped at the bank to withdraw money from my savings account.
Something compelled me to drive by Berghorn’s office on my way home. I pulled into a parking space across the street and stared at the front door. The more I thought about how nice he’d been in the beginning—how he’d helped me buy a car and move into the apartment upstairs and arranged for Danny to accompany me to places that were too dangerous for me to go alone—the more contempt I had for the man.
Naomi had told me that my half of the office remained vacant. I wasn’t surprised—everyone else was probably too smart to be taken in by him. I wondered if he periodically had a good laugh over what he had pulled on me.
I was just about ready to pull out of the parking space when I heard the gradual increasing sound of a siren. I waited for it to pass, but it didn’t. Instead, a couple of unmarked police cars with blue lights flashing from their dashboards pulled up in front of Berghorn’s office. Two men in dark suits jumped out of the first car and rushed in through the front door. The two remaining men stood outside of their car and appeared to be having a casual conversation.
I put my car in park and turned off the ignition, not believing my good fortune to be able to witness first-hand what I hoped was Berghorn’s arrest.
Five minutes later, Berghorn emerged with his hands behind his back, escorted by the two men. The perspiration glistening on his muscle-tight face was visible from clear across the street. I didn’t want him to see me, so I started to slouch down in my seat. Too late—he looked directly at me. He mouthed something I couldn’t discern, but I didn’t have to—the evil look he gave me spoke for itself.
The police car with Berghorn in it left. I waited another fifteen minutes until the other two officers emerged from his office, each one carrying a box of what I presumed was evidence. As soon as they pulled out, I walked across the street and through the front door to Naomi’s desk.
“Naomi?” I called out.
Naomi came around the corner smiling.
“You knew it was going to come down this afternoon?” she asked.
“No! That’s the beauty of it. I just decided to drive by and, as luck would have it, I saw the whole thing. I haven’t heard one word from the Bar Association.”
“Well, I have. I had to go downtown and answer a bunch of questions, not once, but twice.” Her face lit up. “You should have seen the look on his face when those agents came storming in here. First, surprise. And then, complete horror. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.”
“What did they say to him?”
She picked up a scrap of paper from her desk and, straining to deepen her voice, pretended to read from it. “You’re under arrest for practicing law without a license, insurance fraud, forgery, mail fraud, and driving on an expired driver’s license.”
She switched up her voice to sound pathetic. “But Officer, there must be some mistake.”
Then she went back to the deep voice. “There’s no mistake, Berghorner.”
In her own voice, she said, “Now that was funny, the way he mispronounced his name.”
Back to the deep voice: “There’s no mistake, Berghorner. You’re coming with us.”
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“I was instructed to stay here and wait for a federal investigator.”
“Federal?”
“That’s what he said.”
“I better leave then. Will you be all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Call me if you want to come over afterward. I’ll be home.”
“I will.”
She gestured toward her desk drawer and then left the area.
I opened the drawer and removed a two-page list of Berghorn’s clients, tucked it inside my blouse, and left.
On the drive home, it hit me that things couldn’t have worked out any better¬: he’d be going back to prison where he belonged, and I wasn’t feeling the least bit guilty for having had something to do with it. I turned up the volume on “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones. Not me. I had just gotten plenty of satisfaction.
After I got home, I drafted a script I would use to call Berghorn’s clients, telling them that Berghorn was not a real lawyer and giving them the names and phone numbers for two legitimate ones. Naomi had agreed to be with me when I actually called them in case they needed an interpreter.
It had been a tiring day, but I had to make another attempt at solving the Midnighter case—it had been almost five months since Flora had engaged my services. The thefts had continued, and I had no leads. Most recently, a Zippy the Chimp hand puppet had been taken from the backyard of a family who now had a very distraught three-year-old on their hands. Knowing I would be out very late, I took a two-hour nap first and then drove to that neighborhood.
I hadn’t been parked for longer than ten minutes when some movement in the front yard two houses down caught my eye. I sat in silence in the darkness and observed someone or something sauntering across the street. I turned on my headlights to find the same stumpy-tailed cat I had seen on previous stakeouts. When it sensed the light, it dropped something and ran.
I got out of my car and walked to the place where the cat had dropped the item. It was a fully cooked turkey leg.
Since it was too late to knock on Flora’s door and tell her what I had observed, I drove home to catch a few hours of sleep before work the next day.
* * *
I called Flora first thing in the morning.
