The Family Vault
by
Charlotte Macleod


Author Charlotte Macleod is the undoubted queen of the humorous mystery,
and Sarah is an endearing and courageous heroine.




The Family Vault
CHARLOTTE MACLEOD

AVON BOOKS, NEW YORK

According to Moses King (King's Handbook of Boston, first edition,
1878) the Athens of America didn't have much of a history during its first
hundred years or so; although Mr. Kingdid note that various Bostonians
were murdered, hanged, imprisoned, put in the stocks, fined, whipped, or
placed in cages for one reason or another; As time went on, however;
things Evened up. Beacon Hill became an area especially rich in history.


The author makes this point to emphasize that her present chronicle of
Beacon Hill belongs strictly in the category of legend. There is no Tulip
Street on the Hill. There is no church, so far as she knows, that ever had
a ruby-studded extraneous corpse turn up in one of its graveyard vaults.
There is no character who bears more than a coincidental resemblance to
any actual person living or otherwise, or any incident that ever took place
except in her imagination. Since she has gone to the bother of making up
this whole story, she sincerely hopes it will be accepted and enjoyed as
fiction from start to finish.



AVONBOOKS
Copyright 1979 by Charlotte MacLeod
Published by arrangement with Doubleday & Company, Inc.
ISBN: 0-3SM90SQ-3

for Nate
with Thanks

1


"Who did you say you was going to dig up?"

Sarah maneuvered herself a bit farther upwind. He
seemed a sweet old man and she didn't want to hurt his
feelings, but she wasn't used to people who breakfasted on
Schlitz.

"We're not actually planning to dig up anybody," she
explained for the third time. "At least I hope we're not
We're just going to ask the people who have charge of the
cemetery to open one of the vaults and make sure it's in
decent condition, so that my great-uncle can be buried in
it."

"How come?"

"That was his wish."

She couldn't very well explain to a total stranger that
Great-uncle Frederick had vowed he wouldn't be caught
dead with Great-aunt Matilda, who had already preempted
their assigned space in the more recent Kelling
family plot at Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge.
She didn't quite know how she'd fallen into conversation
with this down-at-heel old man at all, except that the cemetery
was such a dreary place on a bleak November day,
and there was nobody else to pass the time with. Cousin
Dolph should have been here an hour ago, but he was
still nowhere in sight.
Her new acquaintance was intrigued. "Mean to say anybody
can get buried here that wants to?"

"Well, no," Sarah had to admit. "All these old cemeteries
around the Common have been declared historic sites,
as I expect you know, so nothing 'is supposed to be disturbed.
However, that particular vault over there by the
wall belongs to our family, so we can't be stopped from using
it if we choose."

Nobody had so chosen for the past one hundred and


I


10	The Family Vault


forty-six years, but Great-uncle Frederick could safely be
counted on to make a pest of himself to the last. In a way,
the change of plans was going to work out for the better.
Instead of a tedious funeral procession snarling traffic all
the way across the bridge from Boston to Cambridge, the
pallbearers would simply carry the casket out the side door
of the church, directly into the ancient burial ground.


Sarah only hoped somebody would have sense enough
to close those ornate cast-iron gates. There'd be crush
enough without tourists thinking Great-uncle Frederick's
interment was one more sightseeing attraction on the Freedom
Trail. Cousin Dolph was probably still on the phone,
recklessly piling up toll calls during the high-rate hours,
rounding up the clan. It was useless to hope any of them
would stay away. There wasn't a Kelling alive, except herself,
who didn't adore a family funeral.

They'd all troop back to the house afterward, expecting
to be fed. How in heaven's name was she to manage a
spread for that crowd when the week's grocery allowance
was already spent? She'd have to talk Alexander into letting
her stretch the budget for once, although that might
take some doing. For such a gentle man, he could be remarkably
inflexible about money. It was odd to be reasonably
well-off in one's own right, married to a rich
husband, and still never have an extra cent in one's purse.

The old man was still talking. Feeling guilty because she
hadn't been listening, Sarah dug into the pocket of her sagging
brown tweed coat and pulled out a couple of bitesized
Milky Ways. They were on sale this week at the
supermarkets. Knowing how she liked them, Alexander
had bought a bag and tucked a handful into her pocket to
surprise her. Being so many years older than Sarah, he
tended sometimes to treat her like his child instead of his
wife.

Her new acquaintance shook his head. "Thanks, miss,
but I'm not s'posed to eat candy. I got the sugar diabetes,
see? Got to watch what I eat. An' drink."

He chuckled as though there were something funny
about his affliction, blowing another gust of malt in Sarah's
direction. She took another sideward step and put the tidbits
back in her pocket. He noticed.

"Hey, look, don't let me stop you. I never did go much
for them Milky Ways anyhow. Even when I was a kid, my

The Family Vault	11


teeth was no good for chewin' nothing except maybe soup
and mashed potatoes. Hershey Bars, now, I could eat
them. They went down easy. I bet I ate a million Hershey
Bars before the doctor told me to lay off the sweet stuff.
Back in the Depression, you wouldn't be born then I don't
s'pose, they used to sell 'em three for a dime and they was
about the size of a cedar shingle. Yeah, I sure did like
Hershey Bars. You go right ahead and eat your Milky
Ways. Won't bother me none."


Not knowing how to get out of it, Sarah unwrapped one
of the little bars she didn't want anymore and crammed it
whole into her mouth, to get the business over as quickly
as possible. Naturally Dolph arrived while she was struggling
with her chewy mouthful, and of course he'd brought
an entourage: a respected member of the Historical Society,
an official from the Boston Parks and Recreation Department,
and a foreman from the Cemetery Division.
Dolph scowled at her bulging cheek.

"I don't see why Alex couldn't come."

Sarah gulped down the awkward confection. "I explained
when you phoned that he'd already taken Aunt
Caroline down to the Eye and Ear for her checkup. There
was no way I could get hold of him."

In fact, she could have tracked down her husband easily
enough. The world-famous Eye and Ear Infirmary of
Massachusetts General Hospital was within walking distance
of their house, and Mrs. Kelling well-known to the
staff. Sarah hadn't bothered because she was heartily sick
of having the entire Kelling tribe use Alexander as their
odd-job man.

"Anyway," she went on, "I'm more closely related to
Great-uncle Frederick than he is. Aunt Caroline wasn't
even a Kelling."

Until a generation or so ago, Kellings had often chosen
their mates from among their third, second, and even first
cousins, partly because they were a close-knit group and
partly because it kept the money in the family. Nobody
had seen anything remarkable about Sarah's parents having
sprung from different branches of the same family tree.
Nor did any relative think it inappropriate for the only
child of that union to be joined in lawful wedlock to her
fifth cousin once removed when he was almost forty-one
and she a new-made orphan not quite nineteen years old.

12	The Family Vault


After the marriage, Sarah had gone on calling her
mother-in-law Aunt Caroline as she'd always done.
Younger Kellings generally addressed any older connection
as Aunt or Uncle, otherwise titles became too confusing.
For a long time now it hadn't mattered what anybody
called Caroline Kelling, as Dolph was pointing out with his
usual tact.


"Can't think why Alex keeps throwing money away on
doctors' bills. Caroline's stone blind and stone deaf, and
there's not one damn thing they can do about it."

Sarah didn't bother to answer. Dolph's companions
were beginning to fidget. She took it upon herself to lead
the group over to the vault, noting with amusement that
the man who liked Hershey Bars was not far behind.

"Too bad you people didn't give us a little advance notice,"
the Cemetery Division foreman was grumbling.
"Hinges are probably rusted out."

He made great play with a long-nosed oilcan, then
hauled out a bunch of huge old iron keys and selected the
one tagged "Kelling." "This ought to be it. Provided the
lock still works."

To his own apparent surprise, once he had pried the
small brass medallion that covered the keyhole loose from
its bed of moss and corrosion and managed to push it
aside, he succeeded rather easily in fitting the key to the
hole. The lock turned. The man from the Historical Society
caught his breath.

"After all these years," he murmured, "we're going to
see--"

"Nothing," snorted the foreman.

The door had opened on a solid brick wall that blocked
the entire opening. Cousin Dolph was beside himself.

"Damned bureaucratic interference! Who in hell ever
gave anybody permission to stick that thing up? Now what
am I to do? All the arrangements changed, Aunt Emma
coming all the way from Longmeadow, and we can't get
into the vault. I wish to Christ Alex were here!"

"At least he'd know how to take the wall down," said
Sarah, trying not to laugh.

"Take the wall down, that's it! Never should have been
put there in the first place. You," Adolphus Kelling thrust
his Yankee beak within an inch of the foreman's more
comely nose. "Get a pickax or something."

The Family Vault	13


"Just a second, Mr. Kelling," the man from Parks and
Recreation intervened. "Ralph here and myself are delighted
to co-operate with you on account of your uncle's
distinguished military and civil record."


Great-uncle Frederick had fought well with Black Jack
Pershing and been a successful public gadfly for many
years afterward. Family opinion held that Bay Staters sent
their short-fused fellow citizen to Washington on one commission
after another simply for the relief of getting him
away from Boston. Even now, it appeared the doughty
local son was not going to rest in peace without one last
struggle.

"However," the young official was going on, "Ralph and
I can't take it upon ourselves to authorize any demolition.
I'm afraid this will have to go through channels."

"How long will that take?"

"In such an unusual situation, I really can't say. I expect
we'll have to dig into the archives--"

"The hell you will! Look here, young man, any fool can
see this brickwork is no part of the original vault. The
blasted mortar isn't even dirty. Probably some nincompoop
put it up during the Bicentennial, scared a tourist would
pinch our bones for a souvenir. Now you listen to me and
you listen straight. I've broken my back to get this funeral
lined up the way Uncle Fred wanted it. Everything's
scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp. And
if you think I'm going to undo all I've done and squat beside
a stinking coffin for the next five years while a bunch
of bureaucrats squander the taxpayers' money trying to
make up their minds whether a man has a right to be
buried in his own family vault, you can damn well think
again."

Sarah knew Dolph would be furious if she didn't back
him up. She was glad that for once he had reason on his
side.

"I'm sure my cousin is right about this wall. My own
father helped to make the arrangements when this cemetery
was declared a historic site, and he made very sure
we'd always be able to use our vault if we chose to. And
we certainly can't use it with that wall there."

"Damn right. Good thinking, Sarah. So let's get cracking."
14	The Family Vault


"Excuse me," said the now deeply perturbed young
man. "I think I'd better call the office."


He disappeared in the direction of a phone booth and
came back looking relieved. "I guess it's okay, Mr.
Kelling, provided you're willing to sign a note saying you'll
take the responsibility. Got a pickax, Ralph?"

Ralph had not, and was properly chagrined at not having
brought what he'd had no reason to expect would be
needed. After a bit of discussion, he and his colleague
went to borrow one from some workmen over near the
Parkman bandstand while Dolph fulminated to the man
from the Historical Society, whose name was Ritling.

Sarah wished her cousin would shut up. The city people
were being a great deal kinder about this affair than the
family had any real right to expect, especially in view of
the last-minute planning and this latest contretemps
about a wall that shouldn't be In the way. She eased her
tired legs against one of the ancient gravestones and stared
at the offending brickwork. She'd have sworn she knew
all there was to know about that vault. Back when the historical
sites issue first came up, her father had thrashed
over the subject at mealtimes until he'd put her off her
food, but he'd never once mentioned that the vault entrance
had been bricked up. Was it possible he never
knew?

There seemed no reason why it should have been, except
that body snatching to get corpses for medical students
to dissect was still not unheard-of back when the old
vault was abandoned for the more spacious lot at Mount
Auburn. Surely, though, the erecting of a barrier to keep
out grave robbers would have been noted in the family
annals, which Walter Kelling knew backward and forward.
Anyway, Dolph was right about the brickwork's not
looking all that old.

Whoever did the work knew his trade, at any rate. The
bricks were unusually small, in a nice proportion to the
size of the opening, which was only about four feet square.
They were laid in an intricate pattern of interlocking diamonds
which Sarah had seen somewhere else but couldn't
place offhand. To while away the waiting, she took out a
notebook and began to sketch the opening, drawing in
each separate brick with careful attention to detail.

Alexander would be interested. Bricklaying was one of

The Family Vault	15


his unlikely talents. He'd taken courses in various manual
skills, most at the Center for Adult Education over on
Commonwealth Avenue. Learning to do odd jobs around
the house used to be his sole excuse to get away from Aunt
Caroline once in a while. One might think that having
some time alone with his wife would be an even more
legitimate reason, but Alexander didn't seem to go along
with that idea. She tightened her lips and went on sketching.
She was adding a not very flattering portrait of Dolph
when the men came back with the pickax.


"Mr. Kelling," said the foreman, "would you care to do
the honors?"

"With pleasure."

Cousin Dolph picked up the implement, studied it curiously,
hefted it once or twice, then brought it down with a
mighty wallop. The entire wall gave way. He stumbled
forward into a mess of brick and mortar.

"Are you all right, Mr. Kelling?"

Pleased with his feat, Dolph brushed away the men who
rushed to help him. "I'm fine. Didn't know my own
strength, that's all. Damn shoddy construction, though, I
must say. Good God, what's that?"

Ritling crowded in beside him. "Why, it's--" He rushed
off among the gravestones and began to retch.

The Cemetery Division foreman was clearly disgusted
with this weakness. "What's the matter? Vaults are made
to hold bodies, aren't they? Here, let's have a better look."

He took a butane lighter from his pocket and shot a
candle of flame into the cavity. Sarah, wondering what the
to-do was about, peered over his shoulder. A gust of beer
told her that her new-found friend was right behind.

She'd been braced for something nasty, but not for what
she saw. On the stone floor of the vault, sprawled as if it
had been thrust in with no regard for funerary decorum,
lay a body. It must have been a woman's. The flesh was
rotted away, but the skeleton was still encased in the
moldered remains of an hourglass corset and a crimson
skirt. High black boots with frisky red heels held the leg
and foot bones together.

But what had turned Mr. Killing's stomach and would
haunt all their nightmares forever after were The tiny chips
of blood-colored rubies that winked flashes of burning
scarlet from between the grinning teeth.

"Christ on a crutch!" gasped the old man with the breath.
"It's Ruby Redd!"

"You know her?" Dolph Kelling turned on him like a
charging bull. "What's she doing in our vault?"

"Dolph, don't be ridiculous," Sarah protested. "He
didn't put her there."

"That's right, miss. I won't say me and Ruby was ever
any great buddies, but I'd never of done a thing like this to
nobody. So this is where she disappeared to."

Suddenly conscious that he had become the center of attention,
the old man stepped back, mumbling, "I didn't
mean to butt in."

"We're tremendously grateful that you did," Sarah
urged. "Please don't go away. Can't you tell us more about
this--Ruby Redd?"

"She was a--well, she called herself an exotic dancer."

Cousin Dolph's bulgy eyes took on a knowing glint.
"My God, I remember Ruby Redd! Jem and I used to
drop in at the Old Howard every so often, to watch her
strut her stuff. She had a sort of Gold Rush routine, supposed
to be a dance hall queen on the Barbary Coast, or
some damn thing. Always wore that black corset affair
with a pair of knockers bulging out over the top the size
of watermelons. Sorry, Sarah, but damn it, you're a married
woman."

"All right, Dolph. So that's why she had those rubies in
her teeth? Wasn't there a real dance hall girl once who did
the same thing with diamonds?"

"Stands to reason she stole the idea from somewheres,"
muttered the old man.

"Why? Was she a thief?"

"Ruby was a lot of things, but mostly mean. Meanest
woman I ever run acrost in all my born days, and that's


16


The Family Vault	17


sayin" plenty, though I suppose I shouldn't be speakin' ill
of the dead. Funny, I can't seem to take it in that's Ruby
layin' there. Got to be, though. I lived in Boston all my
life, and I ain't never seen anybody else struttin' down
Washington Street with a grin on her puss like a row of
taillights on a wet night."


"How long ago did she disappear?" Sarah asked him.
"Those plastic boots look like what girls have been wearing
within the past few years."

"Gosh, I couldn't say about the boots, but Ruby's been
gone a long time. Maybe 'fifty or 'fifty-one it was. I'd been
tendin* bar at Danny's for a good many years by then, I
do know that. Danny Rate's Pub that was, right near the
Old Howard. I knew the girls, see, because a lot of 'em
used to drop in after the show. Nice kids, most of 'em.
Snappy dressers, all but that Ruby. She never wore nothin'
but that costume onstage or off, with a ratty old sealskin
cape over it in the wintertime. I dunno where she got them
boots, some theatrical costume place most likely. You can
tell they ain't real leather, they'd o' rotted away by now, I
should think. Anyways, I wouldn't of asked and she
wouldn't of told me. Ruby wouldn't give nobody the time
o' day unless there was a buck in it for her. Besides, I
never had much time to stand around chinnin', we was
always busy after the show. I bet I served you guys a few
times. Prob'ly conned me with fake I.D. cards, too."

"I shouldn't be surprised," grunted Dolph Kelling, by no
means displeased to be cast as a stereotype of flaming
youth. "So now we know who she is, what do we do with
her? This vault's got to be cleared out pronto."

"We'll have to call the police," said Sarah.

"What for, damn it?" He turned to the man from the
Cemetery Division. "Can't you just open one of the other
vaults and shove her in there?"
"Not on your life, Mr. Kelling. Nobody's going to convince
me this Ruby Redd walled herself up in here and
committed suicide. There's no statute of limitation on
murder, and I'm not sticking my neck out. As you said,
this is your family vault, so that makes her your responsibility."
Pleased with himself, the man backed away and fished
in his pocket for a smoke. Dolph tackled the other official.


18	The Family Vault


"Well, you're in charge here. Do what you have to and
make it snappy."


"Sorry, Mr. Kelling. As Ralph so properly pointed out,
the contents of the vault belong to you. I think this young
lady's suggestion that you call the police would be your
wisest course of action."

"Oh, the hell with it! Sarah, since you're so determined
to turn this unfortunate incident into a public scandal, go
phone Station One. And don't say I didn't warn you."

Unexpectedly, Mr. Killing caught Sarah's eye and
winked. "Shall I go, Mrs. Kelling?"

"No," she replied demurely, "why don't you stay and
take notes? After all, we are adding another chapter to the
family history. Try to think of it that way, Dolph. Oh, and
I'm afraid somebody will have to lend me a dime for the
telephone. I came away without any money."

"I got a dime."

The old man who had mixed drinks for Ruby Redd
came to the fore again, taking Sarah's arm and steering
her among the gravestones. She was touched by his gallantry.
This was probably the most excitement he'd had
since Danny Rate's Pub went the way of urban renewal.

Behind them, the foreman slammed shut the tall iron
gates. The man should have thought of that sooner, Sarah
could hear Cousin Dolph telling him so. She'd never before
realized Dolph was quite such a pompous jackass.

As events turned out, she didn't need the old bartender's
dime. They were heading for the phone booths near
the subway entrance when a police car pulled up at the
stoplight. Its driver held up traffic to hear their story,
made a highly illegal U-turn, and pulled up on the sidewalk
close to the ornamental palings. Sarah led the officer
over to the vault. It wasn't until the policeman was trying
to take down the particulars of the grisly find with Dolph
Kelling, the foreman, Mr. Ritling, and the man from Parks
and Recreation all talking at once that she realized her
self-appointed escort had quietly melted away.
She didn't blame the old man for leaving. If she'd had
any sense, she'd have gone with him. It was rude, silly,
and entirely typical of Adolphus Kelling to make her do
the dirty work. He'd go gassing around at the funeral, no
doubt, about how he'd tried to hush things up for the sake
of the family, but young Sarah had insisted for some illThe Family Vault	19


judged reason on getting them embroiled in a three-ring
circus.


Sarah realized that she honestly didn't care what the
family thought of her, and that, in fact, it was some time
since she'd quit caring. This new feeling of detachment
could not have come at a better time, since it helped her
to get through what turned out to be an extremely sticky
day.

Adolphus Kelling had obviously assumed that they need
only tell their story for the bedizened skeleton to be
whisked away to some discreet hiding place and the vault
got ready for its part in the scheduled obsequies. He could
not have been more wrong.

After an enthralled examination of the ruby-studded
corpse, the young officer got on his car radio to notify
headquarters of this fascinating break in the monotonous
round of muggings, traffic accidents, armed holdups, and
drunken brawls. From then on, pandemonium was let
loose. Crowds pressed against the wrought-iron fence. Television
cameramen struggled for angle shots of the glittering
skull and were shooed away by lieutenants of
Homicide trying to determine how Ruby Redd got to be
Ruby dead. Reporters pestered for statements. Sarah,
brought up to be courteous, was politely answering questions
when she became aware that microphones were being
poked at her face.

"Why did your Great-uncle Frederick want to be buried
here, Mrs. Kelling?"

"I'm sure my cousin could answer that better than I,"
she hedged. "I expect you might say it's because he had a
strong sense of history. Don't you agree, Dolph?"

"Yes. Well put, Sarah. A strong sense of history. The
Kellings have always had a strong sense of history."

Dolph was off and running. Sarah managed to slip away
from the newshounds and check on what was happening
at the vault. Somebody had asked why she thought the
Kelling vault had been selected as the hiding place, and
she'd said she had no idea. It wasn't the biggest or the
best-hidden from the street. It wasn't the easiest to get at,
being close to the church and far from the gate. She supposed
it just happened to be the one somebody was able to
open. No, the caretaker hadn't had any particular difficulty
unlocking the door. Yes, those primitive old locks would

20	The Family Vault


probably be simple enough to jimmy if one knew how. She
wouldn't have the faintest idea, herself. One would have
to ask--she'd stopped herself just in time from saying,
"my husband." This was not the time or place to advertise
that Alexander had also taken a course in locksmithing.


The Homicide people worked as meticulously as archaeologists,
photographing the skeleton from various angles,
packing up as much of the moldering costume as they
could salvage, making especially sure not to overlook any
ruby chips that might have fallen out of the teeth. It was
a long time before they completed their task. Sarah was
chilled to the bone, half-starved, and desperate for a ladies'
room before the police showed any inclination to let
the Kellings go on with their personal business.

"This old man who said he knew the woman," somebody
asked her for about the sixth time, "where did you
say he went?"

"I didn't say because I don't know," she replied somewhat
waspishly. "He was with me when I went out to call
for help, and he wasn't when I got back. I don't remember
seeing him go off because I was talking to the policeman."

"How long was he here?"

"I couldn't tell you. He was in the cemetery when I got
here, that's all I can say."

"Did he say why he was in the cemetery?"

"Oh, I doubt if he had any particular reason ..."

"How did you happen to start a conversation with
him?"

"As I recall, he made some remark about the weather,
then asked me if I was a tourist. I thought he might be
hoping to get a tip for showing me around, so I explained
about having to meet my cousin. Then we chatted a bit,
to kill the tune. I'd got the impression my cousin wanted
me to meet him right away, but as it turned out, I had
quite a wait because he stopped to do some other business
first."

Dolph had taken it for granted, of course, that Alex's
wife had nothing better to do than hang around a chilly
graveyard waiting on his convenience.

"Did this old guy know the vault was going to be
opened?"

"Not until I told him, if that's what you mean. Even
then, I'm not sure he grasped what it was all about. He

The Family Vault	21


kept asking me whom we were going to dig up. I didn't
know what was happening myself, until my cousin phoned
this morning, and I don't believe he did, either, till shortly
before he called us."


The man from Homicide turned to Dolph. "Is that right,
Mr. Kelling?"

"It is correct," Dolph replied sourly. "As to whether it's
right, I leave you to decide. I'd naturally assumed Uncle
Fred would want to be buried at Mount Auburn with the
rest of us. I made all the arrangements, put the notice in
the papers, called the relatives, went over to see Uncle
Fred's lawyers first thing this morning, and got hit straight
between the eyes with this outrageous codicil. That gave
me roughly twenty-four hours to undo everything I'd done
and do it over, and now this infernal trollop has to get herself
planted in our vault! Hardly seems decent to go on
with it now."

Dolph sputtered awhile longer, then sighed, "Well, it's
what Uncle Fred wanted, so I suppose we'll have to go
ahead with it come hell or high water. Haul away the
bricks and sweep up the rubies, eh? Gad, what a situation!
Sarah, do you think Alex is back yet?"

"No, I don't," she replied, "and there's not a thing he
could do if he were. Officer, if you don't need us anymore,
could we please get on with what we came to do?"

"I guess so."

The police lieutenant gave Sarah a remarkably human
smile which, for some reason, made her want to burst into
tears. "You folks go ahead with your funeral. We'll see
that everything's in order for tomorrow. Right, Ralph?"

"Right," sighed the foreman. "Mind if I grab a bite to
eat first?"

Adolphus Kelling brightened. "Now, there's an excellent
idea. Come on, Sarah, I'll buy you a drink."

Though a bore and a bully, Dolph was no mingy host.
Fortified with two cocktails and a great deal of excellent
food, Sarah decided she didn't particularly mind going
back with him to the cemetery.

Spectators were still clustered around the fence, but
there wasn't much to see. The door of the vault was closed
and one of Ralph's helpers was carrying away the last of
the bricks in a wheelbarrow. The policeman on guard told
Sarah and her cousin they couldn't go in.

22	The Family Vault


"But I'm Adolphus Kelling, blast it! That's my vault."


"Sorry, Mr. Kelling."

"Come on, Dolph," Sarah coaxed. "We have to see the
minister anyway, and he'll probably let us go out through
the church. Anyway, it looks as though they're doing what
they said they would."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Dolph snorted. However,
he had sense enough not to pick & fight with the law.
There were still the minister and the organist to hector.

While her cousin spent upward of an hour discussing a
service that was going to take perhaps twelve minutes from
start to finish, Sarah rested in the family pew, trying to
draw strength from the lovely old sanctuary and wondering
how she was going to cope with the multitudes tomorrow
afternoon. She ought to be shopping or cleaning or a
least letting her own family know about the bizarre discovery
in the vault. Nevertheless, she stayed until Dolph had
got things squared away to his and presumably Uncle
Fred's satisfaction. By the time they went out it was almost
dark.

"Dolph," she said, "111 have to leave you now. Alexander
must have got home ages ago. He'll be wondering
where I am."

"Alex? Forgot about him. Managed pretty well by myself
after all, didn't I? Maybe we'd better just take one last
look at that vault. Don't want any more chorus girls slipping
in unbeknownst, eh? Come on back, we'll get the
Rev to open the side door for us."

Reluctantly, Sarah obeyed. The minister, kind as ever
though no doubt wishing by now that he were burying the
whole Kelling tribe, led them through the vestry and out
to the ancient burying ground.

"I'm sure you'll find everything in order," he said hopefully.

They did, except for one brick that had somehow got
left behind. Dolph picked it up and began to fume.

"Oh, stop fussing and give it to me," Sarah told him.
"I'll drop it in a trash basket on my way home."

It was rather a nice little brick, actually, small enough
to fit inside her leather shoulder bag. She dropped it in,
thanked the minister, took grateful leave of Cousin Dolph,
and started across the hill toward Tulip Street.

er 3


Alexander had the front door open before she was halfway
up the steps. "Sarah, I've been watching out the window
for you. Where have you been?"

"With Cousin Dolph. He called right after you left for
the hospital."

"In a flap about Uncle Fred's funeral, I suppose. Too
bad he wasted your whole day. Harry's home, and they
want us for dinner."

"Oh, dearl" If there was anything Sarah didn't need at
this point, it was one of the Lackridges' spur-of-themoment
dinner parties. "Alexander, the most utterly incredible
thing happened!"

"Tell me later. You've about five minutes to change."

Furious, she rushed up the stairs to the third floor, the
brick she'd forgotten to take out of her handbag thumping
against her hip at every step. Trust Alexander to put Harry
Lackridge before anyone else. He was wearing his dinner
jacket, not because the occasion was going to be all that
elegant, but because he'd been forced to buy one ages ago
for some function or other and felt duty bound to get his
money's worth out of the investment. It would hardly do
for his wife to appear at his side in a gray plaid skirt and
stretched-out oatmeal-colored pullover.

At least she'd be going fed this time, which was a blessing.
She was going warm, too. Knowing Leila Lackridge's
disdain for creature comforts, Sarah had devised herself a
garment especially for these affairs, long-sleeved, longskirted,
cut simply as a paper doll's dress from thick, soft
blanket material in a blue the exact shade of Alexander's
eyes. She needed something more dramatic to set it off
than her grandmother's amethyst brooch and the little
string of pearls Alexander had given her when they were
married, but those were all she had, so she put them on.


23


24	The Family Vault


Some day, she'd possess more jewels than any one
woman could possibly wear. It was ridiculous that she
mightn't be allowed to enjoy a few of the pieces now.
What a ghastly life, hanging around waiting for Aunt
Caroline to die!


Was that what they were doing? Startled by a thought
she had never allowed to enter her head before, Sarah
stared, with no sense of identification, at the face reflected
in the greenish, speckled mirror. It was only some young
woman with light brown hair and gray-brown eyes, one
set a tiny bit higher than the other in a pale, square face.
She dabbed a little color on the lips, grabbed up the amethyst
eardrops that went with the brooch, and ran downstairs,
fastening them in her ears as she went.

Alexander was still waiting. He had the shiny, balding
muskrat cape that had been her mother's ready to throw
over her shoulders.

"You mustn't hurry so in that long skirt," he chided
gently. "You might trip and fall."

"But you said to rush," she snapped back. "Where's
Aunt Caroline?"

"Out on the front steps. Mother likes to take her time
going down, you know."

Of course Sarah knew. There was not one quirk or
whim of her mother-in-law's that she hadn't had drilled
into her during the past seven years. This was still
Caroline Kelling's house, and around Caroline it still revolved.
Who could object to that, when common sense
dictated that everything be left where it always had been
so that a blind woman could find her way about the rooms
without having to be guided, and common decency decreed
that somebody doubly afflicted be given every consideration?
Could a wife begrudge her husband's spending
most of his waking hours with his mother, when it was
only through Alexander that Caroline was able to lead
anything like a normal life?

Not even if helping Caroline live as she wished meant
that Sarah and Alexander had no life at all? They hardly
even talked to each other anymore. They'd had a more
satisfying relationship back when Sarah was six years old
and Cousin Alexander a godlike young man in Brooks
Brothers flannels who took her for walks in the Public
Garden on Sunday afternoons while his mother played

The Family Vault	25


chess with Sarah's father. She'd adored him then. She
supposed she still did. Anyway, there wasn't much she
could do about it now.


Hugging the inadequate wrap around her shoulders.
Sarah tagged after her husband and the white-haired
woman who was almost as tall as he. Caroline Kelling
kept one hand on her son's arm because the sidewalk had
an almost precipitous pitch, but she held her back straight
as the white cane she carried, and never once stumbled on
the uneven bricks.

The Lackridges lived on the water side of Beacon Hill,
in a smart town house converted from what had once
been Leila's grandparents' carriage house. What was originally
the family mansion now housed a prestigious but
not always lucrative publishing business that Leila's family
had established and Harry Lackridge had married his
way into.

When Leila and Harry were married, they'd scouted
their respective families' attics and storerooms for whatever
oddments of furniture they could lay then- hands on.
Leila had then called in an interior decorator and bullied
her into making visual sense of the hodgepodge. Now she
had a cleaning service in once a week, and every six or
eight years she had the place repainted and papered in
much the same patterns and colors as before. Over the
years, the rooms had taken on a curious quality of being
embalmed. Leila never noticed. She had other things to
do.

It was in good part because of Leila Lackridge that
Caroline Kelling led such a busy life. The pair of them
were among the movers and shakers in local civic affairs,
Leila doing most of the moving and shaking, while Mrs.
Kelling gained sympathizers by her mere presence on any
platform, her sightless eyes hidden by tinted glasses, her
beautiful face attentive to the message that her friend or
her son spelled out into the palm of her hand.

Not all people who lose both sight and hearing in adult
life succeed in learning alternate methods of communication.
Caroline had mastered Braille and also a shorthand
system of hand signals that only Leila and Alexander
could transcribe fast enough to keep up with her quick
mind and sometimes biting tongue. Sarah had tried handtalking,
but the impatient crisping of Aunt Caroline's fin26	The Family Vault


gets discouraged her from plodding on. Now she poked
out notes in Braille with a stencil and stylus, or let Alexander
translate when she had anything special to say to
her mother-in-law. She seldom did nowadays, since she'd
taken over most of the housekeeping and no longer had
to be coached about what to do.


These dinners of the Lackridges' were always lastminute
affairs because both Harry and Leila were on the
go so much that it was hard to schedule them in advance.
As a rule, Sarah could have done nicely without them.
The cocktail hour dragged on and on, with Leila and Aunt
Caroline holding forth about their latest cause and the two
men reminiscing about their days at prep school and college,
years before Sarah was ever born. The house was
always cold, even in summer, and the food was abominable.

Tonight perhaps it wouldn't be quite so bad. They
might let her tell her amazing story. If not, she could curl
up in her wool cocoon and sneak a nap. She was drowsy
from hanging around in the cold air, and sated with her
late, heavy lunch. At least being with Leila and Harry
was better than having to spend the evening in an undertaker's
rooms listening to Cousin Dolph pontificate. There
were to be no visiting hours. Great-uncle Frederick's
codicil had also been explicit about letting relatives gloat
over his remains.

Sarah had always thought Leila and Harry rather resented
her marriage to Alexander. The Lackridges had
made such a cozy foursome with him and Caroline for so
many years that they tended to shunt the young bride into
the background whenever possible. Tonight, however, she
was the guest of honor. To her astonishment, Harry
swooped her into his arms even before he gave Caroline
her ritual kiss.

"Here she is, in person! How's our little celebrity? Still
speaking to us common folks?"

Sarah was too flustered to say anything. Alexander
asked a mild question.

"Celebrity?"

"Didn't you see the news?" crowed Harry. "Oh, I keep
forgetting you intellectual snobs don't watch television."
His yellowed teeth flashed in the grin that looked so

The Family Vault	27


charming in photographs Alexander treasured from their
school days. The years had not been kind to Harry.


"SarahI" His wife was upon them now, swathed in an
Oriental caftan that didn't sit well on her angular form.
Unlike her husband, Leila had never been even passably
good looking. At forty-seven, she was ugly as one of the
dragons printed on her robe, yet she made a more pleasing
impression than he did because her face was always
aglow with some new enthusiasm. This was the first time
she'd ever shown any wild interest in Sarah.

Caroline, ignored for once, began to speak. Nobody
paid her the slightest attention, not even Alexander.

"Sarah," he demanded, "have you the faintest idea
what they're talking about?"

"I expect so. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't
listen."

"Do you mean he hasn't heard?" Leila whooped.

"They say the husband's always the last to know,"
Harry chimed in, "but this is ridiculous!"

"It's his own fault," said Sarah. "I didn't get home till a
little while ago. I wanted to tell him then, but he wouldn't
listen. Then he rushed us over here at such a pace I could
hardly pant, let alone talk. You know what a punctuality
freak he is."

"But, Sarah," Alexander began.

"But her no buts, old buddy," Lackridge interrupted.
"Come and have a drink. If anybody was ever about to
need one, thou art the man."

By now, Caroline Kelling was furious. They got her
calmed down and into the living room amid a good deal
of confusion. Sarah headed for her usual corner by the
fireplace before she noticed that end of the sofa was already
pre-empted. A young man was standing there rather
awkwardly waiting to be introduced. Since the Lackridges
were both occupied with placating the elder Mrs. Kelling,
Sarah went up to him and put out her hand.

"How do you do? I'm Sarah Kelling."

"Yes, I know," he replied with a diffident smile. "I'm
Bob Dee. one of the elves from Harry's office. Was that
your first time on television? You carried it off like a pro."

Sarah smiled back. "Did I really? I have to confess I
hadn't the foggiest idea they were taking my picture until
it was done. Otherwise, I'd have been scared to death."

28	The Family Vault


It would have been pleasant to sit down for a quiet chat
with this personable chap, so much closer to her own age
than anybody else in the room, but that was not to happen.
As soon as Harry had supplied them all with drinks,
he commanded that she tell her story. Sarah started talking,
piling on the lurid details in response to Leila's urgings,
and had got almost to the end of her tale when she
noticed that Alexander's hands were absolutely still. Aunt
Caroline wasn't getting one word.

She was so surprised that she stopped in the midst of a
sentence. "Alexander, aren't you going to tell your
mother?"

He looked at her blankly, as though he'd forgotten who
she was. Then he shook his head.

"No, I think not. It would--upset her dreadfully."

He seemed to be having a hard time getting the words
out.

"I--she--never would--"

"Believe there was an honest-to-God skeleton in the
family closet, as one might say?" Harry pounded him on
the shoulder. "Relax, old buddy. Bask in the reflected
limelight. Ready for a freshener?"

Alexander Kelling shook his handsome head. "Not
now, thank you. I--I just can't--"

"Come on, Alex, you're overreacting. Lord a'mercy, if
old Fred ever knew the kind of company he's getting intol
Lots of fun and games next Hallowe'en night, eh? Personally,
I think you're a double-barreled fink not to tell
Caro. Go on, Leila, you tell her."

"No, please," the son insisted. "She's already disturbed
about having to go to Uncle Fred's funeral tomorrow.
You know how she is about changes. This--this would--"

Her husband's agitation went to Sarah's heart. She
ought to have made him listen, back at the house. It was
cruel to spring such a shocker in company, just because
he'd pushed her to do something she didn't want to. At
least she could support him now.

"Alexander's right, Harry. You people don't realize
how moody Aunt Caroline can get. She locks herself in
her boudoir and does embroidery on the curtains, which
is heartbreaking because the stitches don't even show up
against the pattern. We never know what's going to set

The Family Vault	29


her off, and sometimes she mopes for days. You won't,
Leila, will you?"


Mrs. Lackridge shrugged, causing the dragons printed
on her caftan to crawl about in a most unsettling way.
"Not if Alex is going to have a snit about it. I must say it
doesn't seem particularly important to me one way or the
other. Harry, didn't you say somebody else was coming?"

"Yes, my pearl of the Orient. A bloke named Bittersohn,
who's some kind of expert on rare jewels. He's doing
a book for us, and I thought he'd get a charge out of
meeting Caro."

Alexander looked at the publisher sharply. "I hope you
haven't made him any promises. You know how Mother
is."

"I do, and I have not. Come to think of it, I'm not sure
why I did invite him, except that he's getting a whopper
of a subsidy out of some jewelers' guild to defray the
costs of printing, which automatically makes him our
Fair-haired Boy of the Month despite the fact that he's a
trifle on the swart and Semitic side. Right, Bob?"

"Right, Chief," the elf replied smartly, helping himself
to a large handful of salted peanuts.

"Trust a Jew to know where to pick the lettuce."

There were several things about Harry Lackridge that
annoyed Sarah. This attitude of his toward all non-Wasps
was one of them.

"I thought anti-Semitism was pass6," she snapped.

Her host raised a colorless eyebrow. "Who's anti? Business
being what it is these days, we could hardly be more
pro. Right, Bob?"
"Right, Chief."

Young Dee took more peanuts. Probably he knew
more or less what his chances were of getting an edible
dinner. Most times it was Sarah who ate the peanuts. She
felt a twinge of fellow-feeling for him, although she did
wish he weren't quite so ready with his, "Yes, Chief."
That was hardly fair, to fault Harry's employee for agreeing
with a boss who could, she suspected, be something of
a tyrant.

Apparently the jewelry expert was in no hurry to push
his way into their group. He didn't show up until they
were well along with their drinks, and he didn't look as if
he'd made any special effort to impress them. In contrast

30	The Family Vault


to Alexander's somber finery, Harry's purple velvet Edwardian
smoking jacket, and Bob Dee's turtleneck jersey
and dashing plaid blazer, Bittersohn had on a dark gray
worsted suit, a plain white shirt, and an unassuming tie.
His hair was brown, his eyes were either blue or gray,
and his complexion was closer to fair than swarthy. Nevertheless,
there was something about him that made the
other men look washed-out by comparison.


"Hope I haven't held you up, Mrs. Lackridge," he
apologized. "I was watching the news and the time got
away from me. Did you happen to see Channel Seven at
six o'clock? They had a thing on about a family that
wants to bury some old uncle in one of your historic
tombs. When they opened the vault, they found the skeleton
of a chorus girl who'd been missing for almost thirty
years."

"Yes, we saw it."

"Quite a show, wasn't it? This pop-eyed Colonel Blimp
character sounding off about outrage and desecration, and
a skinny little kid with a red nose trying to shut him up
and preserve the dignity of the family. Kelling, I believe
the name was. You don't happen to know them?"

"As a matter of fact," said Lackridge, "yes. The gentleman
with his foot in his mouth, people, is Max Bittersohn.
And reading from left to right we have Caroline Kelling,
Alexander Kelling, and in living color up to and including
the red nose, Sarah Kelling."

"My God," said Bittersohn.

He walked over to the older pair, hesitated for a second
as people always did when struck for the first time by
Alexander's incredible beauty, then shook the stiff hand
that was automatically held out to him.

"How do you do, sir?"

As Caroline made no sign of acknowledging the introduction,
he must have assumed he'd annoyed her by his
tactlessness, for he added, "Mrs. Kelling, I hope I haven't
offended you or your daughter."

"My mother does not see or hear," said Alexander in
a dead flat voice. "Sarah is my wife."

"Flubbed it all around, Max," said his host with no
sign of concern. "What are you drinking?"

"Got any strychnine?"

The Family Vault	31


"Not till after you deliver your typescript. Settle for
scotch?"


"Fine."

The author took his drink and looked around, presumably
for a hole to crawl into. Moved by compassion,
Sarah beckoned him over.

"Sit here, Mr. Bittersohn. You can admire my red nose
and tell me about your book. Are you a jeweler yourself?"

"No, but I had an uncle who ran a bookshop."

Bittersohn took the place beside her, squeezing Bob
Dee over to the far end of the sofa and causing Sarah to
regret her charitable impulse. She might have had brains
enough to move to the center so she could have one on
either side. After having been mistaken for Alexander's
daughter, though, it might be wiser to stay clear of the
younger man. In any event, Leila soon sent Dee for more
ice, leaving Sarah alone with the writer, which was probably
just as well.

Bittersohn must be ten years or so younger than Alexander,
which could still put him close to forty. His features
were rugged but by no means coarse, and he did
have a marvelous head of hair. He'd tried to slick it
down, but it kept rising in exuberant waves as he sipped
at what was no doubt a tumblerful of cheap straight
scotch. Sarah had often said Harry's drinks were strong
enough to curl one's hair, but she'd never actually seen it
happening before.

She started to giggle, then realized what her own drink
was doing on top of the two old-fashioneds Dolph had
bought her. She felt as if the sofa were floating, and her
eyelids had to be kept from snapping shut by a stern
effort of will. For Alexander's sake, she must stay alert.

For once, Sarah was grateful to Leila for being an impossible
hostess. It was a house rule at the Lackridges'
that while Harry might invite his business acquaintances
whenever he wished, Leila wasn't to put herself out for
them. The publisher's wife had hardly bothered to greet
Bittersohn, now she was ignoring him and holding forth
to Caroline and Alexander about a hearing at the State
House, talking with both voice and hands, her thin fingers
writhing and twisting in the deaf woman's palm to keep
up with the rapid-fire of her words.

32	The Family Vault


Alexander appeared to be paying close attention. Sarah
thought he was using Leila as an excuse to avoid chatting
with the man who'd hurt his feelings. He always hated it
when strangers mistook him for Sarah's father. Then she
realized he wasn't doing anything at all but sitting. There
was no more life to him than there was to that pile of
bones in its rotted finery, waiting now at the city morgue
for somebody to claim what was left of Ruby Redd and
bury her in a grave of her own. What a ghastly comparison!

Bittersohn was watching Leila's incredibly swift fingers,
fascinated as people always were. After a moment he
asked Sarah, "Has your--Mrs. Kelling always been like
that?"

"Oh, no," Sarah told him. "It didn't happen till about
thirty years ago, when she was in her forties. She was in
a boating accident. She went deaf right away, but the
blindness came on gradually. I can remember when Aunt
Caroline could still see."

"How long have you known her?"

"Forever. Her husband was distantly related to both
my parents, and we used to live practically around the
corner from them. Alexander used to be my baby-sitter.
Weren't you, darling?" she called across the room in a
sudden panicky urge to get some kind of reaction out of
him.

Perhaps he didn't hear, at least he didn't respond. Bittersohn
might have noticed Sarah's hands clenching. He
said quickly, "How did the accident happen?"

"They were becalmed in a fog in their sloop, the Caroline,
about a mile offshore. Actually the boat wasn't in
any danger, but Uncle Gilbert, Alexander's father, found
out he'd forgotten his heart medicine, which he needed
very badly. They'd bashed up their dinghy so Aunt Caroline
decided to swim in for help. She'd always been a
marvelous distance swimmer--she even trained for the
English Channel when she was a girl, but her parents
wouldn't let her do it. Anyway, a squall came up and she
lost her bearings. She finally made it to shore, but she'd
taken a terrible beating. Both eardrums were broken and
she developed an infection that left her totally deaf. Her
eyes were also injured. They tried all sorts of treatments
but nothing helped. The worst of it was that Uncle Gilbert

The Family Vault	33


died while she was in the water. Alexander was with him,

and I don't think he's ever gotten over it."


"Why did he let his mother make the swim instead of
going himself?"

"Because she was the better swimmer and a complete
dud at handling the boat. They made the sensible choice,
even if things turned out wrong."

"That's the trouble with being sensible," said Bittersohn.
"How old was your husband when this happened?"

"Seventeen. He'd just finished prep school and was
about to start college. He and Harry were roommates, as
you may know."

He shook his head. "I don't know Lackridge at all,
except as my so-called publisher."

"Why so-called? I thought your book was all settled."

"Hardly. I still have to write most of it."

"Have you written before?"

"A few articles for trade publications. Nothing anybody's
ever read."
"Cheer up," said Bob Dee, who had come back with a
fresh lot of peanuts. "By this time next year, you'll be a
household word."

"In how many households? Do you suppose we're going
to eat soon?"

"One never knows," said Sarah. "If you want another
drink, you may as well have it."

"I don't, particularly."

Nevertheless, since Leila showed no sign of budging,
Bittersohn held out his glass and Bob Dee sped off to fill
it.

"What does your husband do, Mrs. Kelling?"

"Do?"

Sarah was surprised by the question. Bittersohn must
assume her husband led the life of a normal man. She
fumbled for an answer.

"Well, he does some editing for Harry," footling assignments
he performed with a conscientiousness far exceeding
their importance and never got paid for, "and--and
manages our properties and so forth. And, of course, his
mother takes up a lot of his time. Alexander is the only
person other than Leila who can do that hand signing to
her satisfaction."

34	The Family Vault


"But it's only tracing the letters of the alphabet, isn't
it?"


"Essentially, yes, but they have a sort of shorthand.
There's also an international symbol language, but she
doesn't know that one."
"What about Braffler

"Oh, yes, she started learning that as soon as she realized
she was going blind. Aunt Caroline is a very determined
lady."
Sarah essayed a light laugh to show she didn't consider
her mother-in-law the least bit formidable, but Bittersohn
probably wasn't fooled one iota. Mrs. Kelling's voice,
pitched too loud and edged with vexation over something
that hadn't gone to her liking at the State House, told its
own story.
Chapter 4


They went in to dinner at about half-past nine and it was
every bit as awful as Sarah had anticipated. The look on
Max Bittersohn's face as he sampled Leila's cuisine for
the first and undoubtedly the last time was almost worth
having to endure the experience, but not quite. Bob Dee
was the only one who ate much, perhaps it was one of his
duties. Leila and Caroline, deep in plans for a political
coup, didn't seem to notice what they were putting into
their mouths. Harry, who was well over the border by
now, doused everything with ketchup from a messy bottle
he insisted on keeping by his place. Alexander hardly pretended
to taste his dinner.


Sarah was getting worried about her husband. She
wanted to ask if he felt sick, but didn't. Making a fuss in
public would upset him even more, if that were possible.
At last even Harry Lackridge noticed.
"What's wrong with you tonight, old buddy? Mourning
your lost love?"

