very common. Most properties bequeathed are usually bequeathed to people already living here.”
“I’m just going by what the paper says,” says Mona. “I had a couple of courts say it was all legit back in Texas, and I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing. I understand the will expires in less than a week, too.”
“I see,” says Mrs. Benjamin. Finally she begins to pick through the paperwork. “And you would be Mrs. Bright?”
“Miss. Yes.”
Mona expects her to ask for identification, but she says, “Wait. I remember you… weren’t you in the red car yesterday? At the funeral?”
“Uh, yes. That was me.”
“Ah,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “You were the source of a bit of gossip, my dear.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, these things happen,” says Mrs. Benjamin carelessly. “Honestly, it helped lighten the mood a little.”
“Who passed away, if I might ask?”
“Mr. Weringer.” She looks at Mona like this should mean something. When Mona does not react, she asks, “Did you know him?”
“I just got in last night, ma’am.”
“I see. Well, he was… a very well-respected member of the town. We’ve been all in a tizzy ever since.”
“How’d he die?”
But Mrs. Benjamin has turned her attention to the papers, squinting at the faint, staggered writing. “I don’t recall any Brights ever living here…”
“The original owner was Laura Alvarez.”
“I do not recall any Alvarezes, either,” she says, with an inflection that implies—
and I would
. A thought strikes her, and she peers up at Mona and asks, “Can you please step back a little?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Can you step back? Into the light? So I can see you better.”
Mona obliges her, and Mrs. Benjamin peers at her through her tiny spectacles. Through their lenses the old woman’s eyes appear very far back in her head, like they are too small for their sockets, and she looks at Mona as if searching for something in her face, some familiarity or flaw that would tell her far more about Mona than any crumbling old paperwork.
“Are you really sure about this, my dear?” she asks finally. “You don’t seem like someone who should be here… perhaps you ought to go home.”
“Excuse me?” says Mona, indignant.
“I see,” says Mrs. Benjamin mildly. “Well. If you are sure, then you are sure. Your paperwork seems to all be in order. It shouldn’t be an issue. Let me check a few things.” She stands, smiles at Mona, and hobbles off into the cabinets.
“I am so sorry for my rudeness,” says Mrs. Benjamin’s voice from the back. “You surprised me. We have not had any new arrivals here for years. I should’ve introduced myself—my name is Mrs. Benjamin.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured,” says Mona. “You do all the court work here?”
“I do. There’s not a lot of activity. So I mostly do crosswords, but please don’t tell anyone.” She laughs. Mona suspects it’s a well-worn joke she enjoys trotting out.
“You seem to, uh… have quite a few deer heads in here.”
“Oh, yes. Storage, you see. They used to have them all throughout the courthouse. I am not sure why, but dead things were the primary decoration in Wink for many years. Now I’m stuck with them down here. But they do make me feel a little less lonely on slow days.”
Mona glances into the frozen amber stare of one ratty old buck’s head. She has no idea how anyone could take comfort from such a thing.
There is the sound of old, creaky drawers being pulled. “Larchmont… I believe I know the house, actually,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “It is abandoned.”
“I’ve heard.”
“For a while it wasn’t. After its initial abandonment, possession was ceded to the town. Someone scooped it up and it was rented out to a family who lived there for a short time.”
“But you don’t have
any
record of a previous owner?”
“My records go back to 1978, and indicate it was abandoned,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “But then my predecessor
“I’m just going by what the paper says,” says Mona. “I had a couple of courts say it was all legit back in Texas, and I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing. I understand the will expires in less than a week, too.”
“I see,” says Mrs. Benjamin. Finally she begins to pick through the paperwork. “And you would be Mrs. Bright?”
“Miss. Yes.”
Mona expects her to ask for identification, but she says, “Wait. I remember you… weren’t you in the red car yesterday? At the funeral?”
“Uh, yes. That was me.”
“Ah,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “You were the source of a bit of gossip, my dear.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, these things happen,” says Mrs. Benjamin carelessly. “Honestly, it helped lighten the mood a little.”
“Who passed away, if I might ask?”
“Mr. Weringer.” She looks at Mona like this should mean something. When Mona does not react, she asks, “Did you know him?”
“I just got in last night, ma’am.”
“I see. Well, he was… a very well-respected member of the town. We’ve been all in a tizzy ever since.”
“How’d he die?”
But Mrs. Benjamin has turned her attention to the papers, squinting at the faint, staggered writing. “I don’t recall any Brights ever living here…”
“The original owner was Laura Alvarez.”
“I do not recall any Alvarezes, either,” she says, with an inflection that implies—
and I would
. A thought strikes her, and she peers up at Mona and asks, “Can you please step back a little?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Can you step back? Into the light? So I can see you better.”
Mona obliges her, and Mrs. Benjamin peers at her through her tiny spectacles. Through their lenses the old woman’s eyes appear very far back in her head, like they are too small for their sockets, and she looks at Mona as if searching for something in her face, some familiarity or flaw that would tell her far more about Mona than any crumbling old paperwork.
“Are you really sure about this, my dear?” she asks finally. “You don’t seem like someone who should be here… perhaps you ought to go home.”
“Excuse me?” says Mona, indignant.
“I see,” says Mrs. Benjamin mildly. “Well. If you are sure, then you are sure. Your paperwork seems to all be in order. It shouldn’t be an issue. Let me check a few things.” She stands, smiles at Mona, and hobbles off into the cabinets.
“I am so sorry for my rudeness,” says Mrs. Benjamin’s voice from the back. “You surprised me. We have not had any new arrivals here for years. I should’ve introduced myself—my name is Mrs. Benjamin.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured,” says Mona. “You do all the court work here?”
“I do. There’s not a lot of activity. So I mostly do crosswords, but please don’t tell anyone.” She laughs. Mona suspects it’s a well-worn joke she enjoys trotting out.
“You seem to, uh… have quite a few deer heads in here.”
“Oh, yes. Storage, you see. They used to have them all throughout the courthouse. I am not sure why, but dead things were the primary decoration in Wink for many years. Now I’m stuck with them down here. But they do make me feel a little less lonely on slow days.”
Mona glances into the frozen amber stare of one ratty old buck’s head. She has no idea how anyone could take comfort from such a thing.
There is the sound of old, creaky drawers being pulled. “Larchmont… I believe I know the house, actually,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “It is abandoned.”
“I’ve heard.”
“For a while it wasn’t. After its initial abandonment, possession was ceded to the town. Someone scooped it up and it was rented out to a family who lived there for a short time.”
“But you don’t have
any
record of a previous owner?”
“My records go back to 1978, and indicate it was abandoned,” says Mrs. Benjamin. “But then my predecessor
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