Chapter 22

“You mean,” Lillian said, enrapt with what I’d just recounted of Mr. Sitton’s phone call, “somebody jus’ pop up outta the blue an’ say he kinfolk an’ say he want to stay in Miss Mattie’s apartment so he can look around all he want to? But he don’t want nothin’? I don’t think I b’lieve that.”

“Me, either, Lillian,” I agreed. “What do you think, Sam?”

“I’m wondering,” he said in a musing way, “if Mattie had something of value that nobody knows about. Something whose value wouldn’t be immediately recognized and could be easily hidden. Why else would he want to move in unless he wants to look around when nobody else is there?”

“But what in the world could it be? He told Mr. Sitton that he only wants to look through her letters, scrapbooks, and family pictures.” I stopped and studied the possibilities. “Maybe Mattie has a letter from somebody important whose signature would be valuable. Or maybe there’s a picture that shows somebody in a compromising situation. Or maybe there’re some old deeds that have suddenly become valuable. Or maybe—well, I can’t think of anything else.”

“Anything’s possible,” Sam said. Then, somewhat wryly, he went on. “I certainly understand what it takes to research a nonfiction book, though, and if he’s really writing a family history he’s doing exactly what it takes.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing—he’s not staying in Mattie’s apartment. The idea! Wanting to move in and have the freedom to rummage through her things so I’d never know what he found or what he took away. And I’m the one who’s responsible for what happens to everything that Mattie owned. Right, Sam?”

“Absolutely. You’re within your rights to refuse him any access at all. Now, if Sitton confirms the man’s relationship to her, that might be a different matter. You could allow him access, but under your supervision. But even with that, he couldn’t take anything without your permission.”

“Well, Lord,” I said, wiping my face with my hand. “How can I determine the value of an old letter or of a picture of people I’ve never seen? Or,” I said, jumping up from the table to get the ziplock bag, “a scrap of paper? Look at this, Sam, as an example of what I have to put up with.”

Sam put on his glasses, studied the string of letters and numbers, and said, “Hm-m, looks like seventeen, RIO—or KIO—twelve to the third power, and RIO again. What do you think it is?”

“I was hoping you could tell me, but you certainly see it differently than I do. I found it in Mattie’s safe-deposit box at the bank, so it must’ve meant something to her.”

Lillian said, “It sound Mexican to me. You know, like Rio Grande or something.”

“I don’t know, Lillian,” I said. “It could be anything, but how can I know if it’s something valuable?”

“You can’t,” Sam said soothingly. “But there are people who can. Ask your appraiser. Maybe all of Mattie’s papers and scrapbooks should go to the auction house—they’ll have historians and other experts who can determine the value of anything. But,” Sam went on, “back to this man who’s shown up. If he decides to contest the will, then you have a problem. Or rather, Sitton does.”

“Well, if that happens, I hope to goodness Mr. Sitton is up to the job.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said with a reassuring smile. “He is.”

Lillian, who was leaning on the counter listening to us, asked, “What that man’s name so I know him if he come here?”

Shocked at my lapse in the gathering of all necessary information, I stared at her. “Well, Cobb was all he told me. And that was Mattie’s maiden name, which doesn’t bode well. But I didn’t get the full name. What in the world was I thinking?”

“You’ll learn it sooner or later,” Sam said, motioning me back down as I started to go to the phone. “I expect Sitton is already working the phones, finding out who the man is. All you have to do is refuse admittance to the apartment to anybody who comes by.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “and I hope I have the only key. I just hope that Mattie didn’t spread any around. But, Sam, the owner or manager or somebody at the building would have a master key, wouldn’t they? What if this man goes around me and gets in that way?”

“First thing in the morning,” Sam said, “call a locksmith and change the lock. Get at least two keys—one for you and one for Sitton. Then you’ll know who gets in and who doesn’t. Of course that means you’ll have to be there to let anybody in.”

“I’m calling one now. That way, he can meet me as early as possible.” I quickly found a locksmith in the Yellow Pages and, after a small discussion about rearranging his schedule, he agreed to meet me at seven the following morning.

“Well, that’s done,” I said. “Now the next thing is to call on Mildred in the hospital. I know she’s still there because her house is dark.”

_______

Sam wasn’t too happy about my making a hospital visit that late in the day, and Lillian kept murmuring about candles burning down to stubs. I promised that I had no intention of spending another night on a recliner, but I felt I had to at least visit Mildred. There she was, lying up there in a hospital bed, all alone except for Ida Lee, with no family within half a world away. A quick visit was the least I could do. Besides, one did not abandon one’s friends in their time of need, regardless of the million other things one had to do.