Leila paused in her diatribe against the senate majority
leader and turned to her husband. "What lost love? What
are you talking about?"

"The late, shall we say, lamented. The girl with the
sparkle in her smile. She whose bejeweled bicuspids
brightened his salad days. Namely and to wit, Ruby
Redd."

"You're blotto. Alex, did you know that woman?"

"Oh, yes," he replied in that same dead voice. "I knew
ner. We all did. We used to go to the Old Howard on
Saturday nights to watch her dance, then buy her drinks
in a squalid little bar across the street."

"Danny Rate's Pub," said Sarah.

They all looked at her.

"The old man in the cemetery," she explained, flus-


35


36	The Family Vault


tered, "the one who told us it was Ruby Redd. He used
to be the bartender there."


"Amazing!" cried Harry. "I've just thought of a profound
philosophical observation. I haven't worked out the
phraseology yet, but it will be something to the effect that
this is a small world. Catchy, eh? What was his name?"
"I forgot to ask."

"That's our Sarah," Leila remarked.
Alexander snapped out of his lethargy. "Why is everybody
picking at Sarah?" he blazed. "Don't you realize
she's been through a--a hellish--"

He lost control of his voice, and drank some of the
nasty white wine in his glass. "I'm sorry, Leila. I only
wish I could have spared you this experience, Sadiebelle."
His use of the old pet name made Sarah's eyes fill with
unexpected tears. She smiled across the table at him,
swallowing until she could get the lump in her throat to go
down.

"I know, darling. You'd like to keep me in a little
velvet box, along with the rest of the family treasures."

"Speaking of family treasures," Bob Dee broke in,
evidently under the misapprehension that he was offering
an agreeable change of subject, "I understand the Kelling
family has a pretty spectacular collection of heirloom jewelry.
Any chance Mr. Bittersohn could get a look at some
of the pieces? It would be a great boost for the book if--"
He saw the look on Alexander's face, and faltered.

"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question, Mr. Dee.
The jewels belong to my mother for her lifetime, and she
doesn't care to have them shown."

"What is everybody talking about?" Caroline broke in.
"I haven't had a word for the past ten minutes."

That was gross exaggeration, of course, but to one sitting
in silent darkness, time must sometimes seem very
long. Harry, always more demonstrative with Caroline
than with anybody else, put a comforting arm around her
shoulders. Leila glanced at Alexander.
"Shall I ask her?"
He shrugged. "If you like."

The fingers began to fly, Leila explaining who Bittersohn
was and what he was presumed to want, although
the man himself had voiced no interest in the collection.
Mrs. Kelling reacted as they expected.

The Family Vault	37


"Out of the question. As long as I'm alive, the jewelry
will stay where I put it. After I'm gone, Sarah may do as
she pleases."


"What will you do, Sarah?" asked Bob Dee.

"I expect I'll know better when I've seen them," she
replied.

"Don't you even know what they look like?"

"Only from some of the family photographs and portraits.
I don't even know what's in the collection. The
inventory is along with the jewels in the vault at the High
Street Bank. At least I think it's the High Street Bank.
Anyway, it's wherever Aunt Caroline says it is, and that's
where it's going to stay, so I'm afraid Mr. Bittersohn will
have to leave us out of his book."

"But why won't she let you see the jewelry," Dee persisted,
"if it's coming to you anyway?"

"I don't know," said Sarah, who was getting very tired.
"Perhaps you'd like to ask her yourself."

A smile crooking her thin lips, Leila transmitted Dee's
question. Again Mrs. Kelling made the anticipated reply.

"I prefer not to discuss the matter any further."

"I personally feel Mother's attitude is a trifle unfair to
Sarah," Alexander half-apologized, "but since she can't
see the pieces herself, she believes she would be shirking
her duty as custodian if she were to expose them to any
possibility of theft or substitution. She doesn't let me see
them, either," he added drily, "though I suppose I must
have when I was a youngster. I'm sorry for my wife's
sake that I remember practically nothing about the collection,
but boys just aren't much interested in that sort of
thing. I am, of course, familiar with the paintings that
show some of the jewels."

"The ruby parure," Dee put in eagerly, "in the Sargent
painting of Hermina Kelling at the museum. I stand in
front of it and cry every time I go there."

"I do remember that," said Alexander. "Mother wore it
to the opera not long before--her accident."

Bittersohn put down the fork he'd been pretending to
eat with. "Are you saying that Mrs. Kelling still owns the
complete parure?"

"Strictly speaking," said Alexander, "I do. According to
family tradition the jewels were passed down from father
to son. The wives get to wear them, or allow their daugh-

38	The Family Vault


ters to if they feel so inclined, but they are merely custodians,
as I mentioned. It would have been appropriate
for Mother to turn them over to Sarah when we married,
since my father was no longer living, but she chose not to,
and considering the circumstances, Sarah has been kind
enough not to press the issue. All this is boring for you,
I'm sure."


"Far from it," said Bittersohn. "So your mother has
never worn any of the jewels since then?"

"I don't believe so. Those she has on now are her own,
her engagement ring and some India pearls my father
gave her outright as a wedding gift. They were brought
back by one of the Kellings who was in the tea trade back
around 1850."

"Does she always wear the pearls?"

"Now that you mention it," said Sarah, who could see
Alexander was getting impatient with this persistent questioning,
"I can't recall ever having seen her without them.
Can you, Leila?"

"I bet she even wears them with her nightie," said
Harry. "Go ahead, Leila, ask her if she wears them to
bed. Tell her Bittersohn wants to know."

To their surprise, Caroline Kelling smiled at the question.

"I can't imagine what Mr. Bittersohn thinks he's going
to do with that piece of information. Alex, I think we
should be going. We have Frederick's funeral tomorrow,
in case you've forgotten. Leila, you'll forgive us if we
don't stay for coffee."

Without a word, her son got up and helped her out of
her chair. Sarah rose, too, with mixed feelings. She was
always relieved to get away from the Lackridges' and
she was bone-weary after this grueling day. Still, she
wouldn't have been averse to another few minutes' chat
with Bob Dee, since she so seldom got to meet anyone of
her own generation. Bittersohn, too, might be interesting
to know better, although there was something oddly disturbing
about the man.

"Are you going to be working on that jewelry book?"
she asked her husband as they started up the hill.

"I don't know."

His voice was so utterly devoid of life and hope that
she stopped short. "Alexander, are you ill?"

The Family Vault	39


"I'm fine."


"You certainly don't sound it, and you didn't eat one
bite of dinner."

"I detest Leila's dinners."

"Then why do we accept every time they ask us?"

"Because we always have, I suppose."

"I think it's time we stopped."

"We can't."

"Oh, yes, we can. Alexander, I'm getting awfully fed
up with the way we live."

"Don't you think I know that?"

At least his voice could still show pain. "Sarah, what
can I do? She won't be around forever."

"She's seventy-three years old and strong as a bull. The
way things are going, she'll probably outlast us both.
Can't you realize she's eating you alive?"

"I realize."

"Then why can't we do something about it? Get a companion
for her."

"We'd never find anybody qualified."

"How do you know? We've never looked."

"Anyway, we can't afford one."

"Alexander, that's simply nonsense. It's my money
we're living on, isn't it? Why can't I have some say as to
what we can afford and what we can't?"

"Sarah, we've been through this before. My trusteeship
ends on your twenty-seventh birthday. Until that time I
am not going to spend one cent that I don't absolutely
have to."

"Then sell some of those stupid jewels. What good are
they, gathering dust in a bank vault?"

"They belong to the family."

"You said they belonged to you."

"My dear, must we air our problems on the sidewalk?"

"It's time we aired them somewhere."

He didn't reply. After a while, Sarah began to feel
guilty for attacking her husband when he was so totally
down. She felt for his hand in the dark.

"I'm sorry, Alexander."

"You have a right to speak your mind."

"Yes, but I could have picked a more suitable time
and place."

The sound he made wasn't really a word, so she didn't

40	The Family Vault


try to answer. Perhaps it was better not to. She'd never
seen Alexander in such a state before, and she hoped she
never would again. She'd fix him a bowl of soup or some
milk toast as soon as they got inside the house, and make
him eat every bite of it.


It was odd that he'd been so totally unstrung by hearing
of that stray corpse in the family vault. No, perhaps
that wasn't what ailed him. It might not be because it was
the family's vault, but because the bones belonged to a
dancer he'd known back when handsome young Alex
Kelling was one of the crowd from Lowell House, free to
hang around Scollay Square on Saturday night buying
drinks for a girl with rubies in her teeth.

The boy from Lowell House had died a long time ago.
Since then, there had been little joy for Alexander. How
much had she herself done to make him happy? When
they married she was still numb from her own tragedy,
abruptly bereft of a father who'd been a widower since
Sarah was ten and had original notions about bringing up
his lone chick.

Tutored at home, never visiting anywhere outside the
Kelling clan, not having a particularly warm relationship
with her father but accustomed to being guided by him in
everything, she'd felt lost when he died, immensely relieved
when soon afterward the man she loved best in all
the world offered himself as a father substitute. Hardly
as a husband. As far as their conjugal relations went, she
might still be the young cousin he took to ride on the
swanboats. Sarah let go of the hand she was holding and
Alexander didn't seem to notice.

She was glad when they got into the house. Caroline
Kelling dropped her wrap and handbag for somebody
else to put away and said, "Edith, I'm going straight to
bed."

Edith wasn't there. If they'd returned at their usual
time, the Kellings' only live-in servant would be doing her
old retainer act in the front hall. Since they were fifteen
minutes early, she must still be glued to the television set
in her basement lair.

"I'll get her."

Sarah hung up her own cape and pushed through the
swinging door that led to the long, dark back hall and the
basement steps. Sure enough, from below came screams

The Family Vault	41


and gunshots loud enough to blast the dust out of the
cracks in the hundred-year-old paneling. Edith was not yet
so deaf as her mistress, but she soon would be if she kept
on assaulting her eardrums at that decibel rate.


Knowing she could never make herself heard over the
bedlam, Sarah did not bother to call out but flicked the
light switch on and off in the hope of attracting the maid's
attention. That didn't work, either. Sighing, she picked
her way down over the worn matting on the stab-case.
Edith was sprawled in an overstaffed chair with her feet
up on a hassock, her mouth open and her eyes shut.

Sarah switched off the blaring television set. "Edith!
Edith, we're home. Mrs. Kelling wants you right away."

The maid leaped to her feet, smoothed her rumpled
skirt, and glared as though it were Sarah's fault that she'd
been caught in such an undignified posture.

"You're early."

"I know. You'd better go on up to Mrs. Killing's
room."

Muttering something that was probably discourteous,
the elderly woman made for the staircase. Sarah let her
get a head start. She found Edith rude, lazy, inefficient,
and deceitful, making capital out of her alleged devotion
to Caroline Kelling while dodging as much of the housework
as she possibly could. What Edith thought of Sarah
was expressed mainly in sniffs and sneers behind Alexander's
back. As she'd been with the Kellings since
Heaven knew when, there'd be no getting rid of her barring
an act of Providence. And Providence, as Sarah's father
had been wont to say, was in Rhode Island.

Edith was also clumsy. As she lumbered through the
back hall, she'd nudged ajar one of the framed photographs
that lined the wall. It was still swinging on its wire
and Sarah paused to straighten it. She liked these sensitive
views her husband had taken of the family's place at
Ireson's Landing up on the North Shore.

Alexander used a camera with far more than an amateur's
skill, did his own processing, and had supplied
many photographs for Harry's various literary projects
with little or no recompense. Sarah had pilfered these
prints from his files and framed them as a surprise. He'd
been touched by the gesture even while he deplored the
expense. She'd meant to hang them in the dining room,

42	The Family Vault


to replace some water colors that had been insipid to start
with and were now faded to pale tan mush, but Aunt
Caroline said she'd always been fond of those water colors,
so the exquisite pictures wound up here, where Mrs.
Kelling seldom came.


This particular photograph was one of Sarah's favorites.
It showed a single branch of a gnarled pear tree just
coming into blossom against the wall of the Secret Garden.
Alexander and his mother had laid the bricks to an
intricate pattern of their own devising back when Aunt
Caroline could still see well enough for such projects.
They'd done a beautiful job, using some delightful, smallish
bricks of an unusual orangey-red color they'd unearthed
in a deserted brickyard up along the Maine coast
and carted back home to Massachusetts in a woodpaneled
Ford beachwagon they used to have. Aunt Caroline
had told the story many times. There couldn't be
another wall exactly like this anywhere.

There had been one, though, this morning. Sarah tried
to tell herself she was seeing things, but how could she be
mistaken? She'd stared at that wall long enough. She still
had that one leftover brick in her big shoulder bag upstairs,
along with the sketch she'd made while they were
waiting for the man to come back with the pickax to
tear it down. She'd been so careful to draw in every single
brick to exact proportion. Now what was she going to
do?

Make Alexander his milk toast and keep her mouth
shut. Nobody was ever going to know except herself.
Cousin Dolph wasn't likely to notice. He'd been too resentful
of the wall, too eager to get it down, to pay any
attention to the way it was laid. Thank God there'd been
nothing left but rubble when the photographers arrived.

But what if by some freak Dolph did remember? He'd
be here tomorrow; what if he should come wandering out
here, catch sight of the photograph and notice the similarity?
Dolph was obtuse enough to go whooping back to
the drawing room with his discovery, not stopping to think
of the consequence.

Then Sarah would just have to lie and say he was
wrong. If bad came to worse, she could fudge up a copy
of the sketch with the details altered. As to the brick,

The Family Vault	43


she'd claim to have dropped it into somebody's trash can
along the way. She wished to God she had I


She might take down the photograph and hide it, but
Edith would notice the gap and raise a great hue and cry.
The safest course was to leave it alone and pray. With
her heart in her shoes, Sarah went to make the milk
toast

"Alexander, I'm not going to the funeral."

The way she felt this morning, it might have been her
own funeral Sarah was talking about. What little sleep
she'd got had been filled with nightmares, bones dancing
in gowns of rotted satin, skulls that grinned and twinkled,
Alexander doing things she'd rather not try to remember.
He looked more dead than alive right now. She felt a
qualm to be sending him off without her, but she couldn't
cope, and that was that.

Her husband looked up from the boiled egg he was
decapitating for his mother with the deftness that characterized
all his hand movements. "Are you sure you
don't want to? Uncle Fred was always fond of you."

"I don't believe he cared two hoots for me or anybody
else, except perhaps you and Dolph, but that's beside the
point. The thing is," she stirred her coffee with one of the
old coin-silver spoons, trying to choose the right words,
"Dolph says everybody will want to come here after the
service. That means cleaning and food and sherry and so
forth, and we've nothing ready."

"Dolph is taking rather a lot on himself, isn't he?"

"Putting a lot on us, you mean. I know, but they'd
come anyway because we're the nearest except for Uncle
Jem, and you can imagine the sort of welcome they'd get
from him. It's because of the last-minute change from
Mount Auburn, otherwise Aunt Apple would get stuck as
usual, I suppose. Last night I was so rattled that I never
gave the funeral a thought, and of course we had to gallop
off to the Lackridges'."

There, she'd done it and she hadn't meant to. He
thought she was holding a grudge.

"I know, Sarah. I was wrong, and I apologize."

"What are you two talking about?" demanded his
mother.


44



The Family Vault	45


Alexander had to explain about the upcoming reception,
and that led to a good deal of futile discussion.


"I don't see why Edith can't do it," was Aunt Caroline's
contribution.

"Neither do I," Sarah replied crossly, "but you know
perfectly well she won't raise a hand unless somebody
stands over her with a blacksnake whip."

"Sarah, that's hardly fair, is it?" said her husband.

"Not to me it isn't."

She pushed back her chair and began gathering up the
breakfast dishes. "Why you've let her pull the wool over
your eyes all these years is beyond me, and don't start
about loyalty because I don't want to hear it. Make my
apologies to anybody who asks for me at the church and
tell them I'll see them here about half-past two. I'll need
some money for shopping."

Alexander looked up at her haggardly. "How much?"

"Twenty dollars ought to do it. A gallon of sherry will
be adequate, won't it?"

"I suppose so."

He dragged out his wallet as though the effort were almost
too much for him, and handed her two tens. "Are
you sure you can manage?"

"I always do, don't I?"

He looked so woebegone that she felt ashamed of herself
for giving way to her feelings. She went around the
table and dropped a kiss on the hair that was turning so
quietly and unobtrusively to gray.

"Thank you, darling. We'll both feel better when this
is over."

"Oh, Sarah!"

Most uncharacteristically, her husband swung around
in his chair, pulled her close, and buried his face in her
cardigan. Edith, with perfect timing, poked her head
through the swinging door and whined, "Want me to clear
now?"

"Yes," snapped Sarah. "Then get down every sherry
glass in the house and rinse them out. Bring them into the
drawing room after you've cleaned and dusted. Try to hit
more than the high spots for a change."

Alexander, now bolt upright and slightly pink in the
face, found it necessary to add, "There's been a last46	The Family Vault


minute change of plans. The family will be coming here
for tea after the funeral."


"Oh?" sniffed the old retainer. "I was sort of hoping to
go myself. I'd known him so long."

"I'm sorry, Edith, but I'm afraid that won't be possible.
Miss Sarah needs you to help get ready, so please do as
she says."

He stood up and held the chair for his mother. "Does
Dolph still expect Mother and me to go out to Chestnut
Hill and be with the family this morning?"

"Yes, and the earlier you get started the better," Sarah
replied. "Cousin Mabel and heaven knows who else will
be there. If you're not around to keep them away from
each other's throats, nobody will be speaking to anybody
by the time they get here, and it will be plain, unmitigated
hell. You know what Dolph's like when it comes to tact."

"I do," sighed her husband. "Perhaps you're wise to
keep out of it. I'll never forgive myself for letting you get
stuck with him yesterday."

"Darling, what is there to forgive? You couldn't know
what was going to happen, and Dolph did make up for
dragging me over there by standing me a marvelous lunch
at the Copley afterward, which I forgot to tell you about.
Now get cracking before your mother throws a conniption.
Can't you see she's champing at the bit for a good old
family knock-down-and-drag-out? Have a lovely time."

"The occasion is hardly conducive to revelry."

"Bah, humbug. You adore being head of the clan."

She gave him another kiss and pushed him lightly toward
the door. Dear Alexander! Blessed were the peacemakers
for they, God willing, would see peace somewhere
this side of the grave. She wished she could get her mind
off graves and off that wall so damnably identical to the
wall that only Alexander would know how to build. She
wished desperately that her husband had not been looking
and acting so stricken ever since he heard about Ruby
Redd. Was it possible, was it even thinkable that a man
so gentle, a man so dedicated to keeping up the dignity
) of the Kellings could beat a striptease dancer's brains out,
then wall up her body in his own family vault?

How did she know what was possible in this world?
When had she ever been given a chance to find out? The
irritation she'd been fighting down returned full force.

The Family Vault	47


Sarah grabbed up her coat, shouted to Edith that she was
going down to Charles Street, and slammed the door.


Grocery shopping with Alexander was a process of deliberation,
comparison, and anxious consideration as to
whether Brand X was in truth a wiser choice than Brand
Y. For Sarah it was a matter of finding what she wanted
and getting out of the store. She'd make a lot of cheese
puffs, she decided. They were cheap and filling and looked
impressive. Also, they had to be served hot from the
oven, which would give her an excuse to dodge the relatives
and spend most of her time in the kitchen.

She bought a large sandwich loaf of the least squashy
kind, a pound of cheese--half swiss and half cheddar--a
quart of milk and a dozen eggs along with fresh vegetables
and a few other oddments. By now, Sarah had
catered enough committee meetings and political teas for
Aunt Caroline and Leila to be clever about making a
show of bounty at small expense. When she paid for her
groceries, she had almost ten dollars left. She needn't buy
the cheapest sherry after all. A gallon would have to
suffice, it was all she could possibly carry.

Laden with her purchases, she climbed back up the
hill and let herself in at the basement door. From above
came the whine of a thirty-year-old Hoover. Edith was at
least going through the motions.

They didn't use the huge old downstairs kitchen any
more. Around the time it became impossible to get immigrant
housemaids for five dollars a month and their keep,
a small room at the back of the first floor had been fitted
up with a gas stove, sink, and a few cupboards. Sarah
took her bundles there, set the jug of wine on the counter
and the perishables in the high-domed fridge, and stood
hesitating.

What next? There really wasn't a great deal to do, except
wash the breakfast dishes so she'd have the sink
clear to prepare her vegetables. She dumped everything
into the dishpan, squirted detergent, ran water. Five minutes
later the sink was empty and the drainer full. Edith
would have taken upward of an hour, moaning the while
about being overworked.

Sarah washed and separated a cauliflower with equal
speed, got carrot and celery sticks ready, and set them to
crisp in cold salt water. Then she pulled a sheet off the

48	The Family Vault


memo pad she always left notes on so that Edith couldn't
claim nobody had told her to do whatever she'd left undone,
and printed in large, clear capitals, "Doing errands.
Will be back in time to finish fixing refreshments. Edith,
set out tea tray and all cups along with wine glasses."


She didn't have to add, "Make sure the silver is polished."
The old retainer could be counted on to do those
things that would best impress the company. Edith adored
having people gush, "However do you keep everything
shining and still do so much for our dear Gallic?"--as if
Sarah and Alexander sat around on their hands all day
and didn't hire a kind lady to come in once a week and do
all the chores Edith ought to but wouldn't do. Tomorrow
was Mariposa's day, thank goodness. They'd leave the
cleaning up to her. Sarah had more urgent business on
hand.

The trouble was, she didn't know where to start, though
she had to do something. It seemed rotten to go snooping
behind her husband's back, yet one could hardly march
up to him and ask point-blank, "Did you murder Ruby
Redd?"

What she'd do when she found out was another question,
one that could be answered later. Not to know would
be worse than anything else. While the Me she now led
with Alexander was one long frustration, at least she
loved and trusted him as she always had. How could she
go on trusting, with this hanging between them, and what
would she do if she ever lost faith in Alexander Kelling?

Harry might know something, but it was useless to expect
he'd betray his best friend to the young wife he
didn't like much anyway. Her best and perhaps her only
hope was that rather sweet old man who'd tended bar
for the college boys and thought Ruby Redd was a mean
woman.
How could she find him? Today was even more inclement
than yesterday, so it wasn't likely he'd be hanging
'about the cemetery again. Nevertheless, she walked over.
He wasn't there but a policeman was stationed at the
locked gate to keep out spectators who were still coming
to gawk at the place where the bizarre find had been
made. Great-uncle Frederick's funeral would get on the
news tonight, perhaps, and wouldn't the Kelling clan love
thatl

The Family Vault	49


One of the sightseers evidently recognized Sarah from
the previous newscast, and started to say something to
her. She turned up her collar and walked away, fuming.
If that pest hadn't butted in, she might have described
her old man to the policeman and found out if he'd been
around again.


Now, there was a thought. Perhaps some of the older
policemen who'd been stationed around Scollay Square
when it still existed might remember who tended bar for
Danny Rate. It wouldn't hurt to go and ask. Better still,
why not try Uncle Jem? Jeremy Kelling had been haunting
Boston's hot spots for upward of seventy years, or
claimed he had. If she went over to Pinckney Street right
now, she'd catch the retired rake at breakfast, no doubt
with his vintage wind-up gramophone blaring bawdy songs
of the twenties.

She went, and she did. Jeremy Kelling was eating sausages
and bellowing at his long-suffering houseman,
Egbert. Egbert, was delighted to see Miss Sarah, the
elderly bachelor less so.

"Look here, young woman, if you've come trying to
drag me to Fred's funeral--"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Uncle Jem. You two always
did hate each other's guts."

"Hunh. Nice talk from a young lady, I don't think."

Sarah sat down at the table without being invited and
helped herself to a piece of toast. Her own father was one
of the few Kellings who'd been able to stay on speaking
terms with Jeremy, and she'd been in and out of this flat
all her life.

"At least he's going to be in lively company," she remarked.
"What do you think of this Ruby Redd thing?"

Jeremy Kelling told her what he thought in sulphurous
detail. Sarah sipped Egbert's coffee, which was pure
nectar compared to Edith's, and waited until he'd run out
of swear words. Then she said, "Really? I took it for
granted you'd put her there yourself, although of course I
didn't say so to the police."

Her uncle took the sally as a compliment, as she'd
known he would, and regaled her with several toofamiliar
anecdotes. Finally, she managed to get in the
question she'd come to ask.

"By the way, here's a little nugget the reporters didn't

50	The Family Vault


get hold of. There was an old man in the cemetery with
me while I was waiting for Dolph. We got to talking--I
get my bad habit of picking up odd characters from you,
you know--and by the maddest coincidence he turned
out to have been the bartender in a place Ruby Redd
used to frequent, called Danny Rate's Pub. Would you
happen to know him?"


"Ah, sweet memory! Many's the libation I've lifted to
the buxon beauties of the burleycue over that sudsy
x>aken timber. Gad, the nights I spent in Danny Rate's
Publ I could tell you stories--"

Sarah knew better than to let him get started again.
"All I want is for you to tell me that bartender's name,"
she interrupted firmly. "He was actually the first one to
identify the body, though Dolph hogged the credit, and he
was such a dear to me, lending me money for the telephone
which I forgot to give back. He simply faded out
of the picture before I had a chance even to thank him. I
thought I'd like to return his dime and write a little note
of appreciation. He was so--oh, old and seedy-looking
and probably living in some poky room--"

"At the taxpayers' expense," snorted Uncle Jem, who
had never done a tap of honest work in his life. "What
did he look like?"

"Short and thinnish, and I'd say he may have been
fair-haired when he was younger. He had pale blue eyes,
I know, unusually pale, with something odd about them."

"One eyelid drooped, and the other didn't?"

"Yes, that was it!"

"Funny sort of crack in his voice?"

"Yes, I thought it was just old age."

"No, he always talked that way. Well, well! Imagine
his turning up like that. I remember one night--"

"Never mind," Sarah broke in relentlessly. She couldn't
spend the whole morning here. "What's his name? You
must remember that, you never forget anything."

"Wait, don't rush me. Let me think. It was a funny sort
of name. Not peculiar, amusing. We had a standing joke
around the bar. 'Oh, gee, Tim,' we'd say. That was it,
Tim O'Ghee, with an h. Some corruption of Magee, I
daresay, unless his mother made it up, which is not without
the realm of possibility. Speaking of names--"

"Edith will be calling me names," said his niece, "if I

The Family Vault	51


don't get back and do Edith's work for her. The hordes
are descending on us after the funeral. Sorry you won't
be among them, but I shouldn't be, either, if I didn't have
to. It'll only be sherry and cheese, anyway. Thanks for
the lovely coffee and the help. I'll drop over in a day or so
and tell you all the nasty things Cousin Mabel says about
you."


She kissed him good-bye. She'd never minded kissing
Uncle Jem because he was plump instead of craggy like
the rest of the uncles, didn't have whiskers, and smelled
pleasantly of Bay Rum. Besides, he'd given her what she
came for.

Now that she knew Timothy O'Ghee's name, she must
surely be able to track him down. Sarah hastened over to
the pay phones on the Common, found a phone book that
hadn't yet been vandalized, and hunted among the Os.
No O'Ghee was listed, which didn't surprise her. That
would be too easy.

The voting lists would be a likelier place to find him.
Sarah knew all about voting lists, she'd plowed through
enough of them addressing postcards in the interests of
one or another of Aunt Caroline's causes. She was at City
Hall within five minutes.

Behind its ultra-modern facade, the new City Hall had
taken on much the same homey atmosphere as the old. A
friendly clerk, who must have been somebody's favorite
aunt, was delighted to leave her typewriter and assist in
the search. They found one lone O'Ghee on the list, at an
address which was more or less where Sarah had thought
it might be. She copied down the information, thanked
the clerk profusely, and made a beeline for the subway.

Chapter 6


Though Sarah had been born and reared in Boston, the
regions out beyond Andrew Square might have been
Timbuctoo, for all she knew of their geography. She and
the lady at City Hall had picked out O'Ghee's address on
a street map; nevertheless she had to search for the place,
and when she did at last find it she could hardly believe
she'd got it right. This wasn't even a street, merely a sort
of cul-de-sac that appeared to be one solid block of
disused-looking warehouses.


At last she noticed a few yards of chain-link fence
spanning what she first thought must be a driveway. Behind
it, cramped between the massive warehouses, stood
a sliver of a house three stories high but not more than
fifteen feet wide, covered in green asphalt shingles that
had begun to curl and break at the edges. The front yard
was about five feet deep, grown up to crabgrass and ragweed,
the door badly in need of paint. However, lace
curtains at the one front window framed a card that read,
"Room for Rent," and a wire shopping cart leaned against
the railing of the minuscule porch. This had to be the
place, after all.

It looked like, and probably was, the sole remaining
unit of what was once a row of wodden town houses.
Some die-hard householder must have fought to the end
against creeping industrialism and won what was surely a
hollow victory. The chain-link fence suggested a watchdog,
so Sarah approached with caution. However, nothing
happened when she opened the gate. She ventured up the
two steps and knocked at the door.

The woman who answered was another surprise. These
tacky surroundings would have prepared Sarah for birdsnest
hair and a filthy apron, but Tim O'Ghee's landlady,
if such she was, clearly spent a good deal more effort on


52


The Family Vault	53


herself than she did on her house. Her hair was an architectural
marvel, her face a work of art. Her rigorously
girdled form was encased in a tight nylon jersey dress of
exuberant pattern and her nether extremities in imitation
snakeskin boots with high heels and inch-thick soles.


"Yes?" she said doubtfully with an up-and-down glance
at Sarah's once-good tweed coat and sensible shoes.

"I'm looking for Mr. Timothy O'Ghee," Sarah stammered.
"Do I have the right address?"
"What do you want him for?"

"Well, I--I borrowed some money from him yesterday
and wanted to pay it back."

"That's a hot one. I never knew he had any to lend."

"It's a very small amount, just change for the phone,
actually, but he was so kind to offer it, and slipped away
before I could even thank him properly. Later I described
him to my uncle and he said it must have been Mr.
O'Ghee, so I thought I'd run over and see him. I live not
too far from here."

"Oh, yeah? Whereabouts?"

"Toward the West End," Sarah hedged. "Is Mr.
O'Ghee in now?"

"I dunno. I been over to the Avenue, grocery shopping.
Tim don't generally come downstairs till late. I don't
serve no meals, see, but I gave him coffee and maybe a
piece of toast or something. What the heck, he's an old
man. It wouldn't seem right making him walk all the way
to the Avenue for a cup of coffee."

She turned her head and screamed, "Timl Tim, you up
yet? Somebody's here to see you."

She got no reply.

"He don't hear so good no more. Prob'ly laying in bed
reading the racing forms. Why don't you go on up? He
won't mind."

Sarah hesitated. "Couldn't you?"

"I don't climb them stairs no more'n I have to. Doctor's
orders."

Sarah didn't believe that for a moment. Any woman
who could tramp around the stores in those murderous
boots must be rugged enough for anything. However, she
wasn't about to start an argument.

"Where would I find him?"

54	The Family Vault


"Straight upstairs and turn to your right. Tell him I got
coffee on the stove."


The woman stepped back and disappeared into the
murky recesses of the house. The stairway was directly
inside the front door, steep and dark and covered in a
runner that ought to have been replaced ages ago. Praying
she wouldn't catch her toe in a worn spot and break
her neck, Sarah picked her way to the top.

The old man's door was shut. She knocked and called,
"Mr. O'Ghee," but he didn't answer. Perhaps he'd got up
and left the house while his landlady was shopping. Now
that she'd come this far, she might as well make sure.

Barging into strange people's bedrooms was not the sort
of thing Sarah had been brought up to face with equanimity.
She had to fight with herself to turn the knob and
push the door open.

Tim O'Ghee was in. He lay sprawled half out of a
narrow iron bed, his eyes and mouth half open, his face
shrunken and still. He would not be wanting coffee, then
or ev�r.

Sarah wasn't frightened, only sorry. She had seen
plenty of dead old men, grandfathers, great-uncles, cousins
twice and thrice removed. They had died in their own
comfortable beds, most of them, or in hospitals with
trained nurses in attendance and relatives around to make
sure they got decently buried. Moved by pity, she reached
out and touched one of the stiff, yellow hands. It felt like
wax that had been kept in a refrigerator. The cold drove
her back to the head of the stairs.

"Mrs.--oh, what is your name? Please come up! Something's
happened to Mr. O'Ghee."

"What's the matter?" The blonde wig gleamed in the
dusk below. "What happened?"

"I'm afaid he's dead."

"What do you mean, you're afraid?" The strident voice
grew harsher. "Either he is or he ain't. You sure he ain't
in a coma? Tim's a diabetic. You better stay with him
while I get the doctor."

Sarah knew the old man was beyond any earthly need
of her company, yet common humanity demanded that
she not run out at a time like this. She started to pull the
spread over him, then decided she'd better not touch anything
until somebody came.

The Family Vault	55


At least she didn't have to stand right over him. She
went to the one narrow window and stood looking out,
but there was nothing to see except brick walls, and these
were too unpleasant a reminder of that other brick wall
which she and Tim O'Ghee had seen together.


A prickling began at the back of her neck and inched
its way down her spine. Surely it could be no more than
a tragic coincidence that this little man who'd appeared
so chipper less than twenty-four hours ago, this man
who'd known Ruby Redd and the men who bought her
drinks, should so suddenly be lying here dead?

Sarah had surprisingly little time to wonder. Hardly five
minutes later, she heard voices on the stairs.

"Caught me on the bleeper," the doctor was explaining.
"I was in the car on my way to the hospital. Checked
back on the CB and my office told me to come here.
Lucky you caught me when you did. Where is he?"

"Right in here."

The landlady ushered a man with a leather satchel into
the room, flipped her head at Sarah, then at the door.
"Okay, miss. Thanks for staying."

It was a clear invitation to leave but Sarah didn't
budge. The doctor, obviously in a rush to do what he
must and get on, hardly seemed to notice she was there,
although the room was so small they were almost on top
of one another. He bent over the body, tried to lift an arm
and found it stiff with rigor, made a perfunctory gesture
at rolling back the eyelids, then straightened up.

"That's the story, Mrs. Wandelowski. Too bad, but the
poor old guy's been living on borrowed time as you know.
At least it was quick and peaceful. You might as well go
ahead and call the undertaker. Tell whoever you get to
call my office, and I'll have my secretary send over the
death certificate."

"What are you going to put on it?" Sarah asked.

"Heart failure, what else?"

The doctor turned around and gaped as though he
had, in fact, been unaware there was somebody behind
him. "Who are you?"

"A friend," she snapped, "and I must say I don't think
much of your examination. Mr. O'Ghee was perfectly
hale and hearty yesterday afternoon."

"If you're such a pal of his, miss, you ought to know

56	The Family Vault


better than that. Tim was in rough shape and had been
for years. Mrs. Wandelowski, had he been taking his
insulin on schedule?"


"How'm I supposed to know? I gave bun the vials regular
out of the icebox like you told me to. I didn't watch
him take no shots. What do you think I am? Them needles
turn my stomach."
"Urn."

The doctor looked around the tiny, bare room. There
was a wastebasket beside the dresser. He looked into it,
finding nothing but the front section of the previous
night's newspaper. Sarah noticed with dismay that her
own face appeared on the first page in a group shot with
Dolph and some policemen. The caption read, "Stripper's
Body Found in Historic Tomb."

He held up the paper. "Anything in here to upset him,
I wonder?"

"Oh, God, yes," cried Mrs. Wandelowski. "I should
have thought of that in the first place. Tim was right
there watching when they dug her up, can you believe it?
Came home white as a sheet, shaking so hard he could
barely get his coat off. I sat him down in the kitchen and
gave him hot coffee with a little whiskey in it, not enough
to hurt a fly. I know what he can have and what he can't.
Couldn't, I mean. Poor old Tim, I'm going to miss him."

She sniffled, not very convincingly, Sarah thought. "He
said he knew who it was the minute he laid eyes on her.
Between you and me, I think they had something going
for a while, way back when. Tim wasn't a bad-looking
guy when he was young. I seen pictures. You know how
old people are always dragging out snapshots they want
you to look at. Same old lies over and over about how
great they used to be."

She touched her eyes very carefully with a tissue. "So
last night he sat there at the kitchen table talking my ear
off about this broad with the rubies in her teeth till I
couldn't take no more. Made me sick to think of her
laying there all this time. Anyhow, I had a date with my
friend from over the Avenue, so I made him a cup of
soup and told him he better go to bed."

"You never saw hun after that?"

"Nope. I was kind of late getting in and I figured he
must be asleep. His door was shut."

The Family Vault	57


"Anybody else in the house?"


"Not last night. My husband's away. On business," she
added with a glare at Sarah.

"I see."

The doctor put down the paper and knelt to peer under
the bed. "Ah, here we are."

He reached in and scooped out a handful of dust fluffs
and a stray sock. With the debris came two small plastic
vials and some scraps of paper.

"Here's the insulin he didn't take, and here, I'd say, is
what finished him off." He spread out the scraps so the
printing on them was visible. They were all alike.

"He's been into my candy! Tim knows better than that.
It could kill him." Mrs. Wandelowski began to laugh hysterically.
"What a way to go."

"But those are all Milky Way wrappers," Sarah protested.

"So what? They been having a special."

"I know, we bought some too. I offered one to Mr.
O'Ghee yesterday, and he refused. He said he couldn't
eat them."

"Look, Miss whoever-the-hell-you-are," said the doctor
wearily, "if a despondent old man decides to kill himself,
he'll take any means that comes handy. You ought to be
able to figure out what happened as well as I can. It must
have been one hell of a shock when they knocked down
that wall and he saw his old girl friend lying there like
something left over from a horror movie. Maybe he'd
been daydreaming all these years she'd come back to him
some day. Maybe it just started him thinking about the
past and what he had to look forward to, and he decided
what was the sense in going on any longer?"

"But she wasn't his old sweetheart," Sarah protested.
"He didn't even like her. He said Ruby Redd was the
meanest woman he'd ever known. He was not upset, he
was excited."

"Look, sister, what a person says and what he feels can
be two very different things. Who the hell knows why
people kill themselves? It happens a damn sight oftener
than you might think. Being a nice old guy, he fixes it up
to look like a natural death instead of jumping in front of
a subway train and messing up the tracks. And for your
information, I'm still going to put heart failure on the

58	The Family Vault


death certificate. If you want to report me to the medical
association, please feel free. Say, don't I know you from
somewhere?"


As she had feared, his eye lit on the newsaper. "So
that's the little game, is it? You're the Kelling girl."

Mrs. Wandelowski snatched the paper away from him.
"You mean that's her, the one in the picture? Sure, look,
she's even wearing the same clothes. What gall! Weaseling
her way in here, making out she's a friend of Tim's.
What's she after, anyways?"

"Good question."

The doctor took a step that brought him nose to nose
with Sarah. "What's the big idea, kid? Figured you'd get
O'Ghe,e to tell you which of your rich uncles was the
stripper's boy friend so you could blackmail him into
buying you a mink coat or a trip to Europe?"

"That's ridiculous," cried Sarah. "I--"

"Don't you believe one word she says," Mrs. Wandelowski
broke in. "After the way she lied to me, I wouldn't
trust her one inch. Now you listen to me, toots. I don't
care who you are or where you came from, you're nothing
but a little tramp, and I won't have you in my house. Get
out and don't never show your face around here again or
you'll damn soon wish you hadn't."

"Take it easy, Mrs. Wandelowski," said the doctor.
"Don't get your blood pressure up. Come on, Miss
Kelling, whatever you're after, you came too late. Sorry
I can't give you taxi service back to the family mansion,
but you've wasted too much of my time already."

He was herding Sarah down the stairs as he spoke, and
out on the porch. Mrs. Wandelowski slammed the door
behind them. There was nothing Sarah could do except
walk back to the subway station and catch a train to Park
Street.

She was much later getting home than she'd meant to
be. Edith was in a tizzy, messing around the kitchen, doing
her best to ruin the refreshments.
"Leave that alone and go put on your afternoon uniform,"
Sarah ordered. "I told you I'd be here in time to do
the food."

"Don't see how," the maid retorted. "They'll be here in
half an hour."

Sarah wasted no breath arguing. She had more time

The Family Vault	59


than that, but she was going to need every minute of it.
She welcomed the rush, it kept her from brooding on that
neatly timed suicide of Tim O'Ghee. By the time she'd
arranged her trays of savories and crudites, and got sheets
of cheese puffs chilling in the fridge, ready to pop into a
hot oven at the first sound of the doorbell, she'd worked
herself into a reasonable frame of mind. She even
managed to change her dress and be downstairs pouring
sherry when Edith, elegant in black sateen, white organdy
apron, and perhaps the last frilled lace cap extant on the
Hill, opened the door to the first lot of friends and relatives.


Fortunately, Alexander and Aunt Caroline were in the
group. Sarah left them to do the honors, got Edith started
passing drinks and food, and bolted for the kitchen. From
then on it was back and forth, lugging trays and boiling
kettles, gathering up used dishes and fetching clean ones,
Edith having provided about half the required number.

The old retainer might have known there'd be a record
turnout. The Kellings, one and all, adored a funeral, and
with the disagreeable publicity this one had evoked they'd
rallied in droves to prove they had nothing to hide. She
caught a sputter here and there about not knowing better
than to talk to reporters, but didn't stop to listen.

Thank goodness the Lackridges had come. Harry was
making himself agreeable and Leila was interpreting for
Aunt Caroline. That was a blessing, since Alexander
would hardly have been up to it. He looked even grayer
around the mouth than he had the night before. Some of
the relatives were noticing.

"Alex is taking it hard. Didn't realize he was so fond of
old Fred. Edith, these cheese puffs are marvelous. I cannot
see how you do it all by yourself."

At last the tea, the sherry, the food, and the family
were gone. Only Harry and Leila stayed on, she still talking
and he still drinking, though by now Harry had
switched to scotch out of his friend's private stock. Sarah
lit the library fire and shooed them toward it.

"Go warm yourselves while I straighten up the drawing
room."

Alexander roused himself to say, "You've been working
all afternoon, Sarah. Can't Edith do that?"

"She's washing dishes," said Leila.

60	The Family Vault


"She is not," Sarah retorted. "She's downstairs soaking
her corns and watching television. She's furious with me
because I wouldn't let her go to the funeral."


"People were wondering why you both stayed away."

"Pity the obvious answer never occurred to them.
Harry, before you quite finish that bottle, why don't you
fix my husband a drink of his own whiskey? Perhaps Leila
and Aunt Caroline would like one, too."

"What about yourself?"

"Not if anybody expects supper. It won't be much, I
warn you."

In fact, Sarah hadn't the faintest idea what she was
going to serve, but nobody seemed to care. She went back
to picking up cups and glasses. As a rule, Alexander
would have helped, but tonight he sat hunched in the vast
leather armchair that was once Uncle Gilbert's special
place, nursing his drink and letting the others talk around
him. Sarah looked in once or twice to take them ice or a
few leftover canapes, and it seemed to her that he hadn't
moved a muscle during the intervals.

She opened'a tin of pate they'd got in a Christmas box
and were saving for some grand occasion, and took a
great deal of care making dainty sandwiches. Alexander
had finicky tastes for a man. Those and a cup of soup,
along with what had been served earlier, ought to suffice.
They were none of them big eaters.

When the food was ready she went downstairs and told
Edith, "I've fixed us a tray so you can forget about
supper. There's soup on the stove. If that's not enough,
boil yourself a couple of eggs."

"They had the funeral on the news," said the maid
without moving her eyes from the flickering screen. "You
wasn't in it. They said you was home, prostrated with
shock."

"I'll be prostrated all right, before this day is over."

Sarah climbed the stairs one at a time with a rest in
between, and picked up the last, heavy tray.

er 7


"Alex! Alex, where are you? It's almost eight o'clock.8*


Caroline Kelling's strident call woke Sarah from the
soundest sleep she'd had in ages. Eight o'clock? They
never slept that late. Could her husband--she froze, recalling
old Tim O'Ghee sprawled half out of that sleazy
boardinghouse cot.

But no, Alexander was getting up. She could hear a
muffled groan, the squeak of bedsprings, then water running
in the bathroom between their bedrooms. Sarah
jumped out of bed, called down the stairs, "Edith, tell her
we'll be down in a minute," and snatched her oldest slacks
and a bedraggled jersey out of her closet.

Mariposa would be here on the dot of nine. Three
minutes later, the cleaning woman would have tied up
her elaborate hairdo in a flamboyant scarf, changed from
street clothes to a cotton wrapper, put on a pair of holey
sneakers in place of her chic high-heeled pumps, and be
making the dust fly. They could afford this paragon only
once a week, and nobody, not even Mariposa, could get
through the whole house in a single day, so Sarah and
Edith were supposed to help.

Sarah generally enjoyed tagging along with this human
whirlwind, dusting and polishing and listening to a steady
run of piquant gossip about life as it was lived at the
other end of the city. Edith would spend the entire time
puttering around Aunt Caroline's bedroom and bath, and
the adjoining room that Mrs. Kelling called her boudoir.
Admittedly, this was no small responsibility since everything
had to be kept in meticulous order, even the blind
woman's embroidery silks laid out strand by strand. It was
to Edith's credit that she never slacked her duties in this
area.

By the time they got settled around the breakfast table,
Aunt Caroline was in no sweet humorc


61


62	The Family Vault


"I particularly wanted an early start this morning. You
know it's a two-hour drive to Marguerite's, and she wants
us there well in advance of the others so that you'll have
time to read me her latest chapter. She's anxious to get
my opinion before she goes any further."


"Well, that's just too bad," Sarah snapped. "Alexander,
why don't you tell your mother you're not going? You
know you hate these ladies' luncheons, and that book of
hers is a total farce. Why should you drive seventy-five
miles and back again for the sake of hearing Aunt Marguerite
spout drivel?" *
"Why not?" he said wearily.

"Because you look like death warmed over, for one
thing. Won't you please go back to bed and stay there till
you've got rid of whatever is ailing you?"

His exquisite lips curved in a wry smile. "That might
be rather a long stay. Don't worry about me, Sadiebelle.
Actually, 111 be glad to get out of Boston for a few hours.
I only wish you were coming, too."

"What I wish," she sighed, "is that the two of us could
go off by ourselves for once in our lives. Can't your
mother understand that you're a human being instead of
a seeing-eye dog?"

"No, I don't think so."

Alexander pushed back his chair and leaned down to
kiss his wife. "Don't work too hard. You look washed-out,
yourself. I'm afraid you did too much yesterday."

Sarah grabbed him by the necktie and pulled him
closer. "Nonsense, Edith managed everything singlehanded.
Didn't you notice the becoming modesty with
which she was accepting all those compliments?"

"You're a nasty little girl, Sadiebelle."

He was going to kiss her again but his mother demanded,
"Aren't we ever going to get started?" and Edith
came to announce that Mariposa was starting to wash
dishes and weren't they finished yet?

"In a minute," said Sarah. "Alexander, don't let them
wear you to shreds. Tell Aunt Marguerite your wife has
turned into a shrew and will hit the ceiling if you're not
back in time to rest before dinner. And don't think I'm
joking, because I'm not. Edith, help Mrs. Kelling on with
her things and go get whatever she claims she doesn't intend
to take with her because you know she'll change her

The Family Vault	63


mind at the last minute and want it, after all. I'll clear the
table, unless you'd like me to get the car. Alexander?"
"No, my dear, I'm not that far gone."
Parking around the Hill was impossible. They had to
garage their 1950 Studebaker down on Charles Street at
a rate that would have bought them a new car every few
years, fees being what they were in the area. They'd have
been better off not to keep a car at all and rent one when
they needed to, but Aunt Caroline wouldn't hear of giving
up the vehicle she'd once been able to drive herself.


Thanks to Alexander's skill as a mechanic, the Studebaker
continued to run like a charm and was no doubt a
fairly valuable antique by now. Someday, perhaps, they'd
relegate it to the shed at Ireson's Landing with the Milburn,
and get themselves something to ride in that wasn't
a collector's item.

