Bloodroot

by Cynthia Riggs

Darya took off her glasses again and waited.

  Susan had said nothing throughout the meeting. She sat apart from her siblings and avoided looking at them. Her eyes were focused on her hands.

  Scott turned to her. “Did you know about this, Sue?”

  Susan shrugged.

  “Well, Miz Blout, continue,” said Scott. “I assume there are more surprises.”

  The three settled back uneasily. Susan hadn’t moved.

  The attorney continued. “Mildred Wilmington, your grandmother, says, ‘In hopes that the house will remain in the family in perpetuity, I bequeath the house and land, and funds to maintain the property and pay the taxes, to my granddaughter Susan—’”

  “What!” shrieked Heather. “What about us?”

  Darya looked up again. “Your grandmother has given each of you five thousand dollars.”

  “But the house?” Heather insisted. “We planned to sell it.”

  “No, we didn’t!” said Susan.

  “I need the money!” said Heather.

  Scott said, “I suspect we can regain possession of the house and land.”

  Darya said, “It’s hardly a question of regaining possession. If you recall, you never owned it. Your grandmother did.”

  “Then we’ll break the will.” Scott emphasized his words by smacking his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  Darya swiveled in her chair to face the window behind her, then swiveled back again. “I don’t think you understand. Your grandmother anticipated that you might threaten to contest the will.” She smiled. “If any one of you should even threaten, the twenty thousand dollars—five thousand intended as a gift to each of you—is to be donated to the Island Conservation Foundation.” She nodded to the stenographer who was recording every word and uttered. “I think we can consider that your remark, Scott, was not actually a threat. Or was it?”

  Scott’s face paled.

  “For the record, you might want to retract your comment about breaking the will.”

  “God damn it!” said Scott.

  “Shall I take that as a retraction?”

  Wesley chortled. “Nice going, Scott.” He pointed at the document on her desk. “Any other surprises in there?”

  “I don’t believe there are any other surprises. There are a few other conditions, however.”

  Heather pushed her chair back and rose.

  “Sit down, please.” Darya held up a hand.

  “It’s outrageous!” cried Heather. “The whole thing.”

  “May I continue?” Darya turned the document facedown and waited until Heather, Scott, and Wesley settled down. Susan sat impassively.

  “Mrs. Wilmington understood that there might be circumstances she hadn’t anticipated, so she provided a number of exception clauses. The most important for you, I believe, is that each of you has a lifetime tenancy in the house, but only on condition of Susan’s approving such tenancy.”

  “Oh, nice,” said Wesley.

  “For God’s sake,” said Scott under his breath. “In the event that Susan predeceases us, what then?”

  “You mean arsenic?” Wesley smiled.

  “Stop it!” Susan stood.

  Darya broke in. “I don’t believe your grandmother anticipated murder, either of herself or of one of you. However, we in the firm, being lawyers, insisted that your grandmother plan for that contingency.” Darya smiled. “In the case of death by other than natural causes, of your grandmother or any of her heirs, the firm holds all funds, all bequests in escrow until such time as a culprit, in the case of murder, is dealt with.”

  The four looked at one another.

  “Does that include Dr. Mann?” asked Wesley.

  “All bequests.”

  “That could be never,” said Wesley.

  Heather asked. “What are we talking about?”

  Scott turned onto her. “Pretty goddamned clear, if you ask me. Nothing goes to anyone until Mildred’s murderer is hanged.”

  “People don’t get hanged anymore,” said Wesley.

  CHAPTER 21

  On the way back to their grandmother’s house from the lawyer’s, the atmosphere in the car seethed with anger. Fury boiled and bubbled behind an icy silence. The other three ignored Susan. The half-hour drive was interminable. Once home, the three stalked up the porch steps without a word, slamming the front door behind them, rattling the ancient glass panes.

  Susan turned away at the foot of the steps and fled to the pasture, her refuge during the years Grandmother was alive. She ran until she was out of breath, then walked, head down, kicking at the pebbly sheep dung that dotted the pasture.

