FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) (12 page)

I’ve never needed an alarm clock because I
always wake up at six o’clock in the morning, no matter what time I
go to bed, even on a Sunday; and I hate lying in bed after I wake
up, at least when I’m on my own, which is most of the time. So I
was up scrambling some eggs just after dawn and planning the day
ahead. My car would be ready at nine tomorrow so I wasn’t going
anywhere. According to the forecast it was going to rain most of
the day but it was deceptively sunny at the moment. I sat out on
the front porch and drank my first cup of coffee, trying to read
the news on my tablet. The tablet was a gift from Lucy who had told
me it was time I ‘got with it’. There was almost nothing that you
couldn’t do on the tablet. I could read newspapers online, download
entire books in a matter of seconds, trawl the internet and I could
even have checked my emails if someone ever sent me one. I could
book hotels, airplane flights and, with the right know-how, I could
even purchase a cup of coffee in Starbucks. This was the theory at
any rate. Unfortunately the morning sunshine made it impossible for
me to read anything on the screen.

It seemed to me that most of the technology
over the past fifty years or so had been designed to save time; but
time for what? TVs so we didn’t need to go out to the movies,
portable music players so that we didn’t need to go home, cell
phones so we didn’t need to look for payphones, remote controls so
that we never had to get off our butts. Now we had tablets to
ensure that we didn’t have to waste time going to a book shop or
library, travel agent or bank. And how were people enjoying all
this extra time? By messaging friends and telling them what they’d
eaten for dinner. I decided Lucy was right; I was an old fuddy
duddy.

I remembered watching my father slip away in
the last few weeks before he died. When younger I’d asked him why
people who were old and infirm still wanted to hang onto life even
though they had little or any enjoyment left, and he had said this
to me: ‘Life is sweet’. But when it was his turn to go he seemed
completely at peace with the prospect of death and I thought I knew
why. The world he was leaving was not the world he had grown up in,
no longer the world he knew; It was no longer a familiar world in
which he felt comfortable, it was a world in which he’d become a
stranger to the environment. Maybe I’d feel the same one day; I was
beginning to feel that way already.

Although it was my designated day of rest the
Lord had other plans for me. I rang Greg to make an appointment for
later in the week as there were things I needed to discuss with
him. Greg said that he was having lunch at the country club with
Bill Saunders and I was welcome to join them. It seemed a good
opportunity to ask Bill about any private papers he might have
pertaining to the adoption, so I agreed. I’d have to borrow Lucy’s
car. That would raise a few eyebrows at the club. Luckily she
already had other plans so I wouldn’t have to invite her. I
mollified her by telling her it was going to rain.

As I drove to the clubhouse I received a look
from the man on the gate which was meant to convey either
condescension or pity, or maybe both. Lucy’s car stuck out like a
sore thumb in the club car park. The club itself was much quieter
than on my last visit, the bar and the dining room both subdued,
probably because of the weather. The threatened rain had by now
arrived in spades. Greg introduced me to Bill Saunders and told me
he’d already updated him on my progress. Greg and Bill seemed to be
about the same age. Both seemed to have a sort of military look
about them; they were wearing almost matching blazers and cravats,
but my impression might have been influenced by Bill’s carefully
clipped moustache.

I dug out one of my business cards, the one
that said simply ‘Private Investigations’. Bill did a double take
at the office address and seemed impressed, although I couldn’t
tell whether he was impressed with me. Actually I’d gone to quite a
bit of trouble to emulate Greg’s smart casual look, not an easy
thing to do with my rather limited wardrobe. Nobody complimented
me. Bill said politely that he’d bear me in mind if he needed my
services in the future but there was no way of telling whether he
meant it or not.

During lunch I raised the matter of whether
he was in possession of any private papers of Gloria’s which might
have details of the adoption, but he said he wasn’t aware of any,
so I asked Greg to check and see if he could find any such
documents at home. Bill briefly touched on the subject of wills,
probate and intestacy. He knew little about Gloria’s personal
affairs.

