“Did Gerald do all of your father’s reading before that?” I asked.
“Gerald or Gwendolyn. Mostly Gwendolyn, by then.”
“Mr. Brennan,” I asked, “was there any sort of prenuptial agreement signed when Arthur married Gwendolyn?”
“Only as concerned Gerald. He was not to inherit or receive from Arthur any of the DeMont money. Gerald claimed to be happy about it; he said it would prove that his-insistence, shall we say?-on the marriage was not motivated by greed.”
“Did you believe him?”
Brennan considered this for a time, then frowned. “Gerald’s insistence didn’t matter-Gwendolyn wanted the marriage. As for Gerald, I believe that while he has always wanted money, money itself is not what motivates him. He enjoys controlling others. He enjoyed it on that occasion.” The frown deepened. “Gerald is, I’m afraid, someone your father worried over.”
“In what way?” Travis asked.
“I don’t know, exactly, but I do know your father had given your mother something that was supposed to ensure that Gerald never bothered the two of you. When I asked him why on earth Gerald would bother you, he merely said that Gerald was always very fond of Gwendolyn. I took that to mean that Gerald might resent you and your mother, on Gwendolyn’s behalf.”
“Do you know what it was Arthur gave Briana?” I asked.
“No, he was very evasive on that subject.”
“I’m sorry to say that whatever kept Gerald away must no longer exist,” Travis said. “Did Gerald come after Dad for money after Gwendolyn’s death?”
“No, your father and his brother were estranged. Gerald was not the only person who could not accept your father’s bigamy, and Gerald’s own regard for Gwendolyn perhaps made him more prejudiced than most. But Arthur loved Gerald-make no mistake about that. Gerald had raised him and was the last remaining member of his family; he spoke many times of the sacrifices Gerald had made for him. Not that having someone make sacrifices for you is all that it’s cracked up to be. Gerald was overbearing in those days.”
For a moment he was lost in thought, then said, “By the time I first met Arthur, when he was sixteen, he wanted nothing more than independence. It was clear to me that he was genuinely attached to Gwendolyn. No matter how hard I questioned him, he wouldn’t deny to me that he wanted to marry her, but over time I grew certain that the marriage was almost entirely Gerald’s idea. I even suspected Arthur had received a beating from Gerald over the matter, but could prove nothing. Arthur would never utter a word against his brother.
“Gwendolyn-well, perhaps Gwendolyn felt she had no other chance. And I think she, in her own way, saw an opportunity to help Arthur.”
“How so?” I asked.
She helped him to free himself from Gerald. She explicitly instructed me to do all I could to enable Arthur to get away from the DeMont farm every now and then. And although she never spoke of it specifically, she certainly turned a blind eye to his absences from home.“
“You think she knew about us?” Travis asked.
“I’m not certain, of course, but I think not. Your father wasn’t careless of her feelings. But even before she married him, she told me that Arthur was never, under any circumstances, to be spied upon. She said he had spent too many years under Gerald’s watchful eye, and now deserved an opportunity to get into any sort of mischief he pleased.”
“Leda seemed to think Gwendolyn would stand up for Arthur sooner than she would defend herself.”
“Definitely,” Brennan said. “But Arthur also protected her. Unlike him, she longed for that sort of protection. She disliked business matters; he thrived on them. She wanted to remain a recluse; he was sociable. She hated to leave that farm, he was glad to travel. She liked his company, but I believe she would have been unhappy with a man who was constantly under what she certainly thought of as her roof. Arthur preserved rather than destroyed that private world of hers. She knew he attended to the matters that her various fears would have caused to have been neglected. And so on the whole, I believe she was perfectly content with the marriage.”
“How did he start his own business?” I asked.
“With a loan, which he very quickly repaid.”
“A loan from the DeMont fortune?”
“No. There were virtually no liquid assets in the DeMont holdings by the time Arthur turned eighteen.”
“Nothing that could have been borrowed against?”
“Oh, certainly. There was the farm itself, a few other properties. But Arthur never would have borrowed against the DeMont farm.”
“So who loaned it to him?” Travis asked.
Mr. Brennan colored slightly, then said, “I did.”
Travis grinned. “Why, Mr. Brennan, it seems I’m much more indebted to you than I imagined.”
“Oh, no, Travis. Not at all. The reverse is true. Given access to information, your father was the shrewdest investor I ever met. He was very generous to me over the years. I have no hesitation in telling you he was my favorite client.”
“He made his money in the stock market?” I asked.
“Eventually, yes-that and other investments. At first, though, he concentrated a tremendous amount of effort in his own business. He did very well with it, took the profits in hand and promptly doubled them. I was very impressed, until I saw that he was just getting warmed up.”
“Mr. Brennan,” I said, “during the time of the initial investigation of Gwendolyn’s murder, Robert said he had contacted her to obtain money. He said she had agreed to give him a check. I know she loaned him money on previous occasions, but was that still going on by the time she died?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “As little as she liked business, Gwendolyn was aware by that time that the DeMont fortune had in truth become the Spanning fortune, with, as I say, only the lands themselves untouched. The fields on the farm were planted because Arthur paid to have them planted. He never refused her anything she wished to purchase for herself, but he was so angry with the DeMonts for taking advantage of her, he did forbid any further expenditure on them.”
They talked a little longer, Mr. Brennan apologizing for not having any of the papers he wanted to go over with Travis. “They are in my office. Can you come by there tomorrow?”
We agreed to stop by. I excused myself to go outside while they worked on the will. “It’s chilly out there,” Brennan said. “Wouldn’t you rather wait in my library, or some other room?”
“Irene loves fresh mountain air,” Travis said.
“This may take awhile,” Brennan said. “Would you like directions to the town?”
“No, Travis is right. The outdoors will be entertaining enough.”
“Then let me lend you a sweater,” he said.
I was grateful for the sweater, but more grateful for the fresh air, the time to think. I found Mary’s temporary address and phone number in my jeans pocket, and thought of calling her. I couldn’t get a strong-enough signal, though, and gave up. Tired, I went to lie down in the van, thinking of Brennan’s offer of directions before I dozed off.
I awoke to see three strangers entering the house.
I made a mad dash for the front door, coming in on their heels, but not tackling anyone when I saw that I was the most threatening individual present.
“Don’t worry,” Travis said, knowing exactly what had caused me to rush inside. “These are Mr. Brennan’s neighbors. One is a notary. The other two will witness the will.”
They stared at my bruised face, then turned to Travis, and asked him how he hurt his hand.
Mr. Brennan had already made photocopies of the unsigned will. He gave one of these to Travis, saying, “Perhaps I should keep the only signed copy in my safe for tonight. I can give it to you in Las Piernas if you want to keep it in your own safe-deposit box.”