The McGills
Charlie stopped the car in front of Agnes’ shack just long enough for me to get out and see which house fronted the property. It was a single house and built more lavishly than most of the homes around it. It was impressive when we saw it from the front.
The house was built in the colonial style even though it was sided with light blue asbestos shingles instead of brick. It had a wide frontage that held eight big windows. The entry door in the center was sheltered by a deep portico roof with decorative wrought iron railings on three sides. The property was very flat, something that was a rare feature for the hilly area. It was fronted by carefully trimmed boxwood hedges that would be very attractive in the springtime. The walk had flower beds on both sides that were turned over and mulched to protect the soil from the cold winter. The mailbox on the iron post at the curb said ‘McGill’ in bright metal letters.
I didn’t know what I expected to find at the house, but I didn’t plan to lie to the occupants. I also didn’t want to put them off by gathering too many people on their doorstep. I asked Charlie and Walt to sit tight while I went up to knock.
The woman who opened the door partway and stood in the opening was about sixty. Her brown hair was mostly grey and her face was lined. She was lean without hardness and well dressed in the modern style. She looked comfortable and was very well-spoken.
“Good day, sir. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Edwards and I was hoping to speak with you about Agnes Diamond.”
The door opened wider to reveal a man who was about the same age as the woman. He was bookish and thick-set with glasses on his nose and a sweater the same color as his house. “What’s that about Aggie?” He asked. “She’s not stealing again, is she?”
“Not that I know of. I’m not a shop owner and I’m not from the police. May I ask for a moment of your time, please?”
The man smiled contentedly. “I have lots of moments. I’m willing to share a few.” He pointed the stem of a cold pipe at the street. “You got folks with you?”
“My business partner and a friend. I didn’t want to knock on your door with a crowd.”
He beckoned with the pipe. “Bring them in. I like company.”
I thanked him and went back to the car to get Walt and Charlie. On the way up the walk I told Walt how I described him. He agreed to be my business partner while we were at the McGill’s.
We went into the house and were shown to a formal dining room that was filled with heavy furniture. Matthew McGill took a leather tobacco pouch from an unseen pocket and filled his pipe. Millie McGill went to make coffee. Matt held up his tobacco pouch. “I’ve got some papers around here somewhere if anyone wants to make a cigarette.”
I refused for all of us. “I quit and so did Charlie. Walt never smoked much. We appreciate the offer.”
He lit his pipe with a wooden match and puffed mellow smoke toward the ceiling. It smelled good. “Now, what’s this about Aggie?”
“I’m trying to understand how she lives. Charlie and I met her last night. It’s plain she’s too far gone to hold a job. Are you taking care of her?”
He drew on his pipe and puffed the smoke out again. “I don’t mean to sound rude, Mister Edwards, but how is that any of your business?”
I shrugged. “Strictly speaking, it isn’t. I have no right to ask you any questions and you have every right to refuse to answer them. I ask you anyway.”
“I could be persuaded to answer, but I would like to know why I should.”
Millie McGill came back with a coffee carafe and a plate of cookies. Walt stood up. “Let me help, please.”
She accepted his offer gratefully and told him where to find the cups and saucers in the sideboard. Walt handed out small, powder blue cups and saucers while Millie filled them with coffee. Walt noticed the name printed on the carafe. “I see that’s from an Illy machine. Is that a consumer machine or a professional one?”
Millie was pleased by his knowledge. “It’s a consumer model. Matt and I just love it. The cups are so much cleaner with the paper filter rather than gritty old percolator coffee.”
Walt wasn’t convinced. “I keep thinking about getting one of the new drip machines, but I do so like percolator coffee after dinner.”
She lifted the carafe toward him like his preference for percolator coffee was nonsense. “After a week of this, you won’t want anything else.”
She and Walt found their seats and the chatter about coffee makers ceased.
