Authors: James Grippando
The kitchen smelled of corned beef and cabbage. So did the dining room. The living room, too. The whole house smelled of it. It was a Duffy family tradition going back as far as Ryan could remember, which was his grandfather’s funeral. Just as soon as the body was in the ground, they’d file back to the house and stuff themselves, as if to prove that nothing was depressing enough to ruin a good meal. Somebody always brought corned beef and cabbage. Hell, anyone who could turn on an oven brought corned beef and cabbage.
Dad didn’t even like corned beef and cabbage.
Not that it mattered. Dad was gone. Forever.
“Your father was a good man, Ryan.” It was Josh Colburn, the family lawyer. He’d been
every
family’s lawyer for the last fifty years. He was no Clarence Darrow, but he was an honest man, an old-school lawyer who considered the law a sacred profession. It was no wonder his dearly departed client’s last will and testament had made no mention of the stash in the attic. Colburn was the
last
person Dad would have told.
He was back in the buffet line before Ryan could thank him for the kind words.
Apart from the guests’ black attire, the post-cemetery gathering had lost any discernible connection to a funeral. It had begun somberly enough,
with scattered groups of friends and relatives quietly remembering Frank Duffy. As the crowd grew, so did the noise level. The small groups expanded from three or four to six or eight, until the house was so crowded it was impossible to tell where one group left off and the other started. The food had broken whatever ice remained—tons of food from mutton to whitefish, dumplings to trifle. Before long, someone was playing “Danny Boy” on the old upright piano, and Uncle Kevin was pouring shots of Jameson’s, toasting his dearly departed brother and days gone by.
Ryan didn’t join in. He just kept moving from room to room, knowing that if he stood still he’d be locked in conversation with someone he had no interest in talking to. In fact, he had no interest in talking to anyone. Except his mother.
Ryan had been watching her closely all day, ever since that eulogy that had moved everyone to tears—everyone but Jeanette Duffy. She had a detached look about her. In some ways it seemed normal. She wouldn’t be the first widow to walk numbly through her husband’s funeral. It was just so unlike his mother. She was an emotional woman, the kind who’d seen
It’s a Wonderful Life
at least fifty times and still cried every time Clarence got his wings.
Ryan caught her eye from across the room. She looked away.
“Eat something, Ryan.” His aunt was pushing a plate of food toward him.
“No, thanks. I’m not really hungry.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Really, I’m not hungry.” Through the crowd, he tried to catch his mother’s eye again, but she wouldn’t look his way. He glanced down at his
four-foot-ten-inch aunt. “Aunt Angie, does Mom seem okay to you?”
“Okay? I guess so. This is a very tough time for her, Ryan. Your father is the only man she ever—you know. Loved. What they had was special. They were like one person.”
He glanced at his mother, then back at his aunt. “I don’t suppose they would have kept any secrets from each other, would they?”
“I wouldn’t think so. No, definitely not. Not Frank and Jeanette.”
Ryan was staring in his mother’s direction, but he’d lost focus. He was deep in thought.
His aunt touched his hand. “Are you all right, darling?”
“I’m fine,” he said vaguely. “I think I just need some air. Will you excuse me a minute?” He started across the living room, toward the front door, then stopped. He sensed his mother was watching. He turned and caught her eye. This time she didn’t look away.
Ryan worked his way back through the crowd toward the dining room. His mother was standing at the head of the table full of food, busily cutting a piece of corned beef into toddler-sized pieces for some youngster. He stood right beside her, laid his hand on hers, speaking in a soft voice. “Mom, I need to talk to you in private.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She smiled nervously. “But the guests.”
“They can wait, Mom. This is important.”
She blinked nervously, then laid down the carving knife beside the plate of bite-size beef. “All right. We can talk in the master.”
Ryan followed her down the hall. The door flew open as they reached the master suite. An old man came out, zipping his fly.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Damn prostate, you know.” He hurried away.
They entered together. Ryan closed the door, shutting out the noise. Like his own old bedroom, the master was a veritable time capsule, complete with the old sculptured wall-to-wall carpeting and cabbage rose wallpaper. The bed was the old four-poster style, so high off the floor it required a step-stool to get into it. He and his sister Sarah used to hide beneath it as kids. Dad would pretend he couldn’t find them, even though their giggling was loud enough to wake up the neighbors. Ryan shook off the memories and checked the master bathroom, making sure they were alone. His mother sat in the armchair in the corner beside the bureau. Ryan leaned against the bedpost.
