Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) (11 page)

“We know Jane!” said the gray-haired one, laughing at the outstretched hand and grabbing her in a bear hug.

“Yeah, Carl talked about you and your brother, Michael, all the time. He spent a hundred bucks on that stuffed dog when you had your baby boy. Oh yeah, you’re part of the family, Jane,” said Mel, who, Jane saw, looked just like his brother except for the shoe polish black hair. Their voices were identical, too, and Jane realized, looking back and forth at their faces, they were twins. Mel, apparently, was the vain one, refusing to accept the gray hair his brother wore proudly. Or maybe they just wanted people to be able to tell them apart.

“We just missed you at the hospital,” said Wally. “We were bringing you this,” he said, holding up a fat manila envelope. Jane could read upside down, all those years of sitting in meetings with the account executives, trying to read their notes and agendas, telling time upside down by the Rolexes flashed across the table, had made her
ambi-optical,
as she called it. The return address on the envelope was that of a law firm, Beasley and Beasley in downtown Kankakee.

“It’s Carl’s will,” said Mel.

Silence. Jane could hear the whoosh of the fan in the big cooler starting up and then a few fat drips of water splash into the rinse tanks.

“What the hell are we supposed to do with it?” said Nellie, but her bark definitely had no bite.

Wally and Mel sat down at the bar and accepted cups of coffee from Nellie, although Mel looked into the cup like he would prefer to refresh his hair color with it rather than consume the stuff. Wally then proceeded to do most of the talking, explaining that Carl hadn’t been well for some time. He knew his blood pressure was too high and his heart was weak, but he had told the brothers that he wanted to keep working and die behind the bar.

“He was a professional,” said Mel. “They don’t make them like Carl anymore.”

“They sure as hell don’t,” said Nellie.

Jane was prepared to give her mother a withering look, but she saw that her mother was dead serious—as respectful as she had ever seen her.

“He was a good saloon man, that’s for sure,” said Don.

Nods all around.

“Want to know what’s in his will?” asked Mel.

Silence. The whoosh stopped, followed by a clunk as the fan in the big cooler turned off. Two more drops splashed into the rinse tank.

“Hell no,” said Don. “First of all, Carl’s not dead. Second of all, you got no business going through Carl’s things or taking that envelope out of his apartment. Being his landlord doesn’t give you the right to—”

“Hold on, Don,” said Wally. “We didn’t snoop. Carl gave us this and said if anything happened, we were supposed to bring it to you right away. We figured we’d get to give it to you at the hospital, but the doc said you were gone and if it had anything about last wishes, we should find you right away so you could open it. It’s addressed to you and Nellie.”

Nellie had gone into the kitchen and brought out a fresh cherry pie. Jane was amazed.
Where did she keep them? Was there a magic pie closet back there?
Nellie slid plates in front of Wally and Mel, gave them forks and napkins, and lifted out enormous slices of pie. “Makes the coffee taste better,” she said. Then she almost smiled, gave Mel a pat on the shoulder. “You did the right thing bringing that here if that’s what Carl wanted. Don and I are just all done in, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Pepper,” said Don, looking at Mel, who nodded.

Jane watched her dad take the envelope and open it carefully, affording it the respect of an official document of some kind. There was, indeed, a copy of a will in the sheaf of papers, but there were other signed papers as well.

Don motioned for Jane to look at the pages with him and she stepped to his right so she could see the contents of the envelope. The first paper was a living will, specifying that no heroic measures be taken. After the living will, the pages were all stamped
COPY
and there was a note saying the originals were all on file in the lawyer’s office. The second page was a letter that must have been dictated by Carl to the lawyer since it was signed and witnessed at Beasley’s office. In short, Carl named Don the executor of his estate. He specified that everything was to be left to Don and Nellie. He left bank account numbers and specific information and included a safety deposit box key. And in an explanatory postscriptlike note, in Carl’s boxy printlike handwriting, he mentioned Jane and Michael. Don pointed it out and Jane read aloud:

Although I am leaving everything to Don and Nellie, the two people in the world most like family to me, who have always treated me honestly and fairly and who have always helped me when I was down, I would also like their children, Jane and Michael, to share in my worldly goods. Therefore, I authorize Jane Wheel to inventory all of my property and after she and Don and Nellie and Michael take anything they want, they can sell the rest or give it away, whatever they think is best. If any money is raised from the sale, it should go to Jane’s son and Michael’s boy and girl. I like to think they are like my own children and grandchildren and I would like them to have something from me. If Jane thinks it’s okay, her son Nick can have my car if he’s now old enough to drive. And now that I must be dead, I’d just like to say, Nellie, you were the only sensible woman I ever knew and Don, you were the most honest man I ever knew, so you deserved to have Nellie. I was proud you were my boss and my friends.

“I’ll be goddamned,” said Don softly. “This was dated two months ago. Carl knew he was dying.”

Nellie had been standing, listening with her arms folded. She scratched her cheek, snaking her finger up to wipe her eye, then cleared her throat.

“Damn fool could have told us. He didn’t have to come in every night.”

Mel, or
Pepper,
as Don had called him, patted Nellie on the shoulder. She winced but didn’t move away. Wally took a bite of cherry pie, then wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Carl was afraid he’d get the saloon keeper’s disease. All the smoke and drinking … you know … he was afraid of lung cancer. He told me when he gave me all these papers that he was glad that when he went it was going to be quick and a surprise, That’s what he said. He had a lot of ailments, Carl did, and he said he was surprised that something he didn’t know anything about would probably kill him,” said Wally, stopping for another bite of pie.

“Why wasn’t he taking blood pressure medication or…?” asked Jane.

Wally and Mel both shook their heads. Jane was struck by how their movements were as much in synch as their appearances. If only Mel didn’t have that black hair and Wally that salt-and-pepper gray … Then Jane got it. Salt and Pepper. Nicknames. Her dad’s mnemonic of choice. Mel dyed his hair, Wally didn’t. Salt and Pepper. That’s how people kept them straight.

Mel explained that Carl had said he had heart problems and nobody could regulate his blood pressure. He had tried some medication, but nothing was working