Where There's a Will (4 page)

“Oh, my God!” April blurted. May said quietly, “We should have tied her up.” June arose from her chair and demanded, “Where is she? I'll see her.”

“Please.” Wolfe pushed air down with his palm. “She is calling on me. I'll see her myself—”

“But this is ridiculous.” June stayed on her feet. “She gave us until Monday. She promised to do nothing till then. I left my son and daughter with her to make sure—”

“You left them with her where?”

“At my brother's home. Her home. We all spent the night there—not her home either, that's one reason she's acting the way she is, as a part of the residuary estate it will go to that woman and not to her—but she promised to do nothing—”

“Please sit down, Mrs. Dunn. I'd have to see her anyway, before I could accept this job. Bring Mrs. Hawthorne in, Fritz.”

“There are two ladies and a gentleman with her, sir.”

“Bring them all in.”

F
our people, not counting Fritz, acting as usher, entered the office. Fritz had to bring a couple of chairs from the front room.

I like to look at faces. In a good many cases, I admit, a glance will do me, but usually they have points, of one kind or another, that will stand more of an eye. Andrew Dunn looked like a nice husky kid, with a strong resemblance to pictures I had seen of his father. His sister Sara had her mother's dark eyes of a fighting bird and the Hawthorne forehead, but her mouth and chin was something new. The other girl was a blonde in the bud who would have convinced any impartial jury that all of this great country's anatomical scenery had not been monopolized by Hollywood. Later information disclosed that her name was Celia Fleet and that she was April Hawthorne's secretary.

But though I like to look at faces, and those three were worthy of attention, the one that drew my gaze was the one I couldn't see. The story had it that Noel Hawthorne's arrow which had accidentally struck his beautiful wife had plowed diagonally across from the
brow to the chin, and what was left was there behind that veil—with, it was said, one eye working—and that was what I looked at. You couldn't help it. The gray veil was fastened to her hat and extended below her chin, and was harnessed with a strip of ribbon. No skin was in sight except her ears. She was mediumsized, with what would ordinarily be called a nice youthful figure, only with the veil and knowing why it was there, you didn't have the feeling of anything being nice. I sat and stared at it, trying to ignore an inclination to offer somebody a ten-spot to pull the veil up, knowing that if it was done I'd probably offer another ten-spot to get it pulled down again.

She didn't take the chair I placed for her. She stood there stiff. I had the feeling she couldn't see, but she obviously could. After the greetings, and when I was back in my chair again, I noticed that April's fingers were unsteady as she fumbled for a cigarette. May was looking sweet again, but she was tense. So was June's voice:

“My dear Daisy, this was unnecessary! We were completely candid with you! We told you we were going to consult Mr. Nero Wolfe. You gave us till Monday. There was no reason whatever why you should have any suspicion—Sara, you little devil, what on earth are you doing? Put that away!”

“In a second, Mom.” Sara's tone was urgent. “Everybody sit tight.”

A dazzling flash blinded us. There were ejaculations, the loudest and least gentle from Prescott. I, having bounded up from my chair, stood feeling foolish.

Sara said composedly, “I wanted one of Nero Wolfe
sitting at his desk. Excuse it please. Hand me that dingus, Andy.”

“Go chase a snail. You darned little fool.”

“Sara! Sit down!”

“Okay, Mom. That's all.”

We stopped blinking. I was back in my chair. Wolfe inquired dryly, “Is your daughter a professional photographer, Mrs. Dunn?”

“No. She's a professional fiend. It's this damnable saga of the illustrious Hawthorne girls. She wants to carry it on. She thinks she can—”

“That isn't so! I only wanted a shot—”

“Please!” Wolfe scowled across. Sara grinned at him. He slanted his gaze upward at the veil. “Won't you sit down, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

“I think not, thank you.” Her voice gave me the creeps and made me want to pull the veil off myself. It was pitched high, with a strain in it that gave me the impression it wasn't coming from a mouth. She turned the veil on June:

“So you think my coming was unnecessary? That's very funny. Didn't you leave Andrew and Sara and April's secretary to guard me so I wouldn't interfere with you?”

