Рита Браун: Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

“We won’t have the body for at least a week, I would think, Aunt D.” Gray stood in the large well-lighted closet.

“I want to select his clothes while it’s on my mind.” She leaned on her cane, the wheelchair in the living room should she tire.

Sam, allowed to go in to work a few hours late this morning, knelt down in the closet as his aunt shuffled through Mercer’s shined shoes. “Not a speck of dirt, even on the soles,” Sam observed.

“His idol was Cary Grant,” Daniella said with uncharacteristic warmth. “Mercer always said if a man can dress half as well as Cary Grant he’ll be smashing.”

“True,” Gray agreed. “Duke Ellington wasn’t bad either.”

“Those were the days, those were the days,” she intoned with a kind of wonderment. “Gray, I don’t want him buried in a black suit. The undertaker can wear a black suit, not my boy. He needs color. So”—she flicked her cane right under a navy suit, chalk pinstripes—“he always looked good in this and we can use an eggshell white shirt and, oh, the tie, the tie will be what makes it—that—and the pocket square.”

“A rosebud on the lapel,” Sam volunteered.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She liked the idea. “Regimental stripes, so many regimental stripes, but I think for this, his last social occasion, we should use a solid-color silk tie. I say a glorious burnt orange or a cerise. Something that just says ‘Mercer.’ ”

“Right.” Gray, though not a man for a bright tie, did agree. “And the pocket square can be a darker color or a different color. Mercer always said matchups were boring.”

Daniella nodded. “Yes, he did. Now Sam, the rosebud. If we use the cerise tie it could be pink, now that’s bold, I think. If we use the burnt orange then I say a creamy white, not stark, and we won’t know until we go to the funeral home. We’ll have to hold the colors up to his face.”

This thought did not appeal to Mercer’s cousins, but dressing her son was of paramount importance to the ancient lady. They would do it. Both nodded.

A knock on the front door quieted them.

“I’ll get it.” Gray strode out of the room, glad for a moment out of the closet.

Opening the door, Phil—strained, drained, but composed—greeted him. “I thought you all would be here. The cars are here. I came to help.”

The two men walked to the bedroom.

Phil bent down to hug Daniella. “I am so sorry, so very very sorry. Whatever you want, just ask.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

She kissed him and said, “I am not going to cry. Phil, don’t you cry either.”

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a linen handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We are going to celebrate him. Perhaps it’s easier for me because I know I will be joining him before you all do.”

“Auntie D, don’t say that.” Phil’s eyes teared up again.

“It’s the plain truth. The boys are helping me assemble his wardrobe. I think we’ve got it. Sam, why don’t you carry his clothing over to my house? In fact, we can all repair there for a drink and to plan the service.”

“Yes, but while we are here, I thought perhaps I could be of special service,” said Phil. “I know he had quite a few contracts lined up. Usually the bloodline research for the breeding season is over by now so everyone has been billed. But if anything is outstanding, I will call the client.”

Gray nodded his assent. “You know most of them anyway.”

“Do you know where he kept his important papers? You know, insurance, stuff like that?” Sam asked Daniella.

“He used his computer but he backed up every single thing. I told him all he was doing was making extra work. Just stick to the paperwork and throw out the computer.” She paused. “Phil, let Gray call Sheriff Sidell. We want things done properly.”

“Sure,” Phil assented. “Didn’t the sheriff go through his office?”

Daniella nodded. “Yes, but they said they would be back Monday. I guess they’re shorthanded.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know.”

Mercer’s small, bright office was as meticulously planned as his closet, where items were divided by season and color. Seeing the office made Phil dab his eyes again. He got hold of himself.

“All the insurance, car title, and tax returns are in that file cabinet. I know it looks like a pie safe but it’s really his file cabinet. Phil, you know that,” Daniella said.

Having quickly contacted Ben, Gray walked into the office. “Take the billing folder,” Gray said to Phil while looking at his aunt. “Surely there’s some outstanding monies.”

“Mmm,” came her compressed reply as the monies would go to her.

Phil opened the double doors, revealing long, thin editing drawers within. “He was certainly imaginative. Did he take in his papers to the accountant for this year’s taxes—well, last year’s, I mean?”

“Yes, but he made copies of all that, too,” said Daniella. “His billings are in the top drawer, marked. Red means unpaid if there’s a red tab on the folder. Green, paid.” She touched the drawer under that. “He divided his research work up by states. So then he also alphabetized stallions in the drawers. He had cross-references and more cross-references. When a stallion moved, say, to Spendthrift Farm, he kept the former state file, made a new one, plus cited the move in the alphabetized file. His mind was so orderly.”

She ran her forefinger lower. “These drawers here are miscellaneous. In his research he’d find a name from the past, like Foxhall Keene, and he’d put that information here. But everything is clearly marked. Owners files, mare files, progeny files, and percent of winners. All broken down and cross-referenced. Phil, take the billings file, but leave everything else. We can all go over that later.”

“Quite right,” Phil agreed.

“Auntie D, would you like me to take the computer?” asked Sam. “To double-check stuff?”

“No. The Sheriff’s Department had a quick look and will return Monday. I told him Mercer backed up everything but Ben Sidell insisted. I suppose they’re right.” She sighed. “I guess a lot can be hidden in computers, not that he had anything to hide. He was an honest man.”

“I’ll go over everything the minute I get home and bring it all back by Monday,” said Phil. “I’m sure everything is in order but there are always a few laggards when it comes to payments.” He frowned for a second.

As Sam helped Daniella on with her coat, Phil opened the front door. Gray quickly walked back into the office. He opened the pie safe, slid open the miscellaneous drawer, snatched the folder on top, sticking it under his jacket.

Once home, Gray smacked the folder on the kitchen table. “Janie! Janie!”

“In the library.”

“Come here.”

While she walked down the hall he was already recounting what had transpired. “Let’s go over this now.”

“Yes.” Sister needed no prodding.

Gray pulled up a chair next to Sister. They opened the folder.

Golly hopped right onto it. “I love paper,” she purred.

“Golly, get off,” Sister commanded and, of course, the cat paid her no mind. “The things I do to keep peace in this house.”

Golly leapt off as Sister had gotten up to give her tiny dried-liver treats. The aroma brought the dogs; out came large GREENIES. The three pets chewed happily.

Sister sat back down, examining each page or newspaper clipping that Gray now handed her.

“A lot of stuff here on the Aga Khan. His breeding theories.” She looked over the next paper. “The racing stables of King Edward the Seventh.”

“Here you go.” Gray slid over a genetic blueprint for Dixie Do, Mercer’s hunt horse. “One of the Broad Creek Stables horses Phil called back from the western tracks.”