Someday, maybe, Sarah would pry Alexander loose from
this ruinously expensive, hard-to-maintain town house and
move into a place of her own. She was sick of Beacon Hill,
sick of never being able to get her hands on a little spending
money, sick to death of being married to Aunt Caroline.
That day, the sofa cushions got the beating of their lives.

Work, as always, was therapy. It wasn't until Mariposa
was gone, the mops and brooms put away for another
week, and Sarah soaking off the dust in a hot tub, that
she had time to start worrying again. Alexander and his
mother ought to be back any minute now, provided he
hadn't fallen into another of those frozen trances and
cracked up the Studebaker. She ought to have left
Mariposa to cope and gone with him. He wasn't fond of
driving long distances at any time, and in his present state
the trip must have been sheer murder.

She wished she hadn't thought of that word. Ruby
Redd had almost certainly been murdered, according to a
story in the morning paper which .Sarah had been able to
wrest away before Mariposa used it to protect the newly
scrubbed kitchen linoleum. The skull had been caved in
at the back by a blow that was unlikely to have been
accidental, especially in view of the macabre entombment.
An investigation would be made, but little hope
was held out for a solution.

That meant a few perfunctory inquiries, no doubt, then
one more file left to collect dust. Boston had too many

64	The Family Vault


fresh corpses turning up in vacant lots and alleyways for
the police to spend much time on a crime that might or
might not have occurred some thirty years ago.


Sarah was absolutely convinced that Tun O'Ghee had
been murdered, too, but there wasn't even an outside
chance the police would ever get to investigate that death,
unless the undertaker found a bullet lodged in his heart.
That wouldn't happen. Probably no undertaker would be
called in. Thanks to modern technology, bodies were a
lot easier to get rid of than they used to be. Anyway,
why shoot him when it would be so easy to inject poison?
Even it the body were examined, one more hypodermic
puncture in the flesh of someone who took insulin regularly
would never be noticed.

Again she felt a compulsion to ask herself if Alexander
could have done such a thing? Physically, yes. There was
an old hypodermic needle of Uncle Gilbert's still in the
house and plenty of poisons available: things like bleach
and lye in the kitchen, atropine in Aunt Caroline's eye
drops, a croton growing in the drawing room bay window
and heaven knew what else, plus that bag of candy he
himself had bought, ready to take along and set the scene.

Alexander had driven his mother out to Dolph's early
yesterday morning, some time before Sarah left the house.
Aunt Caroline wouldn't know if he swung around through
South Boston and left her sitting in the car while he pretended
to be doing some trivial errand. Finding Mrs.
Wandelowski out shopping might have been a lucky accident,
or else he could have phoned first pretending to be
the serviceman from the gas company or something, and
learned that she was about to leave the house. The lock
on that ramshackle door would present no difficulty to his
talented fingers. He could have been in and out before
anybody in that virtually deserted neighborhood knew he
was there.

Of course the whole notion was absurd. Alexander
would have to know where the old barman lived, that
Tim was diabetic, that he had a landlady who shopped
over on the Avenue in the mornings.

Perhaps he did know. Tim might have been boarding
in that same house for years and years, ever since Alexander's
student days. He might have talked about his
flashy landlady, might have refused to let the boys buy

The Family Vault	65


him drinks because of his ailment. Alexander remembered
details like that.


As Uncle Jem would say, poppycock! Alexander
wouldn't even set mousetraps. The hot water was soothing
her nerves a little, even though the dumpy claw-footed
tub was too short for a satisfactory loll. The one on the
second floor was twice as big, but only Aunt Caroline got
to use that.

Before they married, Alexander had papered and
painted the third-floor suite, trying to make things attractive
for his young bride. However, he hadn't been able to
do much about the cracked and sagging plaster, so the
paint had soon begun to flake and the paper to peel away
from the walls. While she was soaking, a chip fell off the
ceiling and plunked into the water beside her.

Everything was falling apart. Sarah crawled over the
high side of the tub and rubbed furiously at her body with
a towel that, like everything else in this house, had seen
its best days. She put on her blue cocoon because she felt
cold, and was on her way down the front staircase when
her husband and his mother came in.

"Are we going out?"

Alexander's question was almost a groan. Sarah stood
on tiptoe to give him a kiss.

"What kind of greeting is that? Can't I dress up for my
husband if I want to? Did you have a good time at Aunt
Marguerite's?"

"Mother enjoyed herself."

Most uncharacteristically, he dropped his overcoat on
a chair instead of bothering to hang it up. "Have I time
for a drink before dinner?"

"Of course. It's only half-past six."

"It feels like midnight."

"Go flop in the library. I'll do the drinks. Edith can
look after your mother."

Mrs. Kelling always expected a good deal of attention
after one of these all-day excursions, but her daughter-inlaw
was not about to give it this time. Aunt Caroline was
perfectly capable of doing a great deal more for herself
than she did, and it was high time they quit spoiling her
rotten. Sarah hung up the overcoat, went to call the maid,
then hurried back to her husband.

Alexander was in no mood for talk. He didn't even

66	The Family Vault


thank her for the stiff whiskey she brought him, or for
poking up the fire that he usually attended to. Sarah stood
looking at him for a moment, and decided what he
needed most was a hot meal and no fussing.


Cooking was supposed to be one of Edith's duties, but
the maid had learned several years ago that by producing
thoroughly uneatable meals, she could manipulate the
younger Mrs. Kelling into taking most of that work off
her hands. Aunt Caroline required food that could be
managed with a minimum of fuss and fumble, which
meant a lot of chopping and pureeing. It was quite a
while before Sarah got back to the library. Aunt Caroline
was holding forth at length about her sister's book. Her
son wasn't even pretending to pay attention. At last the
blind woman became aware of his indifference.

"Alexander, are you there?"

Sarah picked up her mother-in-law's hand. "Dinner in
ten minutes," she spelled out. "More sherry first?"

"No," snapped the older woman, trying to jerk her hand
away as she always did when Sarah used hand signals to
communicate with her. "Why doesn't Alex answer me?"

"Tired," Sarah spelled out.

"What of that? I'm tired, too. Those luncheons of Marguerite's
are always exhausting, but if I can stand them,
why can't he?"

Sarah caught her husband's eye. "I suppose it wouldn't
be kind of me to explain that it's because you have to
stand her at the same time. Alexander, we simply must
find some kind of nurse-companion for your mother,
whether we can afford one or not."

"Please, Sarah, not tonight."

Alexander Kelling took his mother's hand and began
making signals in the palm. His long, pale fingers seemed
to be working automatically, with no direction from his
conscious mind.

Chapter 8


The trouble Sarah took over preparing dinner might as
well have been saved. Mrs. Kelling declared that Marguerite
had served too much rich food as usual, and she'd
just have a bowl of corn flakes. Alexander didn't appear
to notice there was food in front of him. Sarah took away
his untasted plateful and fetched her Braille pad.


"I'm sending Alexander to bed," she put down, poking
out the dots with fierce jabs of her stylus. "He is not well."

Mrs. Kelling ran her fingers over the tiny bumps, then
passed the note over to her son. "What's wrong with you?
I thought we'd play backgammon for a while. I need to
unwind after that long drive."

"Sarah," Alexander sighed, "couldn't you play with
her?"

"No, I could not! You know I detest backgammon.
Your mother was out to the Lackridges" night before last,
she went to Dolph's and the funeral yesterday and had
the whole family here afterward. She's been away all day
today. She's got an armload of Braille books you lugged
home from the library that she hasn't even had time to
open. You're going to bed and she can entertain herself
for a change."

She picked up the pad again and punched savagely,
"Suggest you read ... A. going to bed now."

Caroline flicked her fingers over the message, slapped
the paper down on the table, reached for her cane, and
stalked from the room. Alexander started to get up, but
Sarah grabbed his arm.
"Don't you dare! She's a lot better able to take care of
herself than you are. Give her a minute to settle, then you
march yourself upstairs."

Her husband gave her a ghastly attempt at a smile, and
did as he was told. She tucked him up with a hot water


67



68	The Family Vault


bottle and an extra blanket, dosed him with aspirin and
kissed him good night.

"Don't get up in the morning unless you truly feel better."

She knew she was whistling in the dark. They were
committed to tea at the Protheroes', and feisty old Anora
was capable of coming to fetch them bodily if they didn't
arrive on schedule. That should be no great strain on him,
though. She could do the driving herself, and Leila would
probably be there to handle Aunt Caroline.

After she'd got her husband settled, Sarah fiddled
around downstairs for a while, putting away the uneaten
food, doing the dishes while Edith loafed down in the
basement before her everlasting television, and tidying the
already neat kitchen. She went back to the drawing room
and played softly on the rosewood Bechstein for a while,
but the antique piano was out of tune and so was she.
She didn't feel like drawing or reading or doing the crossword
puzzle. She didn't feel like much of anything. At
last, for want of a better idea, Sarah went up to her room
although it was still far short of her normal bedtime.

Aspirin and exhaustion had done good work for Alexander.
He was sound asleep, breathing deeply and
regularly. In the exquisite boudoir below, his mother was
no doubt embroidering French knots on the draperies.
That did seem an odd way to relieve frustration, but perhaps
Aunt Caroline enjoyed the nubbly texture that the
heavy draperies had taken on as a result of her labors
over the years. Anyway, she kept on working French
knots and would do so, no doubt, until the curtains fell
apart. What difference did it make, so long as the strange
occupation kept her from pestering Alexander?

Sarah thought of washing her hair, but feared the running
water might wake her husband. She fussed with her
nails, straightened her dresser drawers, and finally started
on her closet, which was a mistake. Stuck away on the
shelf, where she'd thrust it while she was rushing to get
ready for the Lackridges' dinner, was the brick she'd
lugged home from the cemetery. Dolph thought she'd got
rid of it. Why in heaven's name had she not done so?

She turned the small, heavy block over in her hands.
Was it really identical with those in the wall at Ireson's
Landing? How could she be so positive on the strength of

The Family Vault	69


memory and a black-and-white photograph? She might be
giving herself nightmares over nothing. Mightn't she?


The little sketch was still in her bag, she got it out and
studied it. She ought to go down and compare her drawing
to the photograph in the hall, but somehow she didn't
dare. What if Edith caught her?

Well, what if she did? Could nobody else ever hit by
coincidence on the same pattern Aunt Caroline and Alexander
had worked out? There couldn't be all that many
different ways to lay bricks. Could there?

What was the sense of standing here asking herself
questions? There was one way to find out, and she'd never
find a better opportunity than now, with her husband
asleep, Aunt Caroline sulking, and Edith thinking the
household was bedded down for the night. Sarah packed
the brick and the sketch back into her shoulder bag, tiptoed
into Alexander's room and took the car keys that
were lying on his dresser, and picked her way down the
back stairs. A hooded storm coat she'd had since she was
fifteen hung on a hook in the entryway. She bundled herself
into it and let herself out into the alley.

This was no night to be going anywhere. The rain that
had begun to spit about the time Alexander and his
mother got home was turning into a steady downpour.
The Studebaker's tires had barely squeaked through the
state inspection in October, the gas tank might be close to
empty, and she had three dollars and twenty-seven cents
in her pocketbook. What difference did that make? This
was something that had to be done. She pulled her hood
over her forehead and slogged down the hill.

The attendant, who knew the Kellings well, was surprised
to see her. "Not taking the old girl out in this
weather, are you? Sure she can stand the strain?"

"I'm more concerned about the young one," Sarah tried
to joke back. "A little family emergency has come up,
and Mr. Kelling isn't feeling well."

"I thought he looked kind of down in the mouth when
he brought the car in just after I came on duty. You don't
suppose it's flu?"

"I hope not. I chased him off to bed, and don't you
dare tell him I took the car out by myself tonight. He'd
have fits if he knew, but somebody has to go. Must I give
you another coupon?"

70	The Family Vault


"Ah, forget it. Going to be out long?"


"It's hard to say. Probably two or three hours."

"Well, take it easy."

The attendant went back to reading his Mickey Spillane
paperback. Sarah eased the Studebaker out into Cambridge
Street Circle and headed for the bridge over the
Mystic River. She was relieved to see the gas gauge registered
almost full. Alexander must have stopped to top it
up on the way back. He was good about things like that.

He was good about everything, too good. Sarah felt her
eyes smarting and angrily blinked them dry. This was no
time to get emotional. Traffic was a mess for no particular
reason except that Boston drivers always go into syncope
at the slightest hint of rain.

Sarah didn't mind, she'd driven in worse jams than this.
In fact, the sheer awfulness of the situation began to cheer
her up. By the time she'd got herself untangled and out on
Route One, she was feeling some of her usual pleasure in
handling the willing little double-ended car.

However, Ireson's Landing was a long way up the pike,
and by the time she reached their familiar turnofi, her
heart was in her soggy boots. She'd forgotten to bring the
keys to the house, which meant she would not be able to
go in and throw the switch that controlled the outside
lights. That didn't matter a great deal. Thanks to Alexander's
forethought, there was a good flashlight in the
glove compartment. It would be a bit spooky with that
one little light, but she was a big girl now.

She was almost to the drive entrance, it was time to
blink her directional signal. She hoped to goodness that
clown who'd been tailgating ever since she left the highway
would see it in tune to keep from plowing into her
when she slowed down. It was probably some kid who'd
never seen a Studebaker before, trying to figure out why
the car was being driven in reverse.

Whoever it was got the message and swerved out
around her as she shifted into low gear and started the
long, treacherous climb to the house. Uncle Gilbert had
kept the drive tarred over while he was alive. She and
Alexander were always going to have it repaved, but
there was never enough money. By now it was a mine
field of potholes and boulders that got heaved up by winter
frosts. They spent a good part of every summer trying

The Family Vault	71


to smooth it out, but each spring revealed fresh disaster
areas.


Sarah could feel the car slipping and slewing as she hit
slick mud or loose gravel. Going down should be an interesting
experience, assuming she ever succeeded in
getting up. She'd have been wiser to leave the car at the
bottom and make the climb on foot, but even the illusion
of security it gave her was preferable to being out there
alone with the rain and the dark.

Knowing the terrain and the vehicle as she did, she
made the ascent with a few bad scares but no serious
mishap, and pulled up against one of the railroad ties that
had been laid down to mark the parking area. The moment
of truth was at hand.

She could feel the weight of the brick in her shoulder
bag, nevertheless she reached in and touched it to make
doubly sure it was there. The chalky hardness was at
least something tangible in this streaming nightmare.

Because Alexander kept the glove compartment so fully
stocked with maps, firstaid kit, emergency flares and
other things they might conceivably need at some time or
other, the flashlight did not come readily to hand. Sarah
could have found it easily by turning on the dome light
instead of fumbling around in the dark, but the thought
of exposing herself inside a lighted coach paralyzed her,
which was stupid. Nobody could possibly see up here
from the road, and any animal that might be braving the
storm nearby would only run away.

Nevertheless she continued to fumble until the grooved
bakelite cylinder snugged itself into her hand. Now she
had no further excuse to procrastinate. Sarah zipped up
her storm coat as tight as it would go, eased herself out of
the car, and started walking toward the Secret Garden.

She was still chary of showing a light, until wet leaves
and sprawling roots made the path so treacherous that
she absolutely had to. This was no time or place to sprain
an ankle.

Alexander had been trying for years to get his mother
to let him sell off some of the land and ease their financial
pressures, but so far the deeds were still in Aunt Caroline's
keeping. The Kelling estate remained one of the largest
in the area, with the Secret Garden fully a quarter of a
mile from the house. Sarah had never thought it much of

72	The Family Vault


a walk before, but tonight the path seemed to have no
end.


In the summertime she'd have all sorts of familiar
night noises for company. Now, with her head muffled in
the pile-lined hood, all she could hear was rain drumming
on poplin that was supposed to be water repellent but
was acting more like blotting paper. She could feel wetness
soaking through, spreading across her shoulders and
down her back. Her feet skidded. She sat down hard, got
up and slogged on.

After a while, Sarah began to giggle. This was such an
utterly harebrained thing to be doing, the sort of scrape
she and her cousin Beth used to get into when they were
youngsters. Beth was out in California now twiddling
switches in some television studio, or had been at last
report. When she'd got the announcement of Sarah's wedding
to Alexander, she'd scribbled across it, "Best wishes
for a speedy annulment" and sent it back. Since then they
hadn't corresponded much.

Thinking about Beth and summers long ago, Sarah
didn't realize at first that she was walking alongside the
wall she'd come to see. Involuntarily, she switched off the
flashlight, blasted herself for a coward, turned it on again
and got out the brick and her sketch. The match was
perfect.

Now there was no more room for hoping. Sarah let the
brick fall among the dead leaves that had drifted against
the wall, tore up her sketch and gave the shreds to the
wind and the rain. She might as well go home.

That was when she realized she was not alone. Sarah
didn't know who or what was in the woods with her, she
wasn't sure she'd seen or heard anything, she simply
knew. It might be a tramp or a deer or some neighbor's
dog or an old male raccoon, but it was big and it was not
far away and she didn't want to stay here any longer.

Hampered by bad going, poor visibility, and clingy wet
garments, Sarah began to run. She ought to have known
better. She hadn't gone a hundred feet before she tripped
and skinned her knee on a rock. Worse than that, she
broke the flashlight.

There was nothing she could do but get up and keep
going, relying on instinct and memory to keep her on the
path, praying she'd get to the car before anybody or anyThe Family Vault	73


thing got to her. The knee hurt a great deal and she
could feel a warm stickiness trickling down into her boot,
but she couldn't bother about that now. Once something
grabbed her and she thought her heart was going to stop,
but it was only a squirrel briar. She tore herself loose
and fought her way on.


After an eternity, she could make out the great bulk of
the house against the gray-black sky. Then the car wasn't
too hard to find. She got in, locked the door, and began to
shake. Then she began to scold. A grown-up, married
woman going into a blind panic, thinking the bogeyman
was after her simply because she got upset at having
proved what she'd known all along. That brick meant no
more now than it had before she came.

And no less. Sarah started the car with a jerk. The sore
knee was making it hard for her to work the clutch and
brake. She ought to fix it up from Alexander's first aid
kit before she tried to drive.

Later. Somewhere down the road, where there were
lights and people. Fool or not, she wasn't going to sit
here one more second. She began to swing out of the
parking area before she realized the headlights weren't
on. That was an easy way to commit suicide. Sarah
flipped the switch, lighting the path from which she'd just
emerged, catching a glint from something metallic, something
tiny and square, with a tall, dark shape around it.

Something like the belt buckle on a man's raincoat
Perhaps she was not a total fool, after all.

Chapter 9


Sarah was fairly brave as a rule, and she'd dealt with
trespassers before. She knew she ought to swing around
and try to get a proper look at the man, but she just
couldn't. Her only impulse was to get down that precipitous
drive without cracking up the Studebaker.


She was probably alarmed over nothing. The man
might be an owl watcher out for a stroll. She and Alexander
often went tramping in the rain, and these big estates
were always declared open country once the summer
people cleared out. He'd have to be an awfully dedicated
outdoorsman to enjoy walking in this weather, though, and
he must have come from some little distance.

To get this far, he'd have to come up the drive. For
almost a century, the Kellings had been letting the underbrush
grow up around the perimeter of their extensive
property for the express purpose of discouraging sightseers
and picnickers. By now, anybody would need a machete
to hack a path through. The only alternative was to
climb the long wooden ladder that came straight up the
cliff face from the rocky beach some thirty feet below,
and who'd attempt that in a citified raincoat on a night
like this?

Sarah began to wonder about the car that had tagged
her so persistently. Might it not be parked just up the
road? The driver, knowing where she'd turned off, could
easily have walked back and followed her slow progress
up the bad path on foot, then tracked her to the Secret
Garden by the light from her flashlight, though why he'd
want to was a puzzle.

He might be one of those nuts who followed women, in
which case she'd been fortunate to get away with nothing
worse than a skinned knee, or a tramp looking for a
place to sleep, or a burglar. If that was all, good hunting


74



The Family Vault	75


to him. There was nothing in the house worth stealing.
With luck, he might set it afire and they'd be able to collect
the insurance.


Whatever he was, she was not about to notify the police
there was a man on the place. They'd know who she
was, and they might report back to Alexander in Boston
about the complaint his wife had lodged, which was the
last thing she wanted. Her wisest course was to keep
going.

That in itself was almost more than she could manage.
Her knee was hurting worse every time she moved her
leg. Her flesh was trying to crawl away from her sodden
clothes. If only the heater didn't take so long to warm up I
A wet oakleaf got stuck under the windshield wiper and
was blocking her view at every sweep. She absolutely had
to stop and get herself straightened out, but where? Not
on this lonely road, not in the village where she and the
Kellings' ridiculously out-of-date car were too well-known
and too easily noticed now that the season was over.
She'd have to stick it out till she got back on the highway.

Hating the honky-tonks that had encroached on the
historic Newburyport Turnpike was part of the Kelling
creed, but tonight Sarah would have given her back teeth
for a neon sign with a cup of hot coffee under it. The
rain was blotting out landmarks, making the familiar
route a no-man's land. The ride took on that eerie quality
of timelessness she'd felt on the path. When the longedfor
sign did appear, she was so disoriented she forgot to
brake before she turned in. Fortunately the parking lot
was almost empty. She managed to get the car under control
by swinging around to the rear of the building before
she went through the plate-glass windows.

Sweating and panting, Sarah switched on the overhead
light, pulled up her skirt, and examined her damages.
The flesh on her knee was puffed, already purple, crisscrossed
with deep scratches that were still oozing blood.
Dark red rivulets had dried on her skin. Her panty hose
were in tatters and she decided bare legs would be less
noticeable. She switched off the light and wiggled out
of the clinging shreds of nylon. Even her underpants were
damp, so she took them off, too, and held them out in
the rain to get thoroughly wet so she could use them as
a washcloth to swab off the blood.

76	The Family Vault


The firstaid kit was a great help. Once she'd mopped
up the mud and gore, she swabbed out her wounds with
merthiolate, put on a large gauze pad to stop the bleeding,
and strapped it in place with adhesive. Alexander
had even included a little pair of blunt-nosed scissors
to cut the tape. She'd never tease him about being the
eternal Boy Scout again.


Putting on wet boots with no stockings was like stepping
into a bucket of shucked clams, but that was the
least of her problems. She combed her short hair, looked
in the rear-view mirror to apply some lipstick and saw
that her face was filthy, found a few clean inches of
underpants and wiped it as best she could. She was not
aiming to make herself attractive, just to avoid looking
as if she'd lost a wrestling match with a gorilla. When she
thought she'd got to a point where she was unlikely to
attract particular notice, Sarah picked up the bag which
felt oddly light now that she'd jettisoned the brick, and
went into the restaurant.

She was lucky enough to find an empty booth well
away from the windows, since the place was all but
empty. A tired waitress in a bedraggled uniform slouched
over to her table.
"What'll it be?"

"Black coffee, please, and a chicken sandwich."

"No chicken. Tuna."

Sarah and Alexander were boycotting tunafish on account
of the porpoises, but she was too tired to stand on
principle.

"Fine."

"White bread?"

"I don't care."

She did care. Sarah abominated that squishy, pallid
travesty of honest food. It was just that she couldn't make
the effort of saying so. She folded her hands on the clean
paper place mat the waitress put in front of her, and sat
looking at them, wondering why they were so dirty and
whether she ought to go and wash them before she ate.
She didn't notice the man who came in until he slid onto
the bench across from her.

"Hello, Mrs. Kelling. Mind if I join you?"

He might as well have hit her over the head. Sarah
was so stunned her mind went blank. He noticed.

The Family Vault	77


"I'm Max Bittersohn. We met at the Lacfcridges'."


"Yes, I--I know. I was just so surprised--"

"So was I. What brings you so far from home on a
lousy night?"

She tried to force a laugh. It was a pitiable failure.
"Oh, I'm not far from home at all. We have a place at
Ireson's Landing, and we're always running back and
forth. I just had to--attend to something."

"Where's your husband?"

Why did he sound so--was it angry? Scornful? Was he
wondering what she'd been up to? Did he already know?
Could Bittersohn possibly have been the man on the path?

He was wearing another plain dark suit tonight. It was
perfectly dry, so he must have a better raincoat than she.
There was a rack near the door with several wet garments
on it, all looking about the same. Some had belts, some
didn't. Why hadn't she been watching when he came in?

"Aren't you afraid someone will take your raincoat if
you leave it over there?" she ventured.

The man shrugged. "That's how I get all my raincoats."

He had a smile that was surprisingly gentle and appealing
in that rugged face, yet even while he smiled, his
eyes stayed fixed on hers with a sad, thoughtful gaze, as
though he somehow felt sorry for her. She must present a
woebegone spectacle.

The waitress came back with Sarah's order and didn't
seem at all surprised to find a man in the booth. "Want
something, mister?"

"Tea with lemon, if you have any."

"Beverage without food is forty cents."

"The hell it is. Okay, bring me a muffin, or something."

"Toasted English is all we got."

"Great. Drink your coffee while it's hot, Mrs. Kelling.
You look as though you could use it."

"Couldn't you pretend not to notice?"

She took a sip to steady herself. "This was housecleaning
day, and I am a bit frazzled around the edges. How
is your book coming? You never did tell me how you
happened to become involved with jewelry."

"Oh, it's a long story," he replied vaguely. "This errand
of yours must have been pretty urgent."

"Not particularly." Sarah had to set down the cup because
her hands were shaking. "My husband managed to

78	The Family Vault


pick up a bug of some kind, so I sent him to bed early.
Then I got fidgety hanging around by myself, so I decided
I might as well come along and get it over with. Alexander
doesn't even know I'm out."


She took a bite of her sandwich so that she wouldn't
have to say any more. It was awfully difficult trying to
act nonchalant with those oddly compassionate eyes fixed
on her. Were they gray or blue?

Perhaps Bittersohn was feeling sorry for having frightened
her and made her fall. If he had, he jolly well
ought to be. With some food and a hot drink inside her,
Sarah began to get her courage back.

"And what brings you to these parts, may I ask? It's
an incredible coincidence, our bumping into one another
like this, don't you think?"

"Not specially."

The waitress came back with muffins and tea, and he
busied himself fishing the teabag out of the sloppy mug.
"Once you've met a person, you seem to run into him
every time you turn around. Lackridge tells me you're
going to do some drawings for my book."

"Does he? He hasn't told me yet. What is it I'm supposed
to draw?"

"Details of settings, things like that."

"It sounds rather dull."

Sarah rubbed at her hands and lips with a paper napkin,
and started to struggle back into her wet coat. "Harry
manages to get a good deal of unpaid labor out of the
Kellings, one way and another."

She was savagely pleased to see him flush.

"I don't intend to let any work you do for me go unpaid
for. Look, Mrs. Kelling, I'm on my way back to
Boston and I assume you are, too. If you'll tell me where
you park your car, I'll meet you there and walk you
home."

"That won't be necessary, thank you," she said as airily
as she could manage. "My husband will meet me."

"You just told me he's in bed with the flu and doesn't
know you're out."

"Did I? No, please."

She snatched back the check he'd tried to pick up.
"Then I'll no doubt be seeing you again in some--unexpected
place. Good night, Mr. Bittersohn."


The Family Vault	79


It wasn't a bad exit line, but she realized at once that
she was foolish to go so soon. She ought to have waited
to see what style of raincoat the man was wearing, and
she certainly should have visited the convenience before
committing herself to another half-hour's driving. Getting
back to Boston before he did wasn't going to accomplish
anything.


If Bittersohn's meeting her like this was no more than
a wild coincidence, he'd be likely to mention the fact to
Harry Lackridge, who'd tell Leila, who'd pass it on to
Caroline and Alexander, who would insist on knowing
what she'd been up to and why. God alone knew what
might happen then.

If Bittersohn didn't say anything, she'd be forever
wondering if he had some special reason to keep quiet,
which would be lovely since there was absolutely no way
she could get-out of working with him. Now that Harry
had decreed Sarah was to do those drawings, Sarah
would deliver, or she'd never hear the end of it.

How could this meeting have been coincidence? The
most reasonable assumption was that Bittersohn had
happened to notice Sarah heading for the garage, which
wasn't far from the publishing house, and decided to
find out where she was going by herself in such a downpour
--but why? She'd met a number of men who assumed
the young wife of an elderly husband must be looking
for something she wasn't getting, but if he thought that,
why follow her all the way to Ireson's Landing and back?
Why not simply stop her and ask if she'd like to have
a drink or go to a coffeehouse with him, right there on
Charles Street? He could always use the excuse of wanting
to discuss the artwork for his book.

For some reason, Mrs. Wandelowski popped into Sarah's
head. What was it the landlady's doctor had accused her
of, wanting to get the dirt on some male relative so she
could blackmail him into buying her a mink, which
was the last thing on earth she'd ever want? Was the
idea of being followed so ridiculous, after all?

Suppose, for instance, Max Bittersohn had seen Alexander
Kelling's wife sneaking down the Hill alone.
Wouldn't it be natural for him to think she might be slip80	The Family Vault


ping out to meet a lover? Might he not wonder who the
man was, and think it might be to his advantage to find
out? There again, why? Not to pressure Sarah into doing
his piddling drawings for nothing, certainly, he'd been
genuinely embarrassed about that. It would have to be
something big.


The Kelling jewels were big. If Bittersohn was the
expert he claimed to be, he must have a far better idea
than the family did about what such a collection might be
valued at in today's market. That ruby parure alone must
be worth a small fortune. Whatever was she going to do
with it when she got it? The mere thought of rubies gave
her the horrors.

Maybe Bittersohn had some ideas about that. If he'd
any notion of coercing Caroline Kelling into letting him
into that bank vault, he'd wasted an evening. Even if he'd
caught Sarah in the midst of an orgy, Aunt Caroline
would only laugh in his face and tell him to go peddle
his findings wherever he liked. What did she care if people
sneered and gossiped when she could neither see nor
hear them? Should scandal cause a divorce, she'd get
back her son's undivided attention, and that wouldn't
break her heart.

The only way anyone could threaten Caroline Kelling
would be through Alexander. If Bittersohn was the one
who'd followed Sarah down the path this evening, he was
now in a position to do that. He knew from the talk at the
Lackridges' that Alexander had known Ruby Redd. He
knew the vault had been bricked up. If he saw her take
that brick from her handbag and compare it to the ones
in the wall, he'd have to be an awful idiot not to draw
the obvious inference, and he looked to be anything but
that. He could have gone down to the wall after she left,
found the brick where she'd dropped it, and made his
own comparison. Perhaps he'd kept the brick.

What if he did? How could he prove she'd brought it
from the vault? No picture was made of the barrier it
was part of except her own sketch, and she'd destroyed
that.

No, she hadn't. She'd torn it up and thrown away the
pieces, which wasn't the same thing at all. What if he'd
picked them up and pieced them together? Oh, why in

The Family Vault	81


God's name hadn't she buried them, or rubbed them to
pulp in the mud?


A car honked frantically. Sarah flinched and pulled
back into her own lane. She'd better forget about Max
Bittersoha for now and concentrate on getting home alive.

Chapter 10


She made it back to Charles Street more by luck
than by skill. To her astonishment, the clock in the garage
said it was only a little after ten. Around here, that
was barely the shank of the evening. Her chance of meeting
somebody else she knew was all too good. Sarah
ducked into the corner grocery that never seemed to close,
and spent her last dollar on a quart of milk and a loaf of
bread.


That was an intelligent move. She'd hardly got out the
door with her bundle, when she heard somebody calling
her name.

"Mrs. Kelling? in, Sarah, I thought that looked like
you. I'm Bob Dee from Harry's office, in case you don't
remember."

"Of course I do," said Sarah with what little cordiality
she could muster. "Isn't this a wretched night?"

"You can say that again. What brings you out?"

"I happened to remember we've run out of some things
we'll need for breakfast, and my husband has a bug. Otherwise
he'd be here getting soaked instead of me. Are
you a Hillite, too?"

"Isn't everybody? I share a squalid pad with a couple
of guys on Anderson Street. Any chance of luring you up
for a drink?"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I must get home in case my
husband wakes up. He'd have fits if he knew I'm out
alone at this hour."

"Then I'll walk you back."

Dee took the wet paper bag from her and fell into step.
"This saves me a phone call. We were wondering if you'd
be willing to do some artwork for us. Harry says you're
quite an artist."


82


The Family Vault	83


"How kind of him," Sarah replied guardedly. "What's
your project?"


"Remember that author who was with us Monday
night, the guy who mistook you for your husband's daughter,
as who wouldn't?"
"The near-sighted Mr. Bittersohn." Did Dee think he
was paying her a compliment? "What about him?"

"This book of his is giving us a few problems. He's got
a lot of photographs showing clasps and settings and stuff
in close-up that he wants to use. We think some of your
nice little sketches would be more appealing."

"Also cheaper to reproduce," Sarah replied. "Harry's
idea is to make him pay for extra artwork while reducing
your own production costs, is that it?"

Dee thought that was pretty funny. "Right on! Why
not? Bittersohn's loaded and God knows we're not. We
honestly do think, though, that drawings would add visual
interest, and it's a chance for you to pick up some extra
cash. I don't know if that's any consideration for you,
living on the opposite side of the Hill from us peasants."

"Anybody who lives around here needs all the spare
cash he can get, I assure you."

Sarah was by no means averse to making money, but
she did wonder how valuable her contribution would be
in proportion to what Bittersohn might hope to realize out
of his book. This sort of thing seldom made the bestseller
list, it was more apt to wind up on the remaindered tables
at bookstores.

Whose side was she on, anyway? A little while ago,
she'd been thinking Bittersohn might be a blackmailer,
now she was seeing him as the innocent pawn in one of
Harry Lackridge's well-known Yankee horse trades. She
was not going to turn the job down flat. This would be a
welcome task to keep her occupied over the winter while
Alexander was squiring his mother to teas and committee
meetings. Still, she didn't like being used, and it was high
time Harry found that out.

"I think what we'd better do," she said, "is sit down
with Mr. Bittersohn and make a list of everything I'm
supposed to do and how much it would cost. Then he can
make up his own mind whether or not he wants to spend
that much extra money."
84	The Family Vault


"Harry usually prefers to make his own arrangements,�

the young assistant demurred.
"I know he does."


Sarah had a shrewd suspicion that what Harry preferred
was to charge the author about three times what
he paid the artist. "However, I'd rather handle it my way.
If you care to work on that basis, let me know and I'll
meet with you and Mr. Bittersohn whenever it's convenient.
Thanks for seeing me home. I shan't ask you in
now, but perhaps you'd like to come another time?"

"That would be great." Dee didn't sound altogether
sure it would. "Then I'll tell Harry what you said, and
get back to you later."
"Do that. Good night."

Sarah took back her soggy bundle and let herself into
the house. She kicked off her boots, tiptoed out to the
kitchen in her bare feet, got rid of her wet coat and the
groceries. Then she sneaked up the back stairs and put
the keys back on Alexander's dresser. He was still sleeping,
fortunately.
At last she was free to shut herself in the bathroom and
take stock of her damages. It was a good thing she hadn't
been insane enough to visit Bob Dee's pad. What would
he have thought if he'd seen her under a light, barelegged,
battered, looking like a corpse washed up by the tide?
Maybe that offer of Bittersohn's to see her home had been
prompted simply by the visual evidence that she wasn't
safe to be out alone.

She wondered what the author would say when next
they met, assuming they ever did. Harry might not give
her the chance of doing Bittersohn's drawings when he
found out she wasn't going to let him manage the business
to suit his own notions. Harry could be awfully petty
sometimes. No matter, she had graver things to worry
about.
However, she'd done all the worrying she was going to
do tonight. Sarah got herself washed and into bed, read
two pages of that never-failing soporific, The Philosophy
of William James, and knew no more until she heard her
husband in the bathroom at seven o'clock the next morning.

"Alexander, how do you feel?" she called out.

When he didn't answer, she got up and barged into the

The Family Vault	85


room. He was standing in front of the open medicine
cabinet, staring blankly at the crowded shelves.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, more sharply
than she'd meant to.

He turned his head in her direction, but she was not at
all sure he saw her.

"What is it, Alexander? Can I get you something?"

He only shook his head. She took him by the arm.

"You're going straight back to bed, and stay there."

That roused him a little. "But Mother will be--"

"No, she won't. This is her morning for the hairdresser,
and Edith will go with her as she always does."

"Oh, yes. I forgot." He managed something like a
smile. "You're getting very bossy, Sadiebelle."

"You haven't seen anything yet. Here, put your feet
up."

She got him back into bed and settled among the pillows.
"Now lie still and behave yourself. I'm going to fix
you an eggnog."

When she brought back the egg drink, he was asleep
again. Sarah left the glass on his night stand and went to
give Aunt Caroline a note explaining that Alexander
wouldn't be down.

Mrs. Kelling flicked her fingertips over the Braille message,
said, "Humph," and ate her breakfast without saying
a word to her daughter-in-law. After that, she and
Edith set out for the beauty shop she'd patronized ever
since she came to the Hill as a bride. She was due for a
permanent lucidly, so they'd be gone for hours. Edith
was carrying a Braille book for her mistress and no doubt
looking forward to catching up on the movie magazines
herself. The proprietress, who thought Mrs. Kelling was
wonderful, would fetch coffee and sandwiches and a good
time would be had by all.

After last night's soaking, Sarah's own hair was in desperate
need of attention. The budget wouldn't run to two
hairdressing appointments, so she gave herself a shampoo.
While she was drying, she busied herself making some
minor alterations to a thin silk dress she intended to wear
to the tea, because Anora was sure to have the fireplace
roaring and the thermostat set at eighty-five.

The dress was one she could dimly recall her own
mother wearing when Sarah was a little girl. No doubt

86	The Family Vault


some of the other guests would remember it, too, but she
didn't care. Nobody in that crowd was going to fault a
woman for wearing what she had instead of squandering
money on the paltry excuse of being in style.


Nevertheless, as soon as she could get her hands on
some ready cash, this and all the other relics were going
straight to the Bargain Box and she to Hurwich Brothers
for a sumptuous wardrobe that had never known a mothball.
How easy it was to beguile one's mind with trifles.
Sarah bit off her thread and went to check on Alexander
once more.

He must have waked long enough to drink his eggnog,
since the tumbler was empty and she could not believe
he'd pour good food down the bathroom sink. This frugality
of his had alternately amused and exasperated her,
now she was beginning to wonder if there could be something
pathological about it.

His father, Uncle Gilbert, had been as rich as any of
the Kellings, and that was saying a good deal. To be sure,
Aunt Caroline's medical bills must have been enormous,
money wasn't worth what it used to be, and keeping up
the two places was getting more expensive every year,
even though they ran them both on cheeseparings. Nevertheless,
there ought to be a good deal left of Uncle
Gilbert's fortune besides the real estate and the jewelry.
In spite of that, ever since they had been married,
Sarah, her husband, and his mother had all been living
on the interest from Sarah's own inheritance which was a
relative pittance by family standards. Sarah knew they
had, because Alexander insisted on presenting her annually
with an itemized account showing what she'd earned
in interest, what they'd spent, and precisely how much
was left in the trust fund.

She'd never fully understood why they lived on her
money instead of his. She'd assumed it was proper because
Alexander was her legal guardian under the terms
of her father's will, and he wouldn't do this if it were not
in her interest. Besides, they were man and wife, so it was
only right to share. But was it right? Ought she to have
recognized this miserly streak as a symptom of some deep
disturbance? Ought she to be realizing this minute that
her husband was having some kind of mental breakdown?

The Family Vault	87


Was it possible he'd had one before, and that Ruby Redd
was what happened the other time?


No, it was not possible. Sarah went down to the kitchen
and boiled herself an egg for lunch, put on her coat and
walked twice around the Public Garden at a furious pace,
came back and found Alexander up and dressed, looking
like a marble effigy but clearly intending to go to Anora's
tea.

"Mother's back," he said. "She's upstairs resting."

"Why aren't you?" Sarah retorted.

"My dear, I slept all morning. I must go and bring the
car around."

"No, you mustn't. I'll do it as soon as I change. I have
to run down to Clough and Shackley's, anyway. By the
way," Sarah added, trying to sound casual, "could you
give me a couple of dollars? I have to get some things."

This was the family euphemism for articles of feminine
hygiene and one request Alexander was sure to meet
without question. He handed over five dollars, as she'd
known he would. Now she could put gas in the car before
he had a chance to observe that the gauge was down.
Goody for her. She'd rather have a flaming row than this
gray-faced apathy any day.

"I'll fix you a bite before I go upstairs," she said.

"Please don't bother." He sat back in his father's chair
and closed his eyes.

Sarah didn't press the issue. There would be plenty to
eat at Anora's, and he'd hear nagging enough from his
mother on the way. She got herself ready and went on her
errand. When she got back with the Studebaker, Alexander
and his mother wWe waiting in the library.

Caroline could have passed today for the younger of
the two. Her hair was magnificently coifl'ed, she had on a
lovely violet-colored frock her sister, Marguerite, had
picked out for her birthday. Her face had been delicately
made up by the hairdresser, her lips touched with the
pale rose lipstick she always favored. She looked exactly
like a beautiful lady going to a party with every intention
of enjoying herself, probably because she knew Edgar
Merton would be there, too.

Edgar Merton was what Alexander would turn into if
he lived another twenty years: a gentleman of the old
school, handsome, quietly distinguished, exquisitely cour
r
i


88	The Family Vault



teous, always impeccably dressed in a style that had never
varied during the past fifty years. It was generally supposed
that he cherished a lifetime's adoration of Caroline
Kelling, although he had never told anybody so and never
would so long as his wife was alive.


Alice Merton was in a rest home now, practically a
vegetable according to last report, and Edgar had a little
freedom at last. It was hardly thinkable that he'd care to
saddle himself with another such responsibility as Caroline
after having to cater to Alice all these years. Still,
he played backgammon with her three or four times a
week, and when he tried to converse with her in sign
language, Caroline did not pull her hand away and demand
that Leila or Alexander do the translating.

The Kellings were putting their coats on when Leila
called in a fury to say that Harry had taken her car and
gone off God knew where till God knew when without
saying a word as usual, and could they give her a lift to
Anora's?

"Of course," Sarah told her. "We'll pick you up in
about three minutes."

That was a stroke of luck. Leila could keep Caroline
amused and let Alexander rest. Sarah didn't ask if he'd
prefer to drive now that his mother had someone to talk
with, and he didn't offer. It seemed about all he could
manage to get out and open the door for Leila, who piled
in beside Caroline and went on airing her grievance.

"I ought to be used to it by now, I suppose. I've put up
with him for twenty-three years, don't ask me why. Just
picks up his heels and goes, comes back when he feels
like it. Probably got a woman somewhere. What do you
think, Caro?"

Caroline thought the idea was uproarious. She was in
tearing spirits this afternoon. Could there be a little more
going on between her and Edgar than she was letting
anybody know? What absolute Heaven it would be if Edgar
should inherit Alice's fortune and take Aunt Caroline
off their hands! Even now they'd make a handsome couple,
although he was almost a full head shorter than she.
Sarah murmured something to that effect to her husband,
but he didn't seem to take it in. He was so remarkably
silent the whole way that at last even Leila noticed.

The Family Vault	89


"What's eating you, Alex? I've never seen you so
rnopey."


"He has a bug," said Sarah. "I tried to make him stay
in bed, but he came along to infect everybody, thus proving
that he's the noblest Roman of them all. Aren't you,
darling?"

"No, my dear. Where did you say Harry went, Leila?"

"Alex, you're getting deafer than your mother. I've
been telling you for the past fifteen minutes that I haven't
the foggiest idea. Harry goes where he pleases. At least I
assume he pleases, because he keeps going. Which reminded
me, Caroline. I've decided I'd better ride along
with the delegation to Washington next week. Somebody's
got to be around to light a fire under those halfwits or
we'll never get anywhere."

"Better tie a note to Harry's toothbrush this tune,"
Sarah put in slyly. "Speaking of not knowing who's
where, it seems to me we've heard a good deal from him
on that score. Remember the time you forgot to tell him
you'd be in California for three weeks, and he took it
into his head you'd been kidnapped?"

"Oh, that." Leila shrugged and kept on talking. Sarah
couldn't get another word in, and Alexander didn't even
try. Once they got to Anora's, he made a beeline for the
inglenook.

Sarah could hardly believe what she was seeing. Nobody
ever went to the inglenook of his own free will. For
one thing, it was blistering hot next to the open fire. For
another, that was where old George Protheroe sat like a
bloated spider, never moving from his place but always
alert to net any victim who ventured too near, and tell
him the story about the bear.

Nobody had ever heard the end of George's bear story.
He never got that far. He rambled, lost track, went back
and repeated, lapsed into boozy mumblings but would
magically revive and bellow, "Wait, I'm not done yet," if
his exasperated prey tried to tiptoe away. Those who felt
duty-bound to pay their respects to their host were wont
to go in groups so that George couldn't fasten on a particular
target. Even Alexander, long-suffering slave to
duty that he was, never went to the inglenook as a rule
without arranging with Sarah to call him away on urgent
business after a decent interval.

90	The Family Vault


From force of habit, Sarah went once or twice to see
if her husband wanted rescuing, but he appeared content
to sit baking by the red-hot logs, letting the old man's
ramblings wash over him unheard. She brought him a
large whiskey and a plate of sandwiches, and left him to
the bear.


Caroline was having a gorgeous time with Edgar at the
backgammon table. Leila was holding forth about the
perfidy of some elected official, always a popular topic
with this group. Sarah ducked out of the party and went
to visit the cook, who'd been her special friend since milkand-cookie
days and had once owned an obese tortoiseshell
cat named Percival. She'd much rather reminisce
about Percival than have to describe Ruby Redd's teeth
one more time.

She stayed with Cook as long as she dared. When she
went back to the drawing room, Alexander and George
were both asleep in the inglenook, Leila still pontificating,
and Aunt Caroline beating the pants off Edgar Merton,
who seemed content to have it so. He showed signs of
wanting Sarah's attention, so she walked over to the game
table.

"I was wondering," he said, "if I might ask Caroline to
dine with me at the Harvard Club after we leave here.
You and Alex, too, of course."

"Edgar, how sweet," she replied. "I'm sure Aunt Caroline
would adore to. I'm afraid Alexander and I couldn't.
He's not feeling well, and I was just thinking I must chase
him home to bed. Why don't you take Leila Lackridge
if you're nervous about managing by yourself? She's at
loose ends tonight because Harry had to go off on business,
and you know how good she is with Aunt Caroline."

"Yes, I know."

Edgar eyed the chattering Leila with no particular favor,
but must have decided he wasn't up to coping with
the blind woman's needs alone. "I'll do that, then. Too
bad about Alex. I'd been thinking he wasn't quite himself
today. Perhaps you and he might come another time?"

"That would be lovely. Shall I tell Leila while you finish
your game?"

"Would you?"

Sarah got the dinner party organized, then went to

The Family Vault	91


the taglenook and unobtrusively shook her husband
awake, "Alexander, we've got to go."


He looked up at her, still in a daze. "Is Mother ready?"

"She's not going home with us. Edgar Merlon's inviting
her and Leila to the Harvard Club for dinner."

"Oh."

He didn't look surprised or pleased, or anything but
exhausted. Sarah steered him across the room to take
leave of his mother and his hostess, got him his coat, and
led him out to the car. On the way home he spoke not
one word.
She drove up to the house, had to double-park in the
narrow street, drawing outraged yells and horn blasts,
long enough to get him into the front hall. When she came
back from taking the car to the garage, he was still
slumped in one of the carved rosewood chairs that flanked
the doorway. He hadn't even unbuttoned his overcoat.

Chapter 11

JL


"I'm going to call the doctor," said Sarah.


"No, don't."

Alexander struggled to his feet. "I'm feeling much better.
Truly."

"I don't believe you," she sighed, "but I don't suppose
he'd come anyway. Give me that coat, and go into the
library. You look totally worn out."

"Perhaps I wasn't quite up to George's bear story," he
admitted with a ghastly attempt at a smile. "Where's
Mother?"

