The Golden Goose (17 page)

Aunt Lallie graciously permitted him to do it, and Fish did it furiously. It took him perhaps fifteen seconds to draw a major conclusion from the facts.

“Well,” he said.

“And what do you think, Selwyn?”

“I think, old girl, that we must retreat to a prepared position. In short, I must regretfully resort to old Slater's genuine will, which I have saved for just such an emergency.”

Aunt Lallie began to snuffle. For some reason Selwyn Fish, hearing the snuffling sound, immediately thought of her hands. “It's a great disappointment to me, Selwyn, and so are
you
. After all your promises—my complete trust in you—I'm to inherit
nothing
, nothing at
all.”

“It's better than going to jail, which I hope to avoid. It's also better than squatting on the hot seat, which is something
you
still have to consider.”

“You stop saying things like that!” said Lallie O'Shea hysterically. “I don't know why I ever listened to you, or let you—let you—”

Selwyn Fish hung up on her. It was exactly two minutes after Grundy had hung up in
his
office.

And approximately ten minutes before Grundy and Coley Collins rushed into Fish's office. The little lawyer was seated at his desk over some legal papers, the very portrait of a busy attorney.

He looked up in surprise. “Why, Grundy, hello,” he said cordially. “I didn't hear you gentlemen come in. Always glad to see a worthy member of the law enforcement arm. Sit down, sit down.”

“You may not be so glad to see this one,” said the lieutenant. “Know Coley Collins?”

“I believe I have not had the pleasure formally. However, we have mutual acquaintances. Indeed, we attended a funeral together today, didn't we, Mr. Collins? All three of us did, come to think of it.
Won't
you gentlemen sit down?”

“I'd sooner sit down on a rattlesnake's nest,” said Coley.

“Ah, then this is more or less official,” said Selwyn Fish, leaning back comfortably. “What's bothering you, Lieutenant?”

“Mr. Collins here,” said Grundy, “has made a serious charge against you, Fish.”

“So? I can't imagine what it is. What is it?”

Grundy said abruptly, “I want to see that O'Shea will.”

“You mean the one you questioned me about, Lieutenant?”

“That's right.”

“You know, Lieutenant,” said Fish, “I stretched ethical practice a bit when I told you about it. Now you ask to
see
it. I haven't even read it to the bereaved family yet—that's scheduled for tomorrow morning. Must you see it, Lieutenant?”

“I sure as hell must,” said Grundy grimly. “Of course, you can refuse to show it to me, but then I'd have to get tough. In the end I'd get it, anyway. Come on, Fish, what is it? Yes or no?”

“But my dear Grundy,” said Fish, smiling, “I haven't the faintest intention of refusing. I simply wanted to establish that I am showing it to you under duress. Fact is, it happens to be right at hand. Here in this drawer. I was reading it over shortly before you arrived, in preparation for tomorrow.” He opened the belly drawer of his desk and extracted a thin blue-clad document, consisting of a single sheet of legal paper. “Here you are, Lieutenant.”

“Before I take it,” said Grundy, “I want to be sure I get this straight. This is Slater O'Shea's genuine last will and testament, right?”

“Right,” said Fish, cheerfully.

“I mean, the will that makes Miss Lallie O'Shea her brother's sole heir?”

“I beg your pardon?” Fish, who had been holding the document extended, suddenly retracted it. “Did I hear you correctly, Lieutenant? Did you just say Miss
Lallie
O'Shea?”

“That's what I said. And the reason I said it is that that's what you told me.”

“Really?” The lawyer looked distressed. “Heavens above, how could I possibly have been so absentminded as to use the wrong name?”

“What d'ye mean the wrong name?” growled Grundy. “You not only told me the heir is Lallie O'Shea, you even referred to her as Slater O'Shea's sister.”

“I did? I don't see how I possibly could have. Of course, I'm not doubting your word, Lieutenant; it's just that I don't understand how I could have made such a
lapsus linguae
. Well, it doesn't matter, I suppose. The important thing is what the will says. Here, take a look.”

