Chapter XVII - Prohibition
Summer 1931, St Paul, MN
Merrill is visiting a regular Velo client, Bill Meckel, in his Minnesota city office. They are renewing an annual print work order. Merrill is now back on the road as an out-of-town sales manager. He has effectively been demoted as a consequence of the bad publicity surrounding his divorce from popular socialite Victoria Reiskoff. He kept his Velo presidency title as per a hasty contract written up in 1923, but Merrill is now strictly non-executive status. Some Velo funds had been misappropriated during the late 1920’s. The humbling divorce had been the last straw for the main company board in California. Merrill’s Minnesota business meeting is concluding.
“You staying over in the city tonight, Merrill?”
“Yes. I’m visiting an old aunt tomorrow about a family money matter. I’m at the hotel across the way. Is there any action round here these days?”
“Sure is, Merrill. We have a new club down by the docks. Strictly members only, if you know what I mean. The owner makes sure that the police turn a blind eye. He’s got the finest liquor from around the world—craps, high stakes poker. You’ll love it.”
Merrill widens his eyes to acknowledge his interest, as Bill continues, “And the hostesses just seem to get younger and prettier each time I’m there. You in?”
“You bet, Bill. The guys don’t call me ‘Maverick Merrill from Mason’ for nothing!”
Walking together out of the office to the elevator, both middle-aged men make crude jokes like teenagers.
“I’ll get the first bottle,” says Merrill.
“Speakeasy, Merrill…speakeasy. Folks might be listening in.” Both men laugh again and make mock thumps to the shoulder of their sparring-partner. “Can you pick me up at the hotel later? Say, eight o’clock?”
Bill agrees and winks at Merrill through the elevator cage door as he starts to descend. “Okay, Billy-boy. Time to get spruced up. See you later, and thanks again for doing business.”
2011, Sligo
“Yep,” says Sue. “Horace is coming up regular now. Fund manager. Fund guardian. Real estate broker, et cetera. Right through to 1930. Even got one directory entry here where he’s offering loans.”
Jed is impressed, “Smart work! Loan shark, eh?“
Shortly after, Sue announces, abruptly, “Then Horace dies. In 1932. He’s missing from the directory and a death registration matches up.” Jed raises his eyebrows to acknowledge Sue’s newsfeed. “How are you getting on with Edith?” Sue asks, “Because it looks like Horace was still managing the Forster money right up until his death.”
“Well, Edith’s locked up in the nut-house for more than ten years at least—up to 1920, “ Jed advises. “Then strangely, she seems to be free in St. Paul by 1930, working as a nurse. It must have been a hostel or something, like a half-way house today. She didn’t die in the 1930’s. That’s as far as I’ve got.”
“So .... who took over Horace’s job? .... and Merrill was still around until 1936 or 37.” Sue says as she rises and declares that she is going to prepare a snack. “I’m starving.”
Shortly after, Jed follows her into the kitchen.
“I’ve got a plan, honey-bun.”
Sue does not even look around, but wittily remarks, “Great. Are we going to take that long overdue holiday to the Caribbean?”
“No. Much more exciting. I’m going to speak to ‘Kathy of the Midwest.’ She owes me for them Irish baptism records I dug up from Mayo— y’know—the Irish stuff she’d been searching for, for decades. Who were they now? … Was it the Horkans or the Forkans?”
“Does it matter?“
“I want to know if Kathy can get Edith’s hospital record. It might tell us who got her committed. And while she’s at it, she can pull the birth record of Paul O'Hara in 1932.”
Sue reminds Jed about an important diktat, “You know as well as I that these Midwest counties won’t give us full certificates for events less than 75 or 80 years ago. Privacy Law and all that.”
“And you know Kathy. She has the knack, somehow. She’s done it before for us.”
“Yeah, she pretends to be some long-lost niece, or something. How many of her grandmothers have died now… six or seven?“
“That’s her. A cheeky but loveable rascal.”
Something else occurs to Sue, “1932 you said … Paul’s birth. That’s when Horace died by coincidence. Why not get his death cert as well?”
“Good thinking. The death informant’s name would be interesting. There were no more Forsters around, except for Edith, and she was semi-crazy. She couldn’t sign a death cert. Oh, I dunno. Is it worth it?”
Sue shrugs her shoulders and completes the creation of a doorstop sandwich filled with Blacky ham and crisp iceberg lettuce—Jed‘s favorite filling. “We might learn something. Your choice…Your Highness!” To make her point, Sue slams the sandwich plate into Jed’s hungry stomach.
Jed gets the hint. “I’ll make a pot of tea.”
Summer 1931, St Paul, the Forster mansion home of Mame, Teresa and Leo Adolph
“My dear Merrill, you look awful. Even worse than last time I saw you.” The Black Widow’s greeting is not the most convivial.
