That was it, thought Sophie. Fear. “And you know nothing else about Ezmer Hawks? His age? His background?”
“All I have is a box number, which, by the way, I gave to Hale that morning. That’s it.”
“You don’t have a short biography? A résumé of some kind?”
Kate stood, once again turning her back to Sophie. “Well,” she said, drifting over to a pile of papers on top of a low file, “yes, I think he sent me something once. I don’t remember where I put it. It was before I had my file system in order. I should ask him about sending another.” She turned around, giving Sophie a sheepish smile. “I look a lot more organized than I am.”
Sophie found that hard to believe. “Could I see the drawings?”
“Sure. Just wait a sec.” She left her mug sitting on the counter and crossed to the back. After rummaging through a group of portfolios, she found the one she wanted. “Okay. Stand over by this easel and I’ll go through them with you.”
Sophie quickly obliged.
Kate lifted the first one up.
Just as Sophie had suspected, the pastel drawing was rather innocent, almost childlike. Nothing very exceptional. The gesture was kind of nice. “Let’s see the next one.”
Kate placed it on the easel.
Again, just a simple, rather silly drawing. After a respectful pause, Sophie said, “Next,” attempting to keep the impatience out of her voice. This time, the picture was definitely an outdoor scene. A vast blue sky above logs and a flame. “Do you really like these?” she asked, trying not to sound judgmental.
“Yes. I think they’re wonderful.”
Well, no accounting for taste.
Kate placed the fourth drawing on the easel.
Another outdoor scene. Lots of pinks and violets. Sophie motioned for her to move on.
“This is the drawing I think you might find interesting.” Kate lifted up the largest one so far.
Sophie’s eyes opened wide. “It’s that sphinx with the fire between its paws!” She stepped closer, unable to take her eyes off it. “How did Hale react when he saw this?”
“The same way he acted the day you were here. And when he saw this one” — she held up an even larger drawing — “he got even more upset.”
“I can see why.” This time the flames held a face. The likeness of a boy. Sophie stared at it for almost a minute before speaking. “You have no idea what it means?”
Kate shook her head.
“Well, the police can’t imagine I made up the note after they see these.”
“Excuse me,” said Kate. “They think you made it up?”
Sophie sipped her coffee. It was almost too cold now to enjoy. “I was afraid they might assume I’d concocted it as a way of taking some of the heat off Rudy. There’s no question now. I’ve never even seen these before. You can swear to that.”
Kate massaged her forehead, a scowl forming.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh … nothing.”
“Come on. Give.”
Kate set the portfolio down, leaning it against a table. “Well, maybe it was a mistake to give that note to the police.”
“Why?”
“Don’t take this wrong, Sophie — and I’ll do anything in my power to make sure nothing comes of it — but even though you haven’t seen these before, I know someone else who has. Someone who’s shown a great deal of interest in them.”
“Who?”
Kate swallowed hard. “Rudy.”
On Wednesday morning, Ivy and Max were shown into a conference room at the offices of Weise & Crawford in downtown Minneapolis. At one end of the long table sat Charles Squire, a tissue held to his nose. He sniffed them a greeting and then blew hard.
“Bad cold?” inquired Ivy, waiting while Max pulled out a chair for her.
“Yes.”
“Pity.” There was no love lost between them, so why pretend now? Max sat next to her, nodding to a man in a postal uniform. “Don,” whispered Ivy, laying her purse on the table. “How … nice to see you … again.” Don Micklenberg was Hale’s only living relative. A nephew by his now-deceased brother. She’d spoken with him briefly at the funeral the day before.
“Good to see you, too,” said Don, his tone hushed. His gaze returned to Max, eyeing his expensive suit.
Ivy could tell he was curious. “This is Max Steinhardt,” she said, deciding it was best not to keep him in suspense. Not that she didn’t enjoy keeping people like Don in suspense. She just didn’t have the energy today. “My doctor.”
Don grunted. “You not feeling well?”
“I’ve had a few problems lately.” She hoped he’d leave it at that. The last thing she needed was his interest in her personal life. It was complicated enough without adding Don, his wife, and his three kids.
“Anything I can do?”
Ivy knew he thought of himself as irresistible to the opposite sex. He’d even made a pass at her once — in the bathroom of his mobile home in Coon Rapids. She banished the repulsive memory from her overburdened mind. “No. That’s why Max is here.”
His head snapped back. Good. She’d put him off. Her eyes traveled down the table to an elderly woman. “Mrs. Malmquist!” she said, unable to hide her surprise. “I didn’t expect —”
“I didn’t, either,” came the gentle reply. “A lawyer called me Monday afternoon and asked me to be present.” Her eyes were puffy and red, a linen handkerchief clasped tightly in one hand.
Ivy continued to stare.
“It’s hard for me to get around these days.” She nodded to the walker standing next to her chair. “My grandson brought me. He’s out in the waiting room.” She hesitated. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Ivy. I hope you’ll … be … all right. I wish I could have made it to the funeral yesterday, but … it was a bad day for me.”
Ivy remembered Betty from years ago when she used to walk her miniature schnauzer in front of their house. She lived in the same neighborhood, though in a much poorer section. She often stopped to talk. Ivy had been fond of the woman. So had Hale. But what the hell was she doing
here
!
“And to think I just saw your husband not two weeks ago.”
Ivy cocked her head. “You did? When was that?”
Betty patted the back of her white hair and looked down at the table. “Oh, he came by quite often. Last time he stopped, he had an entire sackful of presents with him. He was such a kind man. So generous.”
