Behind Mamie, seated on the couch, was Evelyn Dace, whose expression I can only describe as sorrowful. She wore a lightweight tweed suit, wren brown, with a white polyester blouse under the jacket topped by a big softly draped bow.
Mamie was holding her hand out. “Mamie Heisermann.” Her voice was of the booming type.
I shook hands with her obligingly, murmuring exactly what one does in situations of the kind.
“Let me introduce you to Evelyn,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind our coming early.”
“Not at all,” I said, though I did mind. The move was meant to catch me off guard, which it had. In the meantime, I couldn’t help but think that Ethan and Mamie were as unlikely a married couple as any I’d seen. She carried herself with authority. He seemed both self-involved and clueless about others’ perception of him. I was impressed by his stage persona, but not with the man himself. I wondered if Mamie had any idea how he behaved when he was out of her sight. Surely, any woman married to a musician has some inkling of what goes on.
I tagged Evelyn Dace at roughly her ex-husband’s age, which I knew was fifty-three at the time of his death. Her eyes were blue, but not the same bright shade as Anna’s. The orbs of her eyes seemed sunken, defined by shadow. She kept her smile modest, as though the hardships in life had robbed her of humor and hope.
We shook hands. Anna had told me Mamie and Evelyn didn’t get along, so the two must have set aside their hostilities in order to present a united front. I might have felt flattered, but I realized a better interpretation was that the two had now merged their antagonisms, the better to focus them on me.
Mamie said, “I talked to the manager and he says we can use the conference room as long as we’re out by noon.”
I thought, Two hours? Shit! “No problem. I’m on my way home, so I don’t have long. I’d like to be on the road by eleven.”
“So you said on the phone. I hope you’re not thinking to cut the discussion short. What if we haven’t reached an agreement?”
“About what?”
“Well, I can see you’re already being argumentative.”
“Let’s just see how it goes,” I said, not wanting to engage. We might end up in a fight but it didn’t have to start right now.
She led the way down a short side corridor off the lobby in a section of the hotel set aside for trade shows and conventions of a modest sort. The room we entered could have accommodated fifty people, but not many more. Windows ran the length of the room. The carpet was dark blue and the walls were faced with a neutral fabric meant to deaden sound. I could imagine a meeting in progress; coffee carafes arranged on the sideboard with trays of sweet rolls, doughnuts, and other pastries. Maybe a fruit platter if management wanted to make a show of healthy choices. The big conference table would be furnished with a scratch pad and ballpoint pen at each place. There’d be pitchers of ice water with plastic cups stacked nearby. I truly wished I were going to that meeting instead of the one pending.
This table was bare and the room was empty except for a whiteboard with an instant-erase marker pen. Someone had drawn a “Kilroy Was Here” cartoon in the center. We arranged ourselves at one end of the conference table, Mamie at the head. I took the seat to her right so I was facing the door. Evelyn sat across from me. With the glare from the window at my back, she probably couldn’t see my facial features.
I glanced at Mamie. “Where do you want to start?”
She removed a copy of the will from the manila envelope, leafing through the pages like a prosecuting attorney approaching the witness stand. Some of the faux friendliness had faded and we were getting down to brass tacks. “I have to say we’re perplexed. Evelyn and I were talking on the way over and she reminded me that before Terrence went to prison, he drew up a will that was nothing like this one.” She fixed her brown eyes on mine.
“He rewrote his will after he arrived in Santa Teresa. The date’s probably on there someplace. This was after he and Ethan quarreled and he left Bakersfield. It must have been a hell of a fight if this was the end result. Ethan said you were there. You want to talk about what went on?”
“The less said about that the better,” Mamie remarked, her expression chaste.
“Terrence was drunk,” Evelyn said. “No big surprise. He was always drunk.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were there or I’d have asked your impression.”
“I’m telling you what I heard.”
I turned my attention to Mamie. “Anna says Ethan spit in his father’s face. Is that true?”
“That was uncalled for. I told Ethan he was way out of line on that score. Even so, I don’t believe it warranted this level of retaliation.”
Evelyn jumped in. “I’m in total agreement with Mamie. We can’t understand why you’ve been given a role in such an intimate family affair. How in the world did you end up executor of the estate? My husband’s death is distressing enough without this blow on top of it.”
“Ex-husband,” Mamie said.
“I was as surprised as anybody else,” I replied.
“I’ll just bet you were,” Evelyn said, cutting me short.
Mamie gave Evelyn a warning look.
“Well, I don’t see why we should shilly-shally around,” Evelyn said, bristling.
“And I don’t see why I should sit by while you turn this into a big stinking fight,” Mamie snapped back.
“If you like I can go through the chain of events,” I said.
Mamie’s gaze flicked to mine. “Please.”
“First of all, you know who Rebecca Dace was?”
Evelyn spoke up. “She was Terrence’s aunt. Her brother Randall was Terrence’s father. She had another brother named Sterling, but he died some years ago.”
“Rebecca Dace married my grandfather Quillen Millhone. He and Rebecca had one child, my father, Randall Terrence Millhone. From what I’ve been able to piece together, he was Terrence’s favorite uncle.”
“Which doesn’t answer my question,” Evelyn said. “Why did you inherit all that money with such a flimsy blood tie? You’re barely related to us at all. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“I’ll tell you as much as I know,” I said, and repeated my account, which I rendered in excruciating detail, hoping to dispense with any questions she might pose.
When I finished, both women stared at me.
Mamie shook her head slightly, checking the last page of the will to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “What about these witnesses? We don’t recognize the names.”
“Those were friends of his.”
Evelyn said, “Well, I’m happy he had friends. That wasn’t always the case. I’m sure you understand why we’d be skeptical.”
“You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
Evelyn reached for the will and checked the pages as Mamie had. “Well, who is this Mr. Singer? Have you any idea?”
“He and Terrence met at a homeless shelter. I didn’t make the man’s acquaintance until last week.”
“What about Ms. White and Mr. Beider?”
“I met them at the same time,” I said. “Dan Singer told me the three of them witnessed the will at Terrence’s request. It was all straightforward and aboveboard.”
“They’re homeless?” Mamie asked. Her tone put them in the same low company as pedophiles.
“Yes.”
She blinked. “Do they have mental health issues?”