I cleared my throat to take control of the conversation again. I explained who each of us was and that we were friends of Judy, then I broke the bad news. “She took her own life the day before yesterday.”
Matt’s face fell. He abandoned his pipe to a crystal ashtray and folded his hands on the tablecloth. Millie cried out. “Lord, no! Please don’t let it be true.”
“I’m sorry to say that it is true. If you want confirmation, Detectives Stone or Beyer with the Market Street Station of the Philadelphia Police Department were assigned to the case. I’m sure they would answer any questions you might have.”
Matt heaved a ragged sigh. “I appreciate you bringing us the news, but how does that make our relationship with Aggie your business?”
I explained. “My friend Charlie wants to know why his friend killed herself. We can never truly know her mind, but we can surmise. We’re trying to understand who she was, and what her situation was, so we can understand why she did what she did. I met her mother last night. Charlie and I brought her a bouquet of flowers and a pint of rye. I was left wondering how someone like her, as far gone as she is, could support herself. It’s obvious she can’t. Someone is supporting her. I assume it’s you. Why are you doing it?”
Matt shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see the logic behind your request. My business is still my own, no matter who has passed away. I’ll thank you once again for making sure we had the news of Judy’s passing and I’ll wish you all a good day.”
Millie cried out again. “MATTHEW! I shall have none of your accountant’s coldness this day! A man comes to our home to tell us our granddaughter is dead and all you say to him is ‘good day?’ How dare you?”
Matt pressed his lips with disapproval like a librarian might in front of a noisy child. “Judith was not our granddaughter.”
Millie stood from her chair to scold her husband. “She should have been! If not for you, she might have been!” She shifted her attention to us. “Our Raymond was a wild youth. He got Aggie in trouble when they were both very young. She was sixteen and he was seventeen. He tried to do the right thing, poor boy, but Matthew wouldn’t let him. Aggie was a nobody from a nothing family. She wasn’t good enough for Matt. He offered to pay for an abortion. Raymond was a good boy; he was wild but basically good. He listened to his father and tried to convince her to have one, but she was afraid. She wouldn’t agree.
“When Aggie insisted on having the baby, that trapped Raymond in the middle. He couldn’t ask his father for help because Matt made his position clear. Raymond didn’t have any reasonable way to earn enough money to start them off in life, not as quickly as he needed to earn it. He wasn’t even finished school. His wild friends offered to help. They went on a spree, robbing service stations and liquor stores until a clerk in a liquor store shot two of them dead. My Raymond was killed because his father didn’t like the girl he tried to bring home.”
Mille sat back down and reached for her coffee cup with a trembling hand. Matt knocked his pipe out in the crystal tray. He felt the bowl to see if it was cool enough to relight. It wasn’t, so he laid it aside and got up to get another pipe from the sideboard. He spoke as he filled the fresh pipe. “Millie likes to blame me for the death of our son, but I didn’t suggest he rob liquor stores, nor did I point a gun at him and pull the trigger. Raymond’s mistakes were his own.”
He returned to his seat and lit his pipe. Millie lifted her voice to argue. “Still cold as the Grim Reaper himself, aren’t you, Matt? You always treated our son like he was just another entry on one of your ledger sheets. You audited his life like you audited your clients. Just like them, you always found him wanting. He knew where he stood with you. No one asks a marble statue for a favor because they know what the answer will be. That’s why Raymond didn’t ask you a second time.
“You didn’t kill him, but you sent him to his death as surely as if you drew a map and gave him directions. Even after he was buried, your calculating continued. You wouldn’t have Aggie and her shame in your precious home, this grand mausoleum you worked and slaved for. You fixed up the garage and offered it to poor Agnes. She took it because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. You didn’t care that they lived in a drafty shack right on your own property as long as you were warm and comfortable with your pipe in your mouth. You didn’t care when she started to drink. You didn’t care when we saw bruises on little Judith. Your only worry was to keep Aggie’s shame from rubbing off on you.