“As welcoming as ever, Dear Aunt. I had a bit of a late night. Velo printing business.”
“I’m no aunt of yours, Mr. Harrison.”
“But just you and I know that you might be Edith’s aunt, eh?”
The face of the Black Widow goes red with rage as she barks out her orders: “Sit down Merrill. Keep quiet and have some coffee. It looks like you need it.“
Merrill obeys his former wife’s domineering stepmother allowing Mame Forster to restore her calm exterior. Meanwhile, Merrill gratefully sips his much-needed black coffee. “Now, Merrill, what do you want this time?”
“I thought you wanted to see me actually. I guess it’s about my attorney’s letter to Horace questioning the legality of certain guardianship decisions affecting my daughters’ trust fund.”
Mame tries desperately to remain composed. “Indeed, Merrill. That is the reason for this meeting. Look, dear boy, you’re going about this all the wrong way. If you keep up your cheap sniping, you know you Harrisons are in danger of inheriting nothing.”
Merrill cannot stop himself from making a swift riposte, “And you’ll lose twice as much.”
Through gritted teeth, the Black Widow hisses back, “Okay, enough of this.” The room falls silent. After calming herself, Mame continues her inquisition, in a more unruffled manner. “I’ve always helped you along in the past, haven’t I, Merrill? Given you little presents when your other investments turned sour. So what’s different now?”
“Well Mame, you see, this time I’m in a big pickle. I’m going to lose the cottage by the lake if I don’t make the next repayment. My Maddie loved that place.”
“And so did your second wife, the Conway woman, I heard. The rich bitch even moved in permanent, didn’t she? No respect at all for our Madeline; God rest her soul.”
Merrill knows that the Black Widow never loved her step-daughter, Madeline. “What would you care about all that? Hear me out. This is serious. If the cottage has to go, I’ll probably lose my job, since I borrowed from Velo board members to buy it in the first place.”
“And how can I possibly help a slimy creep from low-life Iowa farming stock?”
Merrill resists the stinging insult, takes a deep breath and continues, coolly. “Look - you and Horace are sat on a million. Edith doesn’t need it. Horace doesn’t spend it, and you’ve got a stash already. Just look at this place. It must be the biggest house in Minneapolis. We should be able to come to some arrangement. A bridging loan. I’ll pay it back when Edith croaks. Can’t be long now.”
“Why should I help you, Merrill? You’re pathetic. You pour money down the drain. Is it really a foreclosure threat on the cottage? Or is it another gambling debt, or a silly promise to a young impressionable girl? You’re over forty years of age now, yet you act like a spoilt college kid.”
Merrill butts in, vainly and falsely, “Just turned forty.”
“Even my baby Leo is earning his crust now—with honest hard work. Have you seen what he’s done with my gardens? Such a sweet, sensible boy.”
“Mame, you can see I’m desperate. I’ll keep quiet about your family’s secret. Tell me what else I need to do and I’ll give it a whirl.”
The Black Widow raises her veil, and lowers herself to sit by her step-daughter’s former husband,
“Well, Merrill, I do have one proposition for you to consider ....”
A shiver runs up Merrill’s spine. He had never felt comfortable in the company of the redoubtable Mame Novak. His first love, Madeline, had told him some horrendous childhood tales about her evil stepmother, and now he was sat so close to the sinister old widow that he could feel the eerie warmth of her breath.
Mame’s whispered words could not be interpreted by a team of immigrant gardeners tending to the Alpine rockery plants outside the open French windows of the Forsters’ palatial home. The innocent whiteness of the bobbing arabis flowers contrasted starkly with the Black Widow’s dark proposal.
Chapter XVIII - A Little Accident
2011, Sligo, Late Afternoon
Jed skypes Kathy in Rochester, Minnesota. “Well, well, well, is that my leprechaun friend from the dear old Emerald Isle? To what do I owe this pleasure? Long time no see your mug-shot. How’s Sue? Oh, there she is…Hi, babe! Still keeping him grounded? Good for you, girl.” Sue has put her thumbs up in the background.
Jed is anxious to get Kathy to accept his research challenge. “I love you too, Kathy. Sorry, no time for small talk. We could swap friendly insults all night. Let’s cut to the chase. I’m a busy man, you know. Look, we’re on a case in your neck of the woods. We need some certs, pretty quickly.”
“Surprise, surprise. I knew you weren’t calling to ask about the kids. I suppose I do owe you one. Give me the details. I’ll see what I can do. No promises though.”
