The Famous Dar Murder Mystery (9 page)

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Authors: Graham Landrum

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“It was a great joke, you see. Quin had made the fortune while his moonshining relatives back in the hills worked just as hard at making whiskey but made little money from it. When Prohibition came in, the tables were turned. There was no way by which Quin could continue distilling in a clandestine way, supplying bootleggers and so on. He was too well known, you see.”
Once more Mr. Redloch retreated into the past. I opened
my purse and took out the genealogy Elizabeth had made for us.
“I have here,” I said, “a genealogical table of the family. Perhaps it will call something to mind that might prove helpful.”
Mr. Redloch took the paper, felt around in a drawer, and produced a large reading glass. I noticed for the first time that there was a tremor in his hand.
“Tut, tut, tut,” he said as he perused the genealogy.
“Denny Drover! I hadn't thought of him for many a long year.
“He was a very good-looking boy—had golden curls and blue eyes. All the ladies felt maternal toward him.
“Denny's aunt, Mrs. Baker Comming—oh, she was something! Had a place at Big Branch. I suppose you know about Big Branch. It's all under the lake now, and there was a good deal of bad feeling toward TVA for destroying such a desirable area. Big Branch was quite the resort in its day. There were cabins along the branch and near it on the Holston—nice places, summer homes, you understand. There was a trolley from Borderville, and the best families would move out there as soon as school was over and stay until school took up again in September.
“Baker Comming was president of the Borderville National Bank, which was Quin's bank here; and of course they had a lovely place out there with wide porches all around it. There were young people of all ages, so to speak, out there all summer long. It had everything one could expect of Asheville or any of the better-known resorts.
“Well, Denny's mother always came for a month, usually August, with her sister-in-law, who was of course old Quin's daughter. And as Denny grew older, he was quite a buck.
“He got a young lady in a family way when he was about nineteen. When the girl's father expected him to do something
about it, Denny took the train back north in a hurry. The girl's parents threatened suit for breach of promise. At that point it developed that there was another young woman in a family way, also courtesy of Denny Drover. The second family—not people of consequence at all—took a great notion to make a big thing of it and sue the Drovers for a great sum. One of the suits was actually filed.
“Abner, Denny's father, was the youngest of old Quin's children. And in that family, the younger the children were, the more pretense of social standing was maintained. It was one of those things that are talked about out of all proportion. I have heard the figure of fifty thousand dollars for both girls. I feel sure that Denny's father settled the matter for less than that—out of court, of course. Nevertheless the two girls are said to have come out of it very well financially. One now lives in Knoxville, and I do not know what happened to the other. Denny was always in scrapes—drank quite a bit. I've no idea how much was spent, all told, on getting him out of trouble.”
During this discourse Mr. Redloch had put down his reading glass. Now he picked it up again and waved it over the page trying to find the place where he had seen the name of Denny Drover. At last he found it.
“Now, Abner Drover,” he said, taking up his discourse again, “that's Denny's father—he had the worst head for business of any of the three sons, and he was the only one who lived long enough to have an effect on the estate.”
Once more the reading glass went down.
“That estate is very interesting—you know the will was probated in New Jersey. There was quite a thing about it too. The Commonwealth of Virginia was very eager to reap a whopping big tax in that matter, and the residency of old Quin was not finally adjudicated until about ten years after Quin died.
“Old Quin was a proud man,” Mr. Redloch said with a conspiratorial lowering of his voice. “Yes, he wanted his family to rank with the best, and he did not have very excellent material to work with there. Well, he figured that if he could keep the family industries together—because there was the whiskey, timber, coal, the railroad, and banking, in addition to things like his holdings in such items as AT&T, Pullman, and Waters Pierce—if he could just keep them dependent on those industries and keep the industries going after his death, don't you see, they would all still be dependent on the central empire he had set up—and it would all be a monument to his genius. Somehow he thought it would work.
“The will, as I recall, more or less left a certain sum, say seven hundred fifty thousand dollars, to each of the children, a huge sum then, with each child receiving an undivided interest in the residue, that is, the various businesses—the bulk of the estate—which might have worked if he had set up a trust in such a way that none of the heirs, they being such as they were, could in any way control the businesses.”
I said that Henry had explained that the undivided interest would go on as long as all parties were satisfied, but that there would be major trouble if they did not.
“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Redloch said. “I am sure that all of Quin's legal advice was against what he did. But some people prefer their own opinions. And indeed there would still be litigation about that estate except for the fact that by the time the third generation became involved, the estate was severely diminished.
“First there went the liquor. Then the mines played out, and without Quin to direct the company, leases that Drover Coal might have expected to secure had a way of going to other people; and then there were so many leases that either
lapsed or proved unprofitable. Let's not forget trouble with the unions.
“And there was the crash in nineteen twenty-nine. I have no doubt that the stocks in those wonderful industries like AT&T and so on had been sold to make cash distribution to the individual heirs. In the thirties it was the easiest thing in the world to lose money in any business.
“They lost the railroad, and the banks went under. The transfer business—that was the only thing left. That was a kind of adjunct to the rail line. It's still going—Borderville Transfer it's called now. There are possibly some other properties that make a return, but I doubt if there is much besides what I have mentioned.”