"I told you she'd gone to dinner with Edgar and Leila.
Don't you remember?"

She wasn't sure he understood even now. He stumbled
into the next room and collapsed into his father's armchair
as he'd done the night before. Sarah went after him and
made up the fire. It occurred to her that he'd left the
sandwiches untouched at Anora's, which meant he'd had
nothing in his stomach all day but an eggnog and two stiff
whiskies. Perhaps he was simply a little bit drunk. It
would be a comfort to think so. She poked a few more bits
of kindling into the fire and went to fix him a snack.

She found Edith in the kitchen, doing nothing in particular.

"I was wondering what you expect me to do about dinner,"
the old retainer said with an air of being greatly putupon.

"Nothing,"
Sarah replied. "Mrs. Kelling has gone out
with friends. Mr. Alexander and I will have something on
a tray. You fix what you want for yourself."

"What, for instance?"

"I don't care. If you can't find anything in the fridge that
suits you, go out to a restaurant."

"Costs a fortune."


92



The Family Vault	93


Sarah didn't bother to reply. Edith went on grumbling.


"Seems to me there's been mighty few decent meals
cooked in this house lately."

"If the cooking were left to you, I daresay there would
be even fewer," Sarah replied. "Would you mind standing
away from the stove so I can get at it?"

"I'm not putting up with insults 1 I'm going straight in
there and talk to Mr. Alex."

"You're doing nothing of the kind. He's not well, and
I won't have him bothered with your nonsense. I mean it,
Edith."

Edith looked into Sarah's face and must have decided
she did mean it. She flounced off down the basement
stairs. Sarah filled the teapot, heated soup, made toast with
melted cheese on it, and carried the tray into the library.

"I want you to eat every bite of this."

Her husband didn't move, so she filled the soup spoon
and held it to his lips. Automatically he swallowed a
mouthful or two, then began to feed himself. By the time
he'd emptied the cup, he did look a trifle more alive.

"Feeling better?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, my dear. You're being very patient with the old
man."

"Why shouldn't I? You've always been an angel to me."

"I wish that were true. Though God knows I've tried!"

The sudden agony in his voice was like a blow in her
face. Sarah sat on the arm of his chair and took his head
in her arms.
"Has it been that desperate a struggle?"

Alexander set down his teacup with fumbling care, and
closed his eyes. "Sarah, I'm afraid I can't keep it up any
longer."

"What do you mean? Do you want a divorce?"

"A divorce?" Her question jerked him out of his lethargy.
"Good God, nol Whatever put that into your head?"

"What you just said."

"I don't know what I said. I only know that I've
reached the end of my tether. One does, sooner or later,
I suppose."

"But why now? It's something to do with--what we
found in the vault, isn't it?"

His hands came up to close over her arms in a spas94	The Family Vault


modic grip but he made no answer. She had to keep on
talking.


"Alexander, I know about the wall. I made a sketch of
it while they were off getting tools to tear it down. I
thought you'd be interested to see what it looked like."

He began to shudder and so did she, but she couldn't
stop now.
"When they carted away the bricks, one got left behind.
Dolph started waving it around and fussing, so I said I'd
get rid of it. I stuck it into that big shoulder bag of mine,
meaning to dump it somewhere on the way, but forgot. I
was in a rush because I was so late getting home. Do you
remember that?"

"Yes. I was annoyed. It seems so foolish now."

"You may also recall that after we got home from the
Lackridges", I went to make you some milk toast because
you hadn't eaten and looked so ill. I know now that I
gave you a dreadful shock by not telling you about the
vault before we went. I truly didn't mean--"

"I know, Sarah. How did you--find out?"

"Well, as I started to say, I went out to the kitchen and
that photograph you took of the Secret Garden happened
to catch my eyes. Your mother's often told how she and
you worked out the pattern yourselves, and the bricks are
an unusual size and color. It seemed too much of a coincidence.
Last night, after you went to bed, I drove out to
Ireson's Landing with my sketch and the brick, and compared
them. I know it was a dreadful thing to do, but I
had to know. You can understand that, surely?"

"Yes, my dear, I understand. Is there any more tea?"

She filled his cup, and he drank.

"In a way, I'm relieved that you found out for yourself.
I've been wondering how I could ever tell you. I thought
it would be the end of everything, but you're still here.
Why, Sarah?"

"Because I love you, silly! I won't say I'm exactly
happy about--"

"Sarah, you can't think I had anything to do with
Ruby's being killed? I was crazy about her!"

The corners of Alexander Kelling's exquisite mouth
curved in a sweet, tragic half smile. "Does it disgust you
to learn that your stuffy old crock of a husband once
made a fool of himself over a striptease dancer?"

The Family Vault	95


"No, I think it's rather--touching. You must have been
awfully young."


"Young and brainless. If I'd had sense enough to keep
away from things I didn't know how to handle, Ruby
might still be alive. Do you suppose I could have a little
whiskey?"

"Of course, darling."

Sarah took her time getting the drink, aware of his need
to be alone for a few minutes with whatever he was seeing
in the firelight. She went out to the kitchen to fetch ice
and make sure Edith wasn't within listening distance. The
maid had evidently fixed herself a strange supper of leftovers,
baked beans, and poached eggs, leaving the tin,
the shells, and several dirty pans in the sink as a gesture
of defiance. They needn't worry about her coming up
again before Aunt Caroline was due home. It was an
oddly peaceful moment.

Alexander would tell her when he was ready. She was
in no special hurry to hear the story, she thought she could
almost tell it herself. Another lover, jealous of Alexander's
incredible beauty as all men must be, threatening the
dancer, "If you don't stay away from that college boy, I'll
kill you." The kind of woman who'd get her teeth set with
rubies wouldn't care much for being bossed around.

Tim O'Ghee had called Ruby Redd the meanest woman
he ever knew. Mean enough to play off one lover against
another, no doubt, not believing the jealous one had nerve
enough to carry out his threat until it happened. Alexander
would have helped to hide the body not out of fear
but because he'd feel responsible for having been the
cause of the fatal quarrel.

Poor Alexander! No wonder he'd shied away from
women for so many years before marrying his eighteenyear-old
cousin. No wonder he was still not able to function
as a normal husband. Coming, as this must have
done, so soon after his father's death and his mother's
tragedy, it was a wonder Ruby's murder hadn't sent him
straight over the edge. Then to keep it bottled up inside
him all these years--she added an extra dollop to the
drink and carried it back to the library.

"I made sure Edith hasn't got her ear glued to the keyhole,"
she explained. "She's downstairs listening to some
idiotic program, so we're safe for a while. Now would you

96	The Family Vault


like to tell me? You'll feel better once it's out of your system."


"Are you sure you want to know, my dear?"
"Yes, I'm perfectly sure. You have to remember, Alexander,
that this is a lot easier for me than it is for you
because it happened years before I was born. I'm not personally
involved, you see."
"I wish that were true."
"What do you mean?"
"I--I'm finding this extremely hard, Sarah."
"I know you are, darling. Why don't you simply begin
talking? Start with something easy. How did you happen
to meet Ruby Redd?"

"Oh, a bunch of us from Lowell House got into the
habit of catching the show at the Old Howard on Saturday
nights, then doing the Scollay Square bars. We thought
we were seeing life. God!"
"Go on," Sarah prodded.

"Well, needless to say, those teeth of Ruby's captured
our puerile fancies, and we started a sort of fan club.
Rubies--crimson for Harvard--that sort of nonsense.
There was a certain--carnivorous fascination about them.
And, of course, Ruby was a striking creature altogether;
vibrant, flamboyant, totally different from anyone I'd ever
known. I grew up in a somewhat bloodless atmosphere, as
I daresay you realize. Father was an austere sort of man.
I suppose he'd learned to keep his emotions under control
because of his heart trouble. Mother was never demonstrative,
either."

"That's true enough."

In all the years she'd known Aunt Caroline, Sarah could
not recall her making one spontaneous gesture of affection
toward the son who'd sacrificed his life to her needs. It
wasn't hard to see why a naturally loving youngster like
Alexander would be drawn toward any woman who promised
even a spurious warmth.
"We were all climbing the walls one night with excitement
when Ruby came into Danny Rate's Pub after the
show. We found that was her regular hangout, so it became
ours, too. As I recall, it was Harry who first got up
nerve enough to approach her, but she soon took a fancy
to me, for some reason. Needless to say, I was pretty
cocky at that. I haunted Danny Rate's until Ruby invited

The Family Vault	97


me to her dressing room. After that, one thing led to
another. I shan't bore you with the dealils. It didn't last
long, in any event."


He shook his head and gulped down about a third of
his drink. "I came home one night and found her dead
in the front hall."

"Home? You don't mean here?"

"Yes, my dear. On the floor in front of that marbletopped
console, with her red satin skirt spread out around
her like a great pool of blood, and the back of her
head--"

He got his voice under control after a while, and struggled
on. "I don't know how long she'd been there. She
was cold when I touched her. I don't know why I touched
her. I suppose I thought there might be something I could
do."

"But how did she get here?"

"I have no idea. I wouldn't have thought she'd even
know where I lived. I stayed in the dorms, you know, my
freshman and sophomore years. Mother still had her vision
then, and we were trying to live normal lives. I did
come home a good deal more than I might have if Father
was still alive, but I wasn't quite besotted enough to think
Ruby was the sort of girl one brings home to Mother. All
I can tell you is that she was lying there, and it was clear
that she'd been murdered."

"Are you sure? Couldn't she have slipped and cracked
her head against the edge of the console?"

"I don't see how. She was lying on her face, and it was
obvious she'd been struck from behind."

"By whom?"

He shrugged. "Mother, of course."

"Alexander, you can't be serious! Aunt Caroline
wouldn't kill anybody."

"She killed Father."

"But that's crazy! Uncle Gilbert died of heart failure
because he forgot his medicine. Your mother almost lost
her own life trying to save him."

"Father didn't forget his medicine. Mother emptied the
bottle overboard."

"How can you know?"

"I saw her. She thought she was alone on deck. We
were becalmed in a fog, as you've heard. That part of the

98	The Family Vault


story is true enough. Father was resting in the saloon,
and I was supposed to be in the galley fixing lunch. I
couldn't find something or other, so I poked my head up
through the hatch to ask Mother where she'd stowed it.
When I saw what she was doing, I pulled back fast."


"You actually saw her do that?"

"Oh, yes. She was only a couple of feet away from me.
I couldn't believe it at first, I tried to tell myself it was
some trick of the fog. But then she came below and a bit
later she started fussing at Father for having been so
careless as to bring an almost empty bottle instead of a
full one. He said it was full, so then she said he mustn't
have got the cap on tight. They had quite a row over it,
which of course wasn't supposed to happen. Father
started getting short of breath and having chest pains. It
was obvious we'd have to put in to shore, which we
couldn't do because there was no wind.

"I said I'd row ashore, but Mother was already in her
bathing suit insisting she could swim in faster than I could
row, and get the harbor master to bring out the medicine
in his motorboat. She'd happened to bash in the bow of
our dinghy that same morning on a rock, which struck me
at the time as a strange thing for Mother to do. She was
never careless as a rule. We'd left the dinghy to be
mended and were making do with a war surplus flotation
raft that was designed for survival rather than easy handling.
"We argued a bit, but it was obvious she could do the
swim in much less time than I could paddle that cranky
raft to shore. It was also true that I could handle Caroline
better than she if the wind came up. A squall was unlikely
under those conditions, and I fully expected Mother'd
be able to swim the distance easily in a dead calm.
She really was a marvelous distance swimmer--I'd raced
her in the dinghy and lost more than once. You see, it
made beautiful sense at the time, and there was no use
arguing with Mother anyway.

"But she hadn't been gone long when a squall did
come "up. I had all I could do to keep the Caroline afloat.
Father tried to help, but collapsed almost at once. By the
time I'd got the boat under control, there wasn't much I
could do but heave to and watch him die. I don't know

The Family Vault	99


whether he realized what she'd done. He never said anything,
just--suffered.


"Once I knew he was dead, I thought I'd better try to
find Mother. I circled for a while, but we'd been blown off
course and I couldn't pick up a landfall. I hadn't the
faintest idea where I was, much less where she might be.
As it turned out, she'd got to shore some time before I
did. They had her in the hospital. She'd taken such a
beating from the squall that I--I couldn't say anything."

"And you've never told her that you know?"

"No, never. What was the use? She's been punished
enough."

"And you've been punished a great deal more than
enough."

There was another long silence, that Sarah finally
broke.

"Alexander, are you absolutely certain it was your
mother who killed Ruby Redd?"

"Who else could have done it?"

"Mightn't she have been followed here by a jealous
boyfriend? Ruby seems to have been a type who'd attract
violence. But Aunt Caroline is not a violent woman, she's
a conniver. I can see her doing what she did to your father
after she'd checked out the tides and weather,
cracked up the dinghy on purpose, and goaded your father
into an argument so that he'd need his medication
even more urgently than usual. That's how she operates.
All right, she miscalculated, got caught in a squall and
suffered terrible consequences, but she did achieve what
she'd set out to do. She got rid of Uncle Gilbert, and she
came out of it a heroine. If by any chance your father
had survived, she'd still be a heroine, and she'd be in a
perfect position to try again because nobody would believe
she'd want to kill the man she fought so hard to
save. You yourself might have wound up thinking you
didn't really see her dump out the medicine, mightn't
you?"

"Perhaps. Who knows?"

"Well, one thing I know is that whacking somebody
over the head on a sudden impulse in her own front hall
is just not something Aunt Caroline would be apt to do.
Can't you see my point?"

"Yes, my dear. You want to convince me that some

100	The Family Vault


outsider came here with Ruby, fractured her skull in a
quarrel and ran off leaving her dead, perhaps in the hope
I'd be blamed for her death because I'd been seeing her."


"Why is that so impossible?"

"For one thing, if he was jealous of my going around
with Ruby, why didn't he attack me instead of her? He
could have found me easily enough at Danny's or the
theater. For another, if he was in this house, how did he
get out? The night latch was on when I came. I distinctly
recall having to use both my keys. As you know, that
extra lock has to be worked with a key both inside and
out. When he had it put on, Father got three keys cut,
one for himself, one for Mother, and one for me. His is
the one you're using now."
"What about Edith?"

"Servants didn't use the front door in Father's day.
They came and went by the basement, not without permission.
That was another point, you see. We still had a
cook then. She and Edith were off on some overnight excursion,
for which Mother had given them the tickets as
a surprise. She'd never done such a thing before or since."

"Oh."

"Lastly, Mother had a plan to dispose of the body all
figured out before I got there. I can see her now. I was
kneeling on the floor beside Ruby's body, trying to find
a pulse although I knew she must be dead, when Mother
came in from the back hall. She had on her black coat
and hat. She said to me, "Alex, I know what's happened
and I don't care to discuss it. Do exactly as I say. Don't
stop to argue because I can't hear you anyway."

"Was she implying that you'd killed Ruby? How could
she have the nerve?"

"She accused Father of forgetting his own medicine,
didn't she? In any event, I was too shocked to do anything
but obey. I'm not trying to excuse myself, Sarah. I
acted like a fool and a coward. I had just enough wits
about me to realize what a spot I was in. All my friends
knew about my affair with Ruby. So did the crowd at
Danny's and the girls Ruby worked with and God knows
who else. Don't ask me how Mother found out."

"Maybe Uncle Jem told her," Sarah suggested, "not to
be malicious but because he'd think it amusing that you
were turning into a stage-door Johnny."

The Family Vault	101


"No doubt a lot of people thought it was funny, and
there's always someone ready to spread gossip. Mother
could lip read after a fashion then, and people used to
write her notes on a pad she always carried. Anyway,
there it was. I suppose Ruby might have dropped in for
a friendly chat about being bought off, and Mother lost
her temper, but considering Mother's general modus
operandi, as you so wisely pointed out, and the fact that
she'd got the servants out of the house, I'm inclined to
believe she'd planned everything in advance.


"She knew her eyesight was going. Once she was blind
as well as deaf, she'd need me to take care of her. I don't
suppose you or I could possibly begin to comprehend the
anger and frustration she must have been suffering then.
Finding out that I was being lured away from her by the
kind of woman she'd consider hardly fit to live in any
case might have been just one blow too many."

"I can understand that," said Sarah. "It would be hard
to judge her actions by rational standards."

"Oh, she was rational enough, though she might not
have been altogether sane. She'd got hold of the key to
that old family vault and informed me that was where
we'd hide the body. I tried to tell her we could never do
it without being seen, but she wouldn't pay any attention,
and I realized she meant exactly what she said about not
arguing. I had my choice of calling the police and perhaps
landing us both on Death Row, or taking the desperate
chance that her scheme might work."

"But how could it? How did you ever manage without
being caught?"

"The reason I went home in the first place was that I'd
been to a party here on the Hill and it was too late to
go back to the dorm. It was about two o'clock Sunday
morning. The weather was nasty, pitch-dark with a cold
drizzle. Nobody was on the street downtown. We were
both wearing black clothes. We pulled our collars up
around our faces and carried Ruby wrapped in an old
black tarpaulin that used to be kept in the cellar for hauling
coal. When we got to the cemetery, we hung the tarpaulin
over a low branch that used to grow right over the
vault, making a sort of tent that we could work inside of.
From even a few feet away, the black canvas simply
melted into the shadows."

102	The Family Vault


"That's incredible!"


"I know, but it worked. We had one of those little pencil
flashlights with us. Mother shielded the lock with her
coat and I got the vault open. Then we shoved Ruby in as
best we could--she'd begun to stiffen by then--and walled
up the vault. Mother had that all reasoned out. It was just
after the family had been through that historical site business,
and she was afraid some city official would take a
notion to inspect the vault. She claimed that if a wall was
there, they wouldn't have the right to tear it down without
permission, which we'd refuse to give. I don't know if
we'd have got away with it.

"But you did, for thirty years."

"Yes, Sarah. Sometimes I even managed not to think
about it for weeks on end. Then something would bring it
to mind and it would be every bit as ghastly as before."
"Poor darling! You must have been terrified while you
were in that tent."

"I was, but Mother was perfectly cool. She stayed there
most of the time by herself, laying the wall by touch while
I ran back and forth through the alleyways fetching armloads
of bricks under my coat. We'd brought the leftovers
up from Ireson's, thinking we'd do something or other with
them here, I forget what. As to why she laid such a fancy
pattern, we'd been working on the Secret Garden wall for
so long that I suppose she instinctively followed the
method she knew best. The opening isn't very large, as
you know, and the whole job took only an hour or so, but
I think I must have aged ten years before we got that
tarpaulin back in the cellar."

"Did you ever talk about it at all?"

"Not one word. The closest we ever came was some
years later when Mother said something about building
another wall at the summer place, and I said I'd rather
not. Naturally I had to endure a good deal of needling
from the crowd about being ditched by my flashy girl
friend. When Ruby disappeared so abruptly, the general
assumption was that she'd run off with some more interesting
man. I think the worst of all was having to show my
face at Danny Rate's the following night and act surprised
that Ruby wasn't around."

"Oh, Alexanderl" Sarah rubbed her cheek against his

The Family Vault	103


hand. "It's a wonder you didn't go clean out of your
mind."


"Perhaps I did. I don't know, Sarah. I don't think I've
ever felt quite real since then. I realized at the time we
were married how bitterly unfair it was to saddle you with
half a husband, but what else could I do?"

"What do you mean?" she cried. "Alexander, why did
you marry me?"

He sighed, like an embarrassed parent faced with having
to explain the facts of life. "I've always known you'd
ask me that some day. If you want the unvarnished truth,
I married you because Mother forced me to."

"No! You couldn't!"

"My darling, please don't look at me like that. Let me
at least tell you how it happened."

Sarah wet her stiff lips. "Go ahead."

"It was the money," he began. "Father had left Mother
as executor of the estate, which was a very large one. She
should have more than plenty to last her lifetime, but she
has nothing. Don't ask me what she did with it. I haven't
the faintest idea. All I know is that within ten years' time
after she took over the handling of the estate, we began to
be hard up. I tried to get her to explain why, but she
wouldn't. I begged her to unload this white elephant of a
house and some of the land at Ireson's Landing. She refused.
I offered to sell some of the family jewels. She said
they were hers for her lifetime and wouldn't let me so
much as look at them. The box was and still is in her
name, and I'd have to get a court order to open it, which
I've never been able to bring myself to do. Instead, I've
been trying for twenty years to make her see reason, and
you know how far I've got."
He wiped his forehead. "Then Walter made that appalling
will appointing me your trustee and, like a fool, I
told her. You know the terms. I'm to give you whatever
allowance I see fit out of the interest until your twentyseventh
birthday, when the principal reverts to you. If you
should die before assuming control of your estate, everything
comes to me. It was a hideous position to be put in.
I begged Walter to choose somebody else, but he said I
cared more about you than any of the others, and God
knows that's true enough. At least having to look after you

104	The Family Vault


gave me an incentive to stay alive a while longer. I'd been
about ready to call it quits."
"You mustn't say that!"


"Sarah, please grant me the luxury of being totally honest
for once in my life."

"I'm sorry, Alexander. Go on."

"Well, as soon as she heard what Walter had done,
Mother decided you and I should marry so that we could
all three live off your income. I wouldn't hear of it, not
because I didn't want you, but because I felt you deserved
a better fate than a man twice your age, saddled with a
hideous burden of guilt and responsibility, who couldn't
even support you. Furthermore, Walter was still hale and
hearty and not all that much older than I. I told Mother
her plan was out of the question, there wasn't going to be
any income in the first place because Walter would no
doubt outlive me. With that, she said I'd better marry you
anyway and make your father give us an allowance, or
something would happen to Walter."

He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Mother was completely blind by that time, quite helpless
to plan any more murders, or so I thought. One month to
the day after that conversation, you asked me to be one of
your father's pallbearers."

"But his death was an accident! He ate a bad mushroom
that he'd gathered himself by mistake."

"Sarah, darling, Walter Kelling was a past president of
the Mycological Society. He'd been gathering and eating
wild mushrooms since he was a boy. His eyesight and his
judgment were as sound as they'd ever been. I don't know
where the amanita came from, but I'll never believe he
picked it himself."

"That was the weekend you drove Beth and me up to
Maine," Sarah said slowly. "Aunt Marguerite was supposed
to come and stay with Aunt Caroline, but she came
down with hives and Father said he'd go in her place."

"That's the story Mother told, at any rate. I shouldn't
be surprised if Aunt Marguerite was never invited. She
also told the doctor Walter had picked the mushrooms
and cooked them himself. Of course she was believed because
everyone knew Walter did that sort of thing, and it
was so obvious that a woman in Mother's condition
couldn't have had anything to do with them. Don't ask me

The Family Vault	105


how she managed to get a bad one and slip it past him.
I began to wonder if she might be possessed of some uncanny
power. I knew she ought to be locked up, but there
wasn't a shred of evidence against her. I couldn't tell the
police she'd already done two other murders because
they'd arrest me as an accessory, and you'd be left with
nobody to look after you."


"It never occurred to you that I might be able to look
after myself?"

"No, never. I had to believe that you needed me. Oh,
my darling, I had to have something!"

Chapter 12


Alexander wiped his eyes and blew his nose. "Sorry I
made a fool of myself, breaking down like that."


"It's a pity you didn't do it sooner," Sarah mumbled into
his hair. She had his head in her arms, cradled against her
breast. "So you only married me to keep me from getting
killed."

"I married you because I adore you, Sadiebelle, and
always did and always will. It's only that I wouldn't have
forced myself on you--"

"Forced yourself on me? You idiotic man! I suppose
you tied me hand and foot, and dragged me screaming to
the altar?"

That got a smile out of him. "No, I will say you came
willingly enough, but you were so young and you'd lost
your father so recently. I thought it was because you felt
you were--"

"Getting another one? I did welcome the prospect of
having somebody to rely on, but I'd never have married
you for that. Has it never occurred to you that I might be
even goofier about you than you are about me?"

"How could you be? My darling girl, you are my whole
life."

"Then it's high time you started living with me instead
of your nightmares," she told him. "From now on, you're
to stop treating me as if I were nine years old and young
for my age. I'm your wife. Whatever happens, we'll share
it equally. I don't believe your mother has any secret
powers. I don't think she's that much smarter than we are,
and I think it's high time we stopped letting her rule the
roost. What we ought to do is go to court and have you
appointed her legal guardian or whatever it was that
Dolph did when Great-uncle Frederick got so batty. Between
her double handicap and the fact that she's thrown


106


The Family Vault	107


away a fortune without being able to say where it went,
you wouldn't have a speck of trouble convincing a judge
that she's not fit to handle large responsibilities."


"Sarah, can you imagine how she'd react?"

"Who says we have to tell her, and how's she going to
find out if we don't? If she ever did find out, what could
she do about it?"

"She'd think of something. It's a terrible risk, Sarah."

"From what you've been telling me, it's a risk being
anywhere near her. She hasn't tried anything on either
one of us yet, and she's had every opportunity."

"That's only because we've let her have her own way in
everything. Why do you think I let her lead me around by
the nose as I do? It's so that she'll leave you alone."

"She'll leave me alone," said Sarah grimly. "Alexander,
I am simply not afraid of Aunt Caroline."

"I'd feel safer if you were."

"No you wouldn't. You'd sink right back into the same
old rut. I'm not going to stand for that, my love. We have
plenty of good years ahead of us, and it's high time we
quit dragging on from one day to the next as we've been
doing. Promise me you'll at least give some thought to that
guardianship."

"Yes, darling. I'll talk to the lawyers about it next
week."

"Good. Now, my next bright idea is, how would you
feel about getting out of this house for a few days and
having a chance to pull yourself together?"

"Where should we go?"

"I suppose the sensible place would be Ireson's Landing.
We could walk the land and make up our minds about
what part we want to sell off so that you'd have some
capital of your own and wouldn't have a fit of the guilties
every time you spent a nickel of mine."

"You're not wasting any time, are you, Sadiebelle?"

"Not if I can help it. Please understand me, Alexander,
I'm not criticizing anything you've done. I'm sure I
shouldn't have handled things as well as you did, and I'd
certainly never have had the fortitude to stick it out all
these years. I don't care why you married me, I think
you're the most wonderful husband a woman could have.
Now come up to bed and start acting like one for a
change."

Chapter 13


It felt strange to wake up and feel her husband's body beside
hers. Sarah opened her eyes and met his. She and
Alexander exchanged delighted smiles.


"How do you feel this morning, dearest?"

"Much better, thank you, Sadiebelle. I was just thinking
I ought to get up and phone Lomax about turning on
the water and starting a couple of fires. It's going to be
cold out there, you know."

She snuggled closer. "We'll manage to keep each other
warm somehow."

He laughed, a merry chuckle she hadn't heard in years.
"I shouldn't be surprised, Sadiebelle."

"Stop calling me baby names. I'm a big girl now."

"You're a wanton hussy, and we'll never get anywhere
if you keep trying to seduce me."

"Trying? I thought I was succeeding."

"Baggage!"

Alexander was behaving in a thoroughly husbandly
manner when Caroline Kelling came stamping up the
stairs.

"Alexander, where are you? Didn't you hear me calling?"

"The voice of the turtle is heard in the land," Sarah
murmured. "Let's hide under the covers."

Sighing, her husband sat up and swung his long legs out
of the bed. "No, I'd better go. Nothing's been changed
simply by our talking about it. You will remember that,
my dearest?"

"We are going to change it."

"Yes, we are, but there's no sense in asking for trouble."

Looking worried again, Alexander put on his sensible
gray Jaeger bathrobe and went to calm his mother. Sarah


108



The Family Vault	109


could hear her saying, "I hope you've got over whatever
was ailing you yesterday. Leila's out of town, so you'll
have to take me to the protest meeting at Faneuil Hall."


"If you do, I'll hold my own protest meeting," Sarah
called out.

"Yes, darling. I'm explaining about the change in plans.
I didn't realize Leila would be out of town. I'm afraid that
means we'll have to take Mother with us."

"Of course, I'd assumed we would. It's better to have
her where we can keep an eye on her."

Sarah put on her own robe and went to brush her teeth.
She could hear that Aunt Caroline was not taking kindly
to the idea of spending the weekend at Ireson's Landing.
Good. Maybe she'd stay home with Edith and sulk, and
they could have the place to themselves.

However, by the time they were settled around the
breakfast table, Mrs. Kelling had changed her tune and
begun organizing the expedition to suit herself. She was
giving orders about one thing and another when the telephone
rang. Edith must have picked it up on the kitchen
extension, for she came into the dining room looking puzzled.

"It's some man wanting Mrs. Kelling. I told him she
don't talk on the telephone, but he says she'll talk to him.
Name's Dee."

"Edith," said Alexander gravely, "there are two Mrs.
Kellings in this house. Isn't that the chap from Harry's office,
Sarah?"

"Yes, I expect it must be about the illustrations for that
jewelry book. He said something the other night. Tell him
I'll be right there, Edith. What time are we leaving?"

"Mother says after lunch. Would that suit you?"

"Let me see what this man has to say. I told him I'd
be willing to meet with him and Mr. Bittersohn, and he
may have something already arranged."

Dee, it appeared, had done exactly that. "I've got it
lined up for half-past ten this morning, Sarah, here at the
office. Can you make it?"

"Yes, if we can be through before noon. My husband
and I have plans for later."

She went back and told Alexander about the appointment.
"Is it all right with you if I go?"

"Fine. That will give me a chance to get squared away

110	The Family Vault


with Lomax and do these multitudinous errands Mother
is thinking up."


"Forget them. None of them matters a rap. We can stop
for groceries somewhere along the way, and since I'm going
to do the cooking, I get to plan the menus."
"We're not taking Edith?"

"No!" The negative came out more sharply than she'd
intended. "You know what a hothouse flower she is, she'd
be complaining every minute. Let her stay and mind the
house. She can have some of her cronies or that nephew
from Maiden in to visit."

Sarah would much rather not have kept thinking about
what Alexander had told her the night before, but how
could she forget? As for her own father, if he had been
deliberately poisoned, she could see only one way it might
have been managed. She'd often wondered why, when
Aunt Caroline had to let the rest of the servants go, she'd
kept the one who was least competent. Now she could
think of a possible reason.

Edith was a dreadful servant, but she might make a
pretty good accomplice. If the woman had any loyalty at
all, it was to Caroline Kelling. She had enough brains to
carry out an order when she had to, and she was probably
also shrewd enough to have figured out that her best hope
of keeping a job was to have some hold over her employer.
Until they could get Caroline Kelling under safe
control, they'd be wise to keep her separated from the old
retainer as much as possible.

Sarah did her customary morning chores, packed the
few things she meant to take with her for the weekend,
and told Alexander, "I might as well pick up the car after
I leave Harry's office, since I'll be so close to the garage.
Let's take off as soon as I get back here and not bother
with lunch. We can stop for a hamburger if we get hungry
on the way."

"Whatever you say, my love."

He kissed her and went back to his own concerns. Sarah
walked down to Charles Street thinking what a relief it
was she didn't have to worry anymore about what Bittersohn
or Dee might tell Harry Lackridge. She would
give Alexander the full particulars of her visit to Ireson's
Landing in due time. Perhaps they might look for a clue

The Family Vault	111


as to who the trespasser was, although it wasn't likely
they'd find anything after such a downpour.


The publishing house had the same mummified atmosphere
that the Lackridges' apartment did. Everything was
still pretty much where Leila's grandfather had put it.
Even the titles in the bookcases didn't include many fresh
jackets. It was surprising that Bittersohn hadn't taken his
lavish grant to some more up-and-coming firm.

Meager as his output was, Harry managed to keep going
while larger houses foundered. He was his own sales
manager, constantly searching out new markets, talking to
book sellers, attending library conventions and book fairs
wherever they could be found. Neither he nor Leila ever
seemed to lack the price of a plane ticket.

Of course, they might be dipping into capital, and why
not? They had no children to provide for, and it was
stupid to go without the things one wanted in order to
save for a future that might never arrive. Sarah thought
of her own father and his scrupulous economies. He'd
been so worried about not having enough for his old age.
What an irony!

Nobody was sitting at the reception desk. Harry was
between secretaries again, or perhaps the girl was just out
for coffee. Sarah was wondering whether to venture past
the switchboard when Bittersohn breezed in from the
street and Bob Dee emerged almost simultaneously from
some inner office.

"Good show! Both of you right on the button. Why
don't we sit right down here at the conference table and
lay it all right out? I'll get us some coffee. How do you
take yours, Sarah?"

"I won't have any, thanks. If you don't mind, I'd rather
get on with whatever we have to do."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. You said you and your husband
were going out to your other place for the weekend. Taking
Mrs. Kelling with you?"

"We always do. Mr. Bittersohn, I believe you have
some photographs to show me?"

Bob Dee wasn't that easily discouraged. "Sure you
won't have anything? Maybe a Danish? Wouldn't take a
second. Bittersohn, what about you? Cream and sugar?"

"No, I just had breakfast."

The author opened a large manila envelope he'd

112	The Family Vault


brought with him and spread some black-and-white glossies
on the table. "Got the outline. Dee? Mrs. Kelling
might like to know what we're talking about."


Bob Dee hustled off with a great air of efficiency and
was gone rather a long time. Bittersohn waited for him
about thirty seconds, shrugged, and began explaining his
project to Sarah. They worked through the pile, she taking
notes and asking an occasional question, and had the
business fairly well settled between them by the time the
young assistant came back.

"Sorry to take so long, folks. I got stuck on an out-oftown
phone call, then had a heck of a time tracking down
your stuff. Harry's desk is something else."

"I should think his secretary would keep track of
things," said Bittersohn.

"You would, wouldn't you? Okay, Max, old buddy,
let's roll it."

"We've already rolled, thanks. I think Mrs. Kelling is
pretty clear on what we want."

"Oh. Well, look, could we take another quick runthrough
just to make sure we've touched all the bases?"

"I hardly think it's necessary," Sarah told him.

Dee paid no attention. He began thumbing through the
photographs, mixing up her notes, raising irrelevant points
of dispute, all with a running patter of wisecracks which
nobody else thought were funny. Sarah endured the performance
for about ten minutes, then stood up.

"I honestly don't think we have to discuss this any
more. Mr. Bittersohn obviously knows exactly how the
work should be done, and I'm sure he'll put me straight
if I get into any difficulties. As for the technique, Harry
knows the way I draw, and I can't imagine he'd have
recommended me if he didn't think I could do an adequate
job. Why don't I simply try one or two and let Mr.
Bittersohn have a look at them? If he feels they won't do,
I shan't charge him anything, and you can find another
artist."

"Yeah, but we don't want to waste a lot of time," said
Dee.

"My feeling exactly."

Sarah started to put on her gloves. "I'll take along
whatever photographs you want to give me, and have

The Family Vault	113


something ready for you by Wednesday at the latest, Mr.
Bittersohn. Where can I get in touch with you?"


She knew she was being rude to this young fellow,
who was trying so hard to impress them and making such
a hash of it, and was ashamed when he took the snub so
cheerily.
"Great, then we'll leave it like that. Why don't you give
me a buzz when you're ready, Sarah, and I'll set up a
meeting? That okay with you, Max?"

"How much is this going to cost me?"

"Hey, what do you know? We never did get around to
talking price, did we? What do you say, Sarah, thirty
bucks apiece? Got to watch the budget, you know."

"Thirty would be lovely," Sarah replied. "Harry generally
gives me ten. I really don't see, though, why Mr.
Bittersohn should get stuck just because it's coming out of
his pocket this time and not the firm's. Perhaps we'd better
split the difference and say fifteen."

"I can't let you do that, Mrs. Kelling. Thirty's fine with
me. You'll still be working cheap, considering the detail
involved."

The author was clearly amused by this turn of affairs.
Dee's sense of humor, on the other hand, seemed finally
to have deserted him. It really was not kind of her to
have said what she did. He'd probably thought he was
doing her a big favor, giving her the chance of making
extra money off a novice who didn't know he was being
skinned. If that was the sort of thing Bob Dee was pickbig
up from Harry Lackridge, he might as well also learn
that a sharp deal could cut more ways than one.

Bittersohn started to put his photographs back in the
envelope. The publisher's assistant made one last attempt.

"Don't you think I should make some Xeroxes, in case
these get lost or anything? It wouldn't take long."

"I don't see why," said the author. "Xeroxes would
come out looking like mud, and I can always get duplicate
prints if we need them."

"Please don't worry, Bob," said Sarah, trying to make
amends for her curtness now that the end of this unexpectedly
trying interview was in sight. "I shan't lose them.
We'll see you next week, then, and perhaps we'll have
time for that coffee you promised."

114	The Family Vault


"Sure, great. Any time you say. I'll look forward to
hearing from you."


He walked them to the door and still showed an inclination
to stand and chat, but Sarah bade a firm goodbye
and went to get the car. It would have been a wise
move to telephone from the publishing house and tell
Alexander she was on her way, but Bob Dee would probably
have torn the switchboard apart in his eagerness to
oblige.

If that young man thought he had a future in publishing,
he'd better think again. He'd be more at home as
master of ceremonies on one of those frenetic game shows
Edith was always watching. There was a pay station in
the garage, and she used that. Alexander said they'd be
waiting on the sidewalk when she came up, and they
were.

"Shall I drive, Sadiebelle? Oh, I forgot, you're a big
girl now."

"Yes I am, and just for that I shan't let you."

Sarah smiled up at her tall husband, thinking he still
looked a bit wan around the mouth, and wishing to spare
him as much as she could. "Do you prefer to sit in back
with your mother or in front with your wife?"

"Need you ask?"

He helped his mother into the back seat and settled
her with the Braille book and note pad she always took
along to relieve the tedium of having nobody to hand signal
for her, since Alexander would as a rule be driving
the car. Mrs. Kelling could write in longhand with a wire
grid to mark off the lines, but she had become so proficient
in Braille that she often preferred to punch out the
dots with a stencil and stylus and have Sarah transcribe
them later on the typewriter.

Sarah had gladly learned Braille and took pleasure in
performing this service. She had never ceased to wonder
at how lucidly the blind and deaf woman could express
herself. Aunt Caroline's style was chilly and sometimes
abrupt, but always to the point. She never rambled or
repeated, she always knew precisely what she was going
to say next and put it down in a way that left no conceivable
doubt as to what she meant. She didn't misspell
words or leave out letters, except when she abbreviated to

r


The Family Vault	115



save time. It was hard to believe there was much wrong
with Caroline Kelling's mind.


Nevertheless, Sarah had said to her husband that it
would be hard to judge Aunt Caroline by normal standards,
and she still thought there was truth in that statement.
One could not condone what she'd done to Uncle
Gilbert, but one could make a fair guess at how she'd
been driven to think of murder.

Caroline Kelling was still a beautiful woman; in her
heyday she must have been stunning. She'd been a New
York debutante, used to a lively social life, opera all winter
long, theater, parties, travel, contacts with fascinating
people and places. Gilbert Kelling, with his handsome
appearance, family connections, and great wealth, must
have seemed like the catch of the decade, but Caroline
would soon have learned he wasn't much fun to be married
to. She'd also have found that Boston ladies of her
circle were more involved with good works than good
times. Life on the Hill had probably not been much duller
for her than it was for some of her neighbors, but to a
beautiful woman with a fabulous collection of jewelry to
show off and no place to wear it, the marriage must have
been one long frustration. Travel abroad was out of the
question. Uncle Gilbert wasn't up to it, and he wouldn't
have gone anyway. All he cared about was sailing in the
Caroline, and since he refused to have an engine in the
craft even that must have been a poky business at times.

Alexander described his father as austere. Uncle Jem
always referred to him as the dead fish. Sarah's own
mother had wondered how Caroline ever endured living
with a human iceberg. That Gilbert's wife had tried to
save his life instead of shoving him overboard was a
source of general wonderment and, everybody thought, a
tribute to her nobility of spirit. If Gilbert Kelling had
been better liked, Caroline might have become less of a
heroine. Had she taken that factor into account when she
chose such a subtle and dramatic way to get rid of him?

Having married Gilbert Kelling for his wealth, Caroline
naturally wouldn't want to give it up. He'd be impossible
to divorce because he never did anything wrong, and if
she herself gave grounds, she'd lose any hope of a settlement.
She'd no doubt expected that his heart ailment
would carry him off early, but he took excellent care of

r


116	The Family Vault



himself, and she wasn't getting any younger. Maybe getting
rid of his medicine and letting nature take its course
hadn't really seemed like murder.


But it was, and if she killed him for money, then where
did the money go? Had she started gambling, piling up
huge debts she had no other way to pay off? That didn't
sound like Aunt Caroline.

Oh, what was the use of brooding on questions for
which she had no answers? Why not concentrate on helping
Alexander to enjoy his weekend? Resolutely, Sarah
began chatting to him about trivia such as whether to stop
at the Mall for groceries or wait till they got to Eddie's.
Eddie's prices were somewhat higher, but the Kellings
had always gone to Eddie's. They went to Eddie's

Once there, it was easy to slip into a familiar comfortable
pattern, inquiring after Mrs. Eddie and all the little
Eddies, debating between homemade walnut muffins and
banana loaf, since the cranberry bread was sold out, as it
always was. There was the stowing of bundles with much
concern over whether the milk would spill into the muffins
if they hit the big bump in the driveway. There was the
thrill of navigating the drive without hitting the bump,
the business of finding the right key, of opening the
creaky side door and being greeted by smells of damp
and wood smoke, of poking up fires and adjusting dampers,
of lugging in parcels and suitcases and getting Aunt
Caroline oriented.

At last the three of them got settled with extra sweaters,
glasses of sherry, hunks of Eddie's rat-trap cheese
and pilot biscuits in front of the immense fieldstone fireplace
that was far and away the pleasantest thing about
the barny old house. Nobody felt much like talking by
then. They were content to bask like cats in the warmth
of burning, salt-soaked driftwood that spurted flames of
blue and green and red-orange and brilliant yellow; rolling
tiny sips of wine around their tongues, nibbling at the
good, simple food. Even Caroline Kelling was not demanding
attention. She said once, "This cheese is excellent,"
but nobody responded and she seemed content to
let it lie.

"She's geting old," Sarah thought. "Old and worn out.
Whatever she may have done in the past, she's no threat
to us now."

The Family Vault	117


It was strange to think of Aunt Caroline in the background,
not calling the shots anymore; almost terrible,
in a way. Sarah roused herself enough to say, "Darling,
ask your mother if she'd like an early supper."


Alexander reached out a hand to hold her back. "Don't
go yet, Sadiebelle. I want to look at you."

She picked up the long, elegant fingers and held them to
her cheek, not able to speak for the lump in her throat
Why couldn't it have been like this always? Sarah didn't
move again until her foot most unromantically went to
sleep. Then she gave the hand a gentle squeeze and laid it
back on the faded denim slip cover.

"I shan't be long. We're just going to picnic here by the
fire. You might fix your mother's drink and do something
about that front log which is about to burn through and
spray live coals all over the hearthrug."

"Yes, my darling. More sherry for you?"

"Not yet, thanks."

Sarah went out, shutting the door behind her to keep
the heat in the living room. It was almost completely dark
by now. She flipped a light switch, but nothing happened.
Lomax must have expected Alexander would turn on the
electricity when he got here, and Alexander supposed
Lomax had done it. No matter, they always kept oil lamps
filled and ready in the kitchen. She got one off the shelf
and reached toward the painted tin match safe that hung
beside the window over the sink.

As she moved, something that was not her reflection
moved along the glass. Her mind froze midair.

Somebody was out there spying on them. She knew, as
she had known Wednesday night about the man on the
path, although nothing was to be seen now except forsythia
branches black against a dark blue sky, whippy
lines punctuated by sharp, pointed buds. The leafless
shrubs could offer no cover. He must have ducked down
beside the house, only a few feet away from her.

Ought she to call for help? What would that accomplish?
If Alexander rushed out to confront the intruder,
he might get hurt, even killed. If he stayed inside, he'd
feel like a coward and the good work of last night and
today would be undone. If it was the same person who'd
been with her on the path and made no move to hurt her,
there was probably nothing to be afraid of, anyway.

118	The Family Vault


Sarah nerved herself to move forward and flick the
damp-stained calico curtains across the windowpane, like
any cozy housewife settling in for the night. She took the
match, touched it to a couple of the lamp wicks, and
turned them down so they'd give a soft glow without sooting
the chimneys. Then she started heating soup and cutting
sandwiches.


Years ago, as a lonesome little girl afraid to be upstairs
in the dark by herself, she'd got into the habit of singing
in bed. It always gave her courage to fall asleep then. She
tried it now.

"Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh,
where have you been, charming Billy?"

"I've been to seek a wife, she's the joy of my life."

She aged ten years before she realized thu voice blending
with hers was her husband's. He put his arms around
her from behind, and nuzzled her hair.

"I missed you, Sadiebelle. Shall I help with the sandwiches?"

"No, they're done."

Poor angel, if he ever knew what a fright he'd given
her! "I'm just waiting for the soup to heat. You could
reach us down some plates and mugs if you like."

"The nice blue ones or the awful old greeneryyalleries?"

"The
blue, of course. Alexander, I have a charming
thought."

She pitched her voice a shade on the loud side, to let
the lurker by the wall know she was not alone. "Why don't
we take the old uglies out on the back terrace, and smash
them one by one?"

"I have an even brighter idea," he said. "Let's wait till
Leila tries to rope us into joining another committee, and
throw them at her."

Laughing together, they set out the trays, and carried
them back to the fireplace. Sarah had splurged on a can
of crabmeat because it was something Alexander adored
but seldom got. He was touched, and let her know with a
warmth that brought another lump to her throat. How little
it took to make him happy, and how seldom had she
tried during these past difficult years. From now on, things
would be different.

But in what way would they be different? Much as

The Family Vault	119


she'd rather forget it, Sarah couldn't help remembering
that dark shape outside the kitchen window. There were
too many dark shapes in her life lately. Ever since that
day in the graveyard, they kept popping up everywhere
she looked.


This one was nothing but nerves. The vast, neglected
estate had always been a magnet for trespassers. She'd
never been afraid of them before because Alexander was
with her. He was here now, wasn't he? Whatever happened,
they'd be together. What was the sense in worrying?
Chapter 14


Sarah woke up smiling and reached out to touch her husband.
Alexander was no longer beside her, though. He
must have gone down to light the fire, which meant he
was over his awful lethargy, and thank God for that. She
lay a few minutes listening to the seagulls' usual morning
quarrel down on the rocks and making plans for the day.
After breakfast they might run over to the fish shack and
pick up a bucket of clams. She'd make a big pot of chowder.
Alexander would eat great bowls of it and say,
"Thank you, Sadiebelle," and give her a smile that now
had nothing but love and joy in it.


She jumped out of bed, put on heavy corduroy pants
and her old green Shetland sweater, and went to start a
pot of coffee. The fire, she noticed, was new-laid but not
yet alight. Alexander would be out at the woodpile, cutting
neat splinters for kindling.

In the cold foggy air the smell of last night's smoke
hung heavy and acrid. Faded walls and battered furniture
didn't look homey now, only depressing. The bogles came
creeping back.

Had she or had she not seen somebody prowling last
night? Why hadn't she been brave enough to stick her
head out the window and make sure? Sarah opened the
back door and scanned the fog-beaded grass for signs of
footprints, but couldn't see any. Then a tall form loomed
out of the gray. That startled her again, until Alexander
spoke.

"I'm sorry I couldn't arrange a sunny morning for you,
Sadiebelle, but the radio says it's supposed to burn off by
noon. Shall I do something about breakfast?"

"No, my love. Were you planning to light the fire?"

"Yes, my darling."

He tilted her chin up so he could kiss her on the lips.


120



The Family Vault	121


"Is that coffee I smell, or the allegorical nectar of the
pagan deities?"


She kissed him back. "You're in a bouncy mood today."

"I am as merry as a schoolboy," he informed her
gravely. "Are we having Eddie's muffins, I hope?"

"Name it and you shall have it, my love. Want me to
barbecue a steer, or will you settle for scrambled eggs and
sausages?"

"Whichever is faster. I seem to be getting my appetite
back."