Generous? thought Ivy. Had the old woman had a stroke?
At that moment, Robert Weise entered the room, a portfolio tucked under one arm. “Good morning,” he said, striding to the head of the table and making himself comfortable in one of the chairs. “Everyone is here I see. Good. I think we can begin.”
Charles Squire folded his hands over the table. He stared straight ahead.
Betty placed her hands in her lap and leaned forward ever so slightly.
Don fidgeted with his cap.
Max gave Ivy a knowing nod. Together they sat quietly, calmly, their eyes locked on the lawyer.
Robert Weise pulled out the will and adjusted his glasses. “This shouldn’t take long. I would ask that each of you refrain from talking until I’ve finished. There will be plenty of time once we’re done to explain anything you don’t understand. Are we ready?”
Ivy nodded.
“All right.” He began to read. “‘Article One. I, Hale R. Micklenberg, a resident of the City of St. Paul, County of Ramsey, State of Minnesota, being of sound mind and memory and not acting under duress, menace, fraud, or influence by any person whomsoever, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, and do hereby revoke all former Wills and Codicils of Wills made by me at any time.’ “
Robert Weise peered over his glasses to verify everyone was listening. Assuring himself of rapt attention, he went on. “‘Article Two. I nominate and appoint my assistant, Charles Squire, to be my personal representative, and to act without bond. I direct my personal representative to pay from the residue of my probate estate all of my just debts allowed in the course of administration of my estate, the funeral and burial costs, the expenses of administering my estate, and all estate, inheritance, transfer, succession and legacy taxes and duties occasioned by my death. I further direct that Charles Squire be appointed chairman of the board of International Art Investments, and that he manage this corporation for a period of one year, at a salary of four hundred thousand dollars plus benefits and options. At the end of that year, a vote shall be taken by the stockholders. He may continue or not continue as board chairman at their request.’ “
Ivy gave Max a questioning glance. He shook his head and returned his attention to the lawyer.
“‘Article Three. To Don Micklenberg I leave the sum of twenty thousand dollars. If he precedes me in death, the money shall be distributed equally among his heirs.’ “
Don bristled, hitting the table with his fist. ‘Twenty thousand fucking dollars. Is that all I was worth to the old fart?”
“Shh,” said Charles, giving him a withering stare. “I’d say you did rather well,” adding somewhat snidely, “under the circumstances.” He glanced at the man’s uniform, his eyes lingering on the soiled red, white, and blue shirt.
Betty peered at the interaction from her perch near the front of the room.
“Please,” said Robert Weise, laying his hand flat on the table. “May we continue?” He waited until the room was silent and then went on.
“‘Article Four. To Ivy Micklenberg I leave the sum of one dollar.’ “
Ivy gasped!
“‘If she precedes me in death, the money shall be divided equally among her heirs.’ “
The edges of Charles’s lips curled into a smile.
Ivy grabbed for Max’s hand. “He can’t do that! I’m his wife!”
“Please,” said Robert Weise, looking to Max to quiet her down. “May I continue?”
Max put his arm around Ivy. Since she could feel his body shaking with rage, he was little comfort. She turned and looked him square in the face. His color was ashen.
“‘Article Five. I give and devise all the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, whether real or personal, of whatever nature and wherever situated, to Betty Malmquist. If she does not survive me, I leave such interest to her surviving grandchildren in equal shares.’“
Betty blinked, glancing at Ivy, and then at each succeeding face.
“‘This instrument, consisting of three typewritten pages, each of which has been signed by Hale R. Micklenberg, was on the date thereof signed, published, and declared by said person to be his Last Will and Testament, in our presence, who at his request have subscribed our names as witnesses, in this presence and in the presence of each other.’ Signed, ‘Robert L. Weise and John B. Crawford, attorneys-at-law.’ “
The room was deathly still.
“What does it mean?” asked Betty, her voice like the tinkling of a tiny bell.
“It means, my dear woman,” said Robert Weise, taking off his glasses and laying them on top of the portfolio, “that you have just inherited International Art Investments. In other words, you are now a multimillionaire. Congratulations.”
Betty continued to blink.
“So what do you think?” asked Bram, setting a plate of hummus on the kitchen table. It was Wednesday evening, and he’d promised to prepare dinner. He beamed proudly, pushing a basket of warm pita toward Rudy.
“You made it yourself?” asked Sophie, eyeing it a bit uncertainly.
“Absolutely! I had a woman on my program this morning who had just written a vegetarian cookbook. She gave me the recipe before she left the station.”
“May I see it?”
Bram waved the question away. “It’s all right here,” he said, tapping his forehead.
“You memorized it?”
“Well,” he muttered a bit belligerently, “what’s so hard about hummus? It’s garbanzo beans, tahini, garlic, salt, and olive oil.”
Rudy selected a pita wedge and poked at the edge of the mass with the tip of the bread. “It looks kind of… thick.”
Bram glowered.
“What about the lemon juice?” asked Sophie. She tried to keep her voice neutral.
“What about it? I added several tablespoons, just like the woman said.”
“And how did you thin the mixture down?”
“Thin it? Well, I just kept adding olive oil.” A hand rose to his hip. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Didn’t you use any water?”
“No one said anything about water.”
“Mmm,” said Sophie, giving him a cheerful smile.
“That
mmm
is pregnant with meaning.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” said Rudy, backing away from the table.
“You stay here,” ordered Bram, turning to glare at him. “I want your honest opinion before you leave.”