“What’s on your mind, Ryan?”
“Dad told me something the night before he died. Something pretty disturbing.”
Her voice cracked. “Oh?”
He started to pace. “Look, there’s really no delicate way to put this, so let me just ask you. Did you know anything about some kind of blackmail Dad might have been involved in?”
“Blackmail?”
“Yes, blackmail. Two million dollars, cash.” Ryan checked her reaction, searching for surprise. He saw none.
“Yes, I knew.”
He suddenly stopped pacing, stunned. “You knew
what
?”
She sighed. It was as if she were expecting this
conversation, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. “I knew about the money. And I knew about the blackmail.”
“You actually let him do it?”
“It’s not that simple, Ryan.”
His voice grew louder. “I’m all ears, Mom. Tell me.”
“There’s no need for that tone.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that we haven’t exactly lived like millionaires. Now Dad’s dead, I find out he was a blackmailer, and there’s two million dollars in the attic. Who in the heck was he blackmailing?”
“That I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He never told me. He didn’t want me to know. That way, if anything ever went wrong, I could honestly tell the police I didn’t know anything. I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you were happy to reap the benefits.”
“No, I wasn’t. That’s why the money’s still in the attic. To me, it was tainted. I would never let your father spend a penny of it. Your father and I had some doozy fights over this. I even threatened to leave him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked at him curiously, as if the question were stupid. “I loved him. And he told me the man deserved to be blackmailed.”
“You believed him?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s it? Dad says the guy deserved it, so you let him keep the money. But you wouldn’t let him spend it. That’s crazy.”
She folded her arms, suddenly defensive. “We reached a compromise. I didn’t feel comfortable
spending the money, but your father thought you and your sister might feel differently. So we agreed that he would keep it hidden until he died. Then we’d leave it up to you and Sarah to decide whether you wanted to keep it, leave it, burn it—whatever you decide. It’s yours. If you can spend it in good conscience, you have your father’s blessing.”
Ryan stepped to the window, looking out to the backyard. Uncle Kevin was organizing a game of horseshoes. He spoke quietly with his back to his mother. “What am I supposed to say?”
“It’s your call—yours and Sarah’s.”
He turned and faced her, showing no emotion. “Guess it’s time I had a little talk with my big sister.”
The Crock-Pot discovery had Amy in high gear. Just to be safe, she didn’t want to use the law firm’s computers or phones for the follow-up on Jeanette Duffy. A run through her standard Internet search engines on her home computer, however, had turned up hundreds of Jeanette Duffys nationwide, with nothing to distinguish any one of them as the possible sender. So she went to the University of Colorado law library for more sophisticated computerized capabilities. She wasn’t technically a student yet, but a sweet smile and a copy of her acceptance letter for the fall class was good enough to gain access to the free Nexis service, which would allow her to search hundreds of newspapers and periodicals.
She figured she’d limit the search to Colorado initially, then expand out from there, if necessary. She typed in “Jeanette Duffy” and hit the search button, then chose the most recent entry from a chronological listing of about a dozen articles.
The blue screen blinked and displayed the full text of an article from yesterday’s
Pueblo Chieftain
. Amy half expected to find that someone named Jeanette Duffy had just embezzled two hundred thousand dollars from the First National Bank of Colorado.
Instead, she found an obituary.
“Frank Duffy,” it read, “62, longtime resident of Piedmont Springs, on July 11, after a courageous battle with cancer. Survived by Jeanette Duffy, his wife of 44 years; their son, Ryan Patrick Duffy, M.D.; and their daughter, Sarah Duffy-Langford. Services today, 10
A.M
., at St. Edmund’s Catholic church in Piedmont Springs.”
Amy stared at the screen. A death made sense of things. Perhaps the two hundred thousand dollars was some kind of bequest. She printed the article, then logged off the computer, headed for the pay phone by the rest rooms, and dialed home.
“Gram, do you remember the exact day our little package was delivered?”
“I told you before, darling. I wasn’t there when it came. It was just waiting on the doorstep.”
“Think hard. What day was it when it just showed up?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But it was right after you left. No more than a couple days.”
“So, definitely more than a week ago?”
“I’d say so, yes. Why do you ask?”
She hesitated, fearing her grandmother’s wrath.
“I’ve been doing a little investigating.”
“Amy,” her grandmother said, groaning.