"Good," said Sarah. "Shall we go ahead without your
mother, or do you think she'll be down soon?"

Alexander looked startled. "Good Lord! I'd completely
forgotten we brought her with us."

Sarah burst out laughing. "To think I should live to see
the day! Here, have some coffee and a muffin to stay your
stomach while I find out if she needs help."

However, Caroline Kelling had managed for herself,
having her own precisely ordered suite here as she did in
Boston. They heard her tapping her way downstairs, calling
out for her son as always. He went to meet her, and
Sarah started breaking eggs into a bowl, putting in an extra
one for Alexander.

After breakfast, she and he did a few chores while Aunt
Caroline sat with her book by the fire. Then all three rode
to the fish shack for clams. It was too early to think of
chowder after such a large breakfast, so Mrs. Kelling decided
everybody should go back to sit by the fire while
she worked on a report she'd promised to have ready
when Leila came back from Washington.

Alexander replied calmly that he'd made up the fire
with oak logs so she'd be perfectly comfortable by herself
for an hour or so while he and Sarah went for a walk
along the beach.

"I'm surprised Sarah will let you go," was the amiable
reply. "She goes into a swivet about your not feeling well
when there's anything I want you to do for me."

He didn't reply. Mrs. Kelling shrugged and turned to
her report. They left her punching Braille and went out
into the fog. It had begun to thin a bit up along the road,
but down under the cliff they could hardly distinguish between
beach and sea.

"I hope you're not too disappointed," Alexander apol-

122	The Family Vault


ogized as if he ought to have managed better weather for
their outing. "I do so want you to be happy."


"I am happy."

That was true, although Sarah would have been happier
if they could see more than three feet around them. She
was getting prickles again, wondering if it was just her
imagination working overtime or if there actually was
somebody nearby. The pounding of the surf and the rattle
of loose stones being pulled out by the undertow made
racket enough to drown out any footsteps. So long as this
fog held, they could be moving in the midst of a crowd
and not know it.

Still she felt safe enough with Alexander. He'd been
roaming this stretch of coast all his life. If any trouble
threatened, he'd know how to get them away fast enough.
She had only to stay close, clinging to his hand as she'd
done before her head reached up to his coat pocket and
heaven was a stroll with Cousin Alexander.

"Am I going too fast for you, Sadiebelle?"

How many tunes during the past twenty-five years had
he asked her that same question? Sarah began to laugh.

"My legs aren't quite so short as they used to be. Look,
there's my old wishing rock poking up out of the fog. Remember
how we used to sit there looking out to sea while
you told me stories about the mermaids?"

He chuckled. "And you insisted you could see them
riding the waves. Can you still, darling?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen a mermaid in ages."

"Perhaps they're out there today. Come on, let's sit
down."

They crowded together on the narrow ledge that had
been their special place for as long as she could remember.
Alexander put his arm around her to keep her from slipping
off the edge.

"Now, Sadiebelle, I wish you'd tell me what's bothering
you. You've been edgy ever since we started out. Is it
something in particular or--things in general?"

Sarah laughed uncomfortably. "You're very perspicacious,
my dear sir. I wasn't going to tell you."

"If we're going to treat each other as equals, it has to
work both ways, you know. What's the matter?"

"It's only that I keep having this absurd feeling we're
being followed."

The Family Vault	123


"But why?"


"I suppose because somebody was around here the
other night when I came to look at the wall, and I'm quite
sure I caught a glimpse of him again last night when I
went out to the kitchen to start supper."

"Him? Are you sure it was a man?"

"No, but that was my impression. Someone fairly big,
but not so tall as you." She filled in the details as best she
could. "It doesn't sound like much, does it?"

"It's enough to make me wonder if somebody's camping
out on the grounds somewhere. We've had that problem
before, you know."

"That was my own first thought, but I can't help wondering
if there could be more to it than trespassing. For
one thing, it seemed a fantastic coincidence that I ran into
that Mr. Bittersohn on my way home that night."

"Where was this?"

"In a coffee shop up along the pike. I was in such a
state that I was afraid to drive any further without a hot
drink to pull me together. I hadn't been there two minutes
when he came in and sat down at my table. He's about
the right size, and it popped into my head that he might
have followed me out from Boston to see what I was up
to."

"Sarah, why would the man do a thing like that?"

"Because of the jewelry, was all I could think of. I
thought he might have got it into his head I was sneaking
off to meet a--a boy friend, and that he could blackmail
me into letting him get at the collection."

"How could you? The box is in Mother's name. You
wouldn't be allowed to open it without her authorization."

"He wouldn't necessarily be aware of that, would he? I
know we told him I'd never seen the things, but that was
in deference to Aunt Caroline's wishes. He may think I
could if I chose to. You must admit it's unusual for a person
in her condition to have had complete control over
such a valuable family property all these years. Now that
I've met him again, though, I honestly don't think he's
that sort of man."

Alexander shook his head. "We mustn't be too sure of
anything. It does seem too much of a coincidence, his coming
upon you like that, and the Studebaker would cer124	The Family Vault


tainly be an easy car to follow anywhere. What did he
say when he come to the table?"


"The sort of thing one might expect. Acted surprised to
see me so far from Boston and asked what I was doing out
by myself on such a miserable night. I told him you
weren't feeling well and I had to attend to something out
here. I mentioned our having two places, and said we were
always tootling back and forth. Then I asked him the
same question, and he didn't really answer, but started
talking about my doing the drawings for his book."

"How did he know you can draw?"

"He said Harry told him. I'm afraid he, or whoever it
was on the path, may also have got hold of a sample. Like
a fool, I tore up that sketch I'd made of the wall, and
simply threw the pieces away. He could have picked them
up and stuck them back together.

Alexander was looking gray again. "I've landed you in
a fine kettle of fish, haven't I?"

"No, I don't think you're responsible, Alexander," Sarah
replied, "and I'm not saying this simply to make you feel
better. I'm beginning to suspect there's something that's
been going on for a long time without your knowing anything
about it."

"What makes you say that?"

"For one thing, this business of Ruby Redd. I cannot
believe your mother killed her."

"But she must have!"

"She never said so, did she?"

"Of course she didn't. Would you?"

"Probably, if I was asking my own son to help me get
rid of the body. I'd feel I owed you some kind of explanation."

"Sarah, she was trying to pretend I'd done it. I told you
what she said."

"Yes, and it seems to me that those words were carefully
chosen for their ambiguity. They might also be interpreted
to mean she knew who'd done it but didn't dare
say. That would explain why she's never been willing to
talk about it. There's no earthly reason why you and she
should never have discussed the matter, unless she was
shielding somebody. Then I keep getting back to the
method of killing. Can you honestly see Aunt Caroline

The Family Vault	125


sneaking up behind another woman and bashing her over
the head?"


"How can one say what another person will do in time of
stress?"

"You know what she did to your father, and you have a
pretty shrewd idea of what she did to mine. I can believe
the poisoned mushroom theory because it's basically the
same as the first murder--setting up a situation that's going
to result in death without arousing suspicion. I've
been thinking she might have got Edith to pick the mushrooms
for her, but she mightn't even have had to do that.
Couldn't she just have dumped her eyedrops or something
into the pan?"

Her husband thought a moment, then nodded. "Yes,
that's entirely possible. Atropine is a vegetable alkaloid,
too, if I'm not mistaken, and the symptoms might not be
dissimilar. The doctor would be apt not to doubt the mushroom
story because people who gather wild mushrooms
so often do poison themselves by accident, and those who
don't sometimes have an almost superstitious dread of the
things--like thinking all snakes are dangerous."

"And Aunt Caroline would be ready with a plausible
story about how Daddy was always so cocksure of what
was edible and what wasn't that he never bothered to
check them against the reference books. She'd claim that
was why she never dared eat what he picked, which would
explain why she didn't get poisoned, too. You see, we can
both accept that idea because it's so typical of the way she
operates. Ruby Redd's murder was entirely different.
Your theory is that your mother killed your girl friend
because she didn't want to lose you, but I can't buy that.
You were still under age and Aunt Caroline had control
of the finances. All she had to do was cut off your allowance
and ship you off with her on a trip somewhere. She'd
be taking a fairly safe gamble that Ruby wouldn't be the
sort of girl to sit chewing her fingernails till you got back,
wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," Alexander admitted, "but if she didn't
kill Ruby, who did?"

"I'd say, offhand, it was most likely the person to whom
she gave the money."

"Gave the money? You mean Father's money? Good
God, Sarah, why would Mother do a thing like that?"

126	The Family Vault


"How should I know?" said his wife. "But if she didn't
give it away, what did she spend it on? A person couldn't
fling huge sums about and have nothing left to show for it
unless she bought phoney stocks or bet on horse races--"


"Not Mother."

"--or had to pay blackmail to somebody who knew
she'd killed your father."

Alexander licked salt off his lips. "How could anybody
know?"

"What if she confessed? She was in a really bad way
when they found her, wasn't she? Maybe she thought she
was going to die. To ease her conscience, she told a minister
or someone at the hospital. Then when she got better
and turned out to be a wealthy woman, that person threatened
to expose her."
"That doesn't hold water, Sarah. Mother could say she'd
been raving, delirious, that it simply wasn't true. She'd
count on my backing her up because she never did know
I'd seen her get rid of the medicine. I suppose there's always
the chance that some fisherman or someone happened
to come alongside the Caroline in the fog at the
precise moment she emptied the bottle over the rail, but
if he was close enough to see her, then she'd also have
seen him. Anyway, why should a blackmailer find it necessary
to kill Ruby? They'd have no possible connection
with one another."

"Are we safe in assuming that? I don't want to undermine
your ego, darling, but you did say that you were one
of a crowd of fans and couldn't think why Ruby singled
you out as her favorite. I'm sure you were the best-looking
of the lot, but you probably weren't the richest or the most
sophisticated."

"Sarah, are you implying that her getting friendly with
me was part of a scheme to fleece Mother? What could
she get out of me?"

"The jewels, silly. Aunt Caroline would have had to tell
whoever was getting the money that she couldn't give them
up because they didn't belong to her, so they intended to
use Ruby to wheedle them out of you. Then Ruby heard
about that ruby parure and decided to double-cross them
because it would go so nicely with her teeth."

"Darling, you're seeing mermaids again."

"All right, I'm only guessing about that, but I do have

The Family Vault	127


one solid piece of information. Do you remember Tim
O'Ghee?"


"The bartender from Danny Rate's? How could I forget?
His being there when you opened the vault was like
a judgment. Frankly, I've been wondering why he hasn't
come around trying to blackmail me."

"Because he's dead," said Sarah.

"How do you know?"

"I found him."

"Sarah!"

"Darling, don't look so aghast. Let me tell you how it
happened. First, you must realize that by Tuesday morning,
I was in what you might call a state."

"You had every reason to be."

"At any rate, I felt I simply couldn't endure sitting
around waiting for the next awful thing to happen. It occurred
to me that if I could find that old bartender, he
might be able to answer some of my questions."

She explained how she'd tracked O'Ghee to his rooming
house, and how the landlady had sent her upstairs
alone to discover his body.

"Oh, my God!" Alexander gasped. "How did he die?"

"Some kind of poison injected by the needle he took
his insulin with, I should think. It had been faked up to
look like suicide by Milky Ways."
He stared at her. "Sarah, whatever are you talking
about?"

"Milky Ways," she repeated. "You know, those candy
bars I used to be so crazy about."

"I thought you still were."

"I'm afraid I've rather lost my taste for them."

She told him why. "You see, I was supposed to believe
he'd stopped his medication and stuffed himself with
candy so that he'd go into a coma and die."

"And mightn't he have done just that? It doesn't seem
such a bad way for an old man to go, my dear."

"Of course he didn't. Why should he? He was chipper
as a bee the day before. That landlady of his tried to
pretend Mr. O'Ghee was shattered by finding Ruby
Redd's body in the vault because they'd been sweethearts,
which was utter nonsense. You should have heard the
earful he gave us about what an awful person she was!
He wasn't the least bit sorry, only excited at being on the

128	The Family Vault


spot when she turned up and pleased with himself for being
able to tell us who she was. Anyway, he couldn't eat
Milky Ways because his teeth were no good. He told me
so himself."


Alexander pondered, his magnificent head bowed into
the upturned collar of his threadbare pea jacket. "Then
you honestly believe that the landlady staged this whole
performance?"

"She and that so-called doctor together, I should say.
They were feeding each other lines like a couple of professional
actors. Oh, and as a grand finale, they reached
into the wastebasket and pulled out a copy of Monday
night's paper that had the story about Ruby Redd and
that awful picture of me and Dolph right on the front
page. They recognized me from the photograph, accused
me of coming there to--to make trouble for my family,
and practically threw me out by the scruff of the neck."

"Sarah, this is unbelievable!"

"I know. It was as though they knew I was coming and
set the stage in advance. I suppose what actually happened
was that they saw me dithering around outside,
wondering if I'd got the right house, and recognized me
from the news broadcast Harry and Leila saw. I was
wearing the same old brown coat and no doubt looking
just as idiotic. The man must have rushed upstairs and
planted the things under the bed, then sneaked around
back and waited till the landlady signaled for him to
make his appearance as the doctor."

"Would they have time for all that?"

"Easily. The woman kept me talking at the door for a
few minutes before she let me in, and then after I found
Mr. O'Ghee dead, I stayed upstairs with the body while
she telephoned--or pretended to. The man did drive up
in a car, but he might have had it parked just around the
corner somewhere."

"Didn't he have a stethoscope or anything?"

"I don't know. He never opened that little bag he was
carrying, and he kept his overcoat on so I've no idea what
he was wearing underneath. We were only in the room
together for a few minutes before they raised that big
hullabaloo and forced me to leave, with dire threats of
what they'd do if I ever came back."

"What puzzles me is why the woman ever let you see

The Family Vault	129


the body in the first place," said Alexander. "Why didn't
she simply tell you Mr. O'Ghee wasn't around?"


"I suppose because they were afraid I'd keep coming
and pestering them if they didn't scare me off good and
proper. Or they may have wondered if Mr. O'Ghee told
me something they didn't want me to know, and thought
they'd better take the chance to sound me out."

"My God, Sarah! What if he had, and you'd let them
know?"

"Obviously he didn't since I got out alive," she replied
with a shiver. She hadn't thought of that before. "Anyway,
don't you think this opens up some new possibilities?"
"Yes, I expect it does."

There was a curious hesitation in his voice. Sarah
caught the nuance.

"Alexander, don't you want it to be somebody else?"

"Darling, how can you ask that? Of course I'd rather
not have to think of my own mother as a red-handed
murderess, but what a terrible injustice I've done her all
these years if she isn't guilty."

"She is guilty of your father's death, you're positive of
that."

"Yes, but that's--not quite the same. The plain fact is
that Father could be absolute hell to live with. There
were times when I felt like doing something drastic, myself."

"Not murder!"

"No, I don't think my destructive fantasies got any
further than a punch in the mouth. What I actually
planned to do was clear out of Boston as soon as I got
my degree and find a job somewhere. I think Mother
knew what I had in mind, although we never talked
about it."

"Leaving the family nest would be the normal and
reasonable thing for any young man to do."

"I've never been much good at doing the normal and
reasonable thing, have I?"

Alexander slid off the wishing rock. "Shall we walk on
a bit? I'm getting stiff with sitting, and it looks as if the
fog's beginning to lift."

"Don't you think we ought to start back?" said Sarah.
"Aunt Caroline's fire must be almost out by now, and I

130	The Family Vault


should get going on that chowder if we're to have it for
supper. It's always better if it stands awhile."


"You'll need me to open the clams, I suppose?"

"No, I bought them already shucked. And frozen, unfortunately,
since those were all they had."

"They'll taste just as good. You make a marvelous
chowder, Sadiebelle."

"Are you trying to butter me up?"
He smiled a little. "Well, I was rather thinking that if
you don't want my help, I might nip down and have a
look at the Milburn."

"I thought you'd got the old girl all tucked up in her
winter nightie."

"I have," he answered eagerly, "but it wouldn't take
me ten minutes to untuck her if you'd care for a little
spin."

"Why don't you take your mother while I'm chopping
the onions?" Sarah suggested instead. Jogging along at ten
miles an hour in an antique electric car was not her favorite
pastime, but Aunt Caroline loved the Milburn almost
as much as her son did. "Give her a nice ride, and
then she won't feel quite so abused and neglected if we
go off again by ourselves this afternoon. I do believe
you're right about the weather. Look, there's the patch
of blue big enough to make a Dutchman's breeches."

"And the sun's trying to break through," said Alexander.
"Perhaps it's an omen, Sadiebelle."
They were surprised to realize how long they'd been out
By the time Sarah and her husband got back to the house,
Aunt Caroline was wondering in aggrieved tones if they
were ever to get any lunch.

Alexander pacified his mother with the promise of a
ride in the Milburn, then went to get the electric out of
its winter wraps while Sarah broiled a fresh halibut steak
she'd found, by a miracle, at the fish shack. They had it
with grilled tomatoes and hot corn bread, and were thoroughly
enjoying the meal when Alexander suddenly exclaimed,
"Sarah, I can't leave you here alone. What if that
trespasser's still around?"

"Peeping Tom?" She shrugged. "We didn't see anybody
on the beach, and your mother stayed here alone all
morning without being bothered. I'll lock the doors and
windows, but I'm honestly not a. bit frightened to be by
myself for half an hour or so. You don't intend to be
gone long, do you?"

"No, darling, just down the road and back. You're
quite sure you don't want to come?"

"You know Aunt Caroline hates it if we all squeeze in
together. Alexander, we mustn't let this situation get to
us. I may simply have imagined that man last night. Go
ahead and play with your precious toy. I'll be fine."

"Then lock the door behind us, and if you get the urge
to do some more investigating, wait till I get back. Promise?"
"I promise. Have fun."

She kissed him good-bye and watched him help Aunt
Caroline down the drive. They kept the Milburn in a shed
not far up from the road, to spare her aged axles the torture
of the climb. Sarah waited at the door until the dip
of the grade hid them from sight, then she dutifully turned


131



132	The Family Vault


the key in the lock and went to peel onions and chop
salt pork.


Preparing a genuine New England clam chowder is not
a task to be taken lightly. Intent on what she was doing,
Sarah again lost track of the time. It wasn't until she was
adding the milk to the cooked onions and potatoes that it
occurred to her Alexander and his mother ought to have
returned some time ago. Even if temptation to go a bit
farther than he'd planned got the better of him, he
wouldn't dare keep the Milburn out very long for fear its
batteries would run down.

Maybe they had. It might not be a bad idea to take the
Studebaker and go out looking for the Milburn. Sarah
knew the route they'd be most apt to take. Aunt Caroline
always liked to be driven up along the cliff road, although
she could no longer admire the view of the ocean.

That wasn't far, though, and there were a couple of
year-round houses along the way. Alexander couldn't call
his wife if they got stuck because the telephone had been
shut off for the winter, but he'd surely be able to find
somebody willing to bring Aunt Caroline back and explain
about the delay. Everybody knew the Kellings and
their crazy old cars.

The early dusk began to gather. Now Sarah was really
scared. She was putting on her coat when she heard a car
churning up the drive. That wasn't the Milburn; the little
electric was virtually noiseless. They must have had to be
towed. Alexander would be heartbroken. She went to offer
condolences, and was confronted by a policeman in
Uniform.

"Mrs.--er--Miss Kelling?"

"Mrs. Kelling, yes. What is it, officer? Something's happened
to the Milburn, hasn't it? Is my husband all right?"

"Your husband? I'd have thought--no, Mrs. Kelling,
I'm afraid he's not. He and his--the lady that was with
him--"

"His mother. Where are they?"

"They went over the cliff," the policeman said doggedly.
"A young fellow happened to be down on the
rocks and saw the car go over the seawall into the water.
He tried to reach them, but there was nothing anybody
could have done. You know what it's like, a thirty-foot


r
i


;	The Family Vault 133


:	drop and all those big jagged rocks standing up out of the


'	water."

|	"Like teeth. When I was little, Alexander used to tell

I	me they were giants' teeth."

;	Automatically, Sarah stepped back from the door to
let him in. She didn't seem to be very steady on her feet.

j	"Hey, you're not going to faint on me?" The policeman
caught her by the arm and steered her over to the sofa.

,	"Is anybody else in the house?"

'	"I--no, just myself."

"Okay, Mrs. Kelling, take it easy. Anything to drink
around the place? Brandy? Whiskey?"

I	"There's some sherry in the pantry. On a tray with
three glasses. I was going to--I thought they'd like--"

:	Sarah twisted both fists into the ribbing around the
bottom of her baggy green sweater. "Are you sure it was
Alexander?"

I	"Mrs. Kelling, do you think I'd be here if I weren't?"

:	What a kind face the policeman had, she thought, kind
and tired, as though he'd had to do this sort of thing too
many times.

"The kid called us," he explained. "led Lomax is a
volunteer fireman. He heard the sirens and came to see
what was up. Soon as he found out what had happened,

i	he knew who it was. He says he's worked for your folks a
long time."

"That's right. Ever since--I don't know when. Since
Alexander was a little boy. I'll get my coat."

i	The policeman said something, but Sarah didn't hear
what it was. She put on the scruffy old storm coat, not noticing
when her sweater sleeves got wadded up halfway
to her elbows inside the coat sleeves, and let him lead her
out to the patrol cruiser.

She didn't know where he took her. She was in a thick
gray fog, like the one she and Alexander had gone walking
through that morning. She was taken into a room
where there were two high, rolling hospital beds with long
bumpy ridges on them covered with white sheets. The
sheets were damp in spots, and stained watery red-brown.
Before anybody could stop her, she went over to the bed
that had the longer ridge and pulled away the cover. Half
of Alexander's face was handsome as ever. The other half
wasn't there anymore.

134	The Family Vault


A hand put back the sheet. A voice said, "He didn't


have time to suffer, if that's any consolation?"

Sarah shook her head. How could there be any consolation?
"Is--is Aunt Caroline--"

"Jeez, I wouldn't look if I were you. For the record,
maybe you could tell us what she was wearing? It's a
formality we have to go through."

Sarah wet her lips. "I can't seem to remember. Her
blue tweed suit, I suppose, and a matching cape. And a
blue-and-green-print scarf around her head, and her
pearls. She always wore her pearls."

"No other jewelry?"

"Little gold earrings and a plain gold wedding band.
On her right hand, not her left, because she was a
widow. Is--is that all right?"

"Fine. Thanks for coming. You'd better go on home
and try to get some rest. Walt, you want to take her?
Maybe those pearls had better go, too. Are they valuable?"
"Yes."
Sarah didn't realize she was supposed to take the envelope
that was being held out to her. The kind policeman
slipped it into her coat pocket and took her by the arm.
She pulled the fog back around her and was not aware
of anything else until she smelled wood smoke and mildew
and knew she was back in the living room of the
summer house.

"How about drinking a little more of this wine?" he
asked.

Sarah tried to sip at the sherry he was holding to her
lips, ashamed that she was making things so difficult for
him. "Please have some yourself," she urged. "I'm sure
you need it."

"Thanks, but I'm on duty. I sure could use a cup of
coffee, though. Sit still. I can make it, if you don't mind."

"No, let me. I'd rather be doing something. Or perhaps
I could give you a bowl of chowder. I was making it for
my husband."

That was when she went to pieces. The policeman
found a clean tea towel and stood clumsily patting her
shoulder while she mopped at her face with it and got the
sobbing under some kind of control. At last she was able
to talk.

The Family Vault	135


"I do beg your pardon. You're being so sweet to me,
and I'm acting like a fool. It's just that--I've loved him
all my life!"


"Sure, sure. I know how it is. Say, isn't there somebody
I can get hold of to come and stay with you? Your mother
or your sister?"

"My mother's dead and I have no sister. I'll be all
right. I need a little time to get used to it, that's all."

"But you've got somebody," he persisted. "Friends?
Relatives?"

"Oh, yes, scads of relatives."

Poor man, what a pickle for him to be in, alone in a
house with a weepy widow.

"Do let me get you a bowl of chowder," she sniffed.
"Perhaps we'd both feel better if we had some hot food
inside us."

"Sounds great to me, Mrs. Kelling."

She put on the coffeepot and reheated the chowder,
got out bowls and pilot biscuit, relieved to be doing something
for somebody. The two of them sat down at the
kitchen table and spooned up the hot, savory stuff, not
trying to make conversation. Sometimes the food got
stuck in Sarah's throat, but she forced herself to swallow
and the effort did her good. The policeman's bowl was
empty, though, before she was halfway through.

"Please let me get you some more. And what is your
name? You're being such a friend in need, I can't simply
go on calling you Officer."

"It's Jofferty," he told her, "Sergeant Walter Jofferty."

"How do you do," said Sarah mechanically. "My father's
name was Walter. I should have said that I'm Sarah
Kelling. My husband is--was--Alexander, and his
mother was Caroline. I expect Mr. Lomax told you that."

"Yes, he did. I guess that car was a real old-timer."

"A nineteen-twenty Milburn. Alexander's grandmother
used to drive it."

"How come you--"

"Didn't get killed with the others?" Sarah made a poor
job of smiling at her attempted joke. "I stayed home to
make the chowder. The Milburn wasn't really comfortable
for us all to fit in together, and Aunt Caroline enjoyed
riding in it much more than I did. She was blind
and deaf, you see, so--"

136	The Family Vault


"Oh, sure. You liked to give her what pleasures you
could. Pretty helpless, was she?"


"Oh, no, far from that. She was perfectly able to get
about and take care of herself so long as she knew where
things were. She could read and write Braille and converse
if people spelled out words into the palm of her
hand. She's been very active in civic affairs with her
friend Mrs. Lackridge, whom you may have heard of.
They work as a team. Aunt Caroline writes reports and
so on, and Leila does the contact part. Leila's very good
at hand signaling, she and my husband. I'm not fast
enough, myself. Aunt Caroline gets impatient. I keep forgetting
she's--"

"That's only natural, Mrs. Kelling. These things take a
while to get used to. How about some more coffee?"

"Not for me, thank you. I seem to have this permanent
lump in my throat, as though I'd swallowed an orange
whole."

Sarah pushed away her still-unfinished chowder. "What
I don't understand, Sergeant Jofferty, is how the car went
out of control. What was it that child said?"

"It wasn't a child. It was a young guy maybe twentytwo
or three, who seemed to be a credible witness. He
told us the car came over the crest of the hill fast, zoomed
down the hill like a rocket, failed to make the turn at the
bottom and sailed right up over the seawall, flipping upside
down when it struck the top of the wall. Both passengers
were thrown out on to the rocks."

"But Alexander would never take that hill fast! He'd
have to gun the motor to get up, but the brakes would be
on all the way down."
"We can only assume the brakes failed."

"They couldn't have. My husband was an expert mechanic."
"It was a very old car," said Jofferty.

"I know. Perhaps the only Milburn in the world still
being driven by the family that bought it. He loved the
Milburn."

Sarah was afraid she was going to cry again. She got
up and started to clear the table. "I suppose I'll have to
start thinking about--arrangements."

"If you'll let them know down at the station who your

The Family Vault	137


undertaker is, we'll handle it with him. You won't have to
worry about a thing."


That sounded pretty inane. Jofferty went on hastily,
"As for the car, I don't know if there's enough to salvage,
but we can try if you want."

"No, let the ocean take it. I could never--" Sarah
started to tremble again.

"Mrs. Kelling," said the policeman, "Jed tells me you
folks live in Boston and were just here for the weekend.
If you'll take my advice, you'll get some of your relatives
to drive you back there and spend the night with you."

"I can drive myself. I have another car here. A nineteen
fifty Studebaker Starlite coupe."

Sarah began to laugh too shrilly, caught Jofferty's worried
look, and sobered down. "Please don't worry about
me. I'll be able to manage now. I know this has been
terrible for you, and I've behaved dreadfully, but I do
want to thank you for your great kindness."

"That's okay. You take care of yourself. Give us a call
if there's anything else we can do. Thanks for the
chowder."

He unfolded his length from the kitchen chair and
reached for the uniform cap he'd tossed on the counter by
the sink.

"By the way, your husband didn't happen to be upset?
About your mother-in-law's condition, or anything?"

"Upset enough to make him commit murder and suicide,
you mean? Why didn't you ask me that in the first
place?"

"Now, Mrs. Kelling, don't get excited."

"I'm not excited."

Sarah was shaking so she could hardly get the words
out. "If you think my husband would do a thing like that,
you'd better think again. His mother's condition was no
worse than it had been for the past twenty years and he
--he loved me very much."

She had to blow her nose in a hurry. "He'd never do a
thing like this to me, never! And he wouldn't have let any
harm come to the Milburn. He was going to leave it to
the Larz Anderson Museum. It's right in his will."

She blew her nose again. "I suppose you're thinking
any wife would say the same, but it happens to be true.

138	The Family Vault


I've known Alexander Kelling ever since I was born, and
you never knew him at all."


"We have to ask these things," sighed Jofferty. "I'm
sorry."

"I hope you are! Furthermore, I don't believe those
brakes failed. Alexander could take the Milburn apart
and put it together again in his sleep. He'd know in two
minutes if the car wasn't running quite right. And he'd
have come straight home to fix it, not try to tackle that
ghastly cliff road."

"Okay, Mrs. Kelling, so he didn't do it on purpose and
there was nothing wrong with the car. What's the alternative?
Did your husband have any history of heart trouble,
high blood pressure, dizzy spells, anything of that sort? He
wasn't exactly a youngster, was he?"

"Not exactly," Sarah had to admit. "He hadn't been
feeling awfully well these past few days. I wanted him to
see the doctor, but then we--we thought everything was
going to be all right. He acted so much better, we thought
a--a quiet weekend by the ocean--it was my idea!"

"Sure, sure. Look it happens to everybody sooner or
later. At least we know he didn't have time to suffer."

Sarah didn't even try to answer. She managed to hold
herself in check until Sergeant Jofferty was out of the
house. Then she threw herself into one of the broken
down armchairs--the one she'd sat in last night when Alexander
told her not to go away because he wanted to
look at her. He wouldn't have wanted to see her bawling
like this, but what else was there to do?

Chapter 16


After a long time, Sarah sat up straight and wiped her
eyes on the tea towel Sergeant Jofferty had put into her
hand. Sitting here wailing her heart out wasn't going to
bring Alexander back. She must get to a telephone and
let Edith know what happened before the old retainer
heard the news on television. She must hurry back to
Boston and begin the dreary work of contacting the
undertaker, calling Aunt Marguerite and Cousin Dolph
and the rest of the clan, canceling Aunt Caroline's appointments,
getting food in the house, doing all the futile
tasks the living have to perform for the dead.


Leila and Harry would be desolated. She ought to get
in touch with them, but how could she when she didn't
know where they were? Sarah was trying to force herself
to abandon the spurious haven of the armchair when
Lomax knocked at the side door and let himself in without
waiting for her.

"Miz Alex, I expect you must o' heard--"

"Yes, I know, Mr. Lomax. Sergeant Jofferty from the
police came and told me. He said you were the one
who--"

"Shucks, I done what I could. 'Twasn't much."

Lomax had paid her the courtesy of taking off the filthy
swordfisherman's cap he generally kept on to show his
customers they were no better than he for all their money.
He was running his hands around and around the edge
of the stiff peak; long, knowledgeable hands, like Alexander's.

"The police think the brakes failed on the Milburn,"
she told him. "Can you imagine Mr. Alex taking the cliff
road if he weren't absolutely certain they'd hold?"

The handy man shifted from one worn out sneaker to
the other, reluctant as always to commit himself. "He


139


140	The Family Vault


sure was partic'lar about that old electric," he conceded
at last.


"Then could you please tell me what went wrong?"
"I dunno, Miz Alex, but somethin' sure as hell did. I
never seen such a Godawful mess in all my born days."

His lips drew back from his teeth and he began to
sweat. Sarah could understand why.

"Oh, Mr. Lomax, what a ghastly experience for you!
Sit down and let me get you something to drink."

The man shied off as though she'd made an indecent
suggestion. "Naow, Miz Alex, don't you fret yourself over
me. I just come by to see if I could give you a hand
shuttin' up the house or anythin'. Don't s'pose you intend
to stay the night here, though I daresay I could find somebody
to keep you comp'ny if you was o* mind to. Miz
Lomax ain't feelin' too peart these days, but I don't doubt
but what I could get her sister Beetrice over from
Gloucester. You know Beetrice, she's been here time an"
again to help with parties an' such."

"Yes, I remember her very well. That's awfully kind of
you, but I must get moving as soon as I can pull myself
together. There's so much to do, and it looks as though
you and I are the only ones left to do it. Please turn off
the water and do whatever else you think needs to be
taken care of. Oh, and there's a fresh pot of chowder on
the stove that I wish you'd take home. Since your wife
isn't well, it will save her having to cook. I--I made it
for my--"

"That's right nice of you, Miz Alex," Lomax broke in
hastily. "Miz Kelling, I s'pose I ought to say now. Gripes
a'mighty it don't feel right, does it? I 'member Alex a
little boy in short pants helpin' me draw the lobster pots."
He cleared his throat. "I'll bring back the pot in the
mornin'."

"Don't bother," Sarah told him. "I don't expect I'll
ever use it again."

"Means you're plannin' to sell?"

There was alarm behind the question, and Sarah knew
why. Estates like this one didn't get sold to private
families anymore, only to developers who tore down the
barny old mansions and put up golf courses or supermarkets
or rows of cracker-box houses whose owners

The Family Vault	141


weren't likely to hire an aging caretaker with a sick wife.
Sarah shook her head.


"I don't know what I'm going to do, Mr. Lomax. Until
you asked, it hadn't occurred to me that the place would
be mine to sell. You'd better plan to carry on as usual for
the time being. I might decide to get rid of the Boston
House instead, and perhaps have that old coachman's flat
over the carriage house fixed up so I can stay here year
round. If I do, you'll have to supervise the work, which
would mean giving me quite a lot of extra time for a
while. Could you?"

She made the suggestion mainly because she couldn't
endure that stricken look on Lomax's face, but it might
not be such a bad idea, at that. She'd rather be out here
with the bluejays and the woodchucks than have to go on
living in Aunt Caroline's house surrounded by relatives
and elderly acquaintances who'd all be trying to manage
her life for her. Being free to go where she pleased, spend
as she pleased would be a new experience. She must not
make snap decisions she'd live to regret. Alexander
wouldn't want that. Dear God, if he were only coming
back!

At least she'd got Lomax looking a shade less grim.
"Sure thing, Miz Alex," he was saying, "I'd be glad to
handle the whole shebang for you 'cept the plumbin' and
wirin'. Got to have a license for that. But I know a couple
o' good men, an' I'd see you didn't get skinned. Just you
think it over an' call me any time, day or night."

He crab-walked himself to the kitchen. A moment
later, she saw him through the window, carrying the
chowder pot by its wire bail to his rusted out station
wagon. That was one thing taken care of, at any rate.
Sarah went to the kitchen, washed up the few dishes she
and Sergeant Jofferty had used, and left them to drip on
the drainboard. That small sign of human occupancy
made the place look one degree less forsaken.

Now that she was on her feet again, it became possible
to start getting ready for the drive to Boston. She supposed
she ought to change. The news must have come
over the radio or television by now and the clans might
already have started to gather by the time she got to
Beacon Hill. Sooner or later, she'd have to do something
about the luggage Alexander and his mother had brought

142	The Family Vault


with them. Not now. There were limits to what a person
could stand.


Sarah hardly recognized her own face in the mirror.
Her skin was puffy and blubbered from so much crying,
greenish purple around the eyes, patched with red at the
cheekbones. Wisps of hah- stuck to her forehead. She
looked like something washed up by the tide.

The shivering began again. What if that young man
hadn't happened to be watching when the Milburn went
over the seawall? They might still be down there, or
carried away on the outgoing current with no sign left to
show what became of them. That would be worst of all,
never to know.

But she still didn't know what had actually occurred,
only what little she'd been told. It didn't seem possible
Alexander had suffered a sudden collapse. He was always
punctilious about medical checkups, kept himself in trim,
didn't smoke, and was practically a teetotaller compared
to some of her male relatives and acquaintances.

Maybe she shouldn't have let him take that long walk
on the beach, or told him about Tim O'Ghee and the rest
of it. His nerves might have started playing up again. No,
she didn't think so. He'd been fine at lunch, and if he had
started to feel tired or tense he'd have brought the Milburn
back at once rather than take any risk with the
vehicle.

Nevertheless, it had happened. Took off like a rocket,
the witness said. How could that be possible? Sarah sat
down on the edge of the bed she had shared last night
with Alexander, and tried to recall various things he'd
told her about the Milburn.

Like other electric cars, it ran on batteries. Could someone
have taken out the regular batteries and put in
stronger ones? The Milburn's easy-change system took
only a few minutes, according to a yellowed advertisement
Alexander had kept hanging in the shed, but wouldn't a
surge of extra power blow out the wiring and make the
car stop short instead of going faster?

Once, ages ago, when Alexander took her for one of
their trolley-car rides, he'd shown her how the motorman
kept pressing the switch to get up speed, then letting the
car coast for a while. He'd explained that the trolley
worked on the same principle as the Milburn.

The Family Vault	143


"What would happen if he didn't stop pressing the
switch?" she'd asked.


"Plenty," her cousin had replied with a laugh. "This
isn't like your father's gasoline-powered car, that will
keep going at the same rate so long as he keeps feeding it
the same amount of gas. This is a direct-current series
motor. As long as the current stays on, it keeps accelerating
at a faster and faster rate. If the motorman didn't let
up on that switch as he's doing, either the motor would fly
apart from the strain or else this trolley car would zoom
oS the tracks and go straight into orbit."

Sarah had thought that sounded like great fun and
tried to coax the motorman into keeping the power on,
but he wouldn't. Alexander wouldn't, either. She knew
exactly how her husband would take that hill, she'd seen
him do it enough tunes. He'd start feeding current as the
grade began to rise, keep the switch on until they were
about halfway to the top, then ease off and let momentum
carry the car over the crest. To pick up just enough speed
and slack off at precisely the right moment required artful
handling, but Alexander had been practicing ever
since he was a boy. He wouldn't make a mistake.
What if he'd tried to ease off the power and couldn't?
Sarah had been driving the Studebaker once when its gas
pedal stuck. That was scary enough, but at least the engine
hadn't kept accelerating while she struggled to work
her toe under the pedal and hook it back up.

No, that couldn't happen with the Milburn. As they
began the steep descent, its dynamic braking relay would
automatically have taken over and held the car back to a
safe speed.

What if the dynamic braking resistor were burned out,
and Alexander didn't know? Leaving the shed and going
out on the level road, he'd have used the mechanical
brake. That brake was adequate for general driving but
would never have held the Milburn's weight on a really
bad hill. With its heavy engine and batteries, the midget
electric weighed a great deal more than one would think
to look at it. Without that dynamic braking resistor, they'd
be out of control and over the wall before they realized
what was happening.

144	The Family Vault


Nor was there any way Alexander could have tested
the relay in advance. It only worked on steep downgrades,
and there wasn't another on their route. He'd have been
perfectly confident the mechanism was in perfect order
because he'd given the Milburn a thorough overhaul just
before he put it up for the winter. The shed was secure,
he'd taken every possible precaution against dampness,
mice in the wiring, or any other mishap. Nothing had ever
gone wrong before. Why should it happen now?


The answer to that was plain enough. Somebody made
it happen.

Sarah stuffed a few things she meant to take back with
her into a tote bag and rushed out to the Studebaker. As
she was starting the engine, she heard another vehicle
churning up the drive in low gear. That must be Lomax.
She'd have to wait, since two cars couldn't pass on that
narrow lane.

"Hope you ain't been hangin' around on account o'
me," he called out when he saw her. "I figured you'd be
gone by now. Gettin' kind o' late."

"I know it is," she answered, "and I should have left
ages ago. I'm glad I met you, though, because there's
something I want to ask you. When the policeman asked
me about salvaging the Milburn I said not to bother, but
now I've changed my mind. Do you think it's too late?"

"Gosh, I dunno. Tide was just about on the turn then,
an' it's been goin' out ever since. Seems to me I wouldn't
count on 'em findin' much by now if I was you. There's
an awful strong undertow around them rocks."

"Would they still make the attempt if I asked?"

"Don't cost nothin' to ask, I don't s'pose. Want I should
stop down at the station an' talk to 'em?"

"No, I'll phone from a pay station along the way. You
might as well stay here and do whatever needs doing. It
seems to be turning colder."

"Ayuh. Might get a freeze before mornin'. I'll drain
them pipes real careful. You take it easy, Miz Alex. Sure
you don't mind drivin' alone?"

"Yes, I mind dreadfully, but I might as well get used
to it."

That wasn't very nice of her, now she'd made the poor
man squirm. Sarah swung out around the mangled station

The Family Vault	145


wagon and started for the Boston road, wondering if the
Studebaker had been tampered with, too. Perhaps she'd
soon be joining Alexander and Aunt Caroline. Right now,
she didn't much care.


Chapter 17.


The last time Sarah had driven this road alone she'd been
in no fit state to drive, either. At least tonight it wasn't
raining. She coaxed the Studebaker along trying not to
think of that trip or of anything else but finding a telephone.
Lomax was not likely to be mistaken about the
chances of salvaging the Milburn, still she had to try.


Oh, God, did she have change for the phone? Yes,
Alexander always kept a. couple of dimes in the first-aid
kit for just such emergencies. Dear, darling, kind, thoughtful
Alexander. Her eyes blurred again. She rubbed the
back of her glove over them and kept going.

There was a filling station at the corner where the village
road met the turnpike. She pulled in there, asked the
boy at the pumps to fill her tank, and went to dial the
police station.

"Hello, is Sergeant Jofferty there, please?"
"No, ma'am, he's gone off duty. Can somebody else
help you?"

"I hope so. This is Mrs. Alexander Kelling speaking.
You--my husband--"

"Yes. Mrs. Kelling. We were just talking about the accident,
as a matter of fact. Are you still at Ireson's Landing?"

"No, I'm on my way back to Boston. I've stopped at
the gas station. Sergeant Jofferty asked me what I wanted
you people to do about salvaging the Milburn and I said
not to bother, but now I'm wondering if it's too late to
change my mind."

"Gosh, Mrs. Kelling, I'm afraid so, unless we manage
to pick up something on the beach. We sent a couple of
scuba divers down for the--when it happened--but they
got banged around on the rocks so badly that they did
what they had to and quit. We'll have somebody go down


146


The Family Vault	147


with a searchlight at low tide, and have a look around,
but I can't honestly say there's much hope. The car pretty
well disintegrated when it hit."


"I was afraid of that," said Sarah, "but I was hoping
we could rescue the motor. I've been racking my brain
about what went wrong, and all I can think of is that the
dynamic brake resistor must have burned out. You see, it
was a direct current series motor, like a trolley car,
and--"

She must have sounded as if she were babbling. The
policeman cut in.

"Yes, we know, Mrs. Kelling. We thought of the dynamic
brake relay, too. That's the most logical explanation."

"Yes, but I want you to find it and see why it didn't
work."

"With a car that age, anything could happen."

"The Milburn was in absolutely top-notch condition.
There's no earthly reason why the dynamic brake relay
should have failed unless somebody tampered with it."

"I see. Well, we'll do our best, and let you know if we
come up with anything. Take it easy, Mrs. Kelling."

And that was that. He didn't believe her. He thought
he was dealing with a hysterical widow, which he was.
Sarah fished out her other dime and used it to put in a
collect call to Edith. As she'd feared, the old retainer had
already got news of the wreck and was in a taking because
she hadn't been properly informed beforehand.

"You might at least have let me know. I almost had a
heart attack, seeing it on the television like that."

"This is the first chance I've had to get to a telephone,"
Sarah replied as patiently as she could. "The one at the
house is shut off for the winter, as you must have realized.
Do try to calm yourself, Edith. I'll be there as soon as I
can. I suppose people have been calling."

"Phone's been ringing every two minutes, everybody
wanting to know where you are. I told 'em I didn't know
because I hadn't heard from you."

"That was rather unnecessary, wasn't it? You knew
perfectly well where I must be. Is anybody with you?"

"Mr. Jem," the maid admitted grudgingly. "He heard
it on the news, too. Been here since half-past six, drink148	The Family Vault


ing up Mr. Alex's scotch. He's in there talking to some
reporters now."


"Oh, good heavens! Well, tell him to hold the fort. I'll
see you in hah0 an hour or so."

Sarah hadn't thought of the newspapers, but since the
Kellings had already made the front pages once this
week, it would be too much to hope they wouldn't pick
up this new calamity. Uncle Jem could no doubt handle
them a great deal more capably than she.

She was taking out her wallet to pay for the gas when
another car, far newer and more sumptuous than hers,
drove up to the pumps. The attendant deserted her
abruptly.

"Hey, Max, how's it going? Been over to the house?"

"Where else? You're supposed to stop for a bread on
your way home if Eddie's still open. Go finish with your
customer. Good Lord, is that you, Mrs. Kelling?"

"Mr. Bittersohn! Then you--belong around here?"

"Not really. I'm an immigrant from Saugus. This is my
nephew, Mike Rivkin, whose old man owns the station
and had the good taste to marry my sister." He got out of
his car and came over to her. "I heard about the accident.
I'm sorry."

"It wasn't--" Sarah stopped abruptly. She'd been about
to say, "It wasn't an accident." Why should she tell secrets
to this man just because his nephew pumped her gas, and
why would he believe her when the police didn't?

Bittersohn was looking at her keenly. "Are you sure you
feel up to driving?"

"I have to get back."

"That wasn't my question. Look, Mrs. Kelling, I'm on
my way to Boston, too. Why don't you ride with me and
let my nephew bring your car into town tomorrow morning?
He goes to Boston University."
"Thank you, I'd like to."

Sarah was about to hand over the car keys when a disagreeable
thought struck her. "Perhaps I'd better not It
mightn't be safe."

"Mike's a perfectly capable driver."

"I'm sure he is, but I'm afraid there may be something
wrong with the car."

"Why do you say that?"

The Family Vault	149


"Because I don't know. That's the awful part. I don't
knowl"


Bittersohn took her by the arm and shook her a little.
"Give Mike your keys and registration. He won't drive
your car till his father's mechanic has given it a thorough
checking. If it's not safe for him, it's sure as hell not safe
for you. Come on."

Sarah was all to pieces now. She let Bittersohn lead her
to his elegant automobile and collapsed in a huddle on the
gorgeous leather seat. He reached across her to the glove
compartment, fumbled for a mangled box of tissues, and
dropped it in her lap. Then he switched on the ignition
and nosed out into the traffic. They drove for quite a distance
before Sarah was able to say anything.

At last she managed, "You're being very kind, the way
my husband used to be. Alexander was the kindest man
who ever lived."

Once she'd got started, she found it natural to go on
talking, about the times when Alexander would take her
out walking on Sunday afternoons, the times they sneaked
over to Bailey's for a strictly forbidden sundae with nuts
and marshmallow and hot fudge sauce spilling over the
sides of the dish and down on the little silver plate, the
times innumerable they rode the swanboats and fed
the greedy mallards that could pedal as fast as the boatman.

It was good to remember those happy times, a relief to
share them with somebody so they wouldn't be lost and
forgotten if anything happened to her. She cried most of
the way but it was quiet crying, gentle tears that slid unnoticed
down her cheeks and gave her ease. By the time
they got on Storrow Drive, she felt spent but calmed--no
longer torn to pieces with anguish for what she had lost,
but filled with gratitude for the love she had known.

"I'll drop you at your house if you'll tell me how to get
there. These one-way streets have me buffaloed."

That was almost the first thing Bittersohn had said, except
a word now and then to show he was listening. Sarah
responded thankfully.

"I don't wonder you're confused. They wait till everybody
gets the directions memorized, then turn all the arrows
around."

She explained how he could best thread the maze. "I

150	The Family Vault


do hope it's not too much out of your way, and I do apologize
for being such dreary company, but it was--I can't
tell you." She laughed a little. "That sounds pretty silly,
when I've been telling you my life's history."