“My shame is that I let you get away with it. I went along because you knew better. I went along and now my son is dead and my granddaughter is dead and all I have left is you and your logic and the ice water that runs in your veins.”
Matt puffed his pipe. “That’s enough now, Millie. We’ve had quite enough. I’ve done nothing wrong. Raymond’s actions belonged to him, just like Aggie’s belong to her, and Judy’s belong to her.”
Millie frowned as deeply as her face would allow. “Damn you to hell, Matthew.”
He tamped the tobacco in his pipe with the back of a silver coffee stirrer and nodded over it. “You damned me once before, over the freshly filled-in grave of our son. I’m forced to admit your bitter curse worked, because hell is where I find myself. More’s the shame for you, my wife, because here you are along with me.”
I stood as quietly as I could and tapped Charlie’s shoulder for him to get up. Walt rose. I announced our departure to our hosts. “We’ll show ourselves out.”
Neither of them looked at us. Matt uttered a single sentence. “Perhaps you’d better.”
I herded Charlie toward the pocket doors that led from the dining room. Walt arrived ahead of us and slid them open. Charlie stopped and spun around. “WAIT!” He pointed at the miserable couple. “They’re Judy’s grandparents?”
I said that they were.
“And they didn’t help her?”
I said that they didn’t.
“They’ve got all this,” he raised his hands toward the ceiling like Moses parting the Red Sea, “and they let her live in that shack with that drunken hag?”
I agreed that was true.
“JESUS CHRIST! THEY’RE FUCKIN’ HEARTLESS!”
I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to guide him toward the door. He shook me off and marched back to the couple at the table. “FUCK YOU!” He screamed at Matt. “I wish you weren’t an old man.” He shook a huge fist in his face. “I’d beat you to death.”
I shouted to stop his tirade. “CHARLIE! STOP!” He glared at me, and I admonished him. “You’re making it worse. Let’s just go.”
He gestured toward the McGills. “Someone should do something to them! They should be punished!”
“They have been.”
“HOW?”
“By their hatred for each other and the loneliness of losing a child. Even if you beat them up, you couldn’t hurt them any worse than they’ve hurt themselves.”
He slammed his giant fist on the table. Several of the delicate coffee cups turned over on the fine wood and cold coffee spilled on the carpet. No one moved to stop it or to clean it up. Charlie fled the room and the house. Walt followed him out. I started to leave when Matt called me back. “Mister Edwards, I wish you would have let him strike me. Perhaps I would have died.”
His words made me hate him a little more than I did before. “You are the most selfish man I have ever met. Had Charlie killed you, what would that do to him? He’d have to live the rest of his life knowing that he murdered a bitter old man in front of his bitter old wife. There was a day when I would have obliged and ended your life, but that day has passed. I’m a wiser and better man, and I see the wisdom of leaving you to lie in the bed you made. I would curse you like your wife did, but I have no power to damn. The Lord will punish you both in time. Maybe that’s what he’s doing right now.”
I had one more question before I left. “Did Judy know who you were?”
Millie answered. “We never told her. Aggie knew. I don’t know if she ever said.”
“Thank you for telling me. Good day.”
I left the house and closed the door softly behind me.
* * * *
Walt stood by the car while Charlie beat the shit out of the McGill’s mailbox. He’d torn it from its base and was smashing it against the top of the post. The box had been reduced to an unidentifiable hunk of metal. It looked like a piece of modern art that some museum would stick a pretentious label on for dimwits to say pretentious things about.
He got tired of wrecking the mailbox and threw it into the street as hard as he could. He still had rage to spend and turned his attention to the post. He tried to wrench it out of the ground, and he seemed strong enough to do it, but I wanted to stop his vandalism while it was still easy to fix. I put myself in front of him and said his name just loud enough for him to hear. “Charlie, it’s time to stop.”
He released the post and stood red-faced and panting. He flung an angry hand toward the house. “FUCK THEM!”