“I think I know who has been stealing things around the neighborhood,” I told her.
“Who?”
“He’s a large fellow, short brown hair, big green eyes, and a stump for a tail.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a cat, Flora.”
“A cat?”
“That’s what I think. Do you know a cat like that in your neighborhood?”
“No. But in the next block there’s a cat lady—that’s what we call her because nobody knows her name. We don’t know how many cats she has, but we suspect it’s quite a few.” She gave me a description of the cat lady’s house and approximate address so I could investigate further.
That afternoon, I drove to the cat lady’s house to see if any of her cats fit the description of the turkey-leg bandit. Seeing nothing telltale in her yard, I knocked on her door.
The foul smell that wafted from within when the door opened overwhelmed me. An olde
r woman, unkempt, with missing teeth and stubbled chin whiskers, asked me what I wanted. I explained the reason for my visit, and after I convinced her I wasn’t with Animal Control nor interested in removing any cats from her premises, she admitted that she had a cat that fit the description of the bandit.
“He’s been getting out lately, but I have no idea where he goes.”
I told her about all the missing items from the neighborhood.
“Could be him. I don’t know.”
“Would it be possible to have a look around? See if any of the missing items are here?”
“Be my guest.”
The house was in the same unkempt condition as the woman...maybe worse. Cats were everywhere—one on top of the refrigerator, several around the woman’s feet, two going at it in the dining room, and a mom with kittens on a dining room chair. I glanced around as we walked through the house but didn’t see any of the missing items.
“His name is Stumpy,” she said as she led me toward the back of the house. “Never did know what happened to his tail. I saw him coming out of the shed out back the other morning. We can look in there if you want.”
The shed she had referred to was missing a door and half the roof. We walked inside to a large stash of items piled in the corner—toys, clothing, linens, balloons, and right on top a pair of pink polka-dot panties.
“He’s our thief, all right. Would you have a couple of bags I could put all this stuff in?”
While she was getting the bags, I pushed some of the items around with my foot only to find three dead mice at the bottom of the pile. I was grateful when the woman returned with a pair of gloves along with the bags.
“Can you try to keep Stumpy inside from now on?”
“I’ll try.”
* * *
The next day I arrived at circuit court early for the hearing of Minnie’s will and waited for Raymond. When he arrived, he explained what to expect in the proceeding. He didn’t think I would have to say anything—he’d do all the talking.
We were soon ushered into the courtroom where we waited for the judge.
I was more nervous than I ought to have been. I felt guilty inheriting the house, until I reminded myself that Berghorn had put down a thousand dollars in earnest money in an effort to buy it after she died. I felt I would have done anything to see that that didn’t happen. I mused at what would happen to the thousand dollars—I doubted they would send it to him in prison.
The entire hearing lasted all of fifteen minutes. In the end, the judge admitted Minnie’s draft will as her final will, which meant I was the beneficiary of her house and its contents.
After Raymond and I left the courtroom, I asked him something I had been curious about for some time—why he had told me about Minnie wanting me to have the house before her will had even been validated.
“Because one way or another, I was going to make sure you got that house.”
“Why?”
“Grace, I watched that woman slowly transform from a young, vibrant wife and mother when she was married to Clarence to a miserable old coot after she lost her family. I tried to help her along the way, give her advice about how to get back on track. My wife did too. But she never took any of it. Then you came along, and I started to see the old Minnie reappear. You were going to inherit her house if it was the last thing I ever did for anyone.”
“Sounds like you knew her personally.”
“I didn’t see any reason to tell you this before, but she was my sister-in-law. Clarence was my brother.”
“I had no idea. I’m so sorry for your losses—a brother, a niece, and now Minnie. When did you learn of Minnie’s death?”
“When you called me.”
“I’m so sorry. Had I known about you, I would have—”
“You didn’t know.”
“But your last name is Webb.”
He smiled. “I changed it after I passed the bar.”
“Why?”
“Would you go to an attorney named Raymond Lawless?”
I had to laugh. “I guess not. Thanks for sharing that story about Minnie. It means a lot.”
I thanked him for all his work, and he told me what he had to do next to get the deed transferred to me. I asked him if there were any exceptions to what was legally mine with respect to the contents of the house.
“Can you give me an example?” he asked.
“Like what if I found something in the house that I suspected belonged to someone else but I didn’t know who?”