Early 1932, Mason City, Hanford Hotel Lounge
Merrill is in an armchair reading the business section of the Globe-Gazette. He surreptitiously tops up a cup of coffee from a flask of whiskey. With his face hidden from view by his paper, Merrill senses someone standing by his coffee table. He lowers his newspaper slowly, expecting to be reprimanded for bringing a banned substance into the premises. Merrill is surprised by the figure who comes into view, “Sabrina! What are you doing here? I told you to never come to this place.”
“I tried to phone you at the office, but they wouldn’t let me speak to you.”
Merrill notices that Sabrina is trembling a little, and tears are welling up in her eyes. “Oh my. What is it? What’s up? Come here, sit down.”
Sabrina explains in tearful whispers that she is pregnant. Merrill tries to keep calm. He mutters something about seeing a man who can take the baby away. Sabrina breaks down into full-blown sobs. Merrill ushers her away to the escalator, and they glide away to an upper floor. The hotel manager has been watching everything from the front desk.
The distressed couple has hastily retired to Merrill’s hotel suite. “Look, honey. We’ll sort this out. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me for a long time. But you know, you can’t hang around here. My daughters come home from school most weekends. Alice’s your age. She’d flip if she knew we’d been staying together in St. Paul.”
Sabrina’s tears start to fall again. Merrill passes her his handkerchief, fumblingly drawn from the jacket pocket of his silver-grey business suit. He cuddles Sabrina on his sofa, and thinks out a plan, “Okay, okay. We can have the baby up in Minnesota. Alice will be leaving college next year. She’ll probably marry a rich graduate. She’s that type. I can’t see Alice ever getting a job, like you did.”
“I’ll have to give up my work soon. And I was doing so well,” sniffs Sabrina.
“The sooner I get Alice married off, the better. Alice likes dining out and partying. She knows I can’t afford that any longer. If Alice settled down on somebody else‘s account, she could look after Laura when I’m away - then I can spend every week with you.” Sabrina smiles and blows salty mucus into Merrill’s handkerchief.
“It’ll be tough at first, sweetheart. It might just be weekends and business detours to St. Paul. You’ll be on your own some days.”
Sabrina is trying hard to keep composed, “Most days, by the sound of it, Merrill.”
“We’ll just have to be very patient. Now, wipe your eyes. Do you fancy some marshmallow? That’ll cheer you up.” Merrill goes over to the phone and instructs Room Service to bring up some hot chocolate and cookies.
A while later, Merrill is dabbing cocoa residue from his young lover’s lips. “Now then. How about a drive out to Clear Lake? I’ll take you out on the little row-boat. We can spend the night at the cottage. It’ll be quiet there this time of year. I’ll catch us some fish for supper. We’ll build a fire. Watch the stars. Come on.”
Sabrina’s face breaks into a twinkled smile. Disturbingly, she starts to look her age: a child-like sixteen going on seventeen.
2011, Sligo Village Shop
Jed is buying his daily paper and necessary nicotine ration. He always shares a joke about the news with Dan, the shop owner, “I see that the new government is as bad as the last lot. Private jets to London and Washington, whilst we don’t even have a bus service to the hospital anymore.”
Across the counter, Dan responds, “It’s a new health and business regime. If you can walk or cycle to the hospital, then you’re reasonably healthy and your treatment will be low-cost. If you don’t make it, then the funeral directors and priests earn a few Euros.”
“Nice one Dan. You should be on TV.”
“By the way, Jed. Have you checked out Las Vegas?”
“What?”
“For Merrill. He could be there. At the Elvis-look-alike competition. Check it out. It’s on page five.”
Jed walks out of the shop laughing. He gets in his jeep, and hears his I-Phone buzzing. He presses the green key. Up pops a message in large bold text ‘YOU GOT A SUICIDE.’ An image of a death certificate is attached, and Jed squints to read it. He immediately dials Kathy from his contact list, and puts her on speaker-phone.
“My word, Kathy. You broke your own record. That was quick. So Horace Forster committed suicide!”
“Yeah, you lucky boy. A tasty suicide. Don’t get many of them in our line of work”
“D’yah know what, you won’t believe this. This is the fourth suicide in this family tree. Something serious is going on, or was going on.”
“Gee, doggidy, Jed. Four suicides! You sure you’re not researching a serial killer?”
“Kathy, I can’t make out all the words. I’m on the road. Read out the coroner’s verdict.”
“Well, it seems like your man jumped from an office window a few storeys up. Fractured his skull. The coroner says he was ‘melancholy.’ You certainly are researching some sad guys.”
“’ ‘Melancholy,’ eh?”
“You should pick up a decent copy on your main computer. I’m just scanning the birth cert and hospital record right now.”
“Thanks Kathy. You’re a star, and the fastest genealogist west of Sligo town. Take it easy, girl. Bye for now.”