Clinton took off his glasses, folded the file, tossed it nonchalantly onto the nearest pile and leaned back in the chair. “No problem with the trust, that’s already in the bank. Mary did that before she went into the hospital. Federal and state taxes will nibble. When Mary came in last year we prepared an inventory. Current values will affect that, but you should clear a half a million, not including the house and store.”
“A half a what?”
“Give or take some. Don’t know what the AT&T stock is quoted at today, seems to me it split while she had it. Then there’s legal fees.” He cackled. “We get our pound of flesh.”
“What in the world are you talking about? My mother never had that kind of money. If it weren’t for my father’s insurance and a scholarship, I never could have gone to college. All we ever had was the little she made from the shop and from selling off some of the land.”
Clinton searched for the folder and flipped it to Brian. “Look at the inventory. We hold the stock certificates and property deeds in the vault. Mary didn’t want to spend the money for a safe deposit box. All right here, though, safe as a bug in a rug.”
Incredulously, Brian leafed through the list: AAA corporate stocks and bonds, an office building, the small apartment complex on Route 93 … other items. He looked up at the attorney, who smiled benignly. “And you have all this in your safe?”
“And the deeds. No mortgages, clear as a newborn babe.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not? Your mother had some money from the government when your father died, probably some from her father when he went. Combine that with Yankee frugality and hard-nosed New England business sense and it makes you a wealthy young man.”
“It’s hard to believe.”
“Imagine so. Now, what about your other problems?”
“Sir?”
“Other folks in town think you’re covered by the presidential pardon. We know better, don’t we?”
“I assume you represent me and that we now have a client-attorney relationship?” Brian took Clinton’s snort as an affirmative answer. “I deserted.”
“You were an officer?”
“Yes. ROTC at college. On graduation I was commissioned a second lieutenant.”
“If you were against the war, you should have resigned before you were commissioned.”
“I should have done a lot of things differently. My father was killed in World War II, and it seemed only natural that I should serve.” Brian smiled bitterly. “Then, too, I wasn’t aware of our finances. I was under the impression that I needed financial aid to get through college. The ROTC scholarship helped pay my way.”
“You desert from Benning?”
“No.”
“Ord before you shipped over? We’re not playing twenty questions, you know.”
“Vietnam.”
Clinton rolled his eyes. “A combat zone. And just how did you manage that?”
“It wasn’t easy.”
“Cut the facetious bit.”
“I was a ranger and had a recon platoon. I walked away and hitched to Saigon.”
“That’s a long way from Canada.”
“A couple of days after I got to Saigon, I found another lieutenant in a bar. He had R&R orders for Hawaii to meet his wife. I slipped the owner of the dump a hundred and they knocked him out with chloral hydrate. I stole his orders, I.D., and caught the plane in his place. In Hawaii I changed to mufti, and caught a commercial flight to the States and slipped across the border.”
“Charming.”
Brian’s body bent forward in anger. “I don’t need any goddamn judgmental remarks out of you, Robinson.”
“Sit down, or do you want to spend the next five years in Leavenworth?” He fumbled for a pad. “Now, you’re telling me that you accepted the government’s money for four years, took a commission, volunteered to become a ranger … did you volunteer for recon?”
“Yes.”
“You volunteered too much, boy.”
“Damn it all! I’ve been editor of the Expatriate magazine for the past five years. My moral position is quite clear.”
“Morality in retrospect is the cheapest kind.”
“Forget it!” Brian reached for the door handle. “Take care of the estate and that’s it.”
“Why’d you desert?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
“Kill anyone?”
“Not that I know of. Hell, I never saw an enemy to kill.”
“Atrocities, kids, old people, things like that?”
“No. All of us weren’t monsters.”
“Then tell me.”
“Am I on the witness stand?”
“Yes.”
There was a whiff of cold musty air as he sank back in the chair. “I didn’t like it over there. I guess I didn’t approve. I know now that I didn’t approve, but I’d made a contract and I had my men to protect as best I could … but I …”
“And what?” The white-haired lawyer’s voice was soft.
“I was all right in the open on patrol. Scared, hell, yes, but I could function. It was during a rocket attack. We were in bunkers at Battalion. I could never sleep in a bunker, but I had to go inside. I felt the whole thing closing in … I … couldn’t stand it underground. I’m a coward, Mr. Robinson. It’s pure and simple and I’ve known it every single day, every hour, since I ran screaming from that damn hole in the ground.”
Clinton tented his fingers and looked at Brian for a long moment. “I’ll see what I can do. The law’s murky right now. Ordinarily, the federal people would pick you up on an outstanding warrant and turn you over to the military.”
“What should I do?”
“After the funeral, get back to Canada as fast as you can. Send me copies of your magazine. I’ll wait until you’re up there and then make my approach to the federal people. We’ll see if we can forge some sort of moral issue out of all this.”
“I’ll go back as soon as I can.”
“They’re not looking hard for you fellows right now, but they might. They just might.”