“No,” June declared, “we didn't. For God's sake, Daisy, be reasonable. We only wanted—”

“I have no desire to be reasonable. I'm not an imbecile, June. It was my face Noel ruined, not my mind.” She whirled, suddenly, and unexpectedly, to the younger sister. “By the way, April, speaking of faces, your secretary is much better-looking than you are. Of course she's only half your age. How brave of you.”

April kept her eyes down and said nothing.

“You can never bear to look at me, can you?” From behind the veil came a terrible little laugh, and then it turned again to June. “I didn't come here to interfere. I came because I'm suspicious and I have cause to be. You are Hawthornes—the notorious Hawthornes. Your brother was a Hawthorne. He assured me many times that I would be generously cared for. His word, generous. I knew he had that woman, he told me so—he was candid too, like you. He gave me, monthly, more money than I needed, more than I could use, to deceive me, to stop my suspicions. And now even my house is not mine!”

“My Lord, don't I know it?” June raised a hand and let it fall. “My dear Daisy, don't I know it? Can't you believe that our one desire, our one purpose—”

“No, I can't. I don't believe a word a Hawthorne says.” The breath of the bitter words was fluttering the veil, but the silk harness held it in place. “Nor you, Glen Prescott. I don't trust you. Not one of you. I didn't even believe you were coming to see this Nero Wolfe, but I find you did.”

She turned to confront Wolfe. “I know about you. I know a man you did something for—I used to know him. I telephoned him today to ask about you. He said you may be relied upon completely in trust, but that as an opponent you are ruthless and dangerous. He said if I asked you point-blank whether you are on my side or not, you wouldn't lie. I came here to ask you.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“No. I only came to ask you that.”

“Then I'll answer it.” Wolfe was brusque. “I'm not on anybody's side. Not yet. I have a violent distaste
for quarrels over a dead man's property. However, I am at the moment badly in need of money. I need a job. If I accept this one, I undertake to persuade Miss Naomi Karn to relinquish a large share, as large a share as possible, of Mr. Noel Hawthorne's legacy to her, in your favor. That's what these people have asked me to do. Do you want that done?”

“Yes. But as my right, not as largess from her. I would prefer to compel—”

“You would prefer to fight for it. But there's the possibility you would lose, and besides, if persuasion doesn't get satisfactory results, you can still fight. You came to see me because you don't trust these people. Is that right?”

“Yes. My husband was their brother. Glenn Prescott was his lawyer and friend. They have tried to cheat and defraud me.”

“And you suspect that they came to get my assistance in further chicanery?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let's dispose of that. I wish you'd sit down.” Wolfe turned to me. “Archie, take this down and type it. One carbon. ‘I hereby affirm that in any negotiations I may undertake regarding the will of Noel Hawthorne, deceased, I shall consider Mrs. Noel Hawthorne as one of my clients and shall in good faith safeguard her interests, and shall notify her in advance of any change in my commitments, semicolon, it being understood that a bill for her share of my fee shall be paid by her. A line for a witness.'”

I swiveled and got the machine up and rattled it off, and handed the original to Wolfe. He read it and signed it and handed it back, and I signed as witness.
Then I folded it and put it in an envelope and offered it to Daisy Hawthorne. The hand that took it was dead-white, with veins showing on the back, and long thin fingers.

Wolfe asked her politely, “Will that do, madam?”

She didn't answer. She took the sheet from the envelope, unfolded it, and read it with her head turned to one side, using, apparently, the left eye only from behind the veil. Then she stuffed it in her bag, turned, and started for the door. I got up and went to open it, but young Dunn was ahead of me, and anyway we were both premature. She altered her course abruptly, and was confronting April Hawthorne, close enough to touch her; but when she lifted her hand it was to take hold of the bottom edge of the veil.

“Look, April!” she demanded. “I wouldn't care to have the others see—but just for you—as a favor, you know, in memory of Leo—”

“Don't!” April screamed. “Don't let her!”