Grundy took it. Coley, at Grundy's shoulder, looked at it with him. It was the simplest kind of will, with scarcely three paragraphs. The important one stated that Slater O'Shea left all his worldly goods, real and personal, “to my beloved niece, Princess O'Shea, daughter of my deceased brother Royal O'Shea.” The signature “Slater O'Shea” was a quick, slashing arrangement of pen strokes, without a quiver in it.

The lieutenant looked up and at the lawyer. “By God,” he said slowly. “The old switcheroo. You've put the real one back.”

“By God,” said Coley Collins, “the little shyster at least had the good sense to hang on to it in case something went wrong, as it has, and he needed it, as he does. It's pretty clear what's happened, Lieutenant. Prin has unwisely let the cat out of the bag to Aunt Lallie, and Aunt Lallie has handed the cat over to Fish, and Fish has decided to drown it. So—an empty bag. But that's better than a stretch, old Fishy, isn't it?”

Old Fishy rose to his full stature, which in spite of its limitations managed to look formidable. “Let me give you some free legal advice, young man,” he said sternly. “Don't ever again call a lawyer a shyster until you familiarize yourself with the laws of slander. And good day to you, sir!”

“A better one than it's going to be to you,” snapped Coley. “But that's the lieutenant's department. As far as I'm concerned, I've got back for Prin what her uncle meant her to have, and that's all I care about.”

“Gentlemen,” said Selwyn Fish, “you are wasting my time.”

“I've done a lot more than waste
my
time, Fish!” shouted Lieutenant Grundy. “I've let you make a fool out of me! Damn it, I've already told the whole O'Shea shebang that Aunt Lallie is the sole heir—including Aunt Lallie!”

“So I heard,” Selwyn Fish said disapprovingly, “and I could scarcely credit my ears. I was tempted to disillusion Miss Lallie O'Shea at once; it seemed a shoddy trick to play on the poor woman, raising her hopes falsely that way. But then it occurred to me that you might have done it for some police purpose, however cruel, so I held my tongue. Will that be all, Lieutenant?”

“For now,” snarled Grundy, still red in the face. “But you haven't heard the last of this, Fish—I'm going to pass it on to the district attorney. However, when the will fraud business comes out, though, I want to remind you that nothing's changed as far as the motive for dosing Slater O'Shea with that insulin substitute is concerned, and everybody involved had better keep that in mind—” Grundy whirled “—including you, Collins!”

“W-what do you mean, Lieutenant?” stammered Coley.

“Hasn't it occurred to you where this gumshoe work of yours has left Princess O'Shea? Now
she's
the only one with motive!”

And Grundy stalked from the room, to be followed a moment later by a stumbling, protesting Coley Collins—leaving Selwyn Fish with his fingers laced over his belly in an intricate design.

15

Princess O'Shea's intention was to slip out of the house undetected by various O'Shea eyes and ears. To this end she waited until Aunt Lallie went up to her room to suckle her grievance against a world that permitted a rich brother's only sister to be disinherited before ever she was an heir; and Peet was off somewhere, which took care of Brady, too. Prin's big worry was Twig, whose whereabouts was a mystery. However, she decided to take a chance. She let herself softly out onto the front porch and discovered that she would never have made a successful gambler. For there, lurking in a crouch behind a basket chair, was Twig.

“Yeep!” said Prin, jumping back.

“No one can say you don't have a positive reaction to me,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Wherever you're not.”

“Let me go with you?”

“I'd sooner go with the Devil.”

“You needn't act snooty just because you're rich.”

“May I pass, please?”

“You'll wish yet that you'd treated me better,” said Twig darkly. “Don't forget that you're the one who's profited by Uncle Slater's murder, besides being the only one in the family who had access to what murdered him. Tell me something, dear cousin—confidentially, of course. Did you have much trouble swiping that stuff? I can't imagine Orville Free keeping orderly records. He'll probably have to cover up the shortage to hide his own sloppiness. Or have you given old Orv some
quid
for his
quo?”

Prin looked at him. In that instant she had a sense of release so strongly light that she felt as if she might levitate at will and float away.