The Tallman Rod and Gun Club was on the far side of town. Brian parked in the small lot behind the firing positions and sat watching Gordon.
“Pull.” The tall doctor jerked the shotgun to his shoulder, led the clay pigeon and fired. Brian tensed instinctively and clutched the steering wheel. “Pull.” The sequence was repeated as he walked to the firing position.
“They told me at your office that you’d be out here and would buy me a drink.”
“Sun should be over the yardarm, but I think I just blew the yardarm away. Sure, wait until I finish this sequence. Pull.” Brian stepped back as he fired again. “What’s the matter, old buddy?”
“I’ve just discovered that I’m a cowardly half a millionaire.”
“Who the hell wants to be a brave pauper? Hey, hand me the double barrel from the rack. Now you’ll really see some fancy shooting.”
Gordon helfted the .12 gauge and then raised it to his shoulder. “Pull.” Two clay pigeons arched from the pit at different trajectories. The gun fired twice in rapid sequence and both targets disintegrated. Gordon turned with a smile and broke the weapon open to extract two smoking shell casings. “Not bad, huh?”
“I thought your life was supposed to be dedicated to a reverence for life and all that.”
“Reverence? Do you know what I saw this morning at the office? A hemorrhoid, a broken finger, a high blood pressure, one possible gallstone and a very obese lady who thinks she has the plague. Hell, it’s always the same.”
“I like to see a man happy in his work.”
“Dermatology, old buddy. Soon as I get the time and money to get certified—dermatology. Do you know there’s not a skin man in the surrounding six towns? No night calls, no emergency calls—just the old prescription pad and a deal on the side with the pharmacist.”
“Your ethics overwhelm me. Where do we get that drink?”
; “I’m meeting someone later at the Farmsworth Inn, where they make a good martini.”
“Meet you there.”
They sat on captain’s chairs hunched over a small oaken table next to a window that overlooked the river below the hill. The martinis were ice cold and mixed to perfection.
“You and I should buy this place,” Gordon said. “Your money and my charm would rake in the profits.”
“I thought dermatology was your new bag.”
“Grab it where you can.”
Brian sipped a martini and plunked the olive. “Do you know something about my mother’s estate that I didn’t know until an hour ago?”
“Your mom was loaded, which makes you loaded.”
“How did you know?”
“Hell, everyone in Tallman knew.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’ve been away. All those years in the boondocks and, before that, army and college. Your mother was one of those sweet old New England ladies with a business mind like a calculator.”
“We never lived like that.”
Gordon threw up his hands in mock horror. “Heavens, no. That would be ostentatious, against all the tenets of the puritan ethic.”
“We always watched pennies.”
“To make dollars. Don’t be naive, Brian. Who was the first kid with his own car?”
“It was four years old.” Gordon shook his head. “Okay, okay. It surprised me, that’s all. Which brings me to other surprises. What in hell is going on with Lockwood and Martha? They act like Dracula is buried in the cellar.”
“Lockwood is scared shitless. Mary took care of him since he was young. His life has been disrupted to the point where he doesn’t know which end is up.”
“I’ll see that he lives the way he wants.”
“Then, for God’s sake, tell him. Reassure the poor bastard.”
“And Martha?”
“She wants to help. Do you know how many sins have been committed with that precept?”
“My nerves have been shot. That may account for it.”
“Unburden yourself about one thing. I’ve talked to everyone involved and there’ll be no repercussions. Button the lip is the word at the hospital. Okay?”
Brian wanted to protest, to call for an investigation, but knew it would find him as the prime suspect, which didn’t take into account the exposure that would give him to the federal authorities. He felt unsure and indecisive.
Gordon signaled to the waiter. “Two more here and the usual for the lady.”
They watched the woman come through the archway and approach the table. She was tall with sandy blond hair pulled back straight in a severe bun that accentuated the lines of her features. She wore a well-tailored pants suit and moved toward them with a lithe grace. They rose from their seats as she reached the table.
“Jan,” Gordon said. “You remember Brian Maston?”
Her smile died as her extended hand was pulled back quickly to her side. “Hello, Brian.”
“It’s been a long time, Jan.”
“Jan was on the night shift for Mary.”
“I want to thank you for all you did.”
“We were all very fond of your mother.”
“Come on, everyone. Let’s not stand here wiggling our fingers,” Gordon said as drinks were served.
Her eyes were the deep gray he remembered. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. She ignored Brian to look levelly at Gordon. “I’ll be up in the room. When you’re ready, Doctor.” She left the lounge without looking in either direction.
“What’s that all about?”
“Concerning you or me?”
“Both.”
“I suspect you are marked lousy in Jan’s book. She married a guy named Jerry Wholly after she was capped. He never made it back from Vietnam.”
“And she knows about my army career?”
“Some of it. At least the part about your being in Canada the past few years.”
“That’s the first half.”
Gordon laughed. “You want I should draw you dirty pictures?”