"Not the whole of it, I expect." Bittersohn opened the
car door and helped her out as if she'd been an old
woman. "Take it easy here. I can't understand why you
people on the Hill don't make the city do something about
these treacherous brick sidewalks."

"You're talking sacrilege," she told him. "Oh, dear, I
hope I didn't leave my door key with your nephew."

"Isn't anybody in the house?"

"My uncle, I believe, and Edith, our maid. Aunt Caroline
had to have someone around to do her hair and all
that. You must be sick of hearing about our domestic concerns.
Ah, here's my key. Good night and--and thank
you. About those drawings, I don't:--"

If Sarah had been in any condition to observe, she'd
have seen an odd expression flicker across Bittersohn's
face.

"I'm afraid I still have some explaining to do about that
project, Mrs. Kelling. Mind if I give you a ring sometime
soon?"

"I wish you would. It would be a comfort."

"Think so?"

"I hope sol" It was a strange reply to make, but Sarah
had given up trying to make sense. She gave the man's
hand a squeeze, unlocked the door, and let herself in.

Jeremy Kelling was ensconced in the front hall, bellowing
into the telephone, scribbling on one of Aunt Caroline's
note pads. When he saw his niece come in, he rang
off abruptly and got up to greet her.

"Here you are at last. We've been wondering if you'd
make it in one piece."

Sarah dropped her coat and bag. "Mr. Bittersohn
brought me home."

"Who's Mr. Bittersohn?"

"A relative of the people at the gas station. What's happening?"

"Damned phone's ringing off the hook. Everybody
wants to know the gory details."

"I wish I did. We're supposed to get hold of the undertaker
and tell them to contact the police at Ireson's LandThe Family Vault	151


ing. I don't suppose it's any use calling Wellingtons at this
hour. It was Wellingtons we had for Daddy, and Great-
uncle Frederick, wasn't it?"


"And their fathers and grandfathers and one hell of a
Jot of other Kellings before and after and in between. They
ought to give us a cut rate. It's not all that late, I expect
they've got somebody answering the phone. I'll give them
a ring, shall I? Sarah, you look like the wrath of God!"

"How would you expect me to look? This hasn't been
exactly a fun day, Uncle Jem. Where's Edith?"

"Off sulking, I expect. She was doing a Sarah Bernhardt
all over the house, so I told her to go soak her
head."

"Good for you. I'm going to soak mine and see if it will
work any better."

"Have some scotch. Bring me another while you're
about it."

The phone shrilled. Sarah left her uncle to cope and
went to bathe her face and comb her hair in the downstairs
bathroom. She fetched her uncle's drink, asked if
he wanted anything to eat and was told he damn well did,
got him a plate of sandwiches, went down to check on
Edith and found her full of port and lamentations, put
the old retainer to bed, and was hoping to perform the
same service for herself when the Lackridges blew in.

"We bumped into each other at the airport. Both of us
came rushing back when we heard the news. They had it
on CBS!"

Leila was keyed up, set to take charge. Harry looked
half, drunk and wholly crushed. Sarah made more drinks
and sandwiches, put on a pot of coffee, tried to comfort
Harry while his wife wrested the telephone from Jeremy
Kelling and started taking calls with crisp efficiency.

Sarah soothed her uncle's hurt feelings, got straightened
out with him about the undertaker, thanked him profusely
and kissed him good night. Harry walked the old
man home, detoured via the liquor store for a fresh supply
of whiskey on his way back, and was soon maudlin,
sobbing that he wanted to sleep in dear old Alex's room
for auld lang syne.

Sarah steered him to the third floor, changed the sheets,
found clean pajamas, and left him to manage as he could.

152	The Family Vault


She got Aunt Caroline's room ready for Leila; finally got
the woman to stop talking and call it a night. By then it
was nearly two in the morning. Sarah had expected to cry
herself to sleep, but by then she was too far gone for tears.


>r 18


It would have done her good to sleep late, but from force
of habit Sarah woke at seven, still exhausted, her head
spinning with hideous recollections and thoughts of things
that had to be done. The absolute number one priority
was to get downstairs before Leila did, lest what might
remain of Edith's morale be shattered at the one time when
she might conceivably be of some real use. What was to
be done with the old retainer? Alexander ought to have
made some provision for her, but how could he when he
had no money?


She shelved that worry for the moment, put on an old
plaid skirt and a navy blue sweater, and ran down to put
on the coffeepot. It hadn't begun to perk before the first
call came in, an ancient second cousin of Aunt Caroline's
wanting to know about funeral arrangements, train schedules,
and his chances of free lodging. Sarah told him the
funeral notice would be in the evening papers, he'd have
to call the station about trains, and she'd furnish a bed if
he didn't mind climbing three flights of stairs--knowing
he'd mind a great deal.

The last thing she wanted was a houseful of relatives,
but it soon became apparent that she was getting one, regardless.
By the time Leila appeared clutching one of
Caroline Kelling's crepe kimonos around her beanpole
form, Sarah h?d a sheaf of memoranda ranging from
"Sherry, cream, ham, butter, bread, lettuce" to "Check
enuf toil, ppr." and "Order wheelchair Aunt Em. fit. 426
Alleg. 3:17."

"God, what a night!" The first of the self-invited guests
slumped into a wooden chair and lit a cigarette. "Where's
Edith?"

"In bed, I suppose," said Sarah. "I hope she's able to


153



154	The Family Vault


function when and if she does get up. There's an enormous
lot to do."


"Don't let it throw you, Sarah. I'll cope."

"You will not!"

Sarah surprised herself by the vehemence of her refusal,
but didn't moderate her tone much. "This is my
house, and I'll manage my own affairs as I see fit."

"How?" Mrs. Lackridge took a scornful drag at her
cigarette. "You've never managed anything in your life."

"Leila, you don't know that. You've never cared
enough about me to notice what I do. We may as well
have this out right here and now. You've been a wonderful
friend to Aunt Caroline, and, of course, Harry and
Alexander were close as brothers. You've both been tolerating
me since Alexander and I got married because
you had no alternative, and I've felt more or less the same
about you. I hope we can maintain a pleasant relationship
for old times' sake, but I have no intention of becoming
involved in your affairs, and I'll thank you to stay clear of
mine. Would you like some toast and coffee?"

For a moment Leila sat stock-still, her opaque brown
eyes hooded like a snake's. Then she emitted a little snort
of laughter.

"If that's the way you want it, Sarah. No toast, just
coffee. I never eat in the morning. Shall I go up and rouse
the sleeping beauty, or will you allow us to occupy your
premises awhile longer?"

"Let him sleep," said Sarah. "I'm not asking you to
leave, I simply wanted to put things straight. I know this
is an ordeal for you as well as myself, and I honestly
would be grateful for your help if we can just keep things
in their proper perspective. Perhaps you'd like to go over
those messages you took last night?"

Leila stubbed out her cigarette in the saucer and went
to fetch her notes. Together they went through the lot,
adding to the list of things to do, interrupted by more
phone calls that Leila scrupulously refrained from taking
unless Sarah asked her to. She didn't seem to resent the
scolding, and Sarah had no qualms about having delivered
it. That was just one of the things that needed to
be done. By the time Edith, puffy-faced and stragglebaked,
stumped upstairs to the kitchen, Sarah had a sheet

The Family Vault	155


of instructions ready to hand her. She didn't even bother
to look at it.


"I can't."

"Yes, you can," said her new mistress. "Call up
Mariposa and ask if she can give us some extra time.
Never mind, I'll do it myself. Drink some coffee and pull
yourself together."

The old retainer turned to Leila for sympathy. Mrs.
Lackridge cast an eye at Sarah, shrugged, and went on
checking her lists. Sarah found Mariposa at home, volubly
sympathetic and ready to oblige. She breathed a sigh of
relief and hung up.

"She'll be here in half an hour. She can start the downstairs
work. Edith, you're to clear out Mrs. Kelling's room
and make the bed up fresh, and don't spend all morning
at it. Shove her personal things in the dresser drawers
and make a little room in the closet."

"You're not putting company in her room!"

"What else am I to do, swing Aunt Emma in a hammock
from the bathroom ceiling? Mr. Lackridge is in Mr.
Alexander's bed. When he wakes up, give him coffee or
whatever he wants, then straighten that room and change
the bed for Cousin Mabel. Cousin Frederick will have to
sleep on the library couch, but we can't do anything about
that now. Get things set up for tea and keep an ear
peeled for the doorbell. Have you a clean apron to put
on?"

"Yes'm."

That was the meekest syllable Edith had ever been
heard to utter. Even Leila was impressed.

"My God, Sarah, you are a tiger when you get going.
What else would you like me to do?"

"Stay here, if you will, and answer that ghastly telephone
while I run out for some groceries. I shan't be long.
If Harry wakes up, ask him how I go about getting some
money."

"Do you need cash right now?"

"No, they'll let me charge down at the corner. Thank
you, Leila."

It was a relief to get out of the house for a while, but
when Sarah struggled back with two great bags of proving- .
sions, she found another lot of messages waiting. The undertaker
wanted to see her about the caskets and the

156	The Family Vault


minister about the service, and could she please be punctual
because of his tight Sunday schedule? She ran upstairs,
changed into a black-wool dress and coat of her
mother's, and ran down again. Mariposa was there by
then, dressed in a crisp white uniform instead of her usual
insouciant garb. Like the Prodigal Son, Sarah fell on her
neck.


"You're an angel to give up your Sunday. Don't do any
heavy cleaning, just tidy around and make things presentable.
I expect scads of people will start dropping in,
and there'll be three staying overnight, so we'll have to
get started on some food. Could you take telephone messages,
do you think?"

"I can sure try, Miz Alex."

"Good, then you're relieved, Leila. I expect you'll want
to go home and change."

"I can take a hint," Mrs. Lackridge replied with no
apparent rancor. "What about His Highness?"

"Let him sleep as long as he will. Surely he'll have
come to by the time we need the room. You wouldn't
care to meet Aunt Emma at the airport, I don't suppose,
and come back for drinks and supper with the mob?"

"Why not? Anything else?"

"Probably, but I can't think of it just now. You're being
marvelous, Leila, and I do appreciate what you're
doing. You understand, I hope?"

"Forget it. I'd feel the same, no doubt. See you later,
then."

"Right. I have to fly."

Sarah flew. Ten minutes later she was in a place of
subdued lighting and soulful Muzak, contemplating polished
walnut and satin padding in the company of a
black-clad dignitary who oozed understanding and quoted
prices with hushed reverence; as well he might, considering
what they were. The loved ones had arrived, he told
her, but he was quite sure she'd prefer not to see them at
this time. Under the circumstances, the whole problem
of viewing was going to present difficulties. Sarah swallowed
hard and said there would be no viewing.

Nor did she wish to select from a well-stocked wardrobe
of available garb. Nobody was going to see the
clothes, anyway. Aunt Caroline could wear the gray lace
she'd always looked so regal in, and Alexander might as

The Family Vault	157


well get his money's worth at last out of that dress suit
Her darling would enjoy the joke, if he were somehow
able to know.


Sarah began to cry, was enveloped in professional solicitude
and gently led to put her mind on flowers. She decided
on a blanket of white carnations for Aunt Caroline,
red for her husband. Red for Ruby Redd. She changed
her mind and ordered bronze chrysanthemums. She must
get out of this place before she started to howl like a
wolf.

"Thank you," she babbled, "I'll have the clothing
ready for you. Call if there's anything else you need. If
I'm not at home, somebody will take a message."

"Yes, Mrs. Kelling. Certainly, Mrs. Kelling. You can
rely on us, Mrs. Kelling."

She was eased gently out the door and rushed off to
meet the minister in his study, trying not to take up too
much of his time crying because he still had a wedding to
perform and evening service to conduct. She made it back
to the house by about half-past two. Edith answered the
door, wearing her best black uniform and lace cap.

"I hope you've had your lunch," was her cheery greeting.

"No, I haven't," Sarah snapped. "Make me a sandwich
--I don't care what--and a cup of tea as quickly as you
can. I have to get some things for the undertaker, then
meet Mrs. Cobble at Back Bay. Mrs. Lackridge has gone
to the airport. What's Mariposa doing?"

"Helping me peel potatoes."

From the pristine condition of Edith's apron, it was
obvious who was doing the work and who the heavy
looking on. Sarah wasn't about to stand for that.

"You can finish them yourself. Tell Mariposa to bring
my lunch and whatever messages she's taken, as soon as
the tea's ready. I'm going upstairs for a minute, then I'll
be in the library."

She packed Alexander's suit and a white tie, along
with fresh underthings and a stiff-bosomed shirt. Harry
Lackridge was still snoring in her husband's bed, which
was probably a good thing since his presence made her
less disposed to linger and weep. She went and got Aunt
Caroline's gray lace and brought everything down to the
front hall. She was warm with all the rushing about, but

158	The Family Vault


felt the need of a fire to take the chill out of her soul.
The kindling was catching on nicely when Mariposa
brought the tray into the library.


"My, don't that look cozy. I made you a cheese omelet
instead of a cold sandwich, Miz Alex. I bet you haven't
eaten anything all day."

"I had some chowder. No, that was yesterday. Who's
been calling?"

"Everybody, seems like."

Mariposa pulled a sheaf of notes from her pocket. The
spelling was creative, but the facts appeared to be
straight. Sarah read them over while she toasted her toes
and ate her omelet. This was the first moment's peace
she'd had all day and was likely to be the last. She was
still sipping her tea when visitors began to arrive.

From then on there was no letup. Harry roused himself
and came downstairs, fortunately in time to go and
meet Cousin Mabel's train at Back Bay since Sarah
couldn't very well walk out on her guests. Edith hovered
near the front door, hanging up coats and accepting condolences
as if she were the chief mourner. Mariposa was
everywhere, trotting about with trays of sandwiches and
pots of tea, coping with the telephone, finally strongarming
Sarah upstairs for a brief rest before supper.

"Miz Alex, there are so many people in this house right
now everybody's going to think you're in the other room
talking to somebody else. You sneak up the back stairs
and catch yourself forty winks, else you're going to fall
flat on your face in the soup."

By this time, Leila was back, looking rather handsome
in dark gray wool with a high rolled collar, being a great
success with friends and relatives who knew Leila Lackridge
far better than they did this white-faced, holloweyed
Sarah Kelling who wasn't Walter's little girl anymore.
She might as well do the hostessing for a while.
Sarah slipped up to her room, took off her mother's dress,
and lay down on the bed. She thought she'd barely shut
her eyes when Mariposa was beside her saying folks were
beginning to wonder about supper and what should they
do?

"Start setting out the buffet. I'll be down in two minutes."

Feeling a trifle better for the nap, Sarah ran a comb

The Family Vault	159)


through her hair, put on the black dress she was learning;
to hate, and went down to her company. She'd forgottem
to put on any makeup and looked ghastly without it, butt
nobody would expect her to appear otherwise.


The meal was excellent, partly because Sarah hadl
planned a simple but generous buSet, and partly because)
it was not Edith but Mariposa who'd somehow found times
to prepare most of the food. The old retainer was from
hand to dish up and take full credit, however.

Sarah got through it as best she could, answering thes
same questions over and over like a talking doll. No, she:
hadn't had time to decide what she'd do about the prop'
erties. Yes, it was a shame to lose the Milburn on top of'
everything else. Yes, she'd have a tremendous adjustment:
ahead of her. No, she didn't suppose she'd quite taken it:
all in yet and would Cousin Mabel care for more ham?

It was an unspeakable relief when the visitors were:
gone, the house guests bedded down, and Sarah at last:
free to go to bed; but as soon as she woke on Monday,
the whole thing started again. There was breakfast to get,
lunch to plan, more shopping, more telephone calls, more
petty annoyances like springing a run in her last pair of
panty hose and not having a dollar left to buy another.

Leila, unable to stay away from the eye of the cyclone,
was at the house almost at the crack of dawn. She monopolized
the telephone for half the morning reassigning various
projects and committee obligations Caroline Kelling
had been involved in, but Sarah didn't mind that. It was a
relief not to hear the thing ringing every few minutes.

The doorbell was bad enough. It had been a mistake
not to have visiting hours at the undertaker's. As it was,
everybody who'd ever sat on a platform with Caroline
Kelling felt free to pay his respects at the house. Most of
the callers were total strangers to Sarah. Leila knew everybody,
though, so the widow left her to play hostess again
and went to keep the appointment Harry had made for
her with the family lawyer.

He was inclined to pussyfoot Sarah was in no mood to
listen.

"Mr. Redfern, I have a houseful of relatives to feed, a
funeral to pay for, a great deal of money in trust, and not
one cent in my pocket. I don't need words, I need cash,
and I need it right this minute!"

160	The Family Vault


Hysteria, she was finding, has its uses. After a little
more backing and forthing, Mr. Redfern decided there
would be no serious impropriety in Sarah's continuing to
draw the not very generous household allowance Alexander
had been in the habit of drawing each week. Large
bills, such as the undertaker's, could be sent to him for
payment until such time as her estate was transferred to a
different trustee.


Sarah didn't see why there had to be any trustee at all,
but for the moment she must be satisfied with what she
could get. She went to the bank and cashed the check he
had given her, bought her panty hose and a fresh supply
of loaves and fishes, and went back to feed the multitudes.

The funeral was set for three o'clock that afternoon.
She had no time to sit brooding over her bereavement,
which was perhaps a good thing. Mariposa had other commitments
today, so Sarah had to make do with Edith's
help, which didn't amount to much. They'd barely got the
luncheon dishes cleared away when it was time to make
herself presentable before the hired limousine came to
pick up herself, her house guests, and Edith, who could
not in decency be left out of the cortege. Alexander would
have deplored the extra expense, but how else was she to
cope with Aunt Emma's rheumatics, Cousin Frederick's
heart, and Cousin Mabel's general cussedness?

She was told afterward that the church was crowded.
She saw nobody. By keeping her mind absolutely blank
and her face rigid, Sarah managed to get through the service.
It wasn't until the graveside ceremony was almost
through, and she had to realize they were actually going
to bury her darling Alexander forever and ever, that she
broke down.

Leila, who'd managed to get to the forefront, shook her
savagely by the arm. "For God's sake pull yourself together,"
she hissed. "You're making a public spectacle of
yourself."

"Oh, shut up!" Sarah screamed. "He was my husband
and I loved him, and I'll cry for him all I want. Anybody
who doesn't like it can go to hell!"

Everybody heard, of course. A few gasped, one or two
snickered. Jeremy and Dolph started to Sarah's side, but it
was wizened old Cousin Frederick who threw his arm

The Family Vault	161


around her in a most uncharacteristic gesture of spontaneous
affection.

"You tell 'em, Sadie. Alex was a man worth crying for.
If that scrawny bitch had anything but gin and vinegar
in her veins, she'd be crying, too."

"Damn right, Fred," bellowed Dolph. "Furthermore,
Sarah knows enough to stay home and attend to her family
obligations, instead of jumping around like a whirligig,
shooting her mouth off, and getting her name in the papers.
Mabel, if you don't quit tugging at my coattails--"

The minister hastily pronounced the benediction.
Cousin Dolph and Cousin Frederick, feisty as a pair of
superannuated gamecocks, took Sarah's arms between
them and got her back to the Limousine before she could
be driven to shrieking frenzy by overtaxed nerves and the
sight of those two elegant mahogany coffins propped over
those two six-foot-deep holes in the ground.

:er 19


Sarah had been sustaining herself with the expectation
that once the funeral was over everybody would go away,
but it wasn't that simple. Old friends had to be asked back
for a final glass of sherry, relatives fortified with cold beef
and salad for then: homeward journeys, luggage collected,
rides arranged, parting speeches listened to, Cousin Mabel
dissuaded from staying on a few days to be a prop and
mainstay.


When the rest had cleared out, the Lackridges and Edgar
Merton were still to be got rid of. The three of them
haunted the library where they had spent so much time
with Caroline and Alexander, looking as bereft as they
must be feeling. Overnight Edgar had turned from middleaged
to old, his cameo features pinched and bleached, his
small frame shortened by a stoop. Harry, in contrast, was
redder and thicker, his waistline bloated, his high-bridged
nose flushed with emotion and liquor. With loose skin
hanging in wattles below his insignificant chin and that
potbelly swelling out above those overly long, spindly legs,
he looked like a plucked turkey. Sarah knew how they
felt, but she did wish they'd go away. At last, when she'd
all but fallen asleep in her chair, they did. Even then remained
Edith and her litany of woes. At the old retainer,
Sarah drew the line.

"You're absolutely right, Edith," she said. "This place
will never be the same again. Nor do I intend to keep it
up one day longer than I have to, so there's no earthly
reason why you should feel duty-bound to stay on. As you
know, Mr. Alexander has been paying Social Security for
you, and don't try to make me believe you're not old
enough to collect. I don't know whether he's made any
provision for you in his will, but I'll see that you get a reasonable
pension, although candidly I don't know what


162


The Family Vault	163


you've ever done to deserve it. With that and what you've
managed to salt away over the years, you should be able
to live very comfortably, and you might as well start thinking
right now about where you want to go."


"I knew this would happen," cried the maid. "Before
they're cold in their graves, you're throwing me out in the
street."

"Edith, you can't have it both ways," Sarah said wearily.
"Just now you were moaning that you couldn't bear
to stay, now you're throwing a snit because I'm takiijg you
at your word. I know these past days have been hard on
you, but they've been no picnic for me, either. I'm going
upstairs, and you may do as you please."

What Edith chose to do was flounce down to the basement,
pack everything she'd accumulated over the years
into two enormous suitcases, a vast number of cardboard
cartons and shopping bags and a nice old steamer trunk
that had belonged to Sarah's grandmother, to which she
had no right whatsoever. She then called her nephew from
Maiden to come and get her with his pickup truck, and
sat down to compose a letter to Sarah, stating in haughty
detail where to send the pension checks.

Sarah stayed upstairs till ah1 was over. She'd meant to
go straight to bed, but there was no sense in that. Edith
would be sure to leave lights blazing and doors unlocked.
It would be quite in character for her to march up and
deliver a valedictory blast, dragging her nephew along by
way of audience. If that happened, Sarah didn't want to
be caught in her nightgown.

She puttered around the bedrooms, stripping off used
linen and making the beds up fresh, though she couldn't
think who was ever going to sleep in them again. What
she'd told Edith was true, she knew now. She was definitely
going to move out as soon as Mr. Redfern would
let her put the white elephant on the market.

Sarah was immensely relieved when the loaded pickup
truck drove away with no disagreeable final scene. Then
she realized that for the first time in her life, she was all
alone in the house. And what if she was? Plenty of women
lived alone. She went downstairs and started checking
doors and windows, making sure everything was secure.

The basement, she found, had been stripped to the
walls. Edith had taken everything but the vast iron cook164	The Family Vault


stove. Perhaps the old retainer honestly believed the furniture
was hers, she'd lived with it so long. More likely,
she'd succumbed to the urge to grab what she could while
she had the chance. Sarah didn't care, the stuff couldn't
have been worth much anyway.


But what about Edith herself? Wasn't it stupid to let
her go without at least making an effort to question her?
Sarah was too tired to care anymore about things that had
happened in the past. The only death she could think
about was Alexander's, and there was just no way Edith
could have tampered with the Milburn. She'd been here in
Boston, soaking her corns and drinking port.

Or had she? They'd never called the house until some
hours after the so-called accident. For all Sarah knew,
Edith could have been anywhere in the meantime, perhaps
visiting that nephew in Maiden, the one who'd just
left here in a truck that had "TV Repair" painted on the
sides. A man who could cope with modern electronic devices
must know all sorts of clever ways to short-circuit the
simplest kind of electric motor.

Would any nephew, however devoted, do such a thing
to oblige his dear old auntie? He might, if he thought
Auntie was down for something handsome in her supposedly
rich employers' wills.

Sarah's insides growled and she laughed with relief.
Thank God for bodies! There was nothing like a clamorous
stomach to quiet an anxious mind. Although she'd
bought and cooked and served enormous quantities of
food during the past couple of days, she couldn't recall
having eaten much of anything herself. Part of this appalling
hollowness she felt might be plain, old-fashioned hunger.

Edith had scooped out most of the leftovers as part of
her loot, but Sarah managed to find some cold meat and
a little salad. She made herself a pot of tea and ate at the
kitchen table, not bothering to set a proper place. She was
rinsing her cup under the tap when the telephone rang.
Sighing, she picked up the extension phone and was surprised
to hear the voice of Max Bittersohn.

"I thought you'd like to know my brother-in-law
checked out your car and could find nothing wrong. Mike's
going to bring it in to Boston tomorrow morning, if that's
okay with you."

The Family Vault	165


Sarah was a little taken aback. "To tell you the truth,
Mr. Bittersohn, I'd forgotten about the car. I ought to have
got in touch with your people myself, but it's been absolutely
wild around here. Yes, if you're sure he'd be safe,
I'd love to have your nephew drive it in. Where should I
meet him? As for the bill--"


"Forget it. They didn't do anything, just looked. And
Mike may never get another chance to drive a Studebaker."

"I
ought to see that he does, after this. Really, you and
your family are being much too kind to a--I was going
to say a stranger, but we can't be that now, can we?"

"How about 'colleague'? That's a fancy word I've always
wanted to have applied to myself. Seen Lackridge, by
the way?"

"Heavens, yes. He and Leila have been sticking like
flies on honey. I just got rid of them a little while ago."

Sarah realized what she was saying. "Please forget that.
It's only that I've been deluged with visitors, and it's been
such a chore trying to look after them."

"What about your maid?"

"What, indeed? I don't have her anymore."

"Why not?"

"We never had got along, and finally things came to a
boil. I knew I'd have to do something about her sooner or
later, though I must admit it came a bit sooner than I'd
planned."

"When did she leave?"

"About half an hour ago."

"Then who's with you?" Bittersohn asked sharply.

"Nobody."

"You can't stay there alone."

"Why not? Don't you believe in liberated womanhood?"
Sarah asked with a bravado she didn't feel.

"Look, Mrs. Kelling, this is no time to be a heroine.
You've been through one hell of an experience, and you're
not used to being by yourself in a big house. If you can't
find somebody to come in, you'd better clear out of there.
Got to a hotel or something."

"But I'd still be alone there, and it would cost a fortune.
You're sweet to be concerned, Mr. Bittersohn, but I'll be
fine, truly I will."

166	The Family Vault


"Then at least do me a favor and write down this telephone
number. Do you have a phone by your bed?"


"No, I wish I did. We just have the two on the first
floor."

She thought he swore, but what came through was,
"Got a pencil?"

"Yes, right here."

He gave her the number, slowly and distinctly, then
made her read it back to him to make sure she'd got it
right.

"Okay. Now, no matter what tune it is, call me for any
reason at all--if you're scared, if you think you hear mice
in the cellar, if you can't sleep and want to talk, if you
need eggs for breakfast. I'm not far from you, and I can
be there in a few minutes. I'd come now, but you'd probably
be better pleased if I didn't."

"I was planning to go to bed soon," Sarah admitted.

"You don't take sleeping pills?"

"No, nothing like that. I don't have any and wouldn't
use them if I did."

"Good. Take a couple of aspirin if you need something
to calm you down. They're about as effective and a damn
sight safer. Could you make up a bed downstairs, near the
phone?"

"I expect so. A cousin of my father's slept on the library
couch last night, as a matter of fact, although I'm afraid
he didn't find it very comfortable."

"There are things more uncomfortable than a bumpy
sofa."

"Mr. Bittersohn, are you by any chance trying to
frighten me?"

"I'm trying to keep you from being frightened if I can,"
he said. "If I've picked the wrong way to go about it, I'm
sorry."

"Please don't be. I do appreciate your concern, and I'll
certainly take advantage of your extremely kind offer if I
have any occasion to call. Thank you again for taking care
of the car."

Sarah put the phone back on its holder and sat looking
at the number she'd written down, memorizing the digits
without quite meaning to. Either Mr. Bittersohn was simply
one of the sweetest men she'd ever met, or else he
knew something he wasn't telling. Would it be safe to

The Family Vault	167


phone him if she needed to, or would she be letting herself
in for more trouble?


In any event, his urging her to sleep closer to a telephone
made sense. She was not about to torture her exhausted
body on that lumpy old couch, but she might at
least move to Aunt Caroline's room instead of cloistering
herself on the third floor. Then she wouldn't be constantly
reminded that Alexander was no longer up there with her.
She was getting so that she could think of him without
starting to cry, which was a help. What she ought to do
right now was start clearing out Aunt Caroline's closets
and drawers, and moving her own things downstairs.

The work was therapeutic though wearisome. Sarah
lugged armloads of clothes down to the laundry room
where they could be sorted out and got rid of, to charities
or relatives. Caroline Kelling had never thrown anything
away. Sarah found evening gowns that must have been
part of her trousseau, bought, no doubt, to set off the Kelling
jewels. They might fetch a tidy sum at the Bargain
Box even now. She herself wanted none of the things,
lovely as they were. How could she ever wear them,
knowing what had happened to the man who paid for
them?

Sarah went on with her search. She rooted through
drawers crammed with embroidered crepe-de-chine nightgowns,
with lace-trimmed chemises and step-ins from the
flapper era, with real silk stockings that had seams up their
backs. She unearthed a mauve satin lingerie case containing
some astonishing black panties and, to her ineffable
relief, the neatly tagged key to the safe-deposit box.

By ten o'clock, Sarah couldn't have lifted another handkerchief.
She found geranium-scented bath salts in the
bathroom that was so much more luxurious than the one
she'd shared with Alexander, and used them lavishly. After
a hot soak, she felt drowsy enough to crawl into Aunt
Caroline's massive bed and hope for sleep. It came.

Shortly before three o'clock, Sarah was awake again.
She didn't know what had roused her, all she knew was
that suddenly she was sitting up straight, straining her eyes
and ears into the silent dark. For a moment it seemed
impossible that she would ever move again, then she persuaded
her hand muscles to reach out and switch on a
light.
168	The Family Vault


It was cold, astonishingly cold. She hadn't opened a
window when she had gone to bed--there was never any
dearth of fresh air in this drafty old house. Yet she could
feel a blast coming from somewhere.


Either burglars or a broken sash cord, she thought.
More likely a sash cord. She was used to such mishaps.
Boston was always damp, with the harbor in front and the
river alongside. Cords rotted, releasing iron sash weights.
Plate-glass windows with their heavy wooden frames fell
with a crash, losing their panes as often as not. She'd better
go stick something over it before she froze to death.

Sarah's bathrobe was still upstairs, so she wrapped Aunt
Caroline's velvet-covered down comforter around her,
shoved her feet into a pair of fur-trimmed satin mules she
found, and padded out into the hall. Soot-laden wind was
swirling down from the third floor.

It was coming from Alexander's room, and that was
odd. The last sash cord that had let go was also in his
room, also in the middle of the night, and he'd replaced
both cords forthwith to make sure he didn't get another
such rude awakening. That was only a few months ago.
How could it happen again so soon?

She switched on the light. It was not one window, it was
both, wide open from the top, their white curtains whipping
out like dancing ghosts. More incredibly, the bed
Sarah had made up fresh a few hours before was in total
disarray, sheets and blankets dragged off on the floor as
though a sleeper had waked feeling suffocated, flung off
his bedding, and rushed to let in the night air.

In spite of her down comforter, Sarah began to shiver.
It's only a burglar, she kept telling herself, only a plain
flesh-and-blood burglar. And she must be out of her mind,
standing here waiting to be pounced on. She slammed
Alexander's door shut on the eerie scene, made a mad
scramble for Aunt Caroline's room, and locked herself in.
If he wanted the silver, let him take it and go in peace.

But if someone had come to steal the tea service, what
was he doing on the third floor, tearing the beds apart?
How did he get there? She'd locked everything tight, she
knew she had. After that phone call from Mr. Bittersohn,
she'd even gone up to the attic and checked the skylight,
in case anybody might take a notion to break in from the
roof.

The Family Vault	169


Could a thief have tied a rope to the chimney and
swung down over the side of the house, jimmying open
Alexander's windows to get in? But why both? Why
choose the side that faced the street, instead of coming
down the alley way where he'd be less apt to be spotted?


Aunt Caroline's boudoir was directly under her son's
bedroom. Sarah went in there and stuck her head out the
window to see if she could spot a dangling rope. Something
moved up there. She ducked back in a hurry, then
realized it was only those thin white curtains billowing out
in the wind. Nevertheless, she didn't want to look anymore.
She clutched the heavy draperies and pulled them
over the glass, feeling those myriad French knots under
her hands, like Braille.

God in heaven, it was Braille! All those hours when
she'd shut herself in here alone with needle and thread,
Aunt Caroline had not been aimlessly killing tune. She'd
been writing her diary.

er 2


Sarah dropped the tapestry as though it had been the shirt
of Nessus. To pry into somebody else's private writings
was one of the most revolting breaches of courteous behavior
any decently bred person could commit.

And what if it was? Caroline Kelling had killed her
own husband, had got rid of a murdered woman's body
as coolly as if she'd been setting out the garbage, had
somehow contrived the timely death of Walter Kelling,
had almost certainly been sent to her own death along
with her only son as a result of what had happened in the
past. If there was any explanation of this ghastly chain of
events anywhere, it had to be here. She picked up the
cloth again, held it fiat against the window frame, and
began to sort out the letters with her fingertips.

"My little love," those were the first three words she
read and the ones that kept recurring. Caroline Kelling
had a lover! It was for his sake she'd got rid of Gilbert
Kelling. She had intended to go away with this man, to
share her life and her fortune with him as she had already
begun sharing her body while her husband was alive. The
French knots went into voluptuous detail. Sarah would
never have believed Aunt Caroline capable of such erotic
passion.

It was appalling to think of that aging woman sitting
here in black solitude, pouring out her soul in this almost
eerie manner, reliving every moment of a love affair that
must still consume her even though it had inevitably been
blighted by the years and her growing incapacity. Probably,
to Caroline Kelling, the passage of time had not
been very real. Her little love was always young, always
as handsome as adoring memory pictured him, although
God alone knew what the man might look like by now.

The entries, if such they could be called, followed no

170

The Family Vault	171


logical order. When the brooding fit came over her, Aunt
Caroline must simply have caught up a fold of the material,
felt for a smooth place, and filled it in at random.
Words were abbreviated, jumbled together without connectives,
without punctuation, sometimes with no apparent
sense. Reading was a puzzlement as well as an agony.
Yet Sarah became wholly engrossed in piecing together
the incredible revelations that emerged from those thousands
upon thousands of meticulously worked French
knots, forgetting that whoever murdered Caroline and
Alexander might even now be in the house with her.


Caroline and her little love, whoever he might be, had
been carrying on their tempestuous romance for some
months before they came to the decision that Gilbert
Kelling must be got rid of. It was the lover, she gathered,
who first hinted at murder, but Caroline herself who
worked out the plan that had succeeded so neatly in its
objective, but ruined the hopes they'd had of enjoying
Gilbert's fortune together.

Caroline had been vehement in taking all blame to
herself. The man had been swept into tragedy by his wild
adoration of her. He must be shielded at any cost. Even
in her most incoherent rhapsodies, Caroline had been
careful to avoid putting in any tangible clue to her lover's
identity. The one fact that came out was that he'd been
forced by circumstances to go through a form of marriage
with somebody else, although his heart and his thoughts
would always be with his beloved. Poor Aunt Caroline!

It was Ruby Redd who'd wrecked their lives, not Gilbert's
murder or Caroline's affliction. Until the stripper
entered the picture, the affair had been waxing hotter and
heavier than ever. The rich widow and her little love still
had every intention of getting married after a discreet
interval had passed, no matter what the world might think
of the match.
Was that a clue? Why should the world, or that minuscule
portion of it whose opinion Caroline Kelling gave
two pins for, have any objection to her marrying again
unless the man was for some reason blatantly unsuitable?
Some of the clan might indulge in a bit of cat about Gilbert's
money going to an outsider, but most of them were
of the opinion that their relative had given his beautiful
wife a pretty raw deal. Sarah couldn't think offhand of

172	The Family Vault


anyone, except possibly Cousin Mabel, who'd have been
spiteful enough to begrudge the family heroine a second
husband who could give her the loving care she needed.
Perhaps Caroline was being morbid about her afflictions
here, picturing herself accused of trapping the man into
being her nurse and depriving him of a normal wife's
attentions.


Whatever her qualms, Caroline's little love had evidently
kept insisting he wanted her under any conditions,
until Ruby Redd showed up demanding blackmail. How
a stripper from the Old Howard ever learned the pair had
murdered Gilbert Kelling, or what the damning proof
she held against them was, Caroline didn't say. Possibly
she never knew. More likely, the proof would have
pointed too clearly toward the man whom she was so determined
to protect.

Ruby made her approach to the lover, but it was Caroline
who paid. The man must not have had any real
money of his own. That, Sarah thought cynically, could
explain his unswerving devotion to a rich widow. Aunt
Caroline herself might have had some inkling that once
her fortune gave out his attachment would lessen. She
didn't admit any such thing, but it was clear that she'd
been thrown into panic by the speed at which Ruby was
bleeding her of her funds. At last she'd put her foot down.

"I said no more . . . face her down . . . deny . . .
forgery . .. slander . . ."

That hadn't worked. Ruby demanded a confrontation,
forced the lover to bring her face-to-face with Caroline
late one night, when Alexander was off at a stag party
and the maids could be got rid of.

Caroline had planned the meeting herself, expected an
unpleasant scene, but the reality was beyond anything
she'd imagined. "Here in this house . . . railing . . . threatening
. . . grinning sidewise at him with that vampire's
mouth as if they shared some obscene joke. Said promised
rubies . . . must have them or dreadful things . . . kept
yelling you promised . . . how could I ... said ridiculous
... how did she know about rubies ..."

Then it came out. Piecing the incoherencies together,
Sarah managed to understand that the lover had finally
been put in the position of having to explain that Alexander
had let himself be seduced by the creature who was

The Family Vault	173


blackmailing them. Ruby had been stringing the infatuated
boy along so that she could pump him about the
true extent of his father's fortune. Alex had been a willing
dupe. Knowing her obsession with rubies, he'd bragged
about the family jewels, promised to let her wear the pa-
rure in return for her disgusting favors.


Caroline went on and on about the appalling scene.
"Outrage . . . laughed at me . . . called me fool . . .
stupid . . . said I didn't know what . . . flaunted herself
before his eyes . . . entwined her body . . . tried to
make me think he and she ..."

The lover had repulsed the dancer's blatant sexual advances,
pushed her away in anger. Caroline seemed not
to have comprehended precisely what happened after
that. Ruby must have become enraged and tried to fly at
her. To save her life, the lover struck out. Suddenly Ruby
was dead on the hall floor and the man was protesting,
"I did it for you. She was going to kill you!"

It was not a killing, it was sheer heroism; noble, justified,
no wrong at all. Yet they couldn't risk putting thencase
before a judge. Again Caroline thought of a plan.
They must hide the body in the old family vault, soon to
be part of a historical site, never to be opened again.

Alexander wasn't meant to be involved, he simply
happened to come home at the wrong moment. However,
they immediately realized they could use him. Even while
he was kneeling beside Ruby Redd's body, feeling for a
pulse that wasn't there, the others were out in the kitchen,
plotting.

The lover must get away by the back door. Caroline
would go back and pretend she thought Alex had killed
his paramour in a drunken quarrel. It served him right
for having betrayed his mother. Obviously, Aunt Caroline
had never felt the slightest compunction about laying
such a dreadful punishment on her child, only exultation
at having so valiantly shielded her little love.

For her, the tragedy was that the blackmailing didn't
stop. Ruby, too, had betrayed them. She'd shared their
secret with an accomplice, who stood guard outside the
house and saw what happened. Now they were more vulnerable
than before. Again the lover got the threats.
Again it was Caroline who paid.

That was where Gilbert Kelling's estate had gone,

174	The Family Vault


every cent of it, to save another man from disgrace and
prosecution for murder. Caroline reveled in the sacrifice
she had made, never caring that she'd robbed Alexander
of his birthright. She actually seemed to think she'd done
a mother's duty when she laced Walter Killing's mushrooms
with her eyedrops so that Alex could marry Sarah
for her inheritance.


It was a horrible document. Yet Sarah read on until
her fingertips were raw from fumbling over the hard
knots, until her body was chilled through despite the
down comforter. She stayed at the window until dawn
cast its dirty coral glow over the rooftops. Then, as though
she dared not let the sun see what she was up to, she
crawled into Caroline Kelling's bed and went to sleep.

Chapter 21


This time it was the telephone that woke her. Sarah
started downstairs still half asleep, felt the blast from those
open windows on the third floor and decided she'd better
shut them before she went down. By the time she got to
the phone, there was nobody on the line. Fuming, she
climbed back to her own room and put on some clothes.


Nothing up here seemed to have been disturbed. Even
Aunt Caroline's pearls as well as her own modest strand
and what remained of the money she'd got from Mr. Redfern
were lying on the dresser. Sarah went to take a closer
look at Alexander's room. Here, too, except for the mess
of bedclothes on the floor, there really wasn't much wrong.
His studs and cuff links were safe in the collar box along
with Grandfather Kelling's massive solid gold watch and
chain with the star sapphire set into the fob.

That scared her more than anything else. Sarah backed
out of the room and was running down to check the dining
room silver when she heard an almighty thumping on the
front door. Whoever that might be, it was surely no ghost
Uncle Jem, perhaps, though he wasn't usually so energetic
at this hour of the morning. She peeked through one of the
narrow glass panels that flanked the doorway and saw
Max Bittersohn, in what appeared to be a state of utter
panic.

"Mr. Bittersohn, what's the matter?"

"Why didn't you answer the phone?" he yelled back.

"I did, but you hung up too fast." She opened the door.
"Come in and help me hunt for burglars. I think there's
been a break-in, though I haven't found anything missing
so far."

All at once Sarah was exhausted. "Would you mind
terribly if I went out to the kitchen and made some coffee
first? I haven't had breakfast, and I feel a bit wobbly."


175


176	The Family Vault


"So do I. Why the hell didn't you call me?"


Sarah hunched her shoulders. "Because I didn't have
guts enough to come downstairs, if you want the truth.
I'd moved into my mother-in-law's room on the second
floor, thinking that would be close enough to the telephone,
but it wasn't."
"Want to tell me what happened?"

"I wish I could. All I really know is that sometime during
the night, both windows in my husband's room on the
third floor were opened from the top and the covers pulled
off the bed."

"That's odd. And you say nothing was taken?"

"Not that I could see. A valuable antique watch and
some other things are still there, and my own room next to
his wasn't disturbed at all, though I'd left my money and
Aunt Caroline's pearls in plain sight. I haven't searched
downstairs yet because I just got up. I locked myself in
Aunt Caroline's room after I found the windows open and
didn't get to sleep till daybreak. I hadn't realized what a
coward I am."

All he said was, "Where do you keep the coffee?"

"Oh, please don't bother. I can manage the stove, if
nothing else. Do you eat eggs? Those seem to be about
the only thing I have in the house."

"You don't have to get anything for me."

"But I'd like to. I hate cooking for just myself."

Sarah poked bread into the toaster. She felt weepy
again; was that because she'd found a shoulder she could
bawl on? Why was this strange man showing such concern,
when her own family didn't mind leaving her to fend
for herself? Egg box in hand, she turned and faced him.

"Mr. Bittersohn, I'm going to ask an extremely rude
question, and I hope you'll understand why I have to
know. Does your benevolent interest in me have anything
to do with the Kelling jewelry?"

To her surprise, he laughed. "I was wondering when
we'd get around to that. I can't afford to buy the collection,
and I'm not planning to steal it, if that's what you're
getting at."

"But what about your book?"

"Forget it. Okay, I guess it's time I came clean. Remember
my uncle, the pawnbroker?"

"You mentioned that you had one."

The Family Vault	177


"Well, back when I was in college, he got caught in a
flimflam involving some stolen diamonds, and wound up
in jail on manufactured evidence. That didn't worry him
much, he said the hours were shorter and you met a nicer
class of people. My mother, on the other hand, was very
upset because it was a schamde for the neighbors. When
my mother's upset, everybody's upset. This to me was a
real problem. I was still living at home and working my
way through school, which gave me little enough time
to do my homework under the best of conditions. I had
exams coming up, and I knew Ma would never shut up
and let me study unless I managed somehow to get Uncle
Herman sprung. So I started nosing around and happened
by some miraculous accident to catch the crooks who set
him up."


"And you got your Uncle Herman out of jail?"
"I did. He's never forgiven me for making him look like
a fool, and the neighbors are still talking. So's my mother.
What can you do? Anyway, that was what you might call
the turning point of my career. I switched to an art history
major--which further upset my mother who was determined
I should become a rich podiatrist--and started a
little private practice tracking down stolen jewelry, objets
d'art, antiques, and whatnot. After graduation I branched
out into various other odd jobs like finding out who's
painting the Rembrandts and Tintorettos these days.
There's a great deal of theft and fraud in the art world
that the police never get called in on. They haven't the
time or the expertise to handle certain situations that
come up, and often the client doesn't want any publicity.
So that's what I do for a living. I don't carry any credentials
because it wouldn't be a smart thing to do, and anyway,
there's nobody who could give me any. But you're
welcome to check some references if you want."

He mentioned four impressive names that Sarah knew.
One of them happened to be a member of the Kelling
clan.

"So that's how Uncle Thaddeus got his Corots back.
You should have heard the lies he told."

"I've heard worse, no doubt. If you're cooking those
eggs for me, would you mind flipping them over and letting
them get brown till they're about the texture of asphalt
shingles?"

178	The Family Vault


"If I must."


Sarah transferred her own two to a warmed plate and
turned the others with a spatula. "I hope you also want
the yolks broken. I'm all thumbs this morning."

"I don't wonder. Getting back to this visitation, or whatever
it was, have you any idea when it happened?"

"I'd say it must have been three o'clock. I woke up suddenly
--I suppose because I'd heard the windows banging
down. Anyway, I felt this terrific draft and went to see
where it was coming from. Surely these eggs must be hard
enough now?"

"Great. Thanks." Bittersohn attacked the leathery mess
with enthusiasm. "If you're such a coward, what made
you go charging up there by yourself?"

"I thought a sash cord had broken. They rot out every
so often. I suppose the truth of the matter is that I didn't
think at all; I simply reacted."

"Had you been asleep long?"

"Since about half-past ten, I think. After you called, I
spent some time clearing out Aunt Caroline's room so I
could use it, then took a hot soak and read William
James for a little while."

"Why William James?"

"He always puts me to sleep; don't ask me why. I've
been trying to read that book for years and still haven't
got beyond the fourth chapter. How did we get started on
William James?"

Bittersohn helped himself to another piece of toast.
"Never mind, go ahead and talk. Say anything that comes
into your head. Who knows, it could be important."

"May I ask questions?"

"Sure, why not?"

"This--this reason you have for being interested in the
family jewels. Was it anything to do with having my
mother-in-law arrested?"

The man blinked. "That's one I didn't expect. Is there
any reason why I should?"

"Perhaps."

"Care to explain?"

Sarah made her decision. "Yes, I do. I've got to tell
somebody, in case something happens to me. It's not right
to just let this ride. Would you believe that if my GreatThe Family Vault	179


uncle Frederick hadn't been so down on his relatives, my
husband and his mother would still be alive?"


"And where would you be? Go ahead, Mrs. Kelling,
start wherever you want and say whatever you please."
"I hardly know how to begin."

"Then let me ask you, when did you first learn that
your mother-in-law was up to tricks with the jewelry?"

"It began that day my cousin and I found Ruby Redd's
skeleton in what used to be our family vault. You know
about that, you saw it on the news. Remember you started
talking about it at the Lackridges', and Alexander didn't
want Aunt Caroline to know?"

"How could I forget? He looked as if he were in shock."
"I'm sure he was. He had good reason to be, as I found
out later."

"How did you find out?"