“The only thing I know about the adoption,”
said Bill, “is that the father of the child was lost in Vietnam.”
He turned to Greg. “Were you in Vietnam, Greg?”

“No,” said Greg.

“Nor me,” said Bill.

Neither of them had been in Vietnam. The talk
returned to wills and probate.

“People think they can do it all themselves
nowadays, by downloading forms from the Internet, but I can tell
you it’s not as simple as it seems. It can be a nightmare
sometimes,” he said; “a nightmare.”

I asked him whether he’d ever had to deal
with a case involving the identity of a beneficiary before and he
said he hadn’t.

“I thought I’d seen everything,” he said,
“but this is a nightmare.”

I got the point. I refrained from asking him
about other possible difficulties that had exercised my mind during
the week. I decided to liven things up by telling him about
Skipper.

“Are there any legal requirements for burying
a pet in your backyard?” I said.

“Not as far as I know; I’ll have to look it
up,” he said. He looked at his wristwatch and said he’d have to be
going. As I stood up Greg asked me if I could stay behind for a
while. There was something he wanted to discuss with me. After
Saunders had left the dining room we resumed our seats and Greg
turned to me.

“There’s something I would like your opinion
about,” he said, leaning across the table towards me. “It’s not
connected to your enquiry, it’s a personal matter, but it occurred
to me that you might be able to give me some objective advice. I
hope you don’t mind; only I seem to have got myself into a bit of
an awkward situation.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” I said.

“During the last few months of Gloria’s, uh,
illness I accepted the help of a young lady who was advertising for
part-time housekeeping work. Her name’s Gwen Pallow and she’s a
divorcee with a grown-up son. She kept the house clean and tidy,
did the shopping, washing and ironing, that sort of thing. It was
to free me up so that I could spend more time tending to Gloria’s
needs. At first it was a couple of hours three times a week but
after a while she started to come more or less every day, and
gradually I found myself rather dependent on her. Not because of
the chores but because she was someone to talk to, to unburden
myself I suppose. So she started to eat meals with me and stay
longer and later. I’m afraid the boundary between work and
friendship got rather blurred. She insisted to stay on and help
even after Gloria’s death; well until just after the funeral. After
that I wanted to be alone and I found that doing all those mundane
household chores actually helped me to cope; they kept me busy. Now
Gwen has started to pester me rather. It seems she got the
impression that I might be interested in her as a partner following
Gloria’s death. She’s a good deal younger than me – she’s in her
forties - and I know from our long chats together that life as a
single woman doesn’t appeal to her. She made no secret of her hope
to marry again one day. The problem is that I didn’t know she had
me in mind as a prospective husband.”

“And does she?”

“She says that I gave her the clear
impression that I was interested in her as more than a housekeeper.
If I did then it wasn’t intentional; I was really rather
pre-occupied at the time. It came as something of a surprise to me
as I’d never thought of her in that way at all.”

“Well I can’t really see that there’s a
problem, is there? You just need to set the record straight. I’m
sure you can let her down in a diplomatic way.”

“Yes, of course. Well I’ve tried to, although
she’s rather persistent. But I must say a lot of what she says
makes sense.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, that I’m still a relatively young man
by today’s standards. I’m fit and healthy thank God. I might live
for another twenty years or more. She says I need a companion, and
so does she. Her son’s left home and we’re both alone. We get on
well together. That sort of thing.”

“Is she suggesting marriage?”

“I suppose so, although she hasn’t exactly
proposed – yet.”

“Well, how do you feel about that? I mean
life goes on, Greg.”

“Well I don’t have any feelings for her. I
don’t think she does for me either. It would be a partnership of
convenience I guess. She would get companionship and security, and
I would get company and someone to share things with. A win-win
situation is the way she put it.”

