conversation when sheâd demanded that he run an errand for her on Friday and told him not to expect a tip. âI took your advice,â she said, âand kept track of what I spent.â
Heâd rushed over here, sure of his ability to sweet-talk her, knowing that if she dumped him sheâd have nobody she could order around. . . .
When the coffee was ready, Doug poured a cup, went back into the bedroom and dressed. As he knotted his tie, he surveyed himself critically in the mirror. He looked good. The facials heâd started having with the money he pilfered from Ethel had cleared up his skin. Heâd also found a decent barber. Thetwo suits heâd bought recently fitted him the way clothes were supposed to fit. The new receptionist at Cosmic had big eyes for him. He had let her know that he was only doing this crummy desk job because he was writing a play. She knew Ethelâs name. âAnd youâre a writer, too,â sheâd breathed in awe. He wouldnât mind bringing Linda here. But he had to be careful, for a while at least. . . .
Over a second cup of coffee, Doug methodically went through the papers in Ethelâs desk. There was one cardboard expansion folder marked âImportant.â As he flipped through it, his face drained of color. That old windbag Ethel had blue-chip stocks! She had property in Florida! She had a million-dollar insurance policy!
There was a copy of her will in the last section of the folder. He couldnât believe his eyes when he read it.
Everything. Every single dime she had had been left to him. And she was worth a bundle.
Heâd be late for work, but it didnât matter. Doug restored his clothes to the back of the chaise, made the bed carefully, got rid of the ashtray, folded a quilt, a pillow and sheets on the couch to suggest heâd slept there, and wrote a note: âDear Aunt Ethel. Guess youâre on one of your unexpected trips. Knew you wouldnât mind if I continue to bunk on the couch until my new place is ready. Hope youâve been having fun. Your loving nephew, Doug.â
And that establishes the nature of our relationship, he thought as he saluted Ethelâs picture on the wall by the front door of the apartment.At three oâclock on Wednesday afternoon, Neeve left a message at Tse-Tseâs answering service. An hour later, Tse-Tse phoned. âNeeve, we just had a dress rehearsal. I think the play is great,â she exulted. âAll I do is pass the turkey and say, âYah,â but you never know. Joseph Papp might be in the audience.â
âYouâll be a star yet,â Neeve said, meaning it. âI canât wait to brag âI knew her when.â Tse-Tse, I have to get back into Ethelâs apartment. Do you still have her key?â
âNobodyâs heard from her?â Tse-Tseâs voice lost its lilt. âNeeve, thereâs something weird going on. That nutty nephew of hers. Heâs sleeping in her bed and smoking in her room. Either he doesnât expect her back or he doesnât care if she tosses him out on his ear.â
Neeve stood up. Suddenly she felt cramped behind her desk, and the samples of gowns and purses and jewelry and shoes strewn about her office seemed terribly unimportant. Sheâd changed to a two-piece dress from one of her newest designers. It was a pale-gray wool with a silver belt that rested on her hips. The tulip skirt barely skimmed her knees. A silk scarf in tones of gray, silver and peach was knotted at her neck. Two customers had ordered the outfit when they saw her wearing it on the sales floor.
âTse-Tse,â she asked, âwould it be possible for you to go to Ethelâs apartment again tomorrow morning? If sheâs there, fine. Admit you were worried about her. If the nephew is around, could you say that Ethel wanted you to do some extra work, clean out the kitchen cabinets or
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
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