Susan rested her chin in her hand. “Well, given how quickly he was failing, I’d think any extreme exertion would stop his heart.”
“It’s possible that G-Pop heard Mignon get hit. Think about it. He tries to protect her, chase down the culprit, but his heart gives out.”
“It would be like him to protect her.” Susan turned this over. “It might be, but we shouldn’t say anything to G-Mom, or my mother, for that matter. They’re really feeling the loss. Give them time. I take that back. Until you or I find something, we shut up. They’re going through enough.”
“But what if your mother and grandmother find out whatever it is that created this mess? Then they’re in danger.”
“Harry, if they were in danger, we’d know by now,” Susan resolutely said.
“Not necessarily. Let’s try this. We go through his office.”
“Harry, I can’t go over there and root around my grandfather’s office at a time like this. You expect me to ask G-Mom and Mom? Come on, now, be reasonable.”
“She’s right,” Mrs. Murphy, sitting on the floor with Owen, Pewter, and Tucker, affirmed.
“There is another way. G-Mom and your mother run errands, have lunch, sometimes even play a few holes of golf on Tuesdays. Let’s drive by and see if their cars are gone. We go in and see what we can find.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“We aren’t stealing anything, we aren’t harming anything. We’re double-checking in a way that won’t disturb them. I’m willing to bet your grandmother wants to keep to her routine. It’s consoling.”
“And what if they come back while we’re there?”
“First, we go to Ivy Nursery, buy a lilac, his favorite bush. If they come, we run out back and begin planting it.”
“The lilacs have bloomed.”
“So we’re planting for next spring. Buy some mums for now. They won’t think anything of it, and it’s better than flowers from the florist.”
Susan smiled. “Have you ever seen so many flowers?”
“Overwhelming, and your grandmother sent them all to cancer wards for both adults and children here and in Richmond.” Harry’s voice softened. “Here she is losing her partner of—”
“Sixty-eight years.” Susan filled in the number.
“Sixty-eight years and she’s thinking of others.”
“Flowers can be shredded or chewed, but people should have sent more food. Mrs. Holloway would have given some to Harry,” Pewter opined.
“Doesn’t mean she’d share with you.” Tucker raised her eyebrow.
“The kitty-in-distress routine. Works every time,” Pewter bragged.
Noticing that Pewter was preparing to flop on her side and utter piteous cries, Owen ordered, “Don’t you dare. Not in my house.”
“Spoilsport,” Pewter said and huffed.
“Susan, come on. Let’s hit up the nursery. It’s ten o’clock, hot, and will get hotter. If we do have to plant because they’re in the house, it will be tolerable. If we get to go through his desk and they return, we’ll be doing it in a full furnace, but it’s worth it.” Harry made this decision for Susan.
“Well—”
“Susan, it can’t hurt!”
“All right. All right.”
Susan complained the entire way to Ivy Nursery and the entire way to Big Rawly.
“They aren’t here!” Harry jubilantly remarked. “Let’s take the lilac and the mums out back, pull out the shovels, so if they return all we have to do is zip out back.”
“Why do I let you talk me into these things?” Susan said, carrying the mums.
“Because you know there is something. I’m right. We just have to figure it out.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
They put the lilac and the mums under the shade of a large old poplar, then scurried back inside.
The governor’s library office smelled like his cologne with a dash of bourbon. The two cats and two dogs followed them into the office. Wendell had gone with Penny and Millicent.
Harry took charge at the desk. “You cruise the side drawers, I’ll pull out the large center drawer.”
Susan pulled out a double drawer, two front handles, but it was one big drawer inside. Down on her knees, she sifted through hanging file folders.
Harry lifted out a blueprint for a new potting shed. Underneath that were car and truck titles.
“He had a truck title going back to 1952!” Harry exclaimed.
“Was it a Ford?”
“Was.”
“That was the truck my mother wrecked when she got her driver’s license.” Susan smiled. “He said it was the best truck he ever owned.”
Moving to the other side of the desk, Susan opened the top drawer. “Envelopes, stationery, and what’s this?”
Harry took the copper bracelet. “Remember about ten years ago when people wore copper bracelets? Supposed to help the metal balance in your body.”
“That’s ridiculous. And I never saw G-Pop wear this.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t put it on when no one was around. Keep going.”
“Pushy,” Susan grumbled. “I hate it when you’re pushy.”
“I do, too,” Pewter commiserated.
Pulling open the bottom drawer, Susan carefully pulled out a huge, ancient family Bible. “Wonder why he took this off the shelf and put it in here?”
“Maybe to protect it from dust. It’s a little raggedy and very valuable.”
Susan opened it to the first page, neatly folded white papers were lodged there. “Hmm.” She began reading the papers. “Diagrams. Look.”
Harry replaced the contents of the long, narrow drawer and shut it while Susan placed the Bible in front of Harry with the diagrams.
“G-Pop’s mother, pneumonia. G-Pop’s father, fatigue, weakness, sudden collapse.” Susan read off the first diagram on large paper.
“He’s made a diagram of cause of death.” Harry pointed to the prior generation, G-Pop’s grandparents. “His grandfather was born in 1862 and died in 1930. Cause of death unknown. Suspected heart attack. Grandmother, breast cancer.” She looked above to reread the cause of his mother’s death. “Pneumonia.”
“People have always known what a heart attack is.” Susan was also fascinated by this diagram.
“A wide umbrella, you can shove a lot of stuff under it. In the end, everyone’s heart gives out. And people knew what cancer was, but I don’t know as they realized how many cancers existed. Breast cancer becomes obvious, as do any cancers producing large tumors. Wonder why he did this and how he researched the results.”
“Easy.” Susan flipped a few front pages in the large Bible, one on the right labeled “Deaths.” While not as artistic as an illuminated manuscript, the old Bible’s pages were impressive, as was the handwriting of successive generations marking Holloway comings and goings. Having a beautiful handwriting carried weight then. It bespoke years of practice starting when one was about six, and it bespoke education and respect. You had to be able to read and write to execute letters in such a high fashion.
“You’re right.” Harry noted the brief description of each passing just as she noted the birth weight of each baby, as well as how many did not live to maturity. “We take survival for granted. Look at the notes by these babies. ‘Weakened. Died in her sleep.’ Or this one, ‘Wasting disease, such pain. Age thirteen.’ Sad. How did parents go on? Seems like everyone, including your grandfather’s grandparents, lost one or two children.” Harry read again. “ ‘Cecil Holloway, born 1860, died 1863. Could take no nourishment.’ Your poor great-grandmother. Imagine watching a child starve and no one knows why.”