I knew right away it was long distance, n not just because of the little echo we get out here when the call's from away. I knew because nobody on the island calls women Miz. You might be a Miss n you might be a Missus, but Miz still ain't made it across the reach, except once a month on the magazine rack down to the drugstore.
“Speakin,” I says.
“This is Alan Greenbush callin,” she says.
“Funny,” I says, pert's you please, “you don't sound like an Alan Greenbush.”
“It's his office calling,” she says, like I was about the dumbest thing she ever heard of. “Will you hold for Mr Greenbush?”
She caught me so by surprise the name didn't sink in at first-I knew I'd heard it before, but I didn't know where.
“What's it concernin?” I ast.
There was a pause, like she wasn't really s'posed to let that sort of information out, and then she said,
“I believe it concerns Mrs Vera Donovan. Will you hold, Miz Claiborne?”
Then it clicked in-Greenbush, who sent her all the padded envelopes registered mail.
“Ayuh,” I says.
“Pardon me?” she says.
“I'll hold,” I says.
“Thank you,” she says back. There was a click n I was left for a little while standin there in my underwear, waitin. It wasn't long but it seemed long. Just before he came on the line, it occurred to me that it must be about the times I'd signed Vera's name-they'd caught me. It seemed likely enough; ain't you ever noticed how when one thing goes wrong, everythin else seems to go wrong right behind it?
Then he come on the line. “Miz Claiborne?” he says.
“Yes, this is Dolores Claiborne,” I told him.
“The local law enforcement official on Little Tall Island called me yesterday afternoon and informed me that Vera Donovan had passed away,” he said. “It was quite late when I received the call, and so I decided to wait until this morning to telephone you.”
I thought of tellin him there was folks on the island not so particular about what time they called me, but accourse I didn't.
He cleared his throat, then said, “I had a letter from Mrs Donovan five years ago, specifically instructing me to give you certain information concerning her estate within twenty-four hours of her passing. “ He cleared his throat again n said, “Although I have spoken to her on the phone frequently since then, that was the last actual letter I received from her. “ He had a dry, fussy kind of voice. The kind of voice that when it tells you some-thin, you can't not hear it.
“What are you talkin about, man?” I ast. “Quit all this backin and fillin and tell me!”
He says, “I'm pleased to inform you that, aside from a small bequest to The New England Home for Little Wanderers, you are the sole beneficiary of Mrs Donovan's will.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and all I could think of was how she'd caught onto the vacuum cleaner trick after awhile.
“You'll receive a confirming telegram later today,” he says, “but I'm very glad to have spoken to you well before its arrival-Mrs Donovan was very emphatic about her desires in this matter.”
“Ayuh,” I says, “she could be emphatic, all right.”
“I'm sure you're grieved at Mrs Donovan's passing-we all are-but I want you to know that you are going to be a very wealthy woman, and if I can do anything at all to assist you in your new circumstances, I would be as happy to do so as I was to assist Mrs Donovan. Of course I'll be calling to give you updates on the progress of the will through probate, but I really don't expect any problems or delays. In fact-'Whoa on, chummy,” I says, n it came out in a kind of croak. Sounded quite a bit like a frog in a dry pond. “How much money are you talkin about?”
Accourse I knew she was well off, Andy; the fact that in the last few years she didn't wear nothing but flannel nighties n lived on a steady diet of Campbell's soup and Gerber's baby-food didn't change that. I saw the house, I saw the cars, n I sometimes looked at a wee bit more of the papers that came in those padded envelopes than just the signature line. Some were stock transfer forms, n I know that when you're sellin two thousand shares of Upjohn and buyin four thousand of Mississippi Valley Light n Power, you ain't exactly totterin down the road to the poorhouse.
I wa'ant askin so I could start applyin for credit cards n orderin things from the Sears catalogue, either-don't go gettin that idear. I had a better reason than that. I knew that the number of people who thought I'd murdered her would most likely go up with every dollar she left me, n I wanted to know how bad I was gonna get hurt. I thought it might be as much as sixty or seventy thousand dollars… although he had said she left some money to an orphanage, and I figured that'd take it down some.
There was somethin else bitin me, too-bitin the way a June deerfly does when it settles on the back of your neck. Somethin way wrong about the whole proposition. I couldn't put m'finger on it, though-no more'n I'd been able to put m'finger on exactly who Greenbush was when his secretary first said his name.