I agreed. “Fuck them.”
“THEY’RE PIECES OF SHIT!”
“Yes, they are.”
“I want to hurt them!”
“It’s not your business to hurt them.”
His rage abated slightly as his reason started to return. “Someone should, shouldn’t they?”
“They’re hurting now. Didn’t you hear what Mister McGill said? They’re both in hell.” I waved my hand at the house to match his theatrical gesture. “Looks nice, doesn’t it? A grand big house full of fine furniture and nice things, and all it cost them was the life of their only child and all the happiness they never had. ‘Vengeance is mine,’ sayeth the Lord. We have to leave their punishment up to Him.”
He scowled darkly like his heart was empty of kindness. “What about Judy? It’s like she was being punished just for being alive. Why?”
“I don’t know. I won’t give you the old bullshit that the Lord works in mysterious ways. I won’t even remind you that life is not fair. Maybe the next life really is better than this one. Maybe the life after this one is fair. Maybe when someone’s time here is so full of adversity, the best decision they can make is to run to the next world. Maybe there is no God, and everything is random and that’s why nothing makes sense.”
He shook his head to disagree. “I’m not an atheist.”
“Then you must believe God has a plan. Somehow, someway, Judy is part of His plan. That means we’re also part of the plan. We have to find out what happened, so we can give your friend the peace she deserves. Maybe that’s the role we’re supposed to play.”
He looked at his hands. They trembled with emotion. “I wish I had a fucking cigarette.”
I didn’t bother to contradict him. I got the crumpled mailbox out of the street and brought it back to the curb. I asked Walt to drive and to find a hardware store. Charlie asked what we needed there.
“We’re going to get a new mailbox and new letters and we’re going to replace the one you smashed.” He started to argue, but I didn’t let him. “We’re going to do it because it’s the right thing to do. We’re also going to do it because you don’t want to be arrested for vandalism. We can put the name on the box while we’re at the store and it won’t take a minute to screw the new box to the post. Once we’re done, our dealings with the McGills are finished.”
* * * *
The man at the hardware store was happy to rivet the new letters to the mailbox for us. He said it was a common request and part of the service they offered. Charlie paid for the box and the new hardware and a screwdriver to install it. We returned to the McGill house to replace the box and take away the smashed one.
Matthew McGill came out with his pipe while Charlie screwed the new box down. I didn’t want to see him or talk to him, but I didn’t have an easy way to avoid either. I hoped he hadn’t come out to berate us for the coffee stains on his carpet or the mailbox Charlie destroyed.
He seemed to have neither intention as he moved close to me to have a quiet word. “Thank you for fixing the box.”
“I’m sorry we smashed the old one.”
“I understand why you did. Your young friend is a passionate man. He must’ve cared for Judy a great deal.”
“He did.”
He fished in his pockets and brought out a folded cardboard pack of cigarette papers. “I know you said you quit, but I don’t have anything else to offer to be hospitable.”
I accepted the papers and tobacco. “I’ll have one, and Charlie will want one when he’s finished.”
I tried to open the cardboard flap, but my fingers refused to cooperate. I handed everything to Walt and asked for help. He rolled a cigarette with quick precision. I was surprised he knew how. He explained so only I would understand. “Lee used to smoke hand rolled cigarettes. He taught me to make them.”
He licked the flap, pasted it down, and lit it with a match Matt provided. He passed the cigarette to me. I drew in the smoke and blew it out. The pipe tobacco was richer than cigarette tobacco and gave a thick, dense smoke. I didn’t like it very much.
I explained to Matt why Walt made the cigarette. “My hands are no good anymore. The joints are all full of arthritis.”
He sympathized. “That must be hard for you.”
I agreed that it was.
