65

Only in New England, stamping grounds of Hawthorne’s “Young Goodman Brown” and his wife Faith, could anyone have a lawyer named Mr. Justice, but that was the name of Melanie’s father’s lawyer. He had asked if she could meet with him at his office on a Monday morning, to discuss her father’s estate. It was now two weeks after the funeral, and Melanie was only too glad to be getting these matters taken care of, so she could go back to New York.

Mr. Justice’s office was full of law books and prints of classic cars (better than ambulances). Mr. Justice was a truly mild-mannered man, plump and smiling, and he offered Melanie a cup of tea, which she accepted just so she could sit there making genteel little clinking noises with her cup and saucer and pretend that she still was a part of the world of Marion and Mr. Justice and all the stuffy comforts and securities that they represented.

“Your father left things in perfect order,” Mr. Justice began.

“I’m not surprised,” Melanie said.

“The house, for example, he had in both your names—with the right of survivorship. That means that the house goes directly to you—with no inheritance taxes.”

“That’s good,” Melanie said. “I’d hate to have to start paying taxes. I never pay taxes. What I do is collect unemployment.”

“Well, you’ll have to pay some tax in the future, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Justice, looking down at the sheaf of papers on his desk. “On your income, if not on the estate.”

“What income?”

“From the stocks, the securities—not the municipals, of course—and the bank too. Most of the stocks and securities come directly to you too. Your father was holding them in trusteeship for you, technically. Really, I’ve never seen probate quite so soundly defeated as in this instance.”

“Will I be able to pay my rent in the city out of this ‘income’?”

“How much is your rent, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Three-fifty a month. It just went up twenty dollars.”

“Melanie, did your father ever discuss financial matters with you?”

“No, never. He told me if I ever needed money, to let him know. There’ve been times when I have needed it, but I always got by without having to go to him.”

“Well, then I imagine you’ll be a little surprised to learn that your father left a rather substantial estate. The current market value of the common stocks alone—they’re mostly blue chips—is over seven million dollars.”

The tea went in Melanie’s lap.