“Just listen. The money came in an old box for a Crock-Pot, right? Well, I took the serial number from the box and found out that the Crock-Pot belonged to Jeanette Duffy. Turns out there’s a Jeanette Duffy in Piedmont Springs whose husband died five days ago.”
“Don’t tell me. They buried him in a Crock-Pot.”
“Stop, Gram. I think I’m on to something. The obituary said he had a courageous battle with cancer. That means he knew he was dying. He could have sent it to me before his death. Or his wife
could have sent it. Like a secret bequest or something that he didn’t want their children to know about.”
“Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions here?”
“Not really. All my fears about possible criminal connections seem off the mark, the more I think about it. Criminals wouldn’t send money in a Crock-Pot box. No offense, Gram, but that sounds like something an old man or woman would do.”
“So, what are you going to do now? Call this Jeanette Duffy just a few days after her dead husband is laid in the ground? Please, give the poor woman some time to grieve.”
“Gosh, I hate to lose any time.”
“Amy,” she said sternly. “Show some consideration.”
“Okay, okay. I gotta run. Love to Taylor.” She hung up, tempted to snatch the phone right back and call Jeanette Duffy. But Gram was right. It was conceivable that Jeanette Duffy’s husband had sent the money without his wife’s knowledge. Or Amy could have the wrong Jeanette Duffy entirely. Either way, it would be cruel to confront a recent widow with a discovery like this. She checked the obituary again. A sly smile came to her face as she hurriedly dialed directory assistance.
“Piedmont Springs,” she said into the phone.
“Yes, I’d like the number and the address for Ryan Duffy, M.D.” She smirked as she jotted down the information.
The widow was off limits. But the son was fair game.
“We’re rich!”
Sarah Langford’s face beamed with excitement as she spoke. His sister would have leapt from her chair, thought Ryan, had she not been eight months pregnant.
Sarah was just five years older than Ryan, but to him she had always seemed old. In grade school, her beehive hairdo and sixties-style cat’s-eye glasses made her look more matronly than their own mother. Kids used to tease that Ryan was prettier than his sister, more a slap to her than a compliment to him. Sadly, she hadn’t really changed much over the past three decades, save for the gray hair, crow’s feet around the eyes, and additional poundage. Sarah had been big before getting pregnant, which made her eighth month look more like her twelfth.
“Two million bucks!” She was literally squealing with delight. “I just can’t
believe
it!”
They were alone in Ryan’s old room. Their mother was downstairs with a handful of relatives who had decided to make dinner out of the leftovers from this afternoon’s post-service feast. Ryan was sitting on the bed. Sarah had squeezed into the nicked and scratched Windsor chair from his old desk. There had been no option but to tell her. Half the money was rightfully hers. Still, he
hadn’t expected her to go giddy on him. At least not on the very same day their father had been buried.
“Easy, Sarah. There is a catch.”
Her excitement slowly faded. “A catch?”
“It’s not really found money, so to speak. At best, it’s tainted.”
“In what way?”
“Dad got it by blackmailing somebody.”
Her eyes widened once again, this time with anger. “If this is your idea of a joke, I’m—”
“It’s no joke.” In minutes, he explained all he knew—in particular, how neither he nor their mother knew who had paid the money. “The only thing he told Mom was that the guy deserved to be blackmailed.”
“Then we deserve to keep it.”
“Sarah, we don’t know that.”
“What do you want to do, give it back?”
He said nothing.
His sister shot him a troubled look. “You can’t be serious.”
“I just want to get some basic questions answered before we do anything. For all we know, Dad extorted some poor old fart for every cent he was worth. Or maybe he was forced to steal to meet Dad’s demands. And what horrible thing did this guy do in the first place to make him vulnerable to blackmail?”
“Don’t you think we owe it to our father to trust his judgment on those questions?”
“Hell, no. I loved Dad, but the bottom line is, he was a blackmailer. Morality aside, this money raises some serious legal problems. If the IRS or FBI gets wind of the fact that Dad somehow came into two million dollars without winning the Lotto, some
one—namely
us
—is going to have some serious explaining to do.”
“Fine. Then give me my million, and you can do whatever you want with yours. I’ll take my chances. But from where I sit, it seems like lawyers are pretty damn good at keeping millionaires out of trouble.”
“I don’t want to fight with you over this. We need a plan, one we both can stick to.”