  Hatred. Another gift from her grandmother. She kicked at a clump of field mushrooms, scattering white fragments, unaware of the vast blue Atlantic spread out to her left. When Grandmother left her the house, she knew what she was doing to all four of them.

  She came to a stand of scrub oak at the far edge of the pasture, stopped, and looked back. The house loomed like a dark hulk, silhouetted on the brow of the hill. She looked down and saw a clump of mushrooms, not field mushrooms with their smooth button caps, but a cluster with scaly bell-shaped caps. Shaggy ink caps. Fragile mushrooms that had to be eaten within a couple of hours of the time they were picked. Otherwise, they’d dissolve into an inky, unappetizing slime, hence their name. She would sauté them in olive oil when she returned and then they would keep in the refrigerator for several days. By then, her sibs would have calmed down.

  Susan knew something else about the ink cap mushrooms. They were also known as Tippler’s Bane. They were delicious and not classified as poisonous, but the mushrooms blocked the metabolism of alcohol. If eaten within a day or two of drinking alcoholic beverages the result was a hangover that would make one swear off liquor forever. She decided not to warn her siblings.

  * * *

  A few hours after the reading of Mrs. Wilmington’s will, Dr. Ophelia Demetrios and Dr. Aileen McBride were seated in the reception area of the dental clinic. Both were wearing white lab coats. Dr. Demetrios was reading the newspaper, Dr. McBride was reading a magazine. No patients had been scheduled for the day.

  “I don’t know why we’re both dressed for work,” said Dr. Demetrios. “Do you expect a patient?”

  Dr. McBride didn’t answer.

  “Three million!” Dr. Demetrios tossed the Island Enquirer onto the seat next to her. “Can you imagine? Three million.”

  Dr. McBride looked up from the May issue of Vogue she’d been reading. “What are you talking about, Ophelia?”

  “The Island grapevine’s been busy. The Enquirer won’t have it until the end of the week.” Dr. Demetrios pointed a carmine-tipped finger at the newspaper.

  “I have no idea what you’re hinting at.” Dr. McBride went back to her magazine with some irritation.

  “Mrs. Wilmington, you know, who died in your chair—”

  “I know who Mrs. Wilmington is. What about her?” Dr. McBride went back to studying a photo of a slender woman holding a golden apple at eye level.

  “Did you have any idea how much she was worth?”

  “You just told me. Three million,” said Dr. McBride, licking a finger and turning the page. “And quite frankly, Ophelia, I couldn’t care less.”

  “You placed a wrong bet, didn’t you,” said Dr. Demetrios.

  Dr. McBride frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  Dr. Demetrios sat back and laid her arm over the back of the chair next to her. “You’ve been getting cozy with Scott. Mrs. Wilmington’s heir. Guessed wrong, didn’t you, or were you hedging your bets, playing both Horace and Scott at the same time?”

  “What!” said Dr. McBride. The copy of Vogue slipped off her lap and landed on the floor, splayed out. “My dear Ophelia. What are you talking about?”

  “They had a reading of the will, only a few hours ago. The old lady was worth more than thirteen million.” Dr. Demetrios paused. “She left five thousand dollars to each of her grandchildren.”
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br />   “Five thousand.” Dr. McBride bent down, picked up the magazine, and set it carefully on the seat next to her. “How did you hear that bit of news?”

  “I thought that might get your attention.” Dr. Demetrios stood up. “I’m sure Horace is aware of your interest in Scott.”

  “Oh, stop it, Ophelia. Scott and I had drinks together. What about the three million?”

  Dr. Demetrios thrust a foot out in a theatrical gesture and spread her arms. “Apparently spare cash to Mrs. Wilmington.”

  “I’ve had enough of your drama, Ophelia. I’m reading.” Dr. McBride picked up the magazine again.

  “Ah, but Mrs. Wilmington left three million dollars to…” Dr. Demetrios twirled a finger in the air. “Ta-da! Dr. Horace Mann of the Martha’s Vineyard Dental Clinic.”