“I don’t think it’s something I can advise
you about, Greg; except to suggest that you don’t rush into any
kind of commitment without giving it a great deal of thought.”

“Hmmm,” Greg grunted.

“Don’t you think it would be something best
discussed with your family – with your sons?”

“We haven’t really been on the best of terms
since Gloria passed away.”

“My suggestion then, for what it’s worth, is
that you continue to see Gwen on an occasional or even a regular
basis if you like but keep things at arm’s length, at least for the
time being. It seems to me you’re still grieving and I don’t think
you’re in the best state of mind to make a decision which will
affect your entire future, and one which you might later regret. I
suspect that you are particularly vulnerable at the moment because
of the relative estrangement between you and your sons.”

“Gwen says that I need to make a decision.
She doesn’t want to be kept on a string.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds
like a bit of an ultimatum to me.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. And that’s a bit of a
red flag, isn’t it?”

“It would be for me. Look, however much time
you and Gwen spent together in the weeks before Gloria died the
circumstances were such that you can’t possibly know enough about
her to make the sort of commitment she’s expecting, or asking
for.”

“I do hope you don’t mind me confiding in
you, Kane. You know, I’ve lived in this place for more than two
decades but I don’t have any close friends to turn to. That’s a bit
of a sobering thought, isn’t it?”

“I’m flattered that you felt able to confide
in me; although I’m hardly an expert on relationships. But it’s
understandable that you’re a bit socially isolated given the type
of person you are and the nature of your relationship with
Gloria.”

“Yes, it was a rather exclusive one, which
was fine by me during our marriage, but there’s no denying it’s
left me a bit high and dry now.”

“Fools rush in, Greg. Most of the old adages
are truisms - that’s why they’ve stood the test of time. It seems
to me that if you decide at some time in the future that you want
another relationship with a woman there’ll likely be plenty of fish
in the sea.”

“Oh, I don’t think of myself as much of a
catch, y’know. But I’m not stupid. I’m well aware of that other old
adage – there’s no fool like an old fool. I had an idea of which
I’m slightly ashamed, but I’d appreciate your opinion. The reason I
asked to meet Bill here today was to ask him − in general terms
only, I didn’t open up to him like I have to you – about
pre-nuptial agreements. I wanted to find out what the law is in
Massachusetts on the validity of such agreements. I thought if I
mentioned a pre-nup to Gwen in the event of marriage I might be
able to gauge her interest in me as opposed to my net worth.”

“I certainly don’t see any harm in that, nor
do I see any reason for her to take offence. You obviously need to
put your children and grandchildren first. If she had any objection
to that I’d give it a wide berth. The fact that you are alert to
that possibility is reassuring.”

“Let’s drink to that, then,” Greg said. We
touched our glasses together and drained them.

On my way out of the club I gave the gate man
at the country club a knowing look. There was really nothing more
to be done until I heard from Jill. As if by telepathy my phone
rang at that very moment and it was the lady herself. I pulled over
to the side of the road and pressed to answer.

“Any luck yet?” I asked.

“It’s too early for the DNA result,” she
said, “but I’ve been working over the weekend and something else
has come up and I thought you ought to know. Where are you
now?”

I told her I was on my way home from
lunch.

“I hope you’re not talking to me while you’re
driving.”

“No, I’ve pulled over. Is it important?”

“I’ve run some other tests on the hair.
Something unusual has shown up. I specifically asked you not to
give me details of the subject of the analysis” she said, “but I
can see it’s a woman.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Can you tell me the cause of her death?”

“It was a combination of respiratory disease,
organ failure and pneumonia. I haven’t seen the death certificate
itself. The doctor said it was consistent with the natural
progression of her dementia. Is it important? ”

I heard an “uh huh” and an audible intake of
breath.

“I’m afraid your subject’s death was not a
natural one, Kane.”

“Meaning?”

“She was poisoned.” There was an ominous
pause. “With arsenic.”