"I began to suspect something later that same evening."
She told of the photograph that matched her sketch of
the wall in the vault, of her decision to question Tim
O'Ghee, of finding the old bartender dead, and of the
scene Mrs. Wandelowski and the self-styled doctor had
staged to persuade her that he hadn't been murdered. She
explained why she'd been in such a state that night Bittersohn
met her at the coffee shop coming from Ireson's
Landing. She told of the confrontation with Alexander, of
how he'd seen his mother get rid of his father's medicine,
how Caroline forced him to help her hide Ruby Redd's
body, how she'd killed Walter Kelling and made Alexander
marry Sarah to keep all three of them alive. Sarah
explained how she thought the Milburn had been wrecked,
and why. Lastly, she let Bittersohn know about that bizarre
journal Caroline Kelling had left, and what it revealed.

When she got through he said, "My God!" and held out
his cup for more coffee.

That commonplace gesture put the final stamp of reality
on the whole fantastic situation. Sarah got up from the
table and reached for the coffeepot.

"I'm afraid it's gone cold. I didn't realize I'd been
talking so long. Can you wait a moment till I heat it up,
or would you rather I made a fresh pot?"

"Don't bother. My mother says I drink too much coffee
anyway. Look, speaking of coffee, I don't know if you

180	The Family Vault


realized it, but that night when I met you at the coffee
shop, you looked as if you'd been through the wars. After
you left, I called my brother-in-law and asked him how
to find your place at Ireson's Landing, just out of curiosity.
I was almost there when I noticed a car making a
left-hand turn out of the driveway, so I slowed down and
opened my window, hoping to get a glimpse of the driver.


"Between the rain and the dark I couldn't see much,
but I thought it was a man, and I had a hunch I'd know
him if I could have got a better look. That was encouragement
of a sort, so I went on up the drive, got out my
flashlight, and started prowling. The ground was so soft
that I had no trouble picking up tracks. I followed that
path down to the wall and found a couple of places where
you'd apparently skidded and fallen. That was a relief,
at least I could assume you hadn't been beaten up by the
guy. I didn't see any scraps of paper around, so it's entirely
possible he did pick up the sketch you threw away."

"But you can't say who he was?"

"I'm hoping it will come to me. I'm wondering now if
it mightn't have been that man who posed as the doctor
the day you found O'Ghee. He could have been tailing
you--trying to find out if you'd swallowed the story about
O'Ghee's committing suicide, and what you were going to
do about it if you hadn't."

"Yes, he could. He knew who I was and how to find
me. Then it must have been he whom I saw that second
time out there, too, the night before Alexander was
killed."

"No, I'm afraid that may have been my nephew Mike.
A detective he isn't. I'd been uneasy about you after Dee
mentioned at that asinine conference he put on that you
and your husband were heading back to Ireson's Landing.
I still couldn't figure out what had happened that other
time, but I knew you'd had a bad experience of some
kind. However, I had no special reason to connect that
incident with the business about the Kelling jewelry.
Frankly, it seemed more plausible to me at the time that
your husband had killed Ruby Redd and bricked up her
body in the family vault and was having problems with
somebody who knew he'd been her boy friend. However,
I was thinking in terms of blackmail, not murder. In any
event, I'd committed myself to being in New York that
The Family Vault	181


night, so the best I could think of was to phone Mike
and ask him to keep an eye on you while I was out of
town, just on general principles. He did the best he could.
I'm sorry it wasn't good enough. He's blaming himself
like hell, poor kid, because he didn't think to check out
the Milburn."


"He mustn't do that," said Sarah. "He couldn't even
have got at the car without breaking into the shed. I still
can't imagine how anybody managed to tamper with the
Milburn. Alexander would have spotted the damage if
there'd been anything to see."

"At least you can be darn sure Mike's gone over every
nut and bolt on the Studebaker with a magnifying glass,"
Bittersohn replied. "It's good therapy for him. I might as
well tell you that meeting you at the filling station as I
did wasn't exactly an accident. I'd spoken with Mike late
the previous night from New York, and he'd said everything
was fine. I called him when I got back to Logan
Airport, and he was all to pieces. He'd been hearing
about the wreck on a local police scanner they keep at
the station. So I hotfooted it out there, keeping my eyes
peeled all the way for that old Studebaker. I stopped to
ask Mike if he knew whether you were still at Ireson's
Landing, and as luck would have it, you pulled in two
minutes later. All I had to do was wait till you'd gone to
phone, then drive back around to the front of the station
and put on a little act."

"I'm sure your kindness was no act," Sarah told him.
"I can't tell you--"

"Forget it. Mind if I run through a couple of points
again?"

"Not at all."

"That conversation you had with your husband after
you got home from the party--is it possible anybody
overheard?"

"I don't see how. It was much too cold to have a window
open, and I very carefully made sure Edith, our
maid, wasn't within earshot because I knew she'd snoop
if she knew anything was going on. She had her own sitting
room in the basement, where she spent most of her
spare tune with the television blaring. Often she'd doze
off in her chair. She's not a young woman, and she likes
her port. That's what she was doing while we were talk182	The Family Vault


ing. We'd had a fight in the kitchen when I had gone to
fix a snack for Alexander, and she'd flounced ofi in a
huff. Besides, he and I were in the library with the door
closed, and it's a very tight fit. He put weatherstripping
around the edges to keep out drafts from the hall."


"Your mother-in-law wasn't with you? I don't suppose
there's any possible chance Mrs. Kelling could hear more
than she led you to believe?"

"No chance whatever," said Sarah positively. "I
couldn't have lived with her all these years and not
known. Anyway, she wasn't in the house. She'd gone out
to dinner with--oh, good heavens!"

"With whom?" Bittersohn prompted. "Her little love?"
Sarah shook her head. "I honestly don't know, but I
wonder. His name is Edgar Merton, and everybody says
he's been in love with Aunt Caroline for years and years.
He's still quite a handsome man, and he isn't much bigger
than I am. Aunt Caroline was tall, as you know. Edgar
barely came up to her chin."
"Has he got any money?"

"You'd think so from the way he lives, but I don't
think he has a penny in his own right. Edgar's people got
cleaned out in the Depression, so he married an heiress.
Alice Merton was never an awfully clever woman. She
started to become senile six or eight years ago and is
completely noncompos now. Since she had to be hospitalized,
Edgar's been showing Aunt Caroline a great deal of
attention. I must admit I encouraged his visits because it
gave Alexander a chance to breathe."

She cleared her throat. "Anyway, Edgar was at the
tea and asked the three of us to go on with him to dinner
at the Harvard Club. I told him Alexander wasn't up to
it and suggested he take Leila Lackridge."
"Why Mrs. Lackridge?"
"Harry was off selling his books, and Leila was at loose
ends. It was easier if she went along to help with the conversation
and take Aunt Caroline to the ladies' room or
whatever. I wanted Edgar to keep her out as long as possible
so we'd have a peaceful evening. We were in bed before
she got back.
Bittersohn must have seen the pain that recollection
caused her. He asked brusquely, "What does this Merton
do?"

The Family Vault	183


"Nothing in particular. Visits his friends, plays bridge
at his club, goes off on a trip now and then. He's well past
retirement age, though I don't think he had much to retire
from. Edgar was supposed to be connected with one
of the big brokerage houses, but he couldn't have worked
awfully hard at his job. He and Alice always used to be
traveling."


"That so?" Bittersohn mulled over this information for
a moment. "Who else?"

"Who else paid attention to Aunt Caroline, you mean?
My father, for one, after Mother died, but you can't count
him since she killed him. Of course, there have been any
number of people who've gone out of their way to be
kind to her. She was a heroine, supposedly, and still a
tremendously attractive, intelligent person to be with. My
Uncle Jem--oh, that beastly phone! It never stops."

She put her hand out to the wall extension, but Bittersohn
grabbed it. "Wait a second. Where's the other
phone?"

"In the front hall, on a little stand in the far corner."

"Stay here. Let it ring twice more before you pick it
up."

He hurried down the hallway. Puzzled, Sarah obeyed.
When she answered, Harry Lackridge was on the line.

"Sarah, what took you so long? Is something the matter?"

"No, no problems," she lied. The last thing she wanted
was to have him and Leila galloping to the rescue again.
"I'm tired, but that's to be expected."

"What are your plans for the day?"

"To get through it as best I can."

"Might I interest you in lunch at the Ritz?"

"That sounds elegant, Harry, but I couldn't possibly.
There's so much to do."
"What, for instance?"

"I have to see Mr. Redfern again." She didn't, actually,
but that was the first excuse that popped into her mind.

"Why?" he prodded. "Didn't you get squared away
about the money on Monday?"

"Not to my satisfaction. Mr. Redfern claims that ridiculous
will of Father's is still in force, and all he can do is
dole me out a measly housekeeping allowance until a new

184	The Family Vault


trustee is appointed. I'm thinking seriously of getting a
different lawyer."


"Now, Sarah, calm down. Don't be hasty, Alex
wouldn't want that. All that another lawyer would do is
stall around and run up fees against the estate. If Redfern
wants to talk to me about the trusteeship--"

"I can't imagine why he would," Sarah snapped back,
then realized how rude she was being. "Harry, I know
you're trying to help me for Alexander's sake, but you
must realize that nobody could ever take his place, and
nobody can live my life for me. I can't be relying on you
or anybody else to manage my affairs, and right now I
just want to get on with what I have to do. Surely you
understand?"

"I'm not going to argue with you, at any rate. Sure
you won't change your mind about lunch? Maybe another
tune?"

"That would be lovely." Sarah rang off gratefully and
went to see what her other self-appointed guardian was
up to. She found him taking the telephone apart.

"Mr. Bittersohn, whatever are you doing that for?"

"To see what's inside."

He shook a tiny metal object out of the mouthpiece
and showed it to her on the palm of his hand. "Know
what this is?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. Not--not one of those bug
things?"

"Nothing else but. Furthermore, this is practically an
antique of its kind. Your phone must have been tapped
for a good many years. Mind showing me where you and
your husband were sitting when you had that talk?"

"In here." Sarah led him into the library.

"Is this where you'd normally spend a good deal of your
time?"

"Yes. It's cozier than the drawing room and has a better
fireplace. We've always been big on open fires because
there's all that free wood lying around out at Ireson's."

In the daylight, the library looked shabby like the rest
of the house. Yet there was still charm in the crowded
bookcases that stretched from the parquet floor to the
nine-foot ceiling, in the oriental rugs with their softened
blues and crimsons, in the scuffed brown-leather armchair
and sofa, in some oriental artist's quaintly stylized portrait

The Family Vault	185


of the merchant prince who founded the fortune that
Caroline Kelling paid over to a blackmailer.


Max Bittersohn wasted no time absorbing the atmosphere.
He got down on his knees and began pulling out
books from the bottom shelves, prying off the ogee molding
that finished off the tops of the painted pine baseboards.
Sarah started to ask what he was doing, but he
motioned for silence. A second or two later, the man was
holding up a length of snipped-off wire.

Chapter 22


"This is how you were overheard, Mrs. Kelling. I'd say
this room has also been bugged for a considerable length
of time. See how the wire is discolored and furred with
dust?"


"I don't believe this," she said through stiff lips. "What
you're trying to tell me is that every time one of us has
used the telephone or entered this room, somebody has
been hiding outside the window listening in on every word
we've said."

"No, I'm not saying that. What usually happens is that
the wires are connected to a hidden tape recorder somewhere
that may be kept running or, more probably, just
gets switched on at certain tunes. Who are your next-door
neighbors, do you know?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. These used to be all private
homes, but now most of them have been cut up into apartments.
People come and go."

"I think we'll find somebody came and stayed. I'm going
to have an electrician come in here and trace this wire, if
you don't mind. You wouldn't have any recollection of
electrical work being done in the house, I don't suppose?
I'm just wondering when and bow it might have been installed."

"Edith's nephew," Sarah gasped.

"Who?"

"Our maid," she stammered, "the one I was telling you
about. She has a nephew who does television repairs.
Wouldn't this sort of thing be in his line?"

"I don't see why not. Did he ever have access to the
house?"

"Dozens of times. We often left Edith here to mind the
house when we went to Ireson's, and told her she could
have people in for company. The nephew used to come


186


The Family Vault	187


with his wife and children, and I'm sure she gave them the
run of the place though she wasn't supposed to."


"Ever meet this nephew yourself?"
"Once or twice. Not oftener than I could avoid. He's
one of those smarmy little men with a mustache that looks
as if it's pasted on."

"Good-looking guy?"

"I suppose so, if you're fond of lizards. But surely
you're not thinking about him and Aunt Caroline. He's
much too young, aside from anything else."

"He had a father, didn't he?"

"It wouldn't be the father. He was some kind of factory
worker, and Aunt Caroline wouldn't have gone to such
drastic lengths to protect his professional reputation. But
there is some uncle or cousin or something who's a fairly
well-known surgeon at one of the big local hospitals. Edith
used to brag about him every chance she got. It's not so
farfetched to think of Aunt Caroline falling in love with
a handsome but penniless young intern who had a brilliant
future to jeopardize. That would explain what she wrote
about marrying her little love no matter what the world
might say. The family would certainly have said plenty if
Gilbert Kelling's widow tied up with a relative of her
housemaid. That might also be why Aunt Caroline kept
Edith on when she got rid of the other servants. I never
could understand why she kept the worst of the lot, but if
Edith's been functioning as a go-between all these
years--"

"Or as a blackmailer?"

"I wouldn't put it past her, but what would she have
done with the money? Don't forget there was a very large
fortune involved. If she got hold of it, why should she
have stayed on here, whining and crabbing about being
overworked?"

"Good question. Hey, don't you have an appointment
with your lawyer?"

"Actually, no. I said that to get out of lunch with Harry
because it was the first excuse I thought of. He and Leila
are determined to be kind to the poor little orphan, and
it's a bit more than I can take just now."

"Nevertheless, you must have had the lawyer in the
back of your mind, or you'd have thought of something
else. What do you say we go anyway?"

188	The Family Vault


"We can't simply waltz ourselves down to State Street
and barge in on Mr. Redfern!"


"Why not? He works for you, doesn't he?"

Sarah blinked, then managed to smile. "I suppose he
does. I must say I'd never have thought of Mr. Redfern as
my employee."

"That's what gets these guys believing they're God Almighty.
You go on in there, and if he tries to give you a
hard time, just tell him, 'Listen, Buster, if it weren't for
clients like me, you wouldn't be eating.' "

"I cannot imagine saying, 'Listen, Buster,' to Mr. Redfern."

"Then
I'll say it for you. Get your coat."

"Are you serious?"

"Never more so," Bittersohn assured her. "I want him
to open that safe-deposit box Mrs. Kelling would never let
anybody get a look into, and find out exactly where we
stand. There's no question of your being the lawful heiress,
is there?"

"Oh, no. Everything comes to me. Alexander said so."

"Is Redfern executor of the estate?"

"He must be. The Redferns have always handled all
our family affairs."

"Then he'd be apt to have a key to the box?"

"If he doesn't, I do," Sarah replied. "I found it hidden
in one of Aunt Caroline's bureau drawers."

"Okay, we're in business. Come on."

"But doesn't the will have to be probated first, or whatever
you call it?"

"No, it works the other way around. The box must be
opened and its contents inventoried along with all other
properties before probate can begin. If Redfern has both
your husband's and your mother-in-law's wills in his possession,
there's no reason whatever why we can't all three
go straight to the bank and take care of it right now. If he
balks, we'll sic my Uncle Jake on him."

"Your uncle the pawnbroker?"

"No, my uncle the lawyer. He stands four-feet-eleven
in his Adler elevator shoes, and he'd take on the whole
American Banking Association with one hand tied behind
his briefcase. Uncle Jake will know what to do if this Redfern
starts giving you the runaround."

The Family Vault	189


"I'm not sure he hasn't already started. You heard what
I said to Harry."


Sarah explained about her father's overly cautious will
and the trouble she was having getting money out of his
estate.

"Does that sound reasonable to you?"

"It doesn't sound as though he's ready to go out on a
limb for you, anyway," Bittersohn replied. "Come on, let's
go."

"Would you mind waiting two minutes? I'd better put
some decent clothes on. If I turn up in blue jeans and a
sweatshirt, he'll think I've gone soft as a grape."

Sarah was not sanguine about this venture, but what difference
did that make? The worst Mr. Redfern could do
would be to toss them out. Even that would be preferable
to sitting around the house by herself, wondering what
was going to happen next. That wiretapping was the absolute
end. Finding out that her most intimate, most
frightening, yet most precious conversation with her dead
husband had been overheard in such a disgusting way
was almost as bad as losing him again.

Bittersohn's discovery threw the possibilities wide open.
Sarah had thought only Edith and Lomax knew in advance
that the Kellings were going to Ireson's Landing for
the weekend. Who else had heard Alexander calling up
the caretaker, had listened in while they were making their
plans, had been in a position to anticipate every move
they'd be apt to make?

Whoever had been monitoring those tapes must know
how rigid Aunt Caroline was about doing the same things
in the same ways again and again and again, must have
been aware that if the weather was even halfway decent,
Alexander would take the Milburn out of its wraps and
give his mother a ride along the shore road. The weather
reports had promised the fog would lift around noontime
that day, and it had. With the information he'd gleaned,
the murderer could almost have pinpointed the moment
when the Milburn was going to top the rise and fly out of
control, could have planted a plausible witness down on
the shore to make sure the fatal accident went off as
planned.

Any eavesdropper would know about the old electric's
dynamic braking relay. He, or she, must have acquired a

190	The Family Vault


vast library of tape over the years with Alexander's dear,
quiet voice explaining the Milburn's internal workings to
anybody he could persuade to listen. Oh, if she could only
hear them, too!


Sarah began to cry again, ran to the bathroom and
dabbed water on her face. It wasn't fair to keep Mr. Bittersohn
waiting while she indulged her grief. However,
when she ran downstairs a few minutes later in the black
wool dress and coat, she found he'd made good use of the
time.

"I've checked out your locks, which haven't been tampered
with as far as I can tell. Also, you may be glad to
know there's no bug in your kitchen phone."

"I don't feel particularly glad about anything right
now," Sarah told him frankly. "Shouldn't we check the
rest of the baseboards, too?"

"The electrician can do that later, but I hardly think
he'll find anything. Wiring the whole house would be a
big job and a bigger risk. The library was ideal because
that section behind the bookcases wasn't likely to be disturbed
for years on end, and because you use that room
so much. I assume most of your acquaintances would
know your habits?"

"Oh, yes. We'd often serve tea or whatever in there because
the fire was always going, and Aunt Caroline kept
her backgammon board on that little table beside the window.
For that matter, anybody passing by outside would
have been able to see her there. She and Edgar would
play for hours on end. And at night the lights would be on.
She and Leila held some of their committee meetings in
the library, too. Mr. Bittersohn, you don't suppose this
bugging could be in any way connected with politics?"

"Their political activities being mostly the sort of thing
they were talking about that night at the Lackridges'?"
He sounded amused. "What do you think?"

"I've always thought it was a great deal of nothing,"
Sarah had to reply. "I daresay I'm trying to make this
thing less--personal."

"That's natural enough. Feel like walking?"

"How else would we get there?"

"Skateboard, pogo stick, taxi."

"Taxi? For that little distance? Mr. Bittersohn, how
could you?"

The Family Vault	191


Sarah locked the door and set a brisk pace toward
Brimstone Corner. If they were so foolhardy as to crash
in on a prominent Boston attorney without an appointment,
they might as well go and get the snubbing over
with as quickly as possible.


Chapter 23


"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid Mr. Redfern couldn't possibly
see anyone right now."


Miss Tremblay's voice held mingled regret and surprise.
She was sorry to disoblige a young woman so suddenly
and tragically widowed, but nonplussed as to why Sarah
could think it feasible to visit Mr. Redfern without an
appointment.

Max Bittersohn reached over to Miss Tremblay's memo
pad, wrote something on it, and handed her the paper.
"Give him this. I think you'll find he can fit us in."

"But I--"

"Try."

Pursing her lips, the elderly secretary tapped and entered
the sanctum. She came out looking very puzzled indeed.

"Would you go straight in, please?"

Bittersohn didn't even look duly gratified, he merely
ushered Sarah past the varnished oak door, seated her in
the visitor's chair in front of the desk, and fetched another
chair for himself.

The lawyer cleared his throat, put on his half-eye
glasses, took them off, put them on again, and finally uttered,

"I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon, Sarah."

"I don't see why not," she replied. "We didn't accomplish
much on my last visit."

"I was under the impression that we did."

She wasn't about to bandy words. She sat looking
straight at him, trying to remember that Mr. Redfern was
only a man who worked for her, until the lawyer was
forced to speak again.

"And what brings you here today, may I ask? This is
an extremely busy time for me."


192


The Family Vault	193


"It's a difficult time for me, too," she snapped back,
"and I'll thank you to bear in mind that you're supposed
to be protecting my interests. If you can't be bothered, I'll
have to find somebody who can."


"Now, now, Sarah. If it's about your father's will--"

"It's not. Not today, at any rate. I came to get a letter
of permission or whatever I need to gain access to my
mother-in-law's safe-deposit box at the High Street Trust."

"And you shall have it in due course."

"I want it now."

"That's not possible."

"Why isn't it? I don't want to take anything out, I just
want to see what's in the box."

"My dear Sarah, one doesn't simply barge in on people
and make demands like a child in a tantrum. There are
regular procedures that take place in an orderly fashion."

Sarah turned to Bittersohn. "Would your uncle agree
with that?"

"I think Mr. Redfern is aware that Jacob Bittersohn
would act in the best interest of his client," he replied. "I
question whether he'd compare her to a child in a tantrum.
I believe he'd agree that you have the right to look
at your own property. Furthermore, I don't see what the
hell you're stalling about, Redfern. This is not a frivolous
request. Mrs. Kelling, who happens to be my client as well
as yours, has learned, in going through her late motherin-law's
effects, that members of her family have been
systematically victimized over an extended period of time.
To make an effective investigation, we need to know exactly
where she stands right now."
"Can you sutstantiate that statement?"

"We can. We have documentary evidence. We don't
propose to show it to you until we're convinced that you
yourself haven't been a party to fraud and maybe something
worse. So far, your attitude leaves room for doubt."
"That is a libelous suggestion!"

"Sue me. In the meantime, could we get on with what
we came for? Mrs. Kelling was told by her husband that
she inherits whatever the estate consists of at the time of
his death, and that this includes a collection of heirloom
jewelry that was held by Caroline Kelling for her use
during her lifetime but was, in fact, owned by her son. Is
that correct?"

194	The Family Vault


The lawyer squirmed. "In substance, I believe that is
the--er--general thrust. Sarah will also inherit the two
properties."


"Who's got the deeds?"

"Mrs. Caroline Kelling also held those in her personal
charge during her lifetime. Since she was not the owner,
it would have been appropriate for her to leave them with
us, but she chose not to do so."

"Would they be in the safe-deposit box with the jewelry?"

"I have no way of knowing."

"Then isn't that in itself a sufficient reason for opening
the box? You've got to do it sooner or later anyway. Do
you have the necessary documents at hand?"

"We do," Redfern admitted.

"So what are we waiting for? Are you coming with us,
or going to write us a letter?"

"My schedule is--" Redfern tried to look portentous,
caught Bittersohn's eye, and was abruptly deflated. "I'd
better come with you."

He took a felt hat and a beautiful black cashmere topcoat
from a bentwood rack and came out with them.
"Miss Tremblay, I shall be out of the office for approximately
forty-five minutes."

"But, Mr. Redfern! Yes, Mr. Redfern."

She was gazing after them in total stupefaction when
they went out.

The bank wasn't far from the lawyer's office, and Mr.
Redfern lost not a moment in stating their business. Almost
immediately the branch manager himself came out
to meet them.

"This is remarkably good of you, Mrs. Kelling. I didn't
expect such a prompt answer."

"To what?" Sarah asked him.

He looked surprised. "Didn't you get my letter? I wrote
immediately on learning of Mrs. Caroline Kelling's death.
The situation has been precarious for some time now, and
--perhaps we'd better go into my office and sit down."

"What situation?"

Sarah was glad to take the chair he offered her. "You'll
have to forgive me for not having the faintest idea what
you're talking about. There's a stack of mail at the house
I haven't got around to opening yet, and I presume your

The Family Vault	195


letter must be among the rest. We came because I need
to see what's in my mother-in-law's safe-deposit box.
Among other things, we have to find the deeds to the two
properties."


"Yes, of course, we shall certainly need those. Then
you don't have them, Redfern? I naturally assumed she'd
return them to you after she took out the second mortgages."

"Second mortgages?" barked the lawyer. "But the properties
were owned free and clear, always had been.
Verplanck, what are you talking about?"

The banker tilted back in his swivel chair. "In nineteen
fifty-two, if my memory serves me correctly, Mrs. Kelling,
as executrix of her husband's estate, took out mortgages
on both the Beacon Hill house and the Ireson's Landing
property. I'm surprised she never apprised you of that
fact, Redfern. In any event, the interest was faithfully
paid on both, but none of the principal. That in itself was
surprising, but as the properties continued to increase in
value, we weren't worried. Some five years ago, Mrs. Kelling
came in again and demanded that we issue second
mortgages on the two properties. I may say that I took it
upon myself to remonstrate."

"How?" said Sarah.

"Why, I said--oh, you're referring to the problem in
communication. She had her son with her. He was able
to reach her by some method of hand signaling."

"Alexander brought her? Then he knew all this?"

"Certainly. He'd have to, wouldn't he? He was no longer
a minor, and the properties were legally his, as I understand
it, even though his mother was still acting as executrix."

"But that's impossible! Just a few nights ago we were
talking about selling off part of the Ireson's Landing
property, and he never breathed a word about mortgages."
Mr. Verplanck and Mr. Redfern exchanged glances.
Neither of them said, "Husbands don't always tell their
wives everything," but it was plain they thought so. The
banker went on in something of a rush.

"Be that as it may, we did, in fact, remortgage the
properties since the dramatic rise in value appeared to
warrant the extra risk, although I frankly was none too

196	The Family Vault


happy about the transaction and am considerably less so
now."


"Has anything been paid on the second mortgages?"
asked the lawyer.

"Not one cent. The interest is now also in considerable
arrears. We've been writing both to Mrs. Kelling and to
Mr. Alexander Kelling, but have had no response. My
letter to the--er--current Mrs. Kelling deals, I regret to
say, with the imminent necessity of foreclosure unless a
settlement can be reached."

"How much must I pay?" stammered Sarah.

Mr. Verplanck named a sum that staggered her.

"Can I do it. Mr. Redf era?"
The lawyer shook his head. "Offhand, I don't see
how."

"Then I suppose we'll have to sell some of the jewelry.
That must be what Alexander had in mind. He--oh, I
just can't believe this! Please, can't we open that box
now?"

"I think we'd better," said Mr. Verplanck.

He led them down a remarkably beautiful marble
staircase, pressed a buzzer that got them admitted to the
vault room, and gave Sarah's key to the young woman at
the desk.

"Miss Mummerset, would you mind getting this box
for us?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Verplanck."

She checked her file for the box number, took another
bunch of keys from her desk, unlocked the steel gates
that barred access to the tiers of boxes, and went like a
homing pigeon to the right place.

"I had a hunch s.ome of the family would be along after
the funeral," she remarked. "I hadn't realized till we got
to talking about the accident at coffee break yesterday
that Mrs. Kelling was a customer of ours. Miss Purlow
was telling us how she used to come in wearing a mink
coat and the most gorgeous hats you ever saw, to get out
her jewels for the opera or whatever. Miss Purlow said
everybody would just stop whatever they were doing and
stare, as if she'd been a movie star."

She giggled. "I guess I shouldn't have said that. Anyway,
I'm so sorry about the accident. I just wish I could
have met Mrs. Kelling myself. She's never been to the

The Family Vault	197


box since I've worked here. Gosh, it's heavy. Careful,
Mr. Verplanck, don't drop the diamonds and rubies,"


"Thank you, Miss Mummerset," said the bank manager
repressively. "Now what's the protocol, Redfern? Do
you open it, or does your client?"

"Mrs. Kelling gets the honor, I should think." The lawyer
looked doubtfully at the tiny booth Miss Mummerset
was trying to usher them into. "I don't know how we're
all supposed to fit in that cubbyhole. Might as well do it
right here on the desk, if the young lady doesn't object"

"I'm dying to see them. Isn't this exciting!"

"Miss Mummerset leads rather a lonely life down
here," the manager said apologetically. "Over to you,
Mrs. Kelling."

Miss Mummerset was right, it was exciting. Sarah held
her breath as she raised the painted metal lid and peered
inside. The box was full. On top lay a sheaf of yellow,
dog-eared foolscap, written over in faded clerkly copperplate.
Yes, the deeds were here. She lifted them out.

The rest of the box was packed solid with smallish
orange-red bricks. She would have known their shape and
texture anywhere.

Chapter 24


"How did I get here?"


"Now, Mrs. Kelling, you lie still and don't excite yourself."

A kind-looking woman of fifty-odd was bending over
Sarah, fiddling with a blanket that had been wrapped
around her. "I'm going to see if Mr. Verplanck has any
whiskey in his office."

"Strong tea or coffee with lots of sugar would be just as
good."

That was Max Bittersohn's voice. Sarah stretched out
a hand to him.
"I've made a fool of myself again, haven't I?"

"You faulted, if that's what you mean." He took the
hand in his comforting grasp. "Probably the most sensible
thing you could have done."

"I'm sure Mr. Redfern doesn't think so. Where is he?"

"In a huddle with Mr. Verplanck."

"The owl and the panther are sharing the pie. I suppose
they think Alexander took the jewelry."

He didn't say anything.

"Do you?" she prodded.

"I'm trying not to think at all, till we get some more
facts," was his not very satisfactory answer.

The lady came in with a couple of Styrofoam cups on
a tray. "I brought you some, too, Mr. Kelling."

"Thanks." Bittersohn took the cup without correcting
her mistake. "Have you been working here long?"

"Oh, yes. I'm one of the old-timers."

"Then maybe you can tell us who used to work downstairs
in the vault, say between ten and twenty years
ago?"

"Oh, that would be Alethia Browne. She was here for


198


The Family Vault	199


ages and ages. I remember her as a middle-aged woman
when 1 first came here straight out of Boston Clerical."


"You wouldn't happen to know where she retired to?"

"She never retired anywhere. She didn't get the
chance."

"Why not?"

The woman glanced uneasily at Sarah. "I don't want
to upset Mrs. Kelling any more than she is already."

"I don't think you could," said Sarah. "Please tell us
what happened to Alethia Browne."

"The Boston Strangler got her."

"Are you sure it was the Strangler?" asked Bittersohn.

"Well, of course none of that was ever proved, but it
was him all right. Same kind of crime as the rest of them,
no sign of breaking and entering or anything. He just
walked in and took one of her own nylons that she'd
washed and hung on the bathroom rack to dry. Looped it
around her neck and that was that. Mr. Verplanck had to
go over to the morgue and make the formal identification
because she didn't have any folks of her own left around
here, and boy, was he green around the gills when he got
back! At least the Strangler didn't do anything to her, if
you know what I mean. Not like some of those other poor
women."

"He didn't, eh? I suppose she lived not too far from
here?"

"Yes, over on Myrtle Street. Alethia had a little apartment
of her own, just one room and a bath and kitchenette,
but she'd fixed it up real cute. We all felt terrible
about Alethia. The customers just loved her. She knew
them all by name, and she'd ask about their families and
all."

"Then she must have known my mother-in-law," cried
Sarah, "and my husband, too. She'd have--"

"Take it easy," said Bittersohn. "Finish your coffee and
let's get out of here."

"But shouldn't she rest awhile longer?" said the kind
lady.

"I want to get her to a doctor."

"Oh, yes, that's much the best thing to do. Shall I call
you a cab?"

"We'll manage, thanks. It's not far. Would you mind

200	The Family Vault


telling Mr. Redfern and Mr. Verplanck that Mrs Kelling
will contact them later?"


Sarah added her own thanks and got off the couch,
grateful for Bittersohn's steadying hand. She did feel both
wobbly on her legs and fuzzy in the brain, but when they
got outside she told him, "I'm not going to any doctor."

"I didn't think you were. I just didn't want you telling
that woman your life story. Feel like stopping for a bite of
lunch?"

"No, really I couldn't," she said. "My insides are doing
flip-flops. Mr. Bittersohn, what am I going to do?"

"About getting the jewelry back?"

"About everything. I'm sure it's ridiculous even to think
about the jewelry. That must have been all sold ages ago
to pay the blackmailer."

"I think you're going to find it's been sold quite a few
times, always by the same person."
"But how is that possible? Does he keep stealing the
pieces back from the people he sells them to?"

"It's a little more subtle than that. What he does is to
approach a prospect and show him, or more often her, an
absolutely first-class antique necklace, ring, or whatever.
He invites the prospect to have an appraisal made by any
reputable jeweler. The pair of them go together and get a
perfectly valid opinion that the stones couldn't possibly be
any more genuine. The seller insists on knocking the appraiser's
fee off the puchase price as a gesture of goodwill.
The transaction is completed, always for cash on the barrelhead,
and he fades gracefully into the sunset.

"Sooner or later, the mark finds out that what he bought
wasn't what he wound up with. He's been stuck with a
very good copy of the original, worth maybe a couple of
hundred dollars. Maybe he, too, has a streak of larceny in
his soul so, armed with that expert's appraisal, he fakes a
robbery and gets his money back by bilking his insurance
company. That's how I happen to be in on this business,
too many people have been filing claims for the same
pieces.

"Your ruby parure, for example, was stolen in Rome,
Brussels, Hong Kong, Rio de Janeiro, Dallas, and Milwaukee
before a very clever lady in Amsterdam managed
to pull a double sneak and hang on to what she paid for.
I'm afraid your chances of getting those rubies back at

The Family Vault	201


this point are just about nil, unless you can persuade a
Dutch court to accept that Sargent portrait as evidence of
ownership and are prepared to refund the purchase price,
which was pretty high. I can't promise to salvage anything
at all, but I'll do what I can. Right now, you'd better go
home and get some rest. I'll come, too, if you don't mind."


"You're going to get that man to trace the wires, aren't
you?"

"Yes, and also fix up the phone so you can take it to
bed with you."

"Why bother? It looks as though I'll be moving out of
the house any day now."

"Don't worry about that till it happens. Say, hadn't we
better stop for some groceries? I wiped out your larder
this morning, the least I can do is buy you another pound
of bacon."

"You needn't do that, but you might help carry the
bags. Alexander always used to--"

Sarah choked up and couldn't finish the sentence. Neither
of them said much after that until they had left the
supermarket on Cambridge Street and were truding back
up to Tulip. They were almost there when she mentioned
what was on her mind.

"You knew the jewels would all be gone, then?"

"Yes," Bittersohn admitted, "I was pretty sure there'd
been a clean sweep of the collection when I saw those genuine
India pearls your mother-in-law was wearing the
night I met her."

"Why?"

"They're fakes."

"Oh, good heavens! Do you think she knew?"

He shrugged. "Would she have cared?"

"I don't suppose so, if they went to bail out her little
love. It's absolutely incredible to me that Aunt Caroline
was ready to kill Uncle Gilbert for his money, then give
up every penny of it without a qualm to protect another
man."

"Who must have been some prize specimen if he was
willing to sit back and let her do it," Bittersohn agreed.
"I'd say your mother-in-law must have been the kind of
woman who has to be the star in some real-life soap opera.
You said she planned to cover herself with grease and
glory by swimming the English Channel, but her parents

202	The Family Vault


squashed that fantasy. So she decided to become a society
queen and married a man who had the cash but not the
inclination. Then she found herself a red-hot romance,
pulled her fake heroics to finance it, and wound up deaf,
blind, and a heroine. Since there wasn't much else left for
her to do, she played the noble martyr to the hilt for the
rest of her life. Whether she was genuinely devoted to that
no-good bum, or infatuated with her own role as the beautiful
woman who gave her all for the man she loved, is
something I don't suppose we'll ever know."


"I don't know why I keep thinking, 'poor Aunt Caroline,'
" said Sarah. "She really was a monster, yet I can't
help feeling a little bit sorry for her. She destroyed Alexander,
but at least he had one real thing in his life, which
is more than she did."

"She and a lot of other people."

There was something in Bittersohn's voice that made
Sarah shy away from any further remark. They finished
the distance in silence. When they got to the house he
helped her get the groceries inside, said, "I'll be back
around two with the electrician," and left.
Sarah put away the food and made herself a sandwich
she didn't particularly want. Their breakfast dishes were
still sitting there, so she washed them. What was it going
to be like when there was only one cup, one plate, one
knife, one fork, one spoon? She hurried out of the kitchen
and went upstairs to finish transferring her belongings to
Aunt Caroline's suite. She might as well enjoy it while she
could.

Those hideous draperies in the boudoir would have to
be taken down. What if somebody besides herself happened
to notice what the embroidery stood for? The best
plan would be to take them out to Ireson's Landing and
burn them in the big fireplace.

It was a wonder Leila had never discovered Caroline's
secret diary, she'd been in the boudoir often enough. But
did Leila read Braille? Perhaps she'd never bothered to
learn, she was so adept at the hand signaling. Still, it
would be easy enough for her to get hold of a chart and
transliterate if she once caught on. If she did, she'd never
be able to keep her mouth shut, and that would be total
disaster for the whole Kelling clan.

Sarah was down in the cellar struggling with the heavy

The Family Vault	203


old wooden stepladder when Bittersohn came back with
the electrician. She thought of asking them to take the
ladder upstairs for her, then realized they'd no doubt need
it for tracing the wires, which in fact they did.


The process was a great deal more tedious than she'd
thought it would be. She answered questions, showed
where things were, watched till it got too boring, then left
the men to their tapping and prying and went back to her
own chores. There were dozens of notes to be written. The
sooner she got at them, the less depressing they'd be. She
sat down at the Samuel Mclntyre escritoire in the drawing
room where she'd be out of the men's way, and had made
a fairly impressive dent in the pile when Bittersohn came
to tell her they'd finished.

"We had quite a time. The wire had been led down inside
the wall all the way from the attic and carried over
the roofs to a skylight three houses up. Now we've got to
find out where it goes from there, which calls for a spot of
fraudulent entry."
"Can you manage that?"

"Sure. We'll put on our false whiskers and make believe
we're from the phone company or something. Incidentally,
Frank put a long cord on your telephone so it will reach
upstairs."

"That's marvelous. I can't thank you enough."
"Why thank me at all? It's included in the service.
Look, I don't want to press the issue, but can't you get
somebody to come and stay with you, if only for tonight?"
"I'll ask my Uncle Jem." Sarah was through being a
heroine.

"Good. And keep that phone number I gave you handy
just in case, eh?"
"Is that part of your job, too?"
Sarah smiled at him and he smiled back.
"Sure. I'll be in touch."

He was gone and she was alone again, but not for long.
Just about teatime, Edgar Merton came to call. Seeing
that dapper figure on the doorstep, Sarah felt a surge of
utter panic. She forced herself not to show it, though she
couldn't manage much in the way of a cordial greeting.
That was all right, he'd hardly expect a new widow to
bubble over with enthusiasm. If he actually was Caro204	The Family Vault


line's "little love," he himself must be feeling a terrible
sense of loss.


If he was, he didn't show it. He spoke of Caroline as a
gallant lady whom he'd admired and respected. He was
sorry she was dead, but clearly far from desolated. He
was much more concerned about Sarah herself, how she
was bearing up, what were her plans, whether there was
some way he might make himself useful to her. On this
last subject he became so importunate that Sarah began to
simmer. Why couldn't he have made himself useful to Aunt
Caroline when she'd spent all Uncle Gilbert's money paying
off the blackmailers?
Then she remembered they hadn't yet proved Edgar
was the man, and felt ashamed of herself for judging
bun.

"Sit still, I'm going to put the kettle on. You'd like tea,
wouldn't you?"

"That would be delightful," he replied in a somewhat
puzzled tone, "but doesn't Edith usually take care of culinary
matters?"

How did she answer this one? Of course people would
fund out sooner or later that the old retainer was no longer
here, but Sarah wasn't keen on having it known just now
that she was alone in the house. She decided to say Edith
wasn't feeling very well.

"Are you sure she's not just angling for attention?" he
replied. "I know this has been a shock to her, as it has to
all of us, but this is no time for her to give way. She
ought to be thinking of your convenience and comfort.
Perhaps, as an old friend of the family, I might nip down
and have a word with her? Ginger her up a bit?"

"She's not here," Sarah had to tell him then. "She's
gone out to her nephew's."

"Leaving you in the lurch? That's a fine thing, I must
say! If she was well enough to travel--"

"He came and got her in his van. We all agreed it was
the best thing to do. I forget, do you take cream or
lemon?"

"Oh dear, have I made so little impression on your
memory? Lemon, please, and just a speck of sugar."

Sarah wished she hadn't offered tea, now she was stuck
with him for at least another half hour. Edgar's manner
was really strangely frisky in view of the circumstances.

The Family Vault	205


Was he beginning to go soft in the head, like Alice? She
gave him the stack of condolences to sort as a sobering
influence, and took her time about fixing the tray. When
she got back, he greeted her like a long-lost daughter.


Or would it be a daughter? Did daughters get their
hands patted so often? Incredible as it seemed, she was
forced to wonder if Edgar was, as Aunt Emma would say,
making up to her.

"Yes, this is a terrible loss. I remember Caroline as a
beautiful young woman. I myself was a child at the tune,
of course, though I trust I was never so ungallant as to remind
her of the difference in our ages."

"I trust you weren't, either," Sarah thought, "because
you'd have been brought up short if you'd tried."

What kind of fool did he think she was? He'd been at
Harvard with Uncle Mortimer, who was Class of '26, and
judging from Uncle Mort's reminiscences, Edgar had been
no infant prodigy.

He wasn't being very clever now, laying it on so thick
about her fortitude, courage, presence of mind, and how
lovely she looked in her grief, which was an outright lie
because she looked ghastly and knew it. At last he got
down to business.

"Knowing you were accustomed to the companionship
of a man whom I may venture to consider my contemporary,
and being painfully aware that my own bereavement
may take place any day now--"

This was too much! White to the nostrils, Sarah got up
and began rattling cups back on the tray. "I'm afraid
you'll have to excuse me, Edgar, I didn't realize it was so
late. I have to be somewhere soon, and I've barely time
to change."

He was too well-bred to do anything but get up and go,
though not without a few more tender pressings and a
fervent promise to call again soon. Was the old goat actually
intending to offer a conditional proposal of marriage
before the flowers were dead on Alexander's grave? Surely
he wouldn't have the atrocious taste to go that far, but he
must be paving the way for something.

One thing certain, he couldn't have cared any more for
Caroline Kelling than he did for Alice Merton. That long
hearts-and-flowers courtship had been nothing more than
his way of keeping another possible meal ticket on the

206	The Family Vault


string in case the doctors' bills ate up Alice's money before
she died. With Caroline gone, he was already trying to
line up a substitute. Was this what Aunt Caroline had
eaten her heart out for, for so many years? Could a
woman of her mentality ever have been taken in by such
a lightweight?


Probably, if she wanted to be badly enough. Sarah
dumped the tea things in the sink and went to call Uncle
Jem. Egbert was awfully sorry, Miss Sarah, but the boss
was sick in bed with a cold he'd caught at the funeral,
and there was no sense taking the phone to him because
he'd lost his voice, which was one consolation from Egbert's
point of view.

Sarah said, "Oh, that's too bad. Give him my love and
tell him to take care of himself," and hung up. Now what?
Who else might be willing to come on such short notice?
Leila would, if she was around, but Sarah couldn't ask
Mrs. Lackridge to come and hold her hand after having
delivered that blast about minding her own business, and
she didn't want her, anyway. And everybody else was so
old, or so far away.

She could drive out to Chestnut Hill and sleep over at
Aunt Appie's or the Protheroes', but they'd want to know
why Edith wasn't around and why Sarah was so squeamish
about staying alone, and a lot of other whys that
Sarah wasn't ready to talk about yet. She'd made her bed,
she might as well go upstairs and lie La it.

It was far too early for that, though. Worn out as she was,
Sarah knew she'd only drop off for a few hours, then wake
up with a long, dark night ahead of her. She ought to eat
some dinner, too, though she wouldn't be hungry for a
couple of hours now that she'd had tea. She might as well
get back to her thank-you notes, work till eight or thereabout,
then fix herself a snack and take another good soak
in that elegant pink tub of Aunt Caroline's. After that,
one could always fall back on William James.

She turned on the radio for company and made herself
concentrate on writing. The music on WCRB was soothing,
but it soon gave way to news and Sarah found that
listening to other people's tragedies was too harsh a reminder
of her own. She tried switching stations, got more
of the same, switched off the set. She looked at her pile
of notes, decided she couldn't stand the sight of one more
kind word, slammed down her pen, went around drawing
the shades, found herself pacing through the empty house
like the tigress at Franklin Park Zoo she and Alexander
used to feel so sorry for.

This was horrible! She'd almost rather see Edgar
Merton back than endure any more of her own depressing
company. She was on the verge of calling Anora
Protheroe to beg a night's lodging and brave the inquisition
when the doorbell rang again. It was Bob Dee, with
a flat white pasteboard carton and a brown paper bag.

"I hope you're in the mood for pizza and beer. I
couldn't think what else to bring."

"You didn't have to bring me anything, but what a
lovely idea. Come in, Bob. I was just thinking I must do
something about dinner, and now I shan't have to. Why
don't we eat in here in front of the fire? I'll get some
plates and glasses."


207


208	The Family Vault


"Hey, you don't have to bother. At the pad we eat with
our fingers and drink out of the cans. Saves washing up."


"I'm afraid several generations of Kellings would turn
over in their graves if I tried that. Put on another log, will
you, Bob? I'll only be a minute."

Pizza in the drawing room with an unattached male
might not be the height of propriety for a woman in her
circumstances, but at least it was a change. Bob Dee might
be a nincompoop, but he was cheerful and forgiving. And
young. Sarah ate the soggy, stringy, spicy pastry, drank
her beer, and let him prattle.

For a while she rather enjoyed herself. One of the tall
cans was all the beer she could manage, though, and Dee
was obviously not about to let the rest of the six-pack go
to waste. The more he drank, the louder and sillier he got.
When she dropped a hint that the party was over, he horrified
her by turning amorous.

"Hey, the night is young and you're so beautiful. How
about it, beautiful?"

"Bob, would you please bear in mind that I've just lost
my husband?"

"I'm bearing, I'm bearing. What do you think I came
for? Off with the old, on with the new, like it says in
Shakespeare. Don't try to kid me, Sarah. The guy was old
enough to be your father, and there's a very naughty name
for screwing around with your old man. I'm sure you
wouldn't do anything naughty. No," he wrapped an arm
around her and puffed beer in her face. "You're going to
be nice. Aren't you, Sarah?"

She wrenched her body out of his clutch and snatched
up the poker. "I'm going to beat your ears off if you don't
get out of here and leave me alone. I was stupid enough
to think you came simply out of kindness, but I shan't
make that mistake again. If you bother me anymore, I'll
tell Harry Lackridge exactly what sort of person he has
working for him."

For some reason, Dee thought that was pretty funny.
"Okay, Sarah, if that's the way you want to play it. Don't
say I didn't warn you. Thanks for the use of your John."

Sarah slammed the door behind him and put the chain
up. She was relieved he hadn't turned ugly, but thoroughly
disgusted with herself for having been such a fool as to let
him in. That session with Edgar Merton should have

The Family Vault	209


warned her. Everybody thought she was about to fall into
a huge fortune. She was going to be a target for every
wolf in Boston.


That safe-deposit box full of bricks might turn out to be
a blessing in disguise, at that. Once the word got around
that Sarah Kelling was flat broke and about to be foreclosed
on, at least she wouldn't be bothered by the likes
of Bob Dee. She thrust the empty pizza carton into the
fireplace and took a savage pleasure in watching it burn.
She gathered up the rest of the litter, took it out to the
kitchen, filled the sink with hot water and detergent, and
conducted a rite of purification. Getting the duty dishes
out of the way made her feel one degree less soiled herself.
A hot bath did more.

Those dreadful curtains she'd meant to get rid of were
still hanging in the boudoir. She'd have to attend to that
tomorrow, and find some to hang in their place. Bare
windows at the front of the house would look awful. Some
of Aunt Caroline's old pals would be sure to notice and
wonder why the young widow was in such a hurry to
change things. The less attention she attracted, the better
for her.