  “What?” Dr. McBride set the magazine down again, carefully.

  “Five thousand to her grandchildren.” Dr. Demetrios smiled. “Three million to Horace.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Dr. Demetrios shook her head. Her silky black hair, loose from its usual bun, swirled around her shoulders. “This will give the Island something to gossip about for months.”

  Dr. McBride picked up the magazine again, thumbed past the pages she’d already looked at, and stopped several pages beyond the woman with her apple. Her hands shook. “The clinic can use an infusion of cash,” she said.

  * * *

  Abigail answered the phone in her usual careful way. “Harbor view residence.”

  “Abigail—”

  “Dr. Mann. You know she won’t speak to you.”

  “Please, Abigail, listen to me.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Mann.” Abigail spoke softly. “I’m busy.”

  “Don’t hang up, please! Things have changed. Tell her that. Things have changed. She knows I never loved my wife.”

  “She didn’t know you had a wife until two years ago, Dr. Mann.”

  “I couldn’t afford to leave her, that was why.”

  Abigail turned to check on Davina, who was playing in her sandbox. She held the phone close to her ear. “So now you can afford to buy off your wife?”

  “Tell her that, Abigail. Please. I mean it.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Mann. After you’ve bought her off, you call again.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Late that afternoon, Victoria was sorting out her bills, trying to decide which she should pay first, when a bicycle skidded to a stop by her steps and a tall, hefty young woman got off. She removed her helmet, ran fingers through her short blond hair, and leaned her bike against the railing.

  By the time she’d reached the kitchen door, Victoria was waiting for her, not quite placing who the woman was. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Trumbull, I’m Susan Wilmington.”

  Of course. Victoria had known Susan since she was a child and had seen her recently at her grandmother’s house.

  “Come in, Susan.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Trumbull.” Susan came into the kitchen, still holding her helmet.

  “How are you and your brothers and sister holding up?”

  Susan shook her head. Her lovely blue eyes were suddenly magnified by tears. “We went to the lawyer’s earlier today.”

  “Sit down.” Victoria indicated one of the gray painted kitchen chairs. She tore off a paper towel from the roll above the sink and handed it to Susan.

  “I need someone to talk to, and I thought of you, Mrs. Trumbull.” Susan accepted the towel and blew her nose. “You probably don’t remember. When I was nine or ten I fell off my bike in front of your house and skinned my knee and you came out and comforted me. You brought me into your house and cleaned out the dirt”—she sniffed—“and put a big Band-Aid on my knee and made me feel like a wounded soldier.”

  Victoria smiled. “I seem to recall I told you that wounded soldiers ate graham crackers and drank hot cocoa.”

  “You do remember.”

  “You didn’t fall off your bike again, did you?”

  At that, Susan smiled. “Kind of.”

  “Graham crackers and hot cocoa, then.” Victoria turned on the stove under the teakettle. She reached down the red and white box of graham crackers and handed it to Susan along with a plate. “Put some of those out, if you will.”

  While the water was heating, Victoria sat at the table across from Susan. “What happened at the lawyer’s office?”

  “Dr. Mann, you know?” Susan blotted her eyes.

  “Certainly. The head of the dental clinic,” said Victoria.

  “Grandmother left him three million dollars.” Susan stopped and looked at Victoria.

  “Good heavens.” Victoria couldn’t think of what to say. Finally she blurted out, “I had no idea your grandmother had that kind of money.”

  “Neither did we.” Susan crumpled the paper towel in her hands. “We knew she was well to do, but three million to her dentist?

  “Does that include her property?” Victoria asked.

  “The three million was in her bank accounts. Grandmother gave me the house along with money for upkeep and taxes.”

  “That seems reasonable,” said Victoria. “You were the one who lived with her during the past ten or so years. But Dr. Mann? And what about your siblings?”

  “She gave five thousand dollars to each of us.”

  “Why three million dollars to Dr. Mann?”

  Susan shrugged. “No one seems to know.”

