Adam Canfield of the Slash by Michael Winerip

cemetery had to do was add the expiration date.”
    “Did you go to the funeral?” asked Adam.
    “The hearse driver, a minister, and me — that’s all,” said Mrs. Willard. “From the minister’s speech, I could tell he didn’t know her. There was no write-up in the paper, neither. And that would’ve been the end of the story, except about a year later I get a call from a lawyer, says a Miss Minnie Bloch had named me as executor of her will, asked if I’d come to his office downtown to sign papers.”
    “You saw the will?” asked Adam.
    Mrs. Willard nodded. “You know that woman had five savings accounts and never touched any of them? Lived off the four hundred and fifty dollars she got from Social Security each month.”
    “How much was there?” said Adam.
    “Nearly half a million dollars,” said Mrs. Willard, and glancing at Adam’s face, she added, “Knocked my socks off, too.”
    He wanted to know how Miss Bloch had picked the charities.
    “As best I can tell, most were just places that helped out when she needed them. She left money to the Tremble rescue squad — they took her to the hospital a bunch of times. The volunteer fire department pumped out her basement after a flood. Nurses at the hospital named in Minnie’s will were kind when her brother was dying. The animal shelter —”
    “That one I know,” said Adam. “How about Harris?”
    “Well,” said Mrs. Willard, “Minnie had very peculiar ideas about the schools. Since she had no kids, I think all she knew was what she saw on the TV news — teenage suicide, drugs, eating disorders, bomb threats, sexual diseases, guns in the classrooms. She used to say to me, ‘Betty, it’s a miracle those children get out of high school alive.’”
    Mrs. Willard believed that Miss Bloch had picked Harris because Mrs. Willard’s two children — both now grown and moved away — had gone there years ago.
    By now Adam was on his second notepad, scribbling a mile a minute.
    “What’s that, pharmacy writing?” asked Mrs. Willard. “You take shorthand?”
    “Just my own scribble,” said Adam.
    “You can read that?” asked Mrs. Willard. “I’m getting wore out just watching you. Any more questions? I got errands to run.”
    This made Adam nervous. He had been holding the most important questions for last and now worried he might miss his chance.
    “Just a few,” he said, trying to sound casual. He wondered if Mrs. Willard happened to remember how much Miss Bloch left to Harris.
    “I believe it was seventy-five thousand dollars,” she said.
    He wondered if Miss Bloch happened to have included instructions in the will about how the money should be spent.
    “My memory is she left it a little general,” said Mrs. Willard. “Guess she didn’t want to restrict things too much. The will said something about using the money to generally improve the life of deserving children who do not have an easy time of it. To be honest, I think Minnie was thinking of someone like herself when she was a girl.”
    “The money was supposed to be spent on kids?” Adam asked.
    “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Willard. “Definitely for kids. That was the whole idea.”
    Adam needed to see that will. He asked for the lawyer’s name.
    “I should have his card here,” she said, digging through the pile. “Nice old man. Jewish fellar, I think.” She found it, and Adam copied down the name and number.
    “One more thing,” said Mrs. Willard. “Minnie wanted people to know in some little way that the money was from her. Nothing big or showy. But the will says something about giving her recognition — you know, a plaque or a scholarship named for her.”
    “Or a story in the newspaper?” asked Adam.
    Mrs. Willard paused. “I didn’t think of that,” she said. “But, yes, I guess a story in the paper about Minnie’s gift would cover it. That why you’re here?”
    “Yes and no,” said Adam. “Yes and no.”

Adam couldn’t wait to tell Jennifer all the