“Generally speaking, when you buy—or, in your case, inherit—a house, you inherit everything in it, even if it’s hidden. But that doesn’t mean someone else couldn’t also have a claim to it, and then a court would have to decide who has the better claim.”
“I see.”
“Grace, I have to tell you about a rather odd stipulation in the will. I’m not sure if this is going to make any sense to you or not, but here goes.” He pulled out a copy of the will and read an excerpt. “If Miss Lindroth decides to plant any bushes on the property, they can only be winterberry bushes, nothing else.”
Now that made me laugh.
“You may have this copy,” he said.
We parted ways, but before I headed for home, I skimmed over the will. Minnie had had a substantial amount of Chicago & North Western Railroad stock, which she left to a foundation that took care of families of railroad employees who had lost their lives on duty.
She had been a kind soul.
* * *
The next morning, I waited for Tymon to come down for coffee so I could tell him the news.
“So what is making you smile so big this early in the morning, Gracie?” he asked.
“You’re standing in my kitchen, I’ll have you know.”
He reached out to shake my hand.
“Congratulations. You deserve this house.”
“Thank you. I feel at home here.”
“Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do with it?”
“Do with it? I’m going to live here.”
“I mean the upstairs. It’s an odd layout even if you were to rent out the rooms.”
I gave that a moment’s thought. The income would be good, but living with boarders? I didn’t relish the thought, especially given the peculiar make-up of the last body of boarders residing there.
“I’m not sure if I would do that.”
“Maybe you’d want to convert it back to its original state then—a single-family home.”
“Maybe. I haven’t thought about it, to be truthful.”
Tymon paused before saying, “I suppose I should be going now that Berghorn is out of the picture.” His melancholy expression reminded me of a quote I’d heard: Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened. I knew I would miss him.
“I’m sure you want to get back home and into your normal routine again.”
He didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to react.
“Can you stay a while...I mean, while I open that letter to Anna?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I left to retrieve the letter from my bedroom, and when I returned, Tymon was gone. I waited a few minutes, and when he didn’t return, I was at a loss as to what had just happened. This couldn’t be the way he was leaving—without saying goodbye.
I felt just awful. Should I go after him, or allow him to do this his own way? But I didn’t want our relationship to end like that. Then I realized that I didn’t want it to end at all.
I heard a familiar knock at the back door and heaved a sigh of relief.
“It’s open, Tymon.”
He came in—it was obvious he’d been crying.
“What’s wrong?”
He sat down at the kitchen table across from me.
“I’m sorry. You said ‘letter to Anna,’ and I lost it.”
He held up a white envelope.
“I wrote this to her in July of 1942.” He turned it around to let me see it was still sealed
. “I never gave it to her.”
He pushed it across the table toward me.
“You want me to read it?”
“I want you to have it. You were the reason I wrote it.”
I stared into his eyes for an explanation but received none.
“I’m not following you.”
“I told you I loved her.”
I nodded.
“After you were born, I wanted more than anything to take care of the both of you. I fantasized about it every night when I went to bed, and I woke up every morning wondering if this would be the day I would get up enough nerve to give her the letter. Until it was too late.
“When it became clear to me that the police weren’t going to try to find you, I looked for you on my own. Every time I walked by a mother pushing a stroller, I’d peek inside, wondering if maybe it was you. Later, I walked by schools during recess wondering if one of the little girls was you, hoping that was the case because that meant you were okay. I even contacted the FBI at one point. They said they would open an investigation, but I don’t think they ever did. They said I wasn’t giving them very much to go on. I bugged them until they finally said they would keep the case open, but for now there wasn’t any more they could do.”
He sat slumped in the chair, looking defeated as if this had all just happened.
“You asked me one time why I hadn’t pursued a relationship with anyone after Anna was gone. Because I couldn’t. She was the only woman I could think about.”
He looked away from me for a moment, and when his eyes reunited with mine, I knew he was about to say something heartfelt.
“Gracie, the minute you walked into this house, I knew it was you. Minnie didn’t have to tell me later that Anna wasn’t your aunt. I could have told her that.”
Tears too powerful to blink away filled my eyes.
“You must have really loved her.”
“I adored her. I want you to read my letter to her...not now though. Read it when I’m not around.”
When he wasn’t around. After he left my kitchen...or this world?
He gulped and blew out a stream of air through open lips.
“I’m okay now. Let’s read the trunk letter.”
Regarding Anna Page 26
