As Max described the revelations by Julia Tarrant and the other family members during that remarkable gathering at Miss Dora's, Nelda Cartwright's unwinking gaze never left his face.
She spoke only once. "Augustus murdered! The devils."
When Max had concluded, Nelda Cartwright hunched in her wheelchair, the book in her lap ignored, her wrinkled face rigid with anger, her eyes blazing, her blue-veined hands gripping the wheelchair arms.
"Will you help us?" Annie asked.
"Augustus murdered. I should have known. I should have known! They all pulled at him constantly, wanting money, time, special attention, always making excuses." Her voice was cold and disdainful. "Whitney fancied himself as quite the man-about-town, too busy playing golf to get his proper work done. That's where he met Jessica Horton, of course. Whitney knew the firm was representing Alex Horton in thedivorce proceedings, but did that stop Whitney? And you can't tell me it wasn't deliberate on Jessica's part. Who knows what she got out of Whitney? I saw them together, going into that motel. So I told the Judge. It was my duty." Her faded eyes burned with righteous fervor. "I said, 'Judge, did you know your son was meeting Alex Horton's wife in a room at the Hansford Inn? And I've heard Alex is being represented by Tarrant & Tarrant in his divorce action.' Oh, the Judge's face looked like thunder at that piece of news. He said, 'If that is true, Whitney will withdraw from the firm.' The Judge was a man who always did the right thing. And he was always so proud of the firm. His cousin Darrell was the senior partner at that time."
Annie didn't bother to ask how the Judge could have forced his son out of a firm in which the Judge no longer practiced. But she knew the answer to that. The Judge had only to speak to Whitney. His son would never have dared defy him. And, if he had, the Judge had only to pick up the telephone and call his cousin. The matter would have been attended to.
The secretary pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Later that afternoon—I know he talked to Whitney because he came out of the Judge's chambers and he looked like he'd had his comeuppance—the Judge told me that his son would be clearing out his office at the firm over the weekend." Her mouth twisted. "Augustus died the next day." Her cold eyes glittered. "I should have known!"
Annie was puzzled. "But Whitney didn't leave the firm."
"No. The week after the funerals, I asked Whitney if he needed any help clearing out his office. He looked shocked. Then he said of course not. I asked if there were any conflicts of interest that should be dealt with. I made myself extremely clear. He wouldn't even look at me, cutting his eyes like a bad dog. He said that particular matter had been attended to, that I needn't be concerned. I didn't like it, but what could I do, with the Judge gone? The week after that, he called and asked if I'd like to come back to the firm. The new judge would bring in his own secretary, of course. I accepted. I thought it
was the least I could do for the Judge." A humorless smile touched her narrow lips. "For what it's worth, I don't think Whitney ever made that particular mistake again."
Max said dryly, "I doubt that Whitney would, with you on the spot."
Satisfaction glittered in her eyes. "Whitney's no match for me, I can tell you, Mr. Darling."
"Do you happen to know the provisions of the Judge's will?" Annie asked.
Nelda Cartwright did, and, after a moment's thought, elucidated them, crisply and succinctly. The balance of the estate had gone to Amanda, except for Tarrant House itself, which, in line with family tradition, always went in trust to the eldest surviving child.
"But that's Milam, isn't it?" Max inquired.
"Oh, yes, but Milam didn't want to live in Tarrant House." Nelda scowled. "He and Julia moved out to Wisteree almost immediately. Then, when Amanda died, Milam invited Whitney to stay on. Eventually, of course, Whitney and Charlotte's daughter will inherit the house, if Milam follows the family tradition. Who knows what Milam might do? But there are no other living descendants. In any event, that's far in the future."
Max redirected the old woman's thoughts. "So the Judge's death made a big difference for Whitney."
Nelda said bitterly, "It saved Whitney's skin, all right. He didn't have to leave the firm—and heaven knows who else would have wanted to hire him. Everyone would have wanted to know why he was leaving the family firm. He would have had a hard time explaining that. But with the Judge gone, Whitney had it all. And he never worked hard. He played golf every Wednesday and Friday. They tell me he still does. And, as soon as the Judge was out of the way, Amanda gave him and Milam whatever they wanted. If I'd had any idea—" Color flared briefly on her waxen cheeks. "I'll swear to this. I'll be glad to."
"So you think it may have been Whitney Tarrant who shot the Judge?" Max asked.
Nelda riveted him with a piercing, irritated glare. "Obviously, Mr. Darling."
"You said they all pulled at him." The scent of a mock orange shrub added a softness to what Annie would always remember as a bleak scene—the crippled old woman, her face alight with vengeance, and the quiet checker players, still alive but so divorced from life. "What did the others do that upset the Judge?"
Nelda's thin lips pursed. "What didn't they do? That wife of his was always complaining because he worked so hard. I ask you," she asked scathingly, "what else is a man to do?"
Annie carefully didn't look at Max.
"A man's work is his life, and no one ever did better than the Judge. When he was on the bench, he did what was right and just. That's the way he lived too. A man of honor. A man of character." Her chin quivered with outrage. "What did Amanda want? A namby-pamby stay-at-home, like her two older sons? The Judge never said a word against his family—why, he wouldn't have done that—but it was as clear as clear that they were all a disappointment to him—all except Ross. Now that was a fine young man, a leader in his class. The Judge was so proud that he was going to be a military officer."