There was commotion. Most of them were out of their chairs. The one who got there first was Celia Fleet, living up to her name. I didn't know a blonde's eyes could blaze the way hers did as she faced the veil. “You do that again,” she said furiously, “and I'll pull that thing off of you! I swear I will! Try it!”

A masculine voice horned in. “Get away from here! Get out!” It was Mr. Stauffer, the chap who kept his face arranged. It was now fierce with indignation, as he shouldered Celia Fleet aside to stand protectively in front of April, who had shrunk back in her seat and covered her face with her hands. The same terrible little laugh came from behind the veil, then Noel Hawthorne's widow turned and started again for the
door. But again, halfway there, she halted to speak, this time to Mrs. Dunn.

“Don't send the brats to guard me, June. I'll keep my word. I'll give you till Monday.”

Then she went. Fritz was there in the hall, looking concerned on account of the scream he had heard, and I was glad to leave it to him to escort her out the front door. That damn veil got on my nerves. As I rejoined the scene, April's shoulders were having spasms and Mr. Stauffer was patting one of them and Celia Fleet the other. May and June were quietly observing the operation. Prescott was mopping his face with his handkerchief. I asked if I should get some brandy or something.

“No, thank you.” May smiled at me. “My sister is always teetering on the edge of things, more or less. I doubt if she could be a good actress if she weren't. It seems that artists have to. It used to be attributed to the flames of genius, but now they say it's glands.”

April's face, pale with revulsion, came into view and she blurted, “Stop it!”

“Yes,” June put in, “I don't think that's necessary, May.” She looked at Wolfe. “I imagine you'll agree I was correct when I said our sister-in-law is implacable.”

Wolfe nodded. “I do. Badly as I need money, I wouldn't attempt to persuade her to relinquish anything. Speaking of money, I have an exaggerated opinion of the value of my services.”

“I know you have. Your bill, if it is short of outrageous, will be paid.”

“Good—Archie, your notebook—Now. You want a signed agreement with Miss Karn. Half of the residuary
estate, more if possible, to Mrs. Hawthorne. In addition to the half million she gets?”

“I don't know—whatever you can.”

“And nine hundred thousand to the Varney College Science Fund?”

“Yes,” May said positively.

“If you can get it, of course,” said June. “Don't let my sister give you the idea that she'll smash the settlement if that isn't in it. She's bluffing.”

May said quietly, “You've been wrong about me before, June.”

“Maybe I have, but not now. Let's jump that fence when we get to it, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Very well. If we can get it, we will. What about you and your sister? What do you want for yourselves?”

“Nothing. We have our fruit.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe looked at May. “Is that correct, Miss Hawthorne?”

“Certainly. I want nothing for myself.”

Wolfe looked at the youngest. “And you?”

“What?” asked April vaguely.

“I am asking, do you demand a share of your brother's estate?”

“Good heavens, no.”

“Not that we couldn't use it,” said June. “April lives at least a year ahead of her income and is in debt to her ears. May washes her own stockings. She never has anything because she gives half her salary to Varney girls who would have to leave college if she didn't. As for me, I have trouble paying the grocery bills. My husband had a good income from his private
practice, but the salary of a secretary of state is pretty skimpy.”

“Then I think we should be able to persuade Miss Karn—”

“No. Don't try it. If my brother had left us something we could certainly have used it—and I suppose we're all surprised that he didn't. But no—no haggling for it. From him direct, yes, but not by way of that woman.”

“If I get it, will you take it?”

“Don't try. Don't tempt us. You know how it is. You're in need of money yourself.”

“We'll see. What about your children?”

“They get a hundred thousand apiece.”

“Is that satisfactory?”

“Of course. My Lord, they're rich.”

“Is anything else wanted from Miss Karn for anyone at all?”

“No.”

Wolfe looked at the lawyer. “What about it, Mr. Prescott? Have you any comments?”

Prescott shook his head. “None. I'm happy to stay as well out of it as I can. I drew the will.”

“So you did.” Wolfe frowned at him, then transferred the frown to June. “So much for that. We'll get all we can. Now what about Miss Karn?”