“Full charge, yes,” Cummings said. “And I must admit that I didn’t think that was very wise. But as you know, Mr. Clemons, the law is the law. And in matters of this kind it is explicit. At eighteen, Angelica assumed full control of her entire inheritance. That’s that.”
Frank nodded. “When did you see her last?”
“On her birthday, as you might expect,” Cummings told him.
“When was that?”
“June seventeenth.”
“Here in your office?”
“That’s right. My legal connection to Angelica ended at that time. And, of course, there was no personal connection.”
“How did you happen to become her guardian?”
“I was named executor of the estate left at the death of Angelica’s parents.”
“Why?”
“I was a friend of her father.”
“And that was your only personal connection?”
“Yes. Angelica was, as you will probably discover, a somewhat headstrong person. I think she always rather resented my guardianship. She certainly severed it at her first opportunity.”
“Which was her eighteenth birthday.”
“Yes,” Cummings said. “I must say that I’m sorry Angelica and I never developed any kind of rapport.” He smiled quietly. “But that’s rather the way of things. I mean, I was the wall that kept her from her money.”
“How old was she when her parents died?”
“Five years old,” Cummings said. “Karen was almost eighteen. They never lived with anyone else. They simply lived together in that enormous house.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why. But I did try to be more than simply a financial advisor. They were young girls. They needed a father. I suppose I made certain efforts to play that role.”
“But they never accepted you?”
“No, they didn’t,” Cummings said. “Of course, that wasn’t entirely their fault. After all, I couldn’t be much of a father. I don’t know how to be one.”
“You don’t have any children?” Frank asked.
“I have three,” Cummings said, “but I rarely see them. They live at home with my wife.” He lifted his arms slowly. “And I live here.” He allowed his arms to drift back slowly toward the desk. “I learned a long time ago that you cannot make people love you. You cannot even make them seek your counsel.” He pushed a polished wooden box across the desk. “Would you like a cigar?”
“No.”
Cummings took out one for himself and lit it. “I deal with the law. It’s something I can understand. People? They are a mystery to me.”
“Was Angelica a mystery?”
“One of the deeper ones,” Cummings said. “Have you learned much about her?”
“I’m only beginning.”
“There may be nothing to learn,” Cummings said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I’m no great judge of character, but I do know when there’s nothing there, when someone is rather empty.”
“Was Angelica like that?”
“She seemed unformed,” Cummings said. “That was my only impression.”
“Did you know that she was pregnant?”
For a moment Cummings did not answer. His eyes grew almost childlike, wondering. “Yes,” he said. “I could hardly have been more surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because of exactly what I mentioned,” Cummings said. “The fact that she seemed so unformed. I could not imagine her making love. So beautiful, yes. Very desirable, no doubt. But actually making that flesh-and-blood decision, and then going through with it? I couldn’t imagine Angelica doing that.” He smiled gently. “I can’t imagine that it was pleasurable for her.”
It seemed so odd a comment that Frank wrote it down in his notebook.
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in what I say, however,” Cummings added dismissively. “I’m not a very good student of mankind.”
“How did you know she was pregnant?”
“She told me.”
“When.”
“On June seventeenth, when she came to take control of her inheritance. It was one of the reasons she gave me for wanting full control of her assets. She planned to keep the baby, or so she said. She wanted to support it herself.”
“She planned to keep it?”
“Yes,” Cummings said.
“You didn’t get the impression that she was going to get an abortion?”
“No, why?”
“Well, one idea is that she died while trying to give herself one.”
Cummings laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“My God, if Angelica had wanted an abortion, she could have gotten one from the finest doctors in the world,” Cummings said. He leaned forward slightly. “We’re talking about a very wealthy young woman.”
Frank wrote it down.
“Did she mention an abortion at all?”
“No,” Cummings said. “She said that she planned to have the baby, raise it herself, and at the same time—we’re talking about a young girl here—she was going off to New York to be an actress.”
“New York City?”
“That’s right, that paradise for exiles,” Cummings said. “She was going there.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“Not really. She was drifting, I could tell.”
“In what way?”
Cummings tapped his head. “In here. She was drifting inside her mind.” He shook his head. “I don’t think she had much to stand on, but I think, in whatever naive way she could, she loved that unborn child.” He was silent for a moment, his eyes gazing at his hands. “Who knows about Angelica’s death?” he asked, after a moment.
“Her sister. You.”
“Her killer,” Cummings added quietly.
“Yes,” Frank said, sure for the first time that there was one.
Cummings shook his head. “They’ve been through so much, those two. First the plane crash, now this.” His eyes drifted for a moment, then returned to Frank. “She’s all alone now, Karen.”
“Yes.”
“Angelica’s money will go to her, of course.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I doubt that Angelica had a will,” Cummings said. “She’d had to have made a will right away, and I don’t think that was a top priority for her. And, of course, if there is no will, then it’s all Karen’s now.”
“But she doesn’t really need it, does she?”
“Need?” Cummings said. “No, she doesn’t need it. But need has very little to do with whether someone wants more money. That’s one of the few things I’ve actually learned about life.” He took a long drag on the cigar. “I don’t need a Cuban cigar, but I want one.” He watched the blue smoke curl upward toward the ceiling. “Lovely house they have out on West Paces Ferry Road. Have you seen it?”
“Yes.”
“Quite elegant. Did you notice the paintings?”
“No.”
“The Devereauxs were quite avid collectors,” Cummings said. “Always going to Paris, Rome. The art in the foyer, it was all given to me by Charles, Karen’s father.”
Frank nodded.
“Karen is quite a painter, actually,” Cummings added.
Frank closed his notebook. “Well, that’s all I have for now,” he said. He stood up. “Thanks for your time.”
Cummings seemed hardly to hear him. “You should see some of Karen’s work the next time you’re over there. I even have one of hers in the foyer.”
“I will,” Frank said. “Thanks.”
“Miss Carson will see you out,” Cummings said from across the room as Frank closed the door.
Once in the foyer, it took him but an instant to recognize the painting that had been done by Karen Devereaux. It was an oil of a little girl standing by a vase of flowers. He stared closely at the swirling colors, his eyes drawn toward the face, the pale, flawless skin and deep blue eyes. It was Angelica’s face, he realized immediately, and it watched him vacantly, its lips faintly blue. Without doubt, it was Angelica, and he felt his eyes move from her face down along her body to her small white legs. He half-expected to find one bare foot and a sad, scraped ankle.