When I arrived in Mildred’s room, I found her in bed, as I expected, but the bed had been raised to a semisitting position. Ida Lee had been busy, for Mildred was wearing makeup and her hair was beautifully arranged, except for the flat area at the back of her head.

Ida Lee jumped up from the recliner as I entered, but I insisted that she stay where she was. “I’m here for just a minute. Mildred, you look wonderful. How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible. I’ve been poked and prodded and looked into by every kind of machine you can imagine. But I’m going home in the morning, I don’t care what they say. Julia, you won’t believe what they want me to do.”

“What?” I asked, holding her hand as I stood beside the bed. I had read that grown people take on childish ways and attitudes when they’re sick, and I thought I was seeing that in Mildred. I do believe she was sulking.

“They say I have to lose weight, and I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried.”

I knew no such thing. What I did know was that she’d talked about losing weight, but I’d seen no evidence of her actually doing it. Still, I nodded in agreement.

“You can do it, Mildred,” I said. “Ida Lee and I will help you. What about trying Weight Watchers? Marie Osmond swears by it.”

“I think she’s with Nutrisystem,” Ida Lee said, smiling. “But either one could help.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Mildred said. “Anybody could lose fifty pounds if they ate cardboard every day. I have to lose more than that, and I can’t live on prepackaged microwaved meals that pretend to be what they’re not.” Mildred shuddered.

Ida Lee moved up to the other side of the bed. “Oh, Ms. Allen, it won’t be that bad. And you can do it, I know you can. And if it proves too hard, remember that they gave you another option.”

“That’s right, and I’m ready to do it. I think.” Mildred clutched my hand. “Julia, would you let them staple your stomach?”

“Ah, well,” I said, stammering because I knew I wouldn’t let a staple gun anywhere near my stomach. “I guess if it was a matter of life and death, I would.”

“Why, that’s exactly what they said!” Mildred cried. “Life or death, they told me. One way or another, I have to lose weight. So that’s why I’m going home—to make a decision. I mean, who could make a decision in this place where they never leave you alone? Julia, somebody’s in here every few minutes. I don’t have a minute to myself.”

“I think you’re wise to give it serious consideration,” I said in as soothing a tone as I could manage. “And that’s best done in the comfort and quiet of your own home.”

We talked about the proposed surgery for a few more minutes until Mildred got teary-eyed at the prospect. So I changed the subject and told her about the sudden appearance of an apparent relative—and possible heir—of Mattie’s.

“You don’t mean it!” Mildred exclaimed, quickly diverted from her own concerns by such an event. “Julia, you better be on guard, and I know what I’m talking about. I don’t care if he is kin to her, you have to do what she wanted. You can’t let some Johnny-come-lately just walk in and take over.”

“I have no intention of doing that,” I assured her. “And neither does Mr. Ernest Sitton, and Sam says he’s a good man to have on your side.” I patted Mildred’s hand, preparing to leave. “I’m having the lock changed first thing in the morning, so, Ida Lee, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay the night. I still have a number of things to do tonight. Mildred, I declare, this executing a will is not what it’s cracked up to be. I hardly know if I’m coming or going.”

“That’s why my will is tighter than Dick’s hatband,” Mildred said, somewhat complacently. “I’ve made provisions for every possible contingency. But, I’ll tell you this, I have no intention of dying anytime soon. So,” she said, looking from me to Ida Lee, “maybe I’ve made my decision about that stapling operation.”

“That’s good, real good,” Ida Lee said. “But let’s get you home first. You might want to try losing some weight on your own for a few weeks, and keep the operation on hold till you see how you do.”

“That’s excellent advice, Mildred,” I said. “Save the operation for a last-ditch effort.” I stopped and reconsidered. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it last-ditch—a lot of people have it done and get along fine. But you don’t want to jump into anything that drastic until you’re sure about it. Well,” I added, looking at my watch, “I must run. Mildred, I don’t know if you’ll feel like going, but Mattie’s visitation is at six o’clock tomorrow evening. You can go with Sam and me if you’d like.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “I may have to save myself for the funeral. Besides, they gave me a pile of information about the operation, and I want to study it. But come by tomorrow, Julia—anytime. I want to know more about that strange man.”

After a few more good-byes, I left and hurried toward the elevators. So much to do and so little time. Then, Staples? Like I put in a stack of papers and can never remove without ripping the pages?

Such thoughts were running through my mind as I got on the elevator. As it began to descend, I crossed my arms over my stomach.