“Everybody's fawned very nicely," Jane said with a smile. "And I'm finding it very interesting. Besides, it gets me out of the house and away from my children for a while. By August, that's a real perk."
“Oh, yes. Summer vacation." Babs had brought along a cup of coffee and sat down to put a packet of powdered dairy mix into it. "I remember when Daisy was raising Caspar and Georgia. By the end of vacation, she was exhausted."
“Daisy Snellen, you mean? She raised—?" Jane was confused.
“Not officially, of course, but her brother was — not to speak ill of the dead — but he was a bum. His wife left him and the kids and he pretty much dumped them on poor Daisy. I helped her out as much as I could, but I'm not one of those women with a maternal pilot light that makes me automatically love children. Even very nice children. And Caspar and Georgia weren't ever especially nice children. You've probably met them and could have guessed that.”
She was stirring in the dairy mix and looking at the result with disgust. Jane was again struck by how well Babs seemed to "fit" her age. Her thick white hair was in a Gibson Girl type of loose knot on top of her head today. She wore crisply tailored white slacks, an obviously expensive light blue safari-style blouse, and a gorgeous fuchsia, navy, and white silk scarf tied as a belt. She looked both stylish and comfortable, as if it came naturally.
“I've only seen Caspar Snellen once — no, twice, including this morning — and the first time he was very rude."
“Oh, he's his father all over again. But how his father got to be that way is a mystery to me. Old Auguste Snellen was about the kindest, most courteous old gentleman I ever met and his wife was a sweet little dumpling of a woman. And Daisy's parents were lovely people, too, but they died very young. Her brother, who was the father of Caspar and Georgia, was only a teenager when Auguste died, and Daisy was about twenty. Auguste left his fortune to Daisy, supposedly because his grandson was so young. But I think old Auguste had already seen the writing on the wall and knew the boy was going to turn out badly."
“You knew Auguste Snellen? I thought he was born way back in the 1850s."
“Yes, he was. But he lived to be eighty years old. He died in 1935, I think. I was only fifteen then, but I thought he was a dear old man. Sharlene feels the same about him, and all she's ever known is his picture. Daisy always said that as a grandfather, employer, and friend, he was lovely, but as a businessman, he was tough, independent, and rather secretive. He did all his own bookkeeping because he didn't want an accountant to know his business." She paused, then asked, "What did you mean about seeing Caspar this morning?”
Shelley slipped quietly into the room and smiled at Babs as she laid a fresh set of forms on the stack Jane was working from.
“I was taking a little tour of the museum before Shelley arrived. I saw him standing in the doorway of that big room just to the left of the entry."
“What was he doing?"
“Looking around for someone or something. He ignored me," Jane said.
“Best way to handle him. I never liked the way he's always hanging around here like it's a boarding house. And I like it less now."
“Why now?”
Babs cocked an expressive white eyebrow. "Why do you suppose, dear? Because in all likelihood, he killed Regina.”
There was none of Lisa's lost-in-grief-and don't-know-what-I'm-saying tone to this re‑ mark. Babs was simply saying what she thought, as she was apparently used to doing.
“Oh, my dears! Don't look so horrified," Babs said. "I don't mean he necessarily murdered her — not on purpose. Caspar is a bully and a threatener. I can well imagine him stealing that gun and thinking what power it might give him, however temporary, to wave it around at Regina, or maybe even shoot it at her, meaning to frighten the daylights out of her, but miss. And then, when he stupidly hit her by mistake—"
“Have you told the police this?" Jane asked.
“Of course I have. Can't let the fool get away with it. He's done enough damage in his life without being allowed free rein to do more. When I think of how he broke poor Daisy's heart—"
“What did he do to her?" Shelley asked.
“Oh, a hundred vicious, petty things, but two years before her death, he did the worst. He and Georgia got themselves into some kind of crooked investment scheme that blew up in their faces. They had to pay up or face going to jail. And, of course, they couldn't pay off without going to Daisy for the money. She was thoroughly disgusted with both of them by then. Naturally she wouldn't let Snellens go to jail and besmirch the family name, but she really put them through hoops before she wrote out the checks. Shortly after that, in retaliation, Caspar managed to insinuate one of his disreputable friends into her house — a young woman who acted as secretary and nurse, but was really spying on Daisy. After a few months of accumulating information and making up stories, Caspar tried to have Daisy declared incompetent."
“But he didn't succeed." Jane had never even met Daisy Snellen, but was appalled nevertheless.
“Of course not. Jumper, who was already working for Daisy, really did a number on him. Let him get clear into a court hearing and showed Caspar up as a greedy fool. Not that it was hard. Caspar's so stupid, really. I'm trying to remember some of the things. .”
She frowned into the now scummy, cold coffee cup and suddenly grinned. "Oh, yes. My favorite! Caspar's stooge took a photo of Daisy with her hair tied up in rags. Now, I'll admit a woman who curls her hair that old-fashioned way looks pretty crazy — like those medieval monarchs who went mad and stuck straws in their hair. Wild bits sticking out every which way, you know. But when Caspar's sleazy attorney produced this picture with a flourish, Jumper calmly supplied a copy of a ladies' magazine from the 1920s that Regina had found that illustrated how to tie up your hair in rags. And, by sheer good luck, the judge said he remembered his own grandmother looking like that every Saturday night so she'd have curly hair for church on Sunday.”
Babs laughed like a schoolgirl for a second, then turned serious again. "Daisy treasured the memory of that moment, but was humiliated by the whole experience. Humiliated and deeply hurt."
“She must have been," Jane said. "How awful for her. Where was Georgia during all this incompetency thing?"
“Hiding. Trying to pretend she knew nothing about it so she could ally herself with whoever won. That evening, after the judge had thrown Caspar out of court and given him a verbal drubbing, Georgia turned up with flowers and candy to congratulate Daisy — as if Daisy really were too dotty to notice what Georgia was about. Her behavior really made Daisy even more angry.”
Babs got up and poured the coffee into the little sink in a corner of the room, rinsed out the cup, and tossed it in the trash. "After that," she said as she came back to the table, "Daisy changed her will. Originally she'd left a third to the museum and a third each to Caspar and Georgia. She altered it to give each of them a million dollars, which she felt was generous enough to satisfy her obligation to the Snellen name, and the rest to the museum. She said, and I believe she was quite right, that they were going to come to bad ends anyway, and the more money they had, the sooner it would happen. So Caspar — who's never been able to admit that he was at fault for anything — decided that Regina had 'conned' Daisy into rewriting the will. He's spent the last two years getting one ambulance chaser after another to contest the will. I imagine he's already gone through all the money he did receive and—”
The door opened rather suddenly and a biker strode into the room.
Shelley and Jane drew back in alarm. The man had on a tie-dyed T-shirt under a black leather jacket festooned with chains. He wore a bandanna with a flame design low on his forehead. Reflecting sunglasses, black leather pants, and thigh-high boots almost completed his look.