“I'm so glad you said that, Twig,” Prin said. “Because I've been wondering what to do about you when things are all settled, and now I know. I'm going to throw you out of my house, Twig, that's what I'm going to do. Your freeloading days are about over. I know I'll have nightmares about you, but I can always wake up from a nightmare. Everyone who stays under my roof will work and contribute something to the household, but I wouldn't let you stay thirty seconds longer than it's physically possible for you to get out if you could pay me a million dollars a minute.”

She was rather glad, too, to get away from the vicinity of Twig at that moment, because his expression, never reassuring, was positively Martian.

She set her course for Grantlund Street, for she was going to see Coley again. He had to be in this time, because while it was one of his working nights it was still afternoon and he was not due at the taproom for some time yet. So she turned into the walk at 2267 and entered the house without ringing or knocking and went directly upstairs. And there, just locking the door of Coley's apartment, apparently about to go out, was little Winston Whitfield.

He gave a guilty start when he looked up and saw Prin standing there.

“Hello,” said Prin.

“Go away, please,” said Winston. “I'm not to talk to you.”

“You're not?” said Prin. “Who issued that decree, Winnie?”

“Coley.”

“Coley? You must have misunderstood him.”

“Oh, no, I didn't,” said Winnie, beginning to get excited.

“But why?”

“Because you get on my nerves, Coley says.”

“I
get on
your
nerves! Well, I like that. Wait till I lay my hands on that joker.” Then, being female, Prin asked curiously,
“Do
I get on your nerves, Winnie?”

Winston Whitfield's excitement increased. “
No
,” he said. “Oh,
no
. Though you do make me feel kind of wiggly inside. Like one of my snakes.”

“So there. You see?” said Prin, feeling vindicated. “And, talking about your snakes, I'm really
not
afraid of them. I mean—well, I'm sure I could get used to them.”

“You could?” Winnie was entirely won back now; he was regarding her like a worshipful beagle. “I believe you. I like you much better than other girls. Could you like me, too? I suppose you couldn't.”

“Why, Winnie, what an awful thing to say. Of course I like you.”

“Then can I come live with you and Coley?” Winnie asked eagerly.

“Well,” said Prin, not quite so warmly, “we'll see.”

“Thank you, thank you! Wait till I tell Coley.”

“Where is Coley? Isn't he in?”

“No.”

“Will he be back soon?”

“He didn't say.”

“I think I'll wait for him.”

“All
right,” said Winnie. “Here, let me unlock the door—I was just on my way out—”

“Never mind, Winnie,” said Prin quickly. “I can wait here in the hall.”

“My snakes, eh?” asked Winnie with sorrow.

“No, no, Winnie. I just … prefer it.”

“All right,” said Winnie, shaking his head. “You'll have to excuse me now. I've got to be going.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“I have to have a prescription refilled at the Star Pharmacy.”

“I didn't know you were sick. You don't look sick.”

“I'm not. I mean, it's not the kind of sickness that makes you
look
sick. I mean, if you take your medicine regularly.”

“Why, Winnie,” said Prin with concern. “That sounds like a chronic condition of some kind. Your heart?”

“My sugar.”

“What?” said Prin.

“I spill sugar. I'm a diabetic. I used to have to take insulin by injection, but now they've got some kind of substitute for it you just swallow. It doesn't work for everybody, but it works for me fine …”

When the street door banged downstairs, Prin sat down on the top step upstairs. She hoped she would not have to wait for Coley long, because she did not think she could bear too long a wait, sitting there with a sick heart looking down into the gloomy depths of the stairwell. So while she waited she thought and thought, and she thought so hard and so deeply that when Coley did come she did not know he was there until she found him staring straight into her eyes from a lower step.

“Oh, Coley,” Prin said.

“Hi, Princess,” Coley said briskly. “What's up?”

“I have to talk to you,” Prin said. “There's something I need to get settled in my mind.”

Coley sat down on the top step beside her and put his arm around her.

“Now is the time to settle it,” he said, “if ever.”

“Not right now,” she said, “and not here. You've got to come with me somewhere.”