If one were going to stay in the house, it might be fun
to redecorate the boudoir for a sitting room. Then she
could rent the rooms on the other floors and keep this
suite for herself. It would be a way of getting money to
pay the mortgage, and there would be people around.

Sarah turned the idea over in her mind. With half a
dozen lodgers and what she could make out of freelance
illustrating, she just might be able to scrape through.
She'd need a certain amount of capital for mattresses,
linens, things of that sort. Perhaps she could sell some of
the furniture she wouldn't be needing anymore. There
were still a number of good pieces in the house, probably
because Aunt Caroline hadn't dared get rid of them for
fear people would start asking too many questions about
the jewelry. That escritoire might fetch a decent sum.
Perhaps Mr. Bittersohn would know how to market it so
she wouldn't get skinned.

And how did she know Mr. Bittersohn himself wouldn't
skin her? She mustn't start thinking of him as Sir Galahad
just because he hadn't yet made a pass at her. Why
should he? He knew she didn't have any money. Sarah

210	The Family Vault


whacked at her pillows to plump them up, and reached
for William James.

That incident with Bob Dee must have left her even
more shaken than she realized. She read a full twelve
pages before she managed to get to sleep. Punctually at
midnight, she was awakened by the telephone on the night
stand beside her bed. When she picked it up and said
hello, nobody answered, but she could hear heavy breathing.
Some drunk who'd got a wrong number, no doubt.
She slammed down the receiver and tried to get back to
sleep.

Fifteen minutes later to the second, the phone rang
again. Again there was no voice on the line, only that
same breathy sound. When it happened a third time at
half-past twelve, she realized she was being deliberately
harassed. She picked up the receiver to break the connection
and put it back without answering.

This must have been what Bob Dee had in mind when
he said, "Don't say I didn't warn you." It was exactly the
sort of spiteful nonsense he'd think was funny. She'd
take the receiver off the hook, set the phone outside her
door so she wouldn't have to listen to the telephone company
making noises on the line, and let him entertain
himself getting a busy signal.

But what if Mr. Bittersohn took it into his head to
check up on her, and went into another swivet because he
couldn't get through? Late as it was, she'd better call and
explain why the phone would be out of commission. Sarah
turned on the light, read off the number he'd dictated to
her, and dialed. To her relief, he answered right away.

"This is Sarah Kelling," she said. "I hope I didn't wake
you."

"No, not at all. I was sitting here reading. What's up?"

"Nothing, really. Some pest is calling up every fifteen
minutes and breathing at me. I'm going to take the receiver
off the hook, but I thought I should let you know in
case you tried to call for any reason."

"How long has it been going on?"

"Since midnight. He's done it three times so far."

"How do you know it's a he?"

"I don't. It's just that I had a--a rather silly experience
with our mutual friend Bob Dee this evening, and I
thought it might be his notion of a practical joke."

The Family Vault	211


"Mrs. Kelling, I don't think you ought to take anything
for granted, and I don't think it's a good idea to tie up
your telephone. I'd like to come over, if you don't mind,
and be on hand when the next call comes in. Wait five
minutes, then come downstairs and turn on the outside
light. Don't open the door till you make darn sure you
know who it is. I'll give five short rings. Okay?"


Sarah started to say, "If you really think--" realized
he'd already rung off, and started putting on her bathrobe
and slippers.

But what if it was Bittersohn himself who was making
the calls so that she'd give him an excuse to come over--
as she'd just done? Why on earth would he do a thing like
that? She mustn't get paranoid. She mustn't be stupid, either.
She wouldn't go down there in her nightgown, and
she would keep that poker handy, just in case.

Sarah put on slacks and a sweater, shoved her feet into
woolly slippers because the floor was cold, and padded
silently downstairs. It wasn't five minutes yet, but her
nerves wouldn't let her sit up there cold-bloodedly watching
the clock hands inch around.
A cup of hot coffee mightn't be a bad idea. She was so
wide-awake already that a little caffeine wasn't going to
make any difference. Not bothering to turn on a light because
she knew the way so well, Sarah went out to the
kitchen and was about to put the pot under the faucet
when she heard a noise.

Of course one was always hearing things in the city:
trucks and fire engines going by, students whooping it up
on the sidewalk, drunks being sick in the alley. This noise
was none of those. It sounded as if somebody was trying
to take the cellar door off its hinges.

She didn't know what put that notion into her head,
but it was simple enough to check. The back entry was
directly below the kitchen window. Thankful that she
hadn't put on a light or made any racket herself, she flattened
her nose against the pane and looked down.

Yes, there was somebody, hard at work. She could see
a dull gleam from the shaft of some long tool he was
using, probably a big screwdriver. She thought it must be
a man because he appeared to be working with no great
effort, and it must take real strength to budge those
rusted-in screws. All she was actually able to make out

212	The Family Vault


was a large dark blob and a couple of whitish oblongs
perhaps ten inches high sitting on the pavement beside
him. Were those his tool boxes? Why more than one?


Whatever they were, he'd better get them out of there
fast. Moved by exasperation to recklessness, Sarah ran
boiling hot water into a pail, eased the window open, and
dumped the bucketful square on his head.

It must have burned, it certainly shocked. Whoever
was there dropped whatever he had and'took off like the
proverbial scalded cat. She was filling the kettle again in
case he came back for his tools when the doorbell rang
five quick tings.

Before she cracked open the door on its chain, she
made very sure it was Bittersohn. Even then, she wasn't
ready to let him in.

"Turn around slowly under the light so I can get a good
look at your coat."

"If you want," he said in surprise. "Any special reason?"

"I want to see if you're wet. I just poured a bucket of
hot water on somebody who was trying to break in from
the alley."

"My God, woman, you're dangerous! No, fortunately,
I'm dry. I hope you're not going to try any assault and
battery on me."

"Don't push me, then. I threatened Bob Dee with a
poker this evening."

"Too bad you didn't let him have it. What did he do?"
"I'd rather not say."

"Okay, you don't have to. What happened to the burglar?"

"He ran away. He left something, though, so he may
have come back to get it by now."

"Come on. How do you get downstairs?"
"I'll show you."

Sarah switched on the hall lights and led Bittersohn
down through Edith's deserted lair. The alley door was
sagging half off its hinges; she'd been none too quick with
her bucket. Bittersohn pushed it open. Those whitish oblongs
were still sitting outside, in a steamy puddle. He
picked one up, and sniffed at the top.

"The son-of-a-bitch! He was going to burn the place
down. Smell that."

The Family Vault	213


He thrust what turned out to be a plastic jug under
Sarah's nose.


"It smells like paint thinner," she said.

"It is paint thinner. A gallon or so of this and a book
of matches are all any competent arsonist needs."

"Then those phone calls--"

"Probably to make sure you were in the house and
keep you busy so you wouldn't go roaming around."

"But I might have burned to death!"

"I don't want to upset you any more than you've been
already, Mrs. Kelling, but I'd say that was the general
idea, that and getting rid of whatever evidence might be
in the house."

"Those draperies of Aunt Caroline's! But why not just
break in and take them down?"

"Because whoever wants to get rid of anything incriminating
doesn't know what to look for. You haven't told
anybody but me about them, have you?"

"No, not a soul. I see what you mean. Anybody who
knew Aunt Caroline very well for a long time must have
recognized that theatrical streak in her and guessed she
wouldn't be able to resist leaving some kind of diary
about her great romance, but who could ever dream she'd
choose the way she did?"

"Did you get a good look at the torch?"

"The what?"

"The guy with the jugs. The arsonist."

"Oh. No, I'm sorry to say I didn't. I thought it was a
man, but I couldn't be sure. Actually it was just a shape
in the dark."

"Big or little?"

"Big. Biggish, anyway. How tall are you?"

"Five eleven and a whisker. Say six feet with my shoes
on."

"Then I'd say this person was also about six feet and
more heavy-set than you, though one can't be sure in
cold weather because people bundle up in extra clothes.
I honestly didn't believe it was you, I was just being
overly careful because I'd made stupid mistakes about
two other men this evening."

"That's okay, I don't blame you a bit. Do you think
you scalded the guy?"

"I hope so. It would serve him right."

214	The Family Vault


"It'll also provide a means of identification if we can
get to him before he heals. Let's leave these jugs here and
I'll watch for a while to see if he comes back for them,
though I doubt if he'd be fool enough to do that. There's
no way they could be traced because you can buy the
stuff at any hardware or paint store, and I'm sure he
wore gloves. You go back to bed. I'll stick around down
here, just in case."


"Would you like some coffee? I was going to make
some. That's how I happened to be in the kitchen and
hear him working at the hinges."

"I'm surprised he kept at it once you turned on the
light."

"I didn't. I've gotten into the habit of going about the
house in the dark a lot, I suppose because everything was
arranged for a blind person's convenience. I can make
a pot of coffee in the dark, fix it any way you like, and
bring it down to you without spilling a drop. Want me
to?"

"Just don't break your neck."

"I shan't. Right now I'm mostly concerned to save it."

Chapter 26


Edith had made such a clean sweep of the basement that
there wasn't even a chair left for Bittersohn to sit on.
Sarah unearthed a folding leather campaign chair that Alexander's
Great-uncle Nathan had nursed his gout in at
San Juan while Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders
were storming the hill, and took it down to the cellar along
with a pillow and an afghan.

She saw no reason to stay with the man, and he didn't
want her to. Still, she couldn't face the thought of going
back to bed. She compromised by curling up on the library
couch with the velvet comforter from Aunt Caroline's
room, and napped fitfully until the traffic outside and the
lumpiness of her improvised bed drove her to rouse herself.
Poor Mr. Bittersohn, what sort of night had he put in?
Sarah took a shower to revive herself as far as possible,
got into clean clothes, and went down to see if he'd survived
his vigil. She found her guest sprawled in the campaign
chair with his head bobbing backward over the top
and his legs tangled strangely in the afghan. He was emitting
an occasional choking snort, as well he might. When
she touched him on the shoulder he jerked upright and
said crossly, "I wasn't asleep."

"I'm sure you weren't, but you must have been wretchedly
uncomfortable. Did anything happen?"
"This damn chair folded up on me twice, and a mouse
ran up inside my pantleg. Otherwise, it was a restful
night. Are the jugs still there?"

Sarah took away the stick of wood he'd used to prop
up the half-dismantled door and peered out. "Yes, still
here. Oh, look, he's taken off the alley door, too. I wondered
how he got over the wall."

Like so many of its Beacon Hill counterparts, the Kel-


215


216	The Family Vault


ling house had a tiny bricked courtyard behind it surrounded
by a high brick wall with a wooden door that led
to the alley behind. This door, which had been securely
bolted the last time she saw it was also off its hinges and
lying on the pavement. She walked over and kicked at it.


"I wonder why he bothered? This door is so rickety all
he'd have to do would be to push in a panel and reach
around to the bolt. Alexander was intending to put on a
new one next spring."

Bittersohn came up beside her and studied the peeling
wood thoughtfully. "That's a good question. I've met only
one crook in my life whose hobby is taking doors off
hinges. That could be how the Milburn was got at. Tell
me, Mrs. Kelling, you wouldn't happen to know a middleaged
man who's about my size but more heavy-set, with a
sallow complexion and noticeable liver spots on his forehead?
He's bald, has an unusually thin nose, small greenish
eyes set close together, and an odd way of lifting the
left-hand corner of his mouth when he talks. I doubt if
you'd meet him socially, but he may have come to the
house as a repairman or something of the sort."

"We've hardly ever had repair men," Sarah said. "Alexander
did most of the odd jobs. Still, the description does
ring a bell. Oh, I know! But he wasn't bald, he had thick
gray hair."

"Who?"

"That man who called himself a doctor. I remember the
thin nose and the blotches on the forehead."

"You're positive?"

"Yes, I am. The room was so small that I was standing
practically nose-to-nose with him. I noticed the hair particularly
because it was so handsome, and the rest of him
wasn't. It looked too good to be true."

"No doubt it was," said Bittersohn. "Well, we'd better
put these doors back up, though I'm afraid he's wrecked
them prying to get at the hinges. Got a hammer and nails
and some scrap lumber?"

Together, they propped up the doors and Sarah held
boards across while Bittersohn whacked in the nails. He
made a thorough job of it before he put down the hammer.
"There, that's not very fancy but it ought to hold till you
can get a carpenter to do the job right. Now, I'm going to

The Family Vault	217


make a quick dash to my place for a shave and shower,
then I'll come back with the car and we'll take a look at
the area where you say you saw this guy. Think you can
find the house again?"


"How could I forget? If you like," Sarah ventured shyly,
"you could go up and use Alexander's razor. There's a
bathroom on the third floor with his things still in it. I
could be getting us a bite of breakfast while you're freshening
up, which would save some time. Unless you'd
rather go home?"

"No, that's okay. You sure you wouldn't mind?"

"I don't think so. I've already had to put company in
his room for the funeral. There's no sense in being sentimental."
Sarah dabbed at her eyes. "It's on the third floor.
You'll find everything you need, I think, except that I'm
afraid I can't offer you a change of linen."

That would be carrying common sense one step too far.
She didn't know what she was going to do with the clothes
she'd mended so often for her lost darling, but no stranger
was going to see those careful darns. She put another pot
of coffee on to perk, started bacon frying, and began to
section the grapefruit she'd bought yesterday. By the time
Bittersohn came down, looking a good deal less shopworn
in spite of his wilted shirt, she had a meal ready. They
ate without paying much attention to the food and then
walked down to the Underground Garage.

"Over Arlington to Broadway, then straight across to
Dorchester Avenue and take a right?" he said as he
switched on the ignition.

"I should think that's the best way."

Sarah found she was perched on the extreme edge of
the leather seat, her fists clenched as if she were going into
battle. She forced herself to lean back and take deep
breaths to relax the tightness in her solar plexus. The
closer they got to where they were going, the harder she
had to breathe. She was getting dizzy from hyperventilation
when Bittersohn said, "We must be getting close to
where we turn."

"Yes, just up the street, by that drugstore."

"Any place close to the house where we might be able
to pull up and keep watch without being spotted?"

"I'm afraid not. It's a sort of cul-de-sac. Perhaps we
could leave the car somewhere and--oh, look, here she

218	The Family Vault


comes! The woman in the green coat and the snakeskin
boots. She's going into the drugstore."

"To buy some burn ointment, maybe?" Incredibly, Max
Bittersohn was smiling. "So that's Mrs. Wandelowski."

"Do you know her?" Sarah gasped.

"You might say we've met. She once tried to part my
hair with a ceremonial sword from the Knights of Pythias."

"For goodness' sake, why?"

"Because, as Hillary said about Everest, it was there.
She was a little upset with me at the time. She's probably
pretty annoyed with you right now for getting Abelard's
rug wet."

"Abelard is her husband, then?"

"Or not, as the case may be. Abelard and Madeleine,
two minds with but a single thought--and that one pretty
nasty. So they're both wearing wigs now. They always
were a dressy pair."

"Who are they?"

"Odd-jobbers. They do whatever the higher-ups don't
have the time or the inclination to tackle personally. I
always thought they must have a home base somewhere.
So Madeleine's been running a boardinghouse in her spare
time. That figures."

"What else does she do?"

"Changes sheets in a motel, clerks in a supermarket,
whatever suits the purpose of the moment. She never stays
anywhere long, and she seldom gets caught. Madeleine
has the advantage of being about the most nondescript
woman you'd ever run across. Change the wig, leave off
the makeup, put her into a waitress's uniform instead of
that flashy getup she's wearing now, and you'd never believe
she was the same person. Her part is usually to
gather information, plant something on somebody, intercept
a letter, some small job of that sort. Abelard, being a
much more noticeable sort of person, lurks in the background
until it's time to do his speciality."

"Such as impersonating a doctor or burning down a
house."

"Or being the telephone repairman with a bug in his
box, or the mechanic who screwed up the brakes on your
Milburn. Abelard's clever with his hands."

"Then he was the one who killed Mr. O'Ghee, I suppose?"

The Family Vault	219


"I honestly don't know, Mrs. Kelling. Until this business
came up, I'd never have figured Abelard for a hit
man, although I don't doubt he was the one who got rid
of the body. Well, I guess we've seen what we came for.
Shall I take you back to the house?"


"I'd be rather glad if you would," Sarah replied. "I
don't know why, but I'm anxious to put my hand on that
letter Mr. Verplanck wrote me. I can't think why I didn't
see it because I worked for several hours yesterday trying
to get the correspondence straightened out. Also, he
claims he wrote to Aunt Caroline and Alexander any
number of times, and I didn't see those letters, either."

Bittersohn made a small noise in his throat.

"I don't mean that Alexander didn't let me read his
mail, I just mean picking up the envelopes the postman
pushed through the slot. That was a little job I generally
attended to because the mail's apt to come at a time when
Alexander would be out somewhere with his mother. I'd
sort it out, so I knew who was writing to whom. Also, I
handled Aunt Caroline's correspondence for her, more or
less. She'd write letters in Braille and get me to type them
up. If she'd suddenly started getting a spate of letters
from the bank and never sending any answers, I think I'd
have noticed. Don't you?"

"It's worth thinking about, anyway. All right, Mrs. Kelling,
let's go look for your letter."

Getting back to the hill was simple enough, but parking
was another matter,

"Oh, dear," Sarah moaned, "I should have suggested
we leave the car at the garage and walk up. It's always
impossible around here."

"I'll find a place," said Bittersohn. "Why don't you go
on in and start looking for your letter? Sure you won't
mind being alone in the house for a few minutes?"

"Of course not. Why should I?"

She hopped out fast because the driver behind them
was using abusive language, and let herself in. Without
bothering to take off her coat, she began shuffling through
the piles of mail she'd left on the escritoire. She knew
perfectly well there was no envelope from the High Street
Trust among them, and there wasn't.

Had Edith been pinching the mail as well as the furniture?
It was tempting to blame her, but not very sensible

220	The Family Vault


to jump to conclusions. There were other possibilities. Edgar
Merton, who'd spent so much time here playing backgammon
with Aunt Caroline; Edgar to whom she'd given
this same collection of messages to sort out for her only
yesterday. The more she thought about Edgar, the less
she liked what came to her mind.


In any event, she'd better call Mr. Verplanck and tell
him she couldn't find the letter. At least it might buy her
a little more time to straighten things out. After being
passed through a secretary or two, she got him on the
line.

"This is Sarah Kelling. I want to apologize for my ridiculous
behavior yesterday and also to thank that extremely
kind lady who took care of me. Perhaps you'd be kind
enough to give me her name so I can drop her a note?"
The bank manager made appropriate responses.
"I also wanted to tell you that I can't find that letter
you say you wrote me. I've been through all my mail,
and it's simply not in the house."

"Why, naturally it wouldn't be, Mrs. Kelling," he replied
in the tone one might use to a not very bright child.
"It was directed to your post office box, as usual."

"What post office box? We don't have one. Why should
we?"

"Oh, dear." His sigh was audible over the phone. "Apparently
this is another of your mother-in-law's little
mysteries. At the time she took out those first mortgages,
she instructed me to address all communications regarding
that and any other bank matters to Box 2443 at the
Back Bay Postal Annex, and that's precisely what we've
always done. Obviously, since she never informed you of
this fact, you have not checked the box. Perhaps it would
help to clarify matters if you did."

"I certainly shall," said Sarah. "I'll do it right away.
Mr. Verplanck, you must realize that I'm in a state of
utter confusion. I'll get things straightened out with you
as soon as I know where I stand. Box 2443, you said?"

"That's correct, Mrs. Kelling. Then I'll look forward to
hearing from you or Mr. Redfern by the end of the
week."

He hung up with a smart little click. Mr. Verplanck
wasn't concerned with Sarah Kelling's problems, only with
the bank's money. It looked as if she'd soon have a conThe Family Vault	221


elusive answer for all those relatives who kept pestering
her about what she was going to do with the properties.
She already had the answer to why Alexander had never
told her about the mortgages. He had never known about
the post office box, either.


Then who had impersonated him at the interview with
Mr. Verplanck? She dialed the bank's number again.

"Mr. Verplanck, I'm sorry to be a pest, but could you
please tell me what Alexander Kelling looked like when
you met him?"

"Really, Mrs. Kelling, I--"

"Please! I know it sounds crazy, but it's terribly important."

"Well," he evidently made up his mind that he might
as well humor this madwoman and get her off his ear,
"he was--er--tall."

Sarah's heart sank a little. "Tall? Are you positive?
How tall? As tall as his mother?"

"To the best of my recollection, he was at least half a
head taller."

"Oh, no!" How could that be? "What else do you remember
about him?"

"Mrs. Kelling, it's been quite some time, and we had
only the one meeting. You can hardly expect me to recall
one face out of the many I see every day."

"But you ought to. Almost anybody who'd ever set eyes
on Alexander would never forget him for a specific reason,
and you should be able to tell me what it is."

"Are you referring to a birthmark or some such thing?
I'm sorry, but I can't recall anything outstanding about
him except his height. He seemed an agreeable enough
man, but he didn't say much. Now that I think of it, I
believe he had hay fever or something. He kept his handkerchief
up to his face a good deal of the time. He also
had dark glasses on because he found the allergy was
affecting his eyes. To tell the truth, I don't think I ever
did get a good look at him."

"I'm sure you didn't, Mr. Verplancfc," said Sarah with
unutterable relief. "My husband didn't have hay fever,
and he'd never have been rude enough to keep his dark
glasses on while he was talking to you. You'd have remembered
him for the same reason everybody else al222	The Family Vault


ways did. Alexander was the handsomest man you'd ever
have seen in your life."


"Good God, Mrs. Kelling, are you trying to tell me I
negotiated those mortgages with a pair of impostors?"

"No. With Caroline Kelling and one impostor."

"Then who was the man?"

Sarah was wondering how to answer, when she heard
footsteps somewhere in the house. Was it the arsonist,
back to try again? What should she do? Rush out to the
sidewalk in the hope of scaring him off? That would be
pretty crazy. Best lie low.

Hastily she said, "Mr. Verplanck, I'll have to call you
back," and tried to replace the receiver without a sound.
In her nervousness, she knocked the phone off the stand.
It fell with a mighty crash.

At once, to her mingled relief and fury, an all-toofamiliar
voice called out, "Edith, is that you?"

er27


"Harry, you scared the life out of met No, it's Sarah. Edith
isn't here. However did you get in?"


"Through the door, naturally."

"How could you? It was locked."

"No, it wasn't," said Lackridge. "When I rang the front
doorbell and nobody answered, I thought Edith might be
down in her lair with that damned television blaring away
as usual, so I went around through the alley and found
both doors ajar. You ought to be more careful about keeping
the place locked up, Sarah. Anybody could barge
right it."

"But, Harry, that's not possible. Mr. Bittersohn nailed
them shut."

"What the hell for? What's Bittersohn doing around
here, anyway?"

Sarah was almost demoralized enough to tell him, but
not quite. She had no right to let the publisher know that
his supposed author was really a detective using him for
cover. Luckily, Harry answered his own question.

"Figures if he can't get at the family jewels one way,
he'll try another, eh? You watch out for that chap, Sarah.
You know what those people are like, give them a toe in
the door and the next thing you know, they're trying to
crawl in bed with you."
"Yes, I had a little lesson in that regard from your lad
Bob Dee," Sarah couldn't resist telling him. "By the way,
Harry, how did he know Alexander and Aunt Caroline
and I were going out to Ireson's Landing for the weekend?
He mentioned it at that meeting we had, and I don't
recall having told anybody."

Lackridge looked blank for a moment. Then he said,
"Where else would you have been going? Speaking of
beds, what the hell's going on around here, anyway? I


223


224	The Family Vault


came to look for a little notebook I've misplaced. It has
all my appointments for the next two months, and I'm
lost without the thing. It occurred to me that I might have
left it in Alex's room that night Leila and I slept here.
That's why I came this morning. Since nobody was
around, I decided I might as well go straight upstairs and
look for it. The place is a mess. I know you're in no fit
state to function yourself, but couldn't you get Edith to
straighten things up?"


Sarah shook her head, trying to clear her mind. "I told
you Edith's not here. The rooms were in order when I left
the house a couple of hours ago. The problem is, somebody's
been breaking in and trying to burn the house
down."

"You're crazy!"

Lackridge caught himself. "Sorry, Sarah, I didn't mean
that. But Leila and I were talking. We realize you've been
under an intolerable strain, and we think it might be a
good idea if you were to go away for a while."

"I thought I'd made it clear to Leila that I prefer to
make my own plans," Sarah snapped back. "If you're
hinting that I ought to be committed for observation, I
suggest you leave that decision to Uncle Jem or Cousin
Dolph. It's kind of you to be concerned, but I do have a
family."

"Sarah, be reasonable. All this talk about people breaking
in and setting fire to the place--"

"You've seen the evidence, haven't you? You say the
bedrooms are torn apart. You say the basement door was
open when Mr. Bittersohn himself can tell you he nailed it
shut."

She wasn't convincing Harry Lackridge, she could see
that. He wasn't bothering to hide his sneer. Alexander
would never have sneered. It was odd how unlike the two
friends had been, yet so very like in superficial ways.
Harry's voice was harsher than Alexander's, but his diction
was as impeccably Phillips and Harvard. The height,
the thinness, the well-worn Brooks Brothers tweed suit, all
were Alexander's without the elegance. In this ill-lit hallway,
even the aquiline features were not all that dissimilar
at first glance. Years ago, when Harry's skin was still fresh
and his eyes clear, when his teeth were unyellowed and his
grin hadn't yet become a twisted sneer, he'd sometimes

The Family Vault	225


been taken for one of the Kelling clan. If anybody in the
world could have impersonated Alexander Kelling and got
away with it--perhaps she really was going crazy. Sarah
thought of a way to find out.


"Harry," she said, keeping her voice from shaking as
best she could, "when you came through the basement,
did you notice anything different about Edith's sitting
room?"

He blinked. "How do you mean, different? How should
I know? I hadn't been down there in years. Anyway, it
was rather dark and I couldn't find the light switch."

"But you had to walk right through the room to get to
the kitchen stairs. Weren't you afraid you'd break your
neck on the furniture? You know what a packrat Edith's
always been."

Lackridge hunched his shoulders. "I'd forgotten about
that. I damn near did kill myself, if you want to know. I
slipped on a rug, and barked my shin on something or
other. A rocking chair, I believe it was."

"That was remarkably clumsy of you, Harry," Sarah
told him quietly, "considering that Edith moved out of
here night before last, and took the rugs and every stick
of furniture with her. The basement rooms are bare to the
walls, and you couldn't have helped noticing. You didn't
come through there at all, you came in the front door with
the keys Aunt Caroline gave you back when you were
having your red-hot love affair. And you weren't looking
for any appointment book, you were trying to find her
diary."

"Then she--don't be ridiculous, Sarah! How could Caro
keep a diary?"

"You'd be surprised. I certainly was."

"You found it?" He wasn't bothering to keep up his act
anymore.

She hadn't really taken it in until that moment that
Harry Lackridge intended to kill her. Incredibly, the realization
did not frighten her at all.

"Oh, yes," she replied quite calmly. "You must have
realized Aunt Caroline wouldn't be able to resist dramatizing
her great romance. I must say it was pretty raw of
you to murder the woman you were supposed to be madly
in love with, after you'd milked her of everything she
owned and a lot more that she didn't."

226	The Family Vault


"I was very fond of Caroline. If you hadn't started
throwing your weight around and making trouble--"


"Stop it, Harry. You killed her and Alexander because
you knew Mr. Verplanck was about to start foreclosure
proceedings on those two mortgages you were supposed
to have been paying the interest on. Not even a blind
fanatic could have gone on covering up for you once the
bank came to put us out in the street. Don't try to make
me believe you gave a rap about Aunt Caroline. You
don't have one scrap of human feeling for anybody but
yourself. I can't imagine what she ever saw in you."

"She saw what she was looking for, and she got it."

"The beautiful Mrs. Kelling and a nasty little boy
straight out of prep school? It does sound incredible, especially
when I look at you now. Her little love!"

"She wrote that?" He grabbed Sarah's shoulders and
began shaking her violently. "You're lying! Caro swore
she'd never tell."

"No, Harry, she didn't call you by any name but that
She kept faith with you, even though you betrayed her in
every way you possibly could. But it wasn't hard to figure
out who her little love must be. Who but you could have
staged that scene with Ruby Redd when Aunt Caroline
got tired of forking out money to that imaginary blackmailer
you'd invented so you could get your grubby hands
on Uncle Gilbert's fortune? You knew Alexander was seeing
Ruby, you were the one who got them together in the
first place. You knew the girl would help you put on your
little act if you promised her the ruby parure as a reward.
Promising wouldn't cost you anything. I'm sure you'd
planned from the beginning to start that fake quarrel as an
excuse to murder her. Aunt Caroline would never be able
to refuse another of your blackmail demands after you'd
supposedly saved her life by killing somebody else. Having
your so-called best friend walk in just at the right moment
to be stuck with the blame and have his whole life ruined
was a stroke of luck you hadn't counted on, wasn't it?"

"That's a pretty story, Sarah. Where did you say you
heard it?"

"Harry, I'm telling you, it's all in the diary. You'd explained
to Ruby Redd that Aunt Caroline was deaf, but
you forgot to mention that she could lip-read. Ruby was
shooting her mouth off right and left, shouting about how

The Family Vault	227


you'd promised her the parure, and so forth. You tried to
explain that away by saying it was Alexander who'd promised,
but there were still parts of the dialogue Aunt Caroline
didn't understand because it never dawned on her in
all those years that you were the one who'd rigged the performance.
It's perfectly obvious to me, now that I know
what you are."


Lackridge was smiling, that same yellow-toothed grin
he put on when he was playing the buffoon in his wife's
drawing room. "That must be quite a document. What else
did she write?"

"She told how you put her up to killing my father so
that she could coerce Alexander into marrying me and
getting them both an income after you'd swindled her out
of Uncle Gilbert's estate. And, of course, there was the
part about how Uncle Gilbert was got rid of, which I already
knew. I don't have to tell you that, do I? You must
have heard Alexander telling me on your bugging apparatus.
That doesn't work anymore, by the way."

"That doesn't matter. I shan't be needing it," Lackridge
said in a tone that was appalling because it was so matterof-fact.
"How did you find the bug? That couldn't have
been mentioned in the diary."

"No, and neither was the safe-deposit box full of bricks,
or the fact that you strangled the bank attendant who
knew you had access to the box, although I'm sure she
never realized what you were up to. Aunt Caroline never
found out about that particular murder, I don't suppose,
or the swindle you worked all over the world with the Kelling
family heirlooms when you were supposed to be off
peddling books. You might at least have left a set of copies
in the box so that I could see what the jewelry would
have looked like if I'd ever got to inherit it."

"Sorry, Sarah, I try not to mix sentiment with business
unless I have to. It leads to complications, as you've so
clearly pointed out. Where is Caro's diary?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Why, indeed? Sarah had thought she wanted to die and
be with her husband. Now she knew she wanted to stay
alive, and her one hope of survival lay in keeping up this
mad conversation until, God willing, Mr. Bittersohn managed
to find a parking space.

"I don't think you'll ever find it, Harry," she said. "It's

228	The Family Vault


a shame your odd-job man failed in his attempt to burn
down the house last night, isn't it?"


"And who is my odd-job man?"

"His name is Abelard and he lives over near Andrew
Square with a woman named Madeleine, who may or may
not be his wife. She calls herself Mrs. Wandelowski and
claims to run a rooming house. That was where either you
or they murdered Tun O'Ghee, who used to bartend at
Danny Rate's Pub, as you so well know. I suppose the old
man thought he could put the screws on you a bit when
Ruby Redd's body turned up. That was a bad mistake. He
should have remembered how you hate to pay anybody
for anything. When I think of all the times Alexander
broke his back doing photography for you, and you begrudged
so much as buying him a roll of film, after you'd
robbed--"

She mustn't let herself get maudlin. Sarah gulped down
the tears and tried to keep her voice level.

"Telling Abelard to fix the Milburn so it would go out
of control and smash must have broken your heart. Think
what you could have got for it from an antique-car collector.
Of course, you'd have had a hard time stealing it back
and selling it over again, as you did with our ruby parure
until that woman in Amsterdam got the better of you."

"How did you know about the woman in Amsterdam?"

Now she'd gone too far. Lackridge wasn't going to stand
for any more goading.

"Sarah," he insisted, "where did you get this information?"

She was terrified now, but she wouldn't back down. "I
haven't the slightest intention of telling you, Harry."

"You're going to be an extremely sorry young woman
if you don't."

"Do you think you can hurt me any worse than you
have already?"

"In a word, yes."

He was too tall and too fast. Before she could back
away, he grabbed her left arm and twisted until the big
bone snapped just above the elbow. He let go and the limb
flopped useless at her side.

"Now do you understand that I want an answer, Sarah,
or shall I make my position a little more clear?"

The Family Vault	229


The pain was making her want to vomit. She spoke
through clenched teeth.


"Clever of you to break the left arm instead of the
right, Harry. That must mean you have some more free
artwork lined up for me to do."

He twisted the arm again, spinning her back against the
console. "Frankly, Sarah, I never did care for you. This
isn't going to bother me one bit."

As he raised his hand to slash across her face, the doorbell
rang. Sarah sucked in every ounce of breath her lungs
could hold, and let it out in one mighty scream.

One second later, a body crashed through the library
window and into the hall. Max Bittersohn was on top of
Harry Lackridge, pounding him into the floor while Sarah
stood and watched, perhaps from the identical spot where
Caroline Kelling had watched her little love strike down
Ruby Redd so many years before.

Chapter 28


"You'll need somebody to look after you for a while."


Sarah had given her statement to the police from a bed
in the emergency ward at Massachusetts General, but insisted
on being taken home as soon as her broken arm was
X-rayed and set. Uncle Jem and Egbert had stayed with
her overnight as a pair of most unlikely nurse-maids, but
fled delightedly back to Pinckney Street when Max Bittersohn
showed up the next morning and invited the patient
to lunch.

Since the distance was short and the day was fine, he
and she had walked down to the Hampshire House. Sarah
was still having a lot of pain, but after two bourbon manhattans
and her fair share of a bottle of PouillyFuisse',
she wasn't f eeling it much.

"I know I'm making a mess here," she replied, struggling
to get the last forkful of chicken divan off her plate.
"Do forgive my horrible manners."

"You're doing fine, Mrs. Kelling. Sure you feel all
right?"

"I'm alive, that's the main thing. Harry did mean to kill
me, you know."

"I never doubted it for one minute. Anyway, he's safe
in the jug now. I only wish I'd been able to ditch that
damned car in time to save you from getting hurt."

Sarah dipped the corner of her napkin in her water
glass and scrubbed cheese sauce off her chin. "In a way,
it's probably just as well you didn't. If it hadn't been for
my arm, we might never have got the police to believe
such an insane story about a solid citizen like Harry Lackridge.
There's something awfully convincing about a compound
fracture of the humerus. Have they arrested Bob
Dee, do you know?"

"Booked him on suspicion. I don't know what will come


230


The Family Vault	231


of that, though he has been identified as the eyewitness
who just happened to be on the spot, by a very curious
coincidence, when the Milburn was wrecked. He'd given
a false name, which isn't going to help him any."


"I hope it won't. And what about Abelard and Madeleine?"

"Abelard's singing like a scalded nightingale. With their
police records and your evidence about how they
bumped off old Tim O'Ghee, they wouldn't dare refuse to
co-operate. I have to go and speak my piece to the grand
jury tomorrow morning first thing."

"Am I expected to testify, too?"

"No, your statement is going to be allowed as evidence
for the purpose of indictment, although you'll undoubtedly
be key witness for the prosecution when Lackridge comes
to trial. You and your mother-in-law's draperies, that is."

"Oh, no! I meant to burn those ghastly things before
anybody else could read them."

"Good thing you didn't, otherwise you might be liable
to a charge of obstructing justice. The draperies have already
been impounded. You'll be getting a receipt, no
doubt. A Braille expert will be called in to prepare a
transcript of Mrs. Kelling's fancywork, but you'll be asked
to identify the actual embroidery and testify that you saw
her doing it."

"That's no problem. I've watched her making those zillions
of French knots any number of times. So has Edith,
and Leila, and Harry himself, for that matter. Won't he
be livid! After he'd gone through that performance of
sneaking in and throwing things around, in the hope of
scaring me away from the house so that he'd have a clear
field to hunt for the diary, when it was hanging right there
in plain sight all the time. I'll bet the reason he didn't kill
me right away was that he had some scheme in mind to
get himself appointed my trustee and scoop up Father's
money along with everything else."

"That's entirely possible. People like Lackridge always
think they can have anything they want for the taking. He
still doesn't believe we're going to nail him, you know.
Don't be surprised if he puts on quite a show in court."

"The relatives are going to love the trial, all those passionate
out-pourings of Aunt Caroline's getting into the
papers."

232	The Family Vault


"It's not your fault."


"You'll never convince my Cousin Mabel of that. She'll
be telling everybody I need a keeper instead of a trustee."

"I think Redfern's being an old woman about that trusteeship,"
Bittersohn grunted. "Maybe we'll have to get
Uncle Jake to drop in for a talk with him. Care for some
dessert?"

"My financial position being what it is," Sarah tried to
joke, "I'd better take all the free food I can get, hadn't I?
Mousse au chocolat would be lovely. Mr. Bittersohn, do
you honestly think I'll ever get back any part of what
Harry stole?"

"I hope so. Hey, that reminds me, we've traced that
wiretap. The wires ran over to a one-room basement
apartment that's supposed to have been rented for the
past several years as a pied-d-terre by a nice lady from
Shrewsbury."

"Madeleine in yet another wig?"

"You called it. Her fingerprints were all over the place,
along with Abelard's, Lackridge's, and even a few of Bob
Dee's. I expect whichever of them happened to be available
would drop in and monitor the tapes. The recorder
ran on a timer from four to six in the afternoon and eight
to ten in the evening."

"That would be when we were most apt to be sitting in
the library," said Sarah. "Harry knew our habits so well.
I don't suppose you happened to find any tapes with
Alexander's voice on them?" she added wistfully.

Bittersohn shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Kelling.
There'd be no point in keeping the tapes around once
they'd been checked. We did find a box under a loose
floorboard that held some diagrams of what could be jewels
from the Kelling collection. Madeleine and Abelard
were probably the go-betweens in getting the duplicates
made. Lackridge wouldn't be apt to trust them with the
originals, so they'd have worked from notes and drawings."

"I wonder whom Harry got to do the artwork," Sarah
mused. "Too bad I wasn't born a little sooner, I might
have got the job. But you didn't find any of the actual
pieces?"

"Only a couple of Victorian trinkets that wouldn't be
valuable enough to copy. One is a gold ring in the shape

The Family Vault	233


of a pair of clasped hands that pull apart to reveal
a heart. The other is a brooch, a blue-enameled bird with
a baroque pearl dangling from its beak."


"The bluebird that carries the sky on its back," Sarah
cried. "That must be Granny Kay's pin. She was Alexander's
grandmother, not mine. I never knew her, but she
must have been a darling. He adored her and was fascinated
by that brooch she always used to wear, ever since
he was a tiny boy. Once when he was about four, she
quoted that line of Thoreau's about the bluebird carrying
the sky on its back. Being too young to understand the
metaphor, he took her literally and assumed Thoreau was
talking about the brooch. He told me it seemed perfectly
reasonable to him that Granny Kay's bird should be the
one that got to hold up the sky. He often wondered what
had become of the bluebird after she died, but nobody
seemed to know."

She wiped her eyes. "I don't know anything about the
ring. It may have been another of her keepsakes. Aunt
Appie said once that Granny Kay had been in love with
somebody else when she was young, but her parents forced
her to marry Alexander's grandfather because he was a
better match. Girls were brought up to be dutiful in those
days. I'm afraid it wasn't a happy marriage. He was another
cold fish like Uncle Gilbert. Anyway, I hope I get to
keep the bluebird. Alexander would like me to have
Granny Kay's brooch."

"You'll get it if I have to steal it for you myself," Bittersohn
promised, "although I expect the jewelry, as well
as the sketches, will have to be presented as evidence at
the trial. Some of your older aunts could identify the
pieces, couldn't they?"

"Oh, yes. Aunt Appie could, and Aunt Emma and several
others. I can give you a list of names and addresses
if you want. Will the sketches help us to get back any of
the more, valuable pieces, do you think?"

"They may, but I shouldn't count on it too much if I
were you. We know some of Lackridge's victims, but we
don't know who got to keep the genuine stuff, except for
that parure we've already discussed. It would be nice to
think he still has a cache somewhere, but the odds are
he's lost the other pieces one by one as he did the parure.
He wouldn't always find it easy to make the switch after

234	The Family Vault


the sale, and Lackridge was never one to push his luck
too far. That's why he managed to keep ahead of the
police as long as he did. You may be in better shape with
the real estate. I should think those mortgages could be
declared invalid by reason of fraud, although you can be
sure the bank won't give up without a struggle. Verplanck
has to answer to his shareholders, after all. He may take
the position that Mrs. Kelling was acting within her rights
as executrix, regardless of how she went about it. You
could wind up in a court fight before you're through."


"I'll fight if I have to," said Sarah. "I can't honestly
say I'm all that keen to be stuck with two white elephants,
but I'm not going to be done out of them by Harry Lackridge.
He's taken everything--" she thought of Alexander
and the bluebird, and drank some coffee to steady herself.

"I was never fond of Harry, but who could have
dreamed he'd turn out to be such a--a vampire? And
for what? He came from a decent family, went to the
right schools, married into a flourishing business, although
I suppose he's run it into the ground by now. There was
no earthly reason for him to become a thief and a murderer."

"He didn't become crooked, Mrs. Kelling, he was born
that way. If Lackridge had been the richest kid in the
world, he'd still be a crook. He does what he does because
he enjoys it."

"Then he's insane," said Sarah. "How did you ever
come to suspect him in the first place? Harry's always so
ultrarespectable."

"I know. That's what tipped me off. Let me tell you
another little bit of my life's history. Back when I was a
freshman at college, I worked part-time in a drugstore
over on Commonwealth Avenue. One night a guy driving
a brand-new Mercedes double-parked outside the store
and ran in for a pack of cigarettes. He was in a great
flap, poking bills at me and wanting change for the phone,
claiming I'd given him too much, then too little, switching
the money back and forth till I didn't know where I was
at. It didn't dawn on me till he'd gone out that I'd been
victimized by a quick-change artist. As he drove off, I
managed to catch the number of his car, and tracked him
through the registry."

The Family Vault	235


MAnd it was Harry."


"To make a long story short. You know, Mrs. Kelling,
that shocked me as much as anything that's ever happened
to me. I simply could not figure out why a man in
his position would bother to stick a kid like me for six
dollars and twenty-seven cents. I never forgot it. After I
went into business for myself, I ran into a couple of odd
little incidents where Lackridge seemed to be hovering
vaguely in the background. I could never get anything on
him, but I kept hoping. Then I got put on this insurance
case, learned that the Kellings, who supposedly owned the
ruby parure, were bosom buddies of Lackridge and his
wife, and figured I was in business at last."

"You were clever to think of writing that book."

"Not really. It was such an obvious ploy that I couldn't
believe Lackridge would fall for it, until he did. What
hooked him was the size of the grant I claimed to be getting
from my backers to underwrite the publication. He
couldn't resist the chance to chisel off a wad for himself
by cheating on the production costs. Besides, a flashy
book like the one I was proposing would be good cover.
He had to publish something occasionally to protect his
reputation. I only hoped I could nail him before. I actually
had to sit down and write the damn thing. Thanks to you,
I did."

"No thanks to me."

Sarah put down her spoon, unable to finish her mousse.
"I can't help wondering how much of what happened was
my fault. If I hadn't mentioned old Mr. O'Ghee that night
at the Lackridges', he mightn't have been dead in the
morning. If I hadn't talked Alexander into spending the
weekend at Ireson's Landing--"

"Mrs. Kelling, you know better than that. If O'Ghee
was living with Madeleine, you can be sure it wasn't because
she made good coffee. An old man like him must
have come in handy lots of times. He'd never be noticed
hanging around waiting to pass on a message or pick up a
package. But he must have known all about Lackridge's
tie-up with Ruby Redd, so once her body turned up he'd
be too dangerous to keep alive. As for your husband and
his mother, I'd say Lackridge had written them off the
day he quit keeping up the mortgage payments, and you
know how long ago that was. My guess is that he had the

236	The Family Vault


scheme with the Milburn all worked out some time ago,
and if you hadn't given him a chance to put it into action,
he'd have made one for himself."


"How?"

"Easily enough, I should think. Couldn't he pull his old
buddies act and suggest that you all go down to your
summer place with him and his wife? Wouldn't your
mother-in-law have gone big for that?"

"Yes," Sarah admitted, "she'd have jumped at it with
both feet."

"Then when the rest of you were nicely on the spot,
Lackridge could have been held up at the office or something
and had himself an alibi until after Abelard managed
the accident with the Milburn. Once your husband
was dead, the state of the family finances would have to
come out. Lackridge would then start a rumor that Kelling
had actually committed suicide in remorse for having
mismanaged his father's estate, and taken his mother with
him so she wouldn't have to suffer."

"Which is exactly the sort of garbage some people
would believe," said Sarah bitterly.

"Lackridge is a clever man, Mrs. Kelling. There's no
way you could have kept him from doing what he did
because you had no idea what sort of person you were up
against. Neither did I, if you want the truth. Until you
told me your story, I had no reason to think of Lackridge
as anything but a first-class society con artist, and it's always
been my experience before that swindlers of his
caliber avoid any kind of violence. Now it looks as if we
may be able to tie him to at least six murders besides
the ones you know about, and you can bet he'd have
gone right on killing if you hadn't helped to stop him."

"But it's so totally insane! You say he likes to do it.
How can he?"

"How can a hunter enjoy slaughtering some beautiful
wild animal that's never done him or anybody else any
harm? It's his way of showing what a great, big he-man
he is. Gives him the means to stroll into a casino and
throw a wad of G-notes on the blackjack table, makes
him feel important."

"That's what he did with Alexander's money?"

"That and other things. He owns a big spread outside
Fort Worth, a villa on the Cote d'Azur, has his twinThe Family Vault	237


engine Cessna, and his unpretentious little forty-foot
yacht--all under assumed names, of course. He doesn't
get to use them much because he has to keep coming
back to Boston and being respectable Harry Lackridge,
putting up a noble fight to keep the fine old family business
afloat, but what the heck? They don't cost him anything.
He runs them on other people's money."


"Do you think Leila knows?"

"Offhand, I'd say she hasn't a clue. As far as he's concerned,
Mrs. Lackridge is probably just part of the window
dressing, although she must have come in handy as
Mrs. Kelling's watchdog. I'm afraid this is going to put a
crimp in her political activities."

"Poor Leila," Sarah sighed. "I suppose I ought to go
and see her, though I dread the thought."

"Finish your coffee. Right now she's probably down at
Station One getting the third degree. You'd better be
thinking about what you're going to do for yourself."

"Uncle Jem has that all arranged. He called his sister
Emma and she's invited me to stay with her till my arm
is better. She lives out near Springfield, which is far
enough from Boston so people won't be pestering me all
the time. Also, Aunt Emma has maids who can help me
dress and so forth while I'm stuck in this ridiculous cast."

"What about your own place?"

"Mariposa, my guardian angel, is moving in to keep an
eye on things till I get back. I asked if she'd be scared
staying alone, but it turns out she's bringing her dog and
her boy friend, and she says they both turn pretty mean
if anybody tries messing around with her. So everything's
under control but me. I really must go home and pack a
few things."

"Look, if you need a ride out to Springfield--"

"Thank you, but Aunt Emma is sending her chauffeur.
You've been absolutely wonderful, Mr. Bittersohn. I only
wish there were something I could do for you in return."

Bittersohn took the hand she held out to him. "I wish
so, too, Mrs. Kelling. But I guess there isn't, is there?
Come on, I'll walk you up the Hill."