He made an offer that surprised me. “This thing you’re doing, trying to find out why Judy did what she did, I suppose it’s a righteous cause. You have my blessing to continue, not that you need it. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
I didn’t think there was, and then I remembered the form that Agnes had to sign to release her claim on the body. I drew on my cigarette and asked for his help. “The police are sending a document for Agnes to release her claim on Judy’s body. I’m going to see that she gets buried with dignity. There’s a churchyard near our place in Reading. It’s very pretty. Would you see that the form gets signed and mailed back?”
“How is her burial any of your concern?”
I shrugged and smoked some more. “None of this should be my concern. I’ve made it mine for the sake of my friend and for Judy because no one else would. She needs someone to bury her and pray for her and give a damn what happened to her. I’m someone and I’m in a position to help. Will you help me to help her?”
He eyed me carefully like he was sizing up a client. “You must be a wealthy man.”
“I’m a retired restaurant owner. Walt and I owned a fine dining establishment in Philadelphia. We have more than we need and no one to leave it to. We’re not wealthy people, but we’re in a position to do something that needs doing. Will you help me or not?”
“I will. When do you suppose the document will arrive?”
“It left Philly yesterday. It will likely be delivered tomorrow. I’d appreciate if you could get it turned around quickly. Charlie is only here for another two weeks and I’d like to have the funeral before he leaves.”
He checked his wristwatch like he wanted to see if it was tomorrow yet. “Aggie’s mail comes to me anyway. The postman knows better than to bring it to her. I’ll get the form signed and put it right back in his hands.”
I drew on my cigarette and thanked him.
Charlie finished with the box and joined us on the sidewalk. Walt offered the papers and tobacco. He accepted and rolled a cigarette. He lit up and gave everything back to Matt. He accepted and filled his pipe. I dropped what was left of my cigarette and ground it under my heel.
Matt lit his pipe and thanked Charlie for the new mailbox. Charlie didn’t accept the thanks. “I shouldn’t have broken the old one. I apologize for pounding the table and making the coffee spill.”
“No harm done, young man. I understand why you did what you did and why you said the things you said. I won’t defend the choices I made, and you may judge me for them if you wish. I did what I thought was right given the facts I had at the time. There are things I would do differently if I had to live my life over again, but there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t say the same.” He puffed his pipe and shrugged. “Enough of that. What’s done is done. Thank you again for the new mailbox. I bid you all a good day.”
He picked up the destroyed mailbox for the trash and went back in the house.
I didn’t like him any better as he left, but I didn’t hate him any worse. Charlie flicked his cigarette into the street and stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Pipe tobacco is gross.”
“It’s not my favorite.”
He looked to Walt. “You want me to drive?”
Walt handed the keys over. “Go ahead. I’m getting used to being a passenger. It’s not bad.”
We got into the car. Charlie started it and turned the heat on. “What now?” He asked.
I shook my head because I didn’t know. “I guess we go back to Reading for lunch. There isn’t anything else to do here. We’re due for a call from Stone or Beyer with the autopsy results and Doc is supposed to telephone this evening to tell what he found out about Johnny Spencer.”
Walt added his thoughts. “I can go to the market after lunch and get something special for dinner.”
Charlie wrung the steering wheel in his hands. “What the heck will I do?”
Walt offered an idea. “You can help me cook.”
Charlie balked. “Cook? Me?”
Walt explained. “A man should be self-sufficient in all things, right?”
Charlie agreed. “Right.”
“Then you should learn to cook. It’ll help pass the time and you’ll gain a useful skill. One day you’ll be married with a bunch of kids. What if your wife gets sick? Who will make soup for her and dinner for the children? You’ll have to do it.”
Charlie didn’t get the point. “But there’s soup in cans.”
Walt was aghast. “You’re not going to give your poor sick wife canned slop to get well on, are you?”
“I guess not.”
“Then you’d better learn to cook.”
I offered my support or the idea. “Cooking doesn’t make you less of a man. Plus, a lot of women like a man who can help in the kitchen.”
He put the car in gear. “I guess I’ll learn to cook.”
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