She struggled for a deep breath, shifting her pregnant body awkwardly in her chair. The slightest movement seemed to bring on discomfort. “Damn it, Ryan. You’ve got my hemorrhoids flaring up.”
“I’ll write you a prescription,” he said dryly.
“Wouldn’t do any good. I couldn’t afford to get it filled. Look at the realities, Ryan. It’s been a tough year for the whole family. On top of Dad’s doctor bills, pretty soon we’re going to have to figure out a way to take care of Mom. She depended on Dad for everything, so you can bet she’ll look to us now. You’re in the middle of a divorce, and even though Liz has been acting pretty civil toward the family, I think it says something that she didn’t come to the funeral. From what I hear, she’s gone out and hired a shark of a Denver divorce lawyer who has a reputation for leaving husbands flat broke.”
“Sarah, I can deal with my own problems.”
“Well, I’ve got problems of my own. At my age, it ended up costing me and Brent a fortune to get pregnant. All these fertility drugs aren’t cheap. We’re up to our eyeballs in debt, and the baby isn’t even born yet. And the way Mom keeps nagging, I shouldn’t have to remind you that Brent hasn’t worked since they closed down the plant.”
“You think two million dollars can solve the world’s problems?”
“No. But it can solve
ours.”
“It might create more problems than it solves.”
“Only if you let it, Ryan. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my million dollars.”
He shook his head. “We can’t split it up until we have an agreement on what we’re going to do with it.”
“It’s my money. I’ll do what I want.”
“We have to stick together on this. There’s all kinds of issues to resolve. Not the least of which is possible estate tax.”
“Jeez, Ryan. Just take the money, and be happy.”
“I’m the executor of the estate. It’s my neck on the line. Blackmail is illegal, you know. We’re talking about receiving the proceeds of criminal activity. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it the right way.”
“And what is the right way?”
“I’ll keep the money hidden until we find out who Dad blackmailed and why. In the meantime, we tell no one about it. Not Liz. Not Brent. That way, the secret won’t slip out and the IRS won’t come crashing down on our heads. In the end, if we’re satisfied that Dad was right—if the man did deserve to be blackmailed—then we’ll keep it.”
“And if he didn’t deserve it?”
“Then we make a two-million-dollar anonymous donation to charity.”
“Get outta town!”
“That’s the deal, Sarah.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“I don’t want to be a bully about this, but you don’t know where the money is. I do. If anybody gets greedy, I’ve already picked out a very deserving charity.”
“Shit, Ryan. That’s like extortion.”
“It must run in the family.”
She made a face.
“So,” he said. “We tell no one, not even Liz or Brent.
Especially
not Liz or Brent. Till I find out the truth. Do we have a deal?”
“I guess so,” she said, grumbling.
“Good.” He rose to help his sister from the chair. She waved him off, refusing his offer. He stepped aside as she waddled toward the door. He scratched his head and watched, wondering if the compromise was the right thing to do—and questioning the strength of Sarah’s commitment.
Ryan knew his sister was angry. She left the house immediately after their conversation, barely taking the time to say goodbye to their mother. He didn’t see any point in chasing after her. They’d each had their say. Hopefully she’d cool down on her own.
His mother and aunts were bouncing back and forth between the kitchen and dining room cleaning up. Staying busy was certainly one way to stave off the loneliness, the crying jags. Ryan escaped to the family room and switched on the evening news. A flood in India had killed eighty-six people. A convenience store clerk had been shot to death in Fort Collins.
A working stiff in Piedmont Springs just died in his sleep.
The last one didn’t make the news. No violence, no fascination, no news.
Should have jumped off a building, Dad.
Ryan paused, wondering if his father had succumbed to the thinking that a life wasn’t worthy unless it was
news
worthy. Dad had always short-changed his own accomplishments, never fully seeing the beauty in the way he made others feel good about themselves, one person at a time. Most
people didn’t think the cashier at the grocery store or the gas station attendant were worth their time. Frank Duffy knew their names, and they knew his. He had the magic touch with everyone.
That
was something to be proud of. Yet Ryan remembered back in high school, when his acceptance letter had come from the University of Colorado. The first Duffy to go to college. His father had been more excited than anyone, embracing him so hard he’d nearly cracked a rib as he whispered in Ryan’s ear, “Now the Duffys finally have something to be proud of.” At the time, Ryan had thought it sad that his father didn’t feel the pride he rightfully should have felt. Now he could only wonder what secrets had made him feel so ashamed.