  “If it weren’t for the three million dollars, the five thousand to the four of you would have seemed quite generous,” said Victoria. “Do you know why the disparity?”

  Susan nodded and wiped her nose. “Heather and Grandmother never got along. She got into a big argument with Grandmother when she was a teenager.”

  “You were all teenagers at the time.”

  Susan nodded. “Grandmother never forgave her. Scott sided with Heather and Scott moved out and Heather and Wesley moved out a year or so later.”

  “And you stayed.”

  “I stayed.”

  “Your grandmother never tried to resolve their differences?”

  Susan shook her head.

  “Didn’t she understand that Heather was undoubtedly just going through a teenage phase?”

  “Grandmother didn’t understand kids, period. She had one daughter. Our mother. After Mom was killed, Grandmother decided she was some kind of saint.” Susan looked up. “Which she wasn’t.”

  “Of course not. But I suppose that was your grandmother’s way of handling grief.”

  “She regarded my brothers, Scott and Wesley, as clones of our father. Grandmother blamed him for the accident.”

  “Your mother was her only child, I seem to recall.”

  “There were hints about a baby who died in infancy or something. No one ever talked about it.”

  Neither spoke for a while.

  Susan continued. “After the accident, we were just dumped on her. She wasn’t exactly easy to live with, but then when you think of it, neither were we.” Susan picked at the paper towel in her hands. “But we were children.”

  “And you’d lost both parents.”

  The teakettle whistled. Victoria got up and lifted down two mugs, tore open packets of hot chocolate mix and shook them out into the mugs. Added hot water. She got two spoons out of the drawer, one for each mug. And she thought about Susan and her brothers and sister and the three million dollars willed to the dentist. She thought of the circumstances of their grandmother’s death.

  The tragedy of it all.

  She handed a steaming mug to Susan along with a spoon. “I didn’t stir it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Trumbull.” Susan held the cup up and let the steam rise around her face.

  “An old house like your grandmother’s is both priceless and worthless. It’s a burden for you.”

  “The other three wanted to sell it, and the will makes sure they can’t. We four have always had some rivalry. I guess that’s normal, but…”
>
  Victoria nodded.

  “You can’t imagine how nasty they’re being.”

  “This is a difficult time for all of you.”

  Susan set her mug on the table and folded her hands around it. “They’re desperate for money. All three of them.”

  “And resent you because you inherited the house.”

  Susan nodded. “For Grandmother the house was family. The other kids never understood.” She took a graham cracker and snapped it in half. “It was more important to her than we were.”

  “I doubt that,” said Victoria.

  “It’s true.” Susan dipped the cracker into her hot chocolate and bit off the soggy end. “Grandmother had lived in that house all her life. She knew every creaking floorboard and sticking door, and the distinctive smells of each room.”

  Victoria smiled. “I understand that feeling.”

  “Our mother was brought up in that house.”

  Victoria sipped her cocoa and waited for Susan to say more.

  “I love that house, Mrs. Trumbull. I’d been thinking that we four could turn it into an elegant inn. It’s big enough and has that glorious view.” Susan paused. “Fixing it up would be a way for us to get over our differences. But now it’s caused so much trouble among us, I don’t want to have anything to do with them.”

  “I’m sure their feelings will mellow in time.”

  “They’re desperate. Scott’s ex-wife took him for everything he owned. Wesley”—Susan looked away—“gambles and owes money to some unsavory characters. Heather’s run up a half-dozen charge accounts buying clothes and stuff and owes so much on them she can’t keep up with the interest payments.”

  “Good heavens,” exclaimed Victoria.

  “More than thirty thousand dollars.”

  Victoria pushed aside her mug. “That’s hard to conceive of.”

  Susan put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. “Grandmother told me she was going to change her will again. That was why she wanted us all together.”

  “Did she tell you how she planned to change it?”

  “Not exactly. Occasionally, I’d go through her papers. Not really snooping, I mean, just when I needed some information.”

  “You couldn’t help yourself.”