Abigail Browining - Murder Most Merry

“Herbert has never told a lie since he was born,” Paula said. “He’s afraid his mommy might slap his hand.”

“Then he inherited it,” Sue said.

John Franks from the trust department said, “I drove him home two years ago during the bus strike. He lives over in Bultman Village. You know those little bungalows built back in the Roaring Twenties. They looked better then, I imagine. He asked me in, and the old lady served me tea and biscuits. She looked like she was posing for a painting with her knitting. She kept telling me how hard it was to make ends meet and how her husband had been a wonderful man but didn’t have a head for money. No, Herb didn’t have any money then.”

“A rich uncle,” Sue said.

“A man like that with no idea in the world of how to spend money would be lucky enough to have an uncle leave him a bundle,” Dot said.

“Worry not, ladies,” John said. “I see Herb coming now. I’ll just ask him.”

As Herb walked by, he touched his hat. John said, “Sorry to hear about your relative dying like that, Mr. Cubbey. Your uncle, wasn’t it?”

Herb glanced down. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Franks. My family has excellent health, except for my father, of course, and that was years ago. Good night all.”

John watched him until he was out of sight and then he said. “He’s a sly one. If he inherited the money, he’s not telling.”

“He seems to be a very private sort of person,” Sue said.

“He has responsibilities,” Jan said.

“He’s not shy; he’s just a Scrooge,” Paula said.

“Goes home and counts it at night,” Jan agreed. “Won’t let anyone get any use out of it except his mother and what’s she need with the cash?”

“Maybe he just saved that much and decided to give it to his mother,” Sue suggested.

The next morning John steered Sue into Mr. Bridgewright’s office. “Ed, I just want you to know how poorly trained your employee is,” he said grinning.

“What?” Mr. Bridgewright gave his supervisor’s frown.

“I was trying to explain to Susie here that Herb Cubbey could no more save up enough money to give his mom ten thousand dollars than I could convince the trust department to play the ponies. Now I don’t want you giving away any state secrets, but let us put down a round figure for Herb’s salary.” He switched on a calculator and pushed Sue in front. “Look about right, Ed? Now let’s subtract food and clothing for two, house maintenance, and taxes. We can multiply the small remainder by fifty-two weeks in a year. He could save that much, but the canary would have to go hungry. Women just don’t have a head for money. That’s one of the things that’s so charming about them.”

She twisted out of John’s grasp and hurried to the door. “Maybe he made it on Wall Street!”

There was a long silence. “Maybe he did,” Mr. Bridgewright said.

“Several hundred thousand,” John added with awe in his voice.

At the coffee machine that noon Paula touched Herb’s arm. “Would you be willing to give a poor girl like me a little advice, Herb?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Advice. You know—good ideas from your storehouse of wisdom.”

“Certainly,” he said doubtfully.

“What percent of a portfolio should a small investor have in stocks?”

Herb backed away as if she had been making demands on him in a foreign language. “I don’t understand.”

By Christmas Eve most people had concluded that there had been a misunderstanding. Dot said that Herb was probably giving his mother “ten towels and a dollar.”

“Weird present!” Jan said.

“But he can afford it,” Dot said.

But Paula, who wouldn’t let go, cornered him by the drinking fountain. “Is your mother’s present all ready, Herb?” she said.

“All but the signature.”

“Won’t she be surprised by such a large sum of money?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. She’s used to it.” And then Herb smiled. Nobody had seen him really smile before, but they were sure it made him look roguish.

So as Christmas passed, Sue noticed that people’s attitude toward Herb had begun to change. His fearful movements around the bank were clear signs of the secretiveness that had made him his money. His near baldness reminded them of the complete baldness of a TV star. His bow tie was like that of a famous lawyer who had been in the news. His tea drinking was a sign of international tastes.

“How are you doing today, Herb honey?” Paula said each morning.

Jan put forward the theory that Herb was a gambler. “He couldn’t admit to it and still work in a bank, could he?”

Once Sue met Herb by the candy machine in the basement. “I’m sorry for how the others are treating you,” she said. “I feel like I started all this.”

“I don’t mind really. Sue, although I don’t understand a lot that they say to me. John asked me today what I thought of a copper kettle in the third. I don’t know anything about kettles.”

“I wish I could make it up to you in some way,” she said. “Maybe dinner. How about New Year’s?” Then she realized that she was doing exactly what she was apologizing for.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to check with my mother. She usually has some friends over, and she might need me.” He had a surprised, cornered look on his face.

Sue wasn’t sure she wanted to go out with Herb—she was certain she wasn’t going to mention the possibility to anyone—but he was kind and polite, characteristics that made him a good deal more attractive than John Franks or Mr. Bridgewright.

Instead of the gambler’s image fading, it grew, along with that of the Wizard of Wall Street and the fortunate heir. Only Mr. Bridgewright scoffed at the entire question. Later Sue figured that he would have continued to pay no attention if it hadn’t been for her.

“I just want to give you one last opportunity to go out with me on New Year’s, Susie,” he said after calling her into his office.

“No, thank you. I have a date already.” And then before she could clamp her mouth shut, she said, “With Herb!”

The word got around the bank fast. Paula said that Herb might not be much to look at and that his mother might be a millstone, but money made up for a lot of faults.

“We never took you for the greedy type,” Dot teased.

“I’m not going out with him for his money.”

“With a man like him, what else is there?” Paula said.

“I kind of feel sorry for him.”

“You’ll feel sorry for him all right when he starts giving you diamonds.”

For the next two days, Sue noticed Mr. Bridgewright standing at the door to his office watching Herb. When Herb left his window for the men’s room. Bridgewright would make a mark in a notebook. Jan noticed, too. “The man goes to the john more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

John whispered the conclusion first: “Embezzlement!”

“What an awful thing to say,” Sue said.

“First thing you know he’ll figure out a way to steal thousands at once, and he’ll be off to South America,” Paula said.

John laughed. “I can just picture him in a hotel room in Rio wishing he could understand what they were saying on TV.”

“Are you serious?” Sue demanded.

“Bridgewright is,” John said.

“He can’t be.”

“I expect the examiners to swoop down at any moment.”

The next afternoon, December 31st, Bridgewright stepped over to Herb’s cash drawer at the end of the day. “We’re going to have someone else check your drawer tonight, Mr. Cubbey,” he said. A grim-faced young man in a gray suit stood at his elbow.

“Certainly,” Herb said in a voice filled with surprise.

“And Mr. Hamilton wants to see you in his office immediately.” Mr. Hamilton was the bank president.