The news was turning to sports when Ryan heard a knock on the front door. He rose from the couch and answered it.
“Liz,” he said with surprise.
His wife stood in the doorway, tentative. “Can—can I come in?”
He stepped aside awkwardly. “Of course. Come in.”
Liz was wearing a casual print sundress, not exactly mourning attire. It showed the figure she’d worked hard to maintain. She’d changed her hair, Ryan noticed. It was lighter, more blonde, making her eyes seem greener, her legs more tan. Physical attraction had never been the problem in their marriage. Maybe it was a classic case of wanting what you can’t have, but to Ryan his wife had never looked better than in the last seven weeks, since she’d told him she was filing for divorce.
“Can I get you something?” asked Ryan. “Lots of food left. You know how funerals are in the Duffy family.”
“No, thanks.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised. Liz never ate, it seemed, never needed sustenance. Eight years of marriage and he never did find that battery she must have run on.
Liz said, “Can we talk for a minute?”
She seemed to be shying from the noise in the kitchen. Ryan quickly surmised her visit wasn’t family-oriented. She wanted some privacy. “Not to push you out the door,” he said, “but how about the porch?”
She nodded, then led the way to the big covered wood porch that extended across the front of the house, overlooking the lawn. Ryan closed the door behind them. He started toward the wicker love seat near the picture window, but they both stopped short, thinking twice. Too many memories there, watching sunsets side by side. Liz took the old rocker. Ryan sat on the porch railing beside a potted cactus plant.
“I’m sorry I missed the funeral,” she said, eyes lowered. “After all these years, I did love Frank. I wanted to go. I just thought it would have been awkward for the family. You, especially.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do. Because I don’t want us to end up enemies.”
“It’s okay. I promise.”
She looked away, then turned her gaze toward Ryan. “I don’t think Frank would want us to be enemies.”
“Dad would want us to stay married, Liz. But this isn’t about what Dad wants.” Ryan paused. His words had sounded harsher than intended. “I do appreciate the way you helped me keep the lid on the divorce around Dad. There really wasn’t any need for him to know.”
She sniffed back a tear, nearly scoffed. It was a hopeless charade Ryan had kept up for the sake of his dying father, never telling him that the marriage was over. “He must have known. For God’s sake, we lived in Piedmont Springs.
Everybody
knew.”
“He never said anything to me. To suggest he knew, I mean.”
“We talked a couple of weeks ago. On the phone.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He didn’t really come right out and say the word ‘divorce.’ But I think he sensed you and I were having money problems.”
“What did he say?”
“Just before he hung up, he said something like, hang in there. Things will get better for you and Ryan. Money will come soon.”
“Did you ask him what he meant by that?”
“I didn’t push it. At the time, I didn’t see the point.” She paused, as if considering what she was about to say. “But I’ve been thinking about what he said. A lot. I guess that’s why I drove all the way down here to see you.”
Ryan bristled. “What have you been thinking?”
“I thought, if only that were true. If we could solve our money problems, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” She looked up, catching Ryan’s eye.
He blinked. She looked sincere, sounded like she meant what she was saying. Yet he somehow didn’t trust her. Anger swelled inside him. It was the damn money. Either she was after it, and it was making her deceitful. Or she knew nothing about it, and it was making him paranoid.
The damn money
.
“Liz, I’d be lying if I said I’d lost all feelings for you. But I just buried my father today. I can’t get on this emotional roller coaster.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, rising. “I didn’t come here to mess with your head.”
“I didn’t mean to send you away.”
She smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I really should go. Give my love to Jeanette.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek—just a peck, next to nothing.
“Thanks for coming by. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” She headed down the steps and crossed the lawn. With a half-turn she waved goodbye, then got in her car and drove away.
He watched as her taillights faded into the darkness. He was tempted to call her back and tell her about the money. But his sister’s earlier warning echoed in his mind—how Liz had hired herself a shark of a Denver divorce lawyer. Maybe Liz was just fishing for assets, something to report back to her lawyer.
Ryan walked back inside, chiding himself. After coming down hard on Sarah to keep things quiet until they sorted out the truth, there he was ready to tell all to Liz at the first sign of a possible reconciliation. Still, he couldn’t deny his feelings for Liz. What was so awful about a woman who wanted a little financial security?
He went to the living room and picked up the phone, ready to call her answering machine and tell her to call him as soon as she got in. He punched three buttons, then hung up.
Sleep on it,
he told himself.