“The room upstairs.”
“We’ve got a little game of doctor-nurse going.”
“Not terribly discreet.”
“Not very. She certainly wanted you to know about it.”
“Maybe because we once had this football player-cheerleader thing going.”
“Cheerleaders were ‘in’ then.”
“You’re leaving Helen?”
“Can’t afford to. Last year with the big scare over malpractice, I put everything but my soul in her name. She owns me. And besides, I’m not sure Jan wants a permanent arrangement.”
“Sounds cozy.”
“Come on, old buddy. Drink up. I’m not really the bastard I sound. Nothing wrong with me more money wouldn’t cure.”
He swore silent oaths as he pulled into the circular drive. Martha’s Lincoln was parked near the house in front of two other cars. Vaguely familiar women were setting up card tables and aligning place settings on the long porch.
Brian found Martha peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. “I’m afraid to ask what’s going on.”
“I’m so glad you’re home, Brian. Now don’t worry. We’ve got everything under control for tomorrow.”
“It looks like you’re preparing for a wedding reception.”
“That’s not funny. We have a turkey in the oven and the roast beef is already done. Laureen is bringing that lovely aspic she makes, and I’m doing the potato salad. If you would see to the liquor? That’s a man’s job, don’t you think?”
“Please explain?”
“We’re getting ready for after the services tomorrow. We have to have something to offer people when they stop by. Would you be a good boy and go to the liquor store? You’ll need extra ice cubes, but I brought over plenty of glasses. Do you have enough money?”
“A wake?”
“Really, Brian. That’s Irish Catholic. We are Episcopalians; People stop by after the services, that’s all.”
“A stop by.”
“Yes.”
“Is Lockwood in the barn?”
“I don’t think so. You know how he hates crowds. I think he went for a long walk.”
“Martha, about Lockwood. When mother died, you said he was in the sun room.”
Martha seemed to bend into the sink as far as her bulk would allow. “I think I said that.” She began to slash at the potatoes, reeling off long streaks of peeling.
“And you were the one who told him she was dead?”
“Yes.” Her voice was nearly inaudible.
“How did he react?”
“How would you expect him to react? Shock, upset. He loved Mary, God rest her soul.”
“Did he say anything that would lead you to believe …”
The knife hovered in midair. “Believe what?” Her tone was sharp.
“That he was involved.”
“That’s quite enough, Brian. I do not wish to hear another word about Mary’s death. She’s gone, and nothing will bring her back. Not another word.”
“Martha …”
Her tone softened. “Now, run along like a good boy and get the liquor.”
At the liquor store in the shopping center Brian bought two cases of assorted bottles and one of Löwenbräu. He was loading them in the car trunk when he saw her in the drugstore at the paperback book rack. He slammed the trunk and went into the store to stand behind her.
“Here’s a good title,” he said, reaching over her shoulder to extract a book.
“Your mother told me your field was literature,” Jan said. “She didn’t tell me how rotten your taste was.” She slammed the book back in its place.
“You’ve sent the good doctor home to his wife?”
“Don’t try and make me feel cheap.”
“You can only do that yourself.”
“You’re an arrogant bastard.”
“A French-Canadian lady said the very same thing to me not
too long ago. Buy you a drink?”
She turned to look at him with slate eyes. “No, thank you.”
“No one should pass up two offers in one day, not when the last one includes nostalgic talk of old times.” He grasped her firmly by the elbow and led her to the car parked at the curb. She stood impassively by the car as he opened the door. “Come on.” She got in the car and hunched in the far corner to stare fixedly ahead.
He left her in a far booth at the Dew Drop Inn and got two drinks from the bar. “To old times,” he said and clinked glasses with her.
“That was one summer years ago.”
He smiled. “It was a good summer. I’m sorry about your husband. I didn’t know.”
“Would it have made any difference?”
“No.”
“You know, Brian, during our summer together, you never struck me as having such high principles.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
She seemed to soften. “You were afraid of being killed?”
“I was afraid of being smothered and that …” He tried to laugh. “It’s rather complicated and I’d just as soon not go into it again.”
“I knew who you were when I crossed the room this afternoon. All I could think of was that if you hadn’t left, Jerry might have made it back. We only had a year together. The only decent year of my life.”
“The medical profession in Tallman doesn’t seem conducive to peace of mind.”
“Gordon’s told you about gallstones and the boring lot of the family physician.”
“Something like that.”
“He’s a lot of talk. He’s really a fine doctor.”
“I’m sure he is. Are you a good nurse or a bitter one?”
She looked past him and he couldn’t read her eyes. “Sometimes.”
“Which?”
“Both.”
“Would you like to marry Gordon?”
She laughed. “I’m sure he told you about Helen and his money. Do you think I’d marry someone without money?”
“Your husband was wealthy?”
“That was a first marriage and I didn’t know any better. In my widowhood I’ve had time to think. Remember where I used to live?”
The Laughing Man Page 4