I thanked Mr. Redloch and made the proper noises about being pleased to make his acquaintance. He was, however, scanning Elizabeth's genealogical chart through his reading glass again.
“Now here's a thing.” he said. “Kenneth Raebon!”
Mr. Redloch went into suspended animation for two or three seconds.
“Yes,” I said.
“Kenneth Raebon,” he began again. “Of course all that we have been saying is in strictest confidence; but this one is still alive. I have had experience with him—oh, not in connection with the Drover estate. But I assure you that he is a very slippery customer indeed.”
Once more there was the suspended animation. When at last Mr. Redloch began again, his voice was conspiratorial. “Kenneth Raebon grew up in Hogg's Gap; and when he got out of law school, he went into practice with Cornfield Simmons. (He was called Cornfield because he was fond of telling the jury that he was a simple boy who learned his law in the cornfield.) By the time Raebon joined the firm, Cornfield
was like I am now, mostly retired; but he would tell Kenneth what to do, and Kenneth would do it.
“Well, Simmons and Raebon were somehow involved with the Drover estate—mostly because they were the only legal firm in Hogg's Gap. So one time, old Kenneth went up to New Jersey on estate business and saw Sarah Drover's only girl, Dorothy. Kenneth Raebon didn't need Cornfield to tell him what to do in a case like that.
“They tell me that Dorothy is none too bright; but that didn't stop Raebon from marrying her and getting himself made principal attorney for the estate. I imagine he has been drawing a good income from handling and mishandling what's left of the estate, but don't ever tell anybody I said it.”
“Mr. Redloch,” I said, “do you suppose there could still be enough of the Drover money left to be the cause of Luis García's murder?”
A curious little chuckle rattled about in the old gentleman's weasand. “Money,” he said, “or the lack of it, my dear young lady, is the cause of most things.”
The root of all evil! Certainly if the criminal lacks it and the victim has it. But I didn't see how anyone would profit by the death of a concert artist.
“I have no idea how much Drover money is left. But I am sure your husband will bear me out that we are often surprised to find a source of money in an estate after we have supposed the till has long been empty.”
I thanked Mr. Redloch again for his time and kindness.
“As the remainder of my life becomes shorter and shorter,” he said as he got up from his chair, “I find that fewer and fewer people want my time.”
He saw me to the door and bowed me out.
I went right home and jotted down notes on all that Mr. Redloch had said. Then I combed my notes carefully to see if there was anything of value in them.
I had a far better picture of the Drover family and the wealth old Quin had heaped up. And I knew also that the wealth was for the most part gone. Old Quin was undoubtedly a rascal, who seemed to furnish the moral lesson that the success of this world is fleeting. How my grandmother would have gloried in such an outcome!
I studied the genealogical chart again. Martha and Jane could not be expected in their day to manage involved properties because they were mere women. On the other hand, neither Martha nor Jane seemed to have excelled in the things that wealthy women of that generation were expected to do. Franklin, whose children had a talent for coming to unfortunate ends, seems not to have had it in him to take hold of the family affairs. And the offspring of Abner could hardly have been expected to handle responsibility. As for young Quinby—well, he died before his father. It really looked as though Allen Comming and the Borderville Transfer were the core of whatever Drover estate might remain.
Of course, I knew where the place was—on the Tennessee side across the freeway from the bluff. It was a group of buildings at the foot of a steep slope. And then I seemed to remember something on top of the hill. It was kept painted and in good repair, but as to the amount of business that went on there, I had no notion.
On Elizabeth's chart I ran a line under the living descendants and others who might be considered their heirs. They were:
Allen Comming, Jr.
Duncan Yardley
Dr. Anthony Hancock
Dorothy and Kenneth Raebon
Bettye VanDyne
Of the same generation had been the late Luis Garcia Valera. The list seemed to represent six shares of the estate if Garcia was included. Whether the six received equal or unequal shares from whatever income came from the remaining estate, there wouldn't be much there. And I couldn't believe that such a division of the profits from Borderville Transfer would amount to very much.
Just to see how it might work, I tried to imagine how the business went on. I assumed that the services of the Borderville Transfer were engaged one hundred times a year. I assumed further that transfer charges averaged $40,000 per job, though that seemed excessive. Then I estimated salaries for loaders and drivers, taxes, upkeep on the trucks—just a guess, of course—but the best I could make of it was that there might be $60,000 a year from it, and part of that would have to go to the heirs. Perhaps Allen Comming paid himself $50,000. Impossible! I knew very well that Allen and Marti Comming had a life-style that would require more than that. It couldn't possibly be derived altogether from Borderville Transfer.
So what were the other Drovers living on? I thought it would be very interesting to know.
As I was searching my desk a few days ago, I found again a scrap of paper upon which on that afternoon I had jotted down the names of each surviving member of the Drover clan and added such addresses as I could find in the telephone book.
Allen Comming, Jr.
713 Deer Run, Borderville, VA
Duncan Yardley
131 Turner's Hill Drive, Borderville, TN
Dr. Anthony Hancock
?
Dorothy and Kenneth Raebon
Hogg's Gap Rt. 3, Mason's Forge,
Bettye VanDyne
TN
Mason's Forge is a crossroad about four miles from the airport.
After my interesting tête-à-tête with Mr. Redloch, I decided Henry Delaporte could take me out to dinner that evening because I was going to spend the afternoon driving around investigating the scale of living of Allen Comming, Duncan Yardley, and Bettye VanDyne and would not have time to prepare a meal.
I lunched on a sandwich and a gulp of instant and drove out to Deer Run in the Pontiac.
Deer Run is a wandering trail of asphalt that continues Hoffman Boulevard, which is quite an impressive avenue and formerly the best area in which to live on the Tennessee side. Some forty years ago a few venturesome souls moved beyond the corporation limits to build expansive dwellings along a farm road that had just been paved.

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