Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 41, No. 4, October 1977

So this was what Peggy had wanted to tell him! Morosely, Gerald unlocked the front door and went into the inner hall, in his distraction leaving the door open behind him. He had no idea what he could do now. All his carefully constructed plans for saving the company from bankruptcy had collapsed, and it was more than likely that he would be convicted of fraud and go to jail. He sat down in the first chair he came to in the hall, holding his head in his hands.

After a while, he became aware of another presence. He looked up and met the gaze of his lawyer, a white-haired, mangy pillar of the community, old John Upshaw.

Gerald had never liked him. “How are you, John?”

“Sorry to intrude at this sad time.” Upshaw gave him a heavy-lidded stare. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Not especially.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I didn’t have to bother you at such a time but—”

“But what?” Gerald said sharply.

“Well,” Upshaw said, fixing his stare on Gerald. “I’m worried about Irma Pappas.”

“Irma Pappas? What is there to worry about? She left last night for California.”

Upshaw nodded. “I know. I checked and found that she did leave on the evening flight. But there’s one thing I can’t understand. She didn’t leave any forwarding address.”

“Why should she?” Gerald asked with a challenging glance.

“Maybe you didn’t know that I happen to be her attorney, too.”

“Why on earth did Irma need an attorney?” Gerald almost laughed in the other man’s face. “Was she in some trouble?”

Upshaw’s expression did not betray what he was thinking. “You probably didn’t know that Irma was a very rich woman.”

“Irma? A rich woman? What nonsense! Irma was only an orphan.”

“That’s true. But it turned out that she had an uncle who made millions in the food importing business. He left all his money to her.”

“But — she never said a word about it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Upshaw said. “She told me she didn’t want anyone to marry her for her money.”

Gerald could think of nothing to say.

“Anyway, I expected Irma to keep in touch with me because I made out her will. I thought perhaps she would have told you where she was going.”

“She didn’t,” Gerald said.

“Strange.”

“You’ll probably hear from her when she gets settled out there.” Then Gerald added sharply, “What’s so strange about her not telling me?”

“It’s not important,” Upshaw said, turning to go.

“Wait — I’d like to know. What’s so strange about it?”

“Well,” Upshaw replied. “Perhaps I shouldn’t really say this. But it probably doesn’t matter anyway. Irma made you her sole beneficiary. Congratulations, Gerald. You stand to inherit close to three million dollars.”

“Three million dollars?”

“That’s right. Not that you’re interested in the money. After all, you have a big business of your own now.” Upshaw stood there, smiling faintly. “Well, so long, Gerald. I have to go. If you hear anything from Irma, be sure to let me know.”

After Upshaw had gone, Gerald once again held his head in his hands. He was due to inherit three million dollars from Irma, but there was absolutely no way to get his hands on this inheritance without Irma’s death certificate. And with Irma buried in the split-level coffin with his mother, he could not reveal her death without incriminating himself for her murder.

All at once, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but failing in this he gave forth a long quivering sob.