Family Vault (2 page)

“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.”

“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.”

“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 his unlikely talents. He’d taken courses in various manual skills, mostly 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. Ritling’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.

“C
HRIST 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 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.

“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. Ritling 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-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.”