“You had expected to find some sexy young thing, didn’t you? Someone Mr. Cunningham had been having an — a relationship with.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” he said, and made a boyish smile. “I do apologize,” he said.
“Accepted,” I said, and smiled back at him.
It was beautiful. He had come here with a strong preconception, and a belief based on that preconception that something was wrong. Knock the preconception away and he would be left with an embarrassed feeling of having made a fool of himself. From now on he would want nothing more than to be rid of this case, since it would serve only to remind him of his wrong guess and the foolish way he’d acted when I’d first opened the door.
As I had supposed he would, he began at once to speed things up, taking a pad and pen from his briefcase and saying, “Mr. Cunningham never told you he’d made you his beneficiary?”
“Oh, dear me, no. I only worked for the man three months.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “It did seem odd to us.”
“Oh, his poor wife,” I said, “She may have neglected him but—”
“Neglected?”
“Well.” I allowed myself this time to show a pretty confusion. “I shouldn’t say anything against the woman,” I went on. “I’ve never so much as laid eyes on her. But I do know that not once in the three months I worked there did she ever come in to see Mr. Cunningham, or even call him on the phone. Also, from things he said—”
“What things. Miss Wilson?”
“I’d rather not say, Mr. Fraser. I don’t know the woman, and Mr. Cunningham is dead. I don’t believe we should sit here and talk about them behind their backs.”
“Still, Miss Wilson, he did leave his insurance money to you.”
“He was always the sweetest man,” I said. “Just the sweetest man in the world. But why he would—” I spread my hands, to show bewilderment.
Fraser said, “Do you suppose he had a fight with his wife? Such a bad one that he decided to change his beneficiary, looked around for somebody else, saw you, and that was that.”
“He was always very good to me,” I said. “In the short time I knew him I always found Mr. Cunningham a perfect gentleman and the most considerate of men.”
“I’m sure you did,” he said. He looked at the notes he’d been taking, and muttered to himself. “Well, that might explain it. It’s nutty, but—” He shrugged.
Yes, of course he shrugged. Kick away the preconception, leave him drifting and bewildered for just a second, and then quickly suggest another hypothesis to him. He clutched at it like a drowning man. Mr. Cunningham had had a big fight with Mrs. Cunningham. Mr. Cunningham had changed his beneficiary out of hate or revenge, and had chosen Miss Diane Wilson, the dear middle-aged lady he’d recently hired as his secretary. As Mr. Fraser had so succinctly phrased it, it was nutty, but—
I said, “Well, I really don’t know what to say. To tell the truth, Mr. Fraser, I’m overcome.”
“That’s understandable,” he said. “A quarter of a million dollars doesn’t come along every day.”
“It isn’t the amount,” I said. “It’s how it came to me. I have never been rich, Mr. Fraser, and because I never married I have always had to support myself. But I am a good secretary, a willing worker, and I have always handled my finances, if I say so myself, with wisdom and economy. A quarter of a million dollars is, as you say, a great deal of money, but I do not need a great deal of money. I would much rather have that sweet man Mr. Cunningham alive again than have all the money in the world.”
“Of course,” he nodded, and I could see he believed every word I had said.
I went further. “And particularly,” I said, “to be given money that should certainly have gone to his wife. I just wouldn’t have believed Mr. Cunningham capable of such a hateful or vindictive action.”
“He probably would have changed it back later on,” Fraser said. “After he had cooled down. He only made the change three weeks before — before he passed on.”
“Bless his soul,” I said.
“There’s one final matter, Miss Wilson,” he said, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”
“Anything at all, Mr. Fraser,” I said.
“About Mr. Roche,” he said. “Mr. Cunningham’s former partner. He seems to have moved from his old address, and we can’t find him. Would you have his current address?”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Mr. Roche left the concern before I was hired. In fact, Mr. Cunningham hired me because, after Mr. Roche left, it was necessary to have a secretary in order to be sure there was always someone in the office.”
“I see,” he said. “Well—” He put the pad and pen back into the briefcase and started to his feet, just as the doorbell rang.
“Excuse me,” I said. I went out to the hallway and opened the door.
She came boiling in like a hurricane, pushing past me and shouting, “Where is she? Where is the hussy?”
I followed her into the living room, where Fraser was standing and gaping at her in some astonishment as she continued to shout and to demand to know where she was.
I said, “Madame, please. This happens to be my home.”
“Oh, does it?” She stood in front of me, hands on hips. “Well then, you can tell me where I’ll find the Wilson woman.”
“Who?”
“Diane Wilson, the little tramp. I want to—”
I said, “I am Diane Wilson.”
She stood there, open-mouthed, gaping at me.
Fraser came over then, smiling a bit, saying, “Excuse, me, Miss Wilson, I think I know what’s happened.” He turned to the new visitor and said, “You’re Mrs. Cunningham, aren’t you?”
Still open-mouthed, she managed to nod her head.
Fraser identified himself, and said, “I made the same mistake you did — I came here expecting to find some vamp. But as you can see—” And he gestured at me.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Mrs. Cunningham said to me. She was a striking woman in her late thirties. “I called the insurance company, and when they told me Ed had changed all his policies over to you, I naturally thought — well — you know.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “I certainly hope you don’t think—”
“Oh, not at all,” Mrs. Cunningham said, and smiled a bit, and patted my hand. “I wouldn’t think that of vow,” she said.
Fraser said, “Mrs. Cunningham, didn’t your husband tell you he was changing the beneficiary?”
“He certainly didn’t,” she said with sudden anger. “And neither did that company of yours. They should have told me the minute Ed made that change.”
Fraser developed an icy chill. “Madame,” he said, “a client has the right to make anyone he chooses his beneficiary, and the company is under no obligation to inform anyone that—”
“Oh, that’s all right,” I said. “I don’t need the money. I’m perfectly willing to share it with Mrs. Cunningham.”
Fraser snapped around to me, saying, “Miss Wilson, you aren’t under any obligation at all to this woman. The money is legally and rightfully yours.” As planned, he was now 100 percent on my side.
Now it was time to make him think more kindly of Mrs. Cunningham. I said, “But this poor woman has been treated shabbily. She was married to Mr. Cunningham for — how many years?”
“Twelve,” she said, “twelve years,” and abruptly sat down on the sofa and began to sob.
“There, there,” I said, patting her shoulder.
“What am I going to do?” she wailed. “I have no money, nothing! he left me nothing but debts! I can’t even afford a decent burial for him!”
“We’ll work it out,” I assured her. “Don’t you worry, we’ll work it out.” I looked at Fraser and said, “How long will it take to get the money?”