Miranda James - Classified as Murder

I patted his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring manner and resumed my place near Q. C. Pendergrast. The lawyer scanned the room, evidently watching the behavior of the family as they tried to assimilate the news of Truesdale’s inheritance.

The family obviously never imagined James Delacorte would favor his servant over them. Hubert squawked about a challenge to the will because his uncle had clearly been out of his mind to leave so much money to a mere servant. Stewart echoed him, while Eloise sang to herself. I thought she was singing “Dixie,” but Hubert and Stewart produced so much noise I wasn’t sure.

Daphne lay sobbing on the sofa. Her right arm hung limply off the side, while she had her left thrown back over her head. Cynthia remained aloof, face still to the window.

Neither Hubert nor Stewart showed signs of slowing down, although Daphne’s sobs had turned to whimpers. Eloise was now humming “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

I wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room and get away from these people, but I knew I had to stay. I was getting ready to yell at them to be quiet when Pendergrast beat me to it.

“Quiet. Immediately.” He had an impressive bellow, I’ll say that for him. I thought I heard the windows rattle as his voice reverberated through the room.

“Sit down, Hubert, Stewart. I’ve had quite enough of this ridiculous display. You can contest this will all you like, but you’ll only end up spending every last dime you have, all to no avail. James was of sound mind and body when he made this will, and it’s witnessed by the mayor and a state senator. Do you really fancy your chances at breaking it?” He chuckled. “I’d almost like to see you try.”

I was not surprised when neither Stewart nor Hubert could form a reply.

The lawyer consulted his papers again. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Truesdale inherits the bulk of the estate for his lifetime, as well as the house, excepting certain legacies that I’m about to detail for you.”

He turned a page. “The contents of my rare book collection will be donated to the library of Athena College. I have already set aside funds for the care and processing of my collection by the library.”

Daphne sat up, her face tearstained and swollen. “I can’t believe my brother cared more for his stupid old books than he did his own sister. May he roast in hell for treating me so badly.”

Pendergrast continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “In a codicil to his will, James named Charles Harris as my coexecutor. He also charged Mr. Harris with carrying out an inventory of his collection, for which task he will be remunerated.”

All eyes in the audience, even those of Cynthia Delacorte, focused on me. I smiled as pleasantly as I could, but if Pendergrast was expecting me to address the family, he was doomed to disappointment.

The family did nothing except stare at us, and after a moment the lawyer continued. “Mr. Harris will resume work on the inventory as soon as the authorities allow access to the library. He will be assisted by his son, Sean Harris. They will very likely be accompanied by a cat and a dog. I’m sure no one will object to that. Mr. Harris assures me that the animals will cause no damage, nor will they trouble any of you.”

Pendergrast’s tone, while civil, inferred that he would brook no opposition to his statement. Hubert opened his mouth to say something, but when the lawyer glared in his direction, Hubert closed his mouth and sulked.

“I have a question.” Stewart scowled as he addressed the lawyer. “From what you said, Truesdale inherits the estate and the house, but for his lifetime. What happens to it all when he dies?” His eyes narrowed as he regarded the servant.

“An excellent question.” Pendergrast nodded. “Upon the death of the chief legatee”—he consulted the will—“the house becomes the property of the Athena County Historical Society, and the remaining funds will ensure the maintenance and preservation of the house and its contents.”

I figured it was a good thing for Truesdale that the house and the money didn’t revert to the family on his death, because to judge by the looks he’d been getting from Hubert, Stewart, and Daphne, he probably wouldn’t have lived long enough to enjoy his legacy.

Word that everything would go to the historical society, however, set both Hubert and Stewart off again. They were still ranting as they stalked from the room. Cynthia headed after them. When she reached the door, she turned and paused for a moment.

“Does this mean you won’t be seeing to lunch, Truesdale?” The cool, amused tone was at odds with the rigid set of her features. Not waiting for a response, she disappeared into the hallway.

Truesdale seemed incapable of motion. I wondered whether he even heard Cynthia’s barbed comment.

Daphne sat on the sofa, gazing blankly into space. Eloise had at last stopped humming and singing.

“I believe we are done here, Charlie.” Pendergrast turned to me with a wry smile. “I’ll check with Deputy Berry to find out when you’ll be allowed back in the library. I’m meeting her here in about twenty minutes. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to the job and finish it soon.” He nodded in the direction of Daphne and Eloise, and I understood him perfectly.

He was right. I would be thrilled to complete my job and not have to deal with this lunatic family any more than I had to. Eloise alone was enough to give anyone the willies. Dressing in long-outmoded clothing, making remarks that made her sound like a complete loony tune—I felt really sorry for her.

Pendergrast approached Truesdale and laid a hand on his shoulder. Truesdale started at the lawyer’s touch and gazed up at him.

“We have some business to discuss when you’re up to it. Sometime this week, if possible.” Pendergrast spoke to the servant kindly, because it was obvious Truesdale was still trying to take it all in.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Truesdale stood. He wobbled slightly but then took a deep breath and steadied himself.

“In the meantime, Mr. Harris here is going to need your assistance. He has a job to do, and I know you helped James with his collection.”

A shadow passed across Truesdale’s face. “That I did, sir. We spent many an hour working together, caring for it and cataloging it.” He looked down for a moment. “I don’t quite know what I shall do without him. I was with him for forty-three years, you see. Ever since I was twenty-seven.”

At least one person in this house appeared to mourn James Delacorte, I thought, as Truesdale offered a tremulous, fleeting smile.

“Yes, well.” Pendergrast was obviously uncomfortable in the face of Truesdale’s restrained display of emotion. The antics of the Delacorte clan hadn’t fazed him, as far as I could tell, but the servant’s simple statement of loss was making him squirm.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Truesdale,” I said. “I knew James Delacorte only casually, but I liked him.”

“Thank you, sir.” Truesdale’s eyes glistened. He plucked a handkerchief from an inner pocket of his jacket and dabbed at his eyes.

“I’m expecting Deputy Berry here soon,” Pendergrast said. “I’ll meet with her in here, while Charlie, his son, and my daughter continue to use the smaller parlor, if you have no objection.”

“Certainly, sir,” Truesdale said. “Whatever you wish.”

I didn’t think Truesdale caught on to the fact that the lawyer was consulting him as the owner of the house, rather than as its chief servant.

“Why don’t you go and have some time to yourself?” Pendergrast suggested.

Truesdale nodded. “Yes, sir, I believe I shall.”

When the door closed behind him, Pendergrast spoke. “Let’s go check on the young’uns and make sure they haven’t done each other lasting damage.” He chuckled. “I think that son of yours has gotten under Alex’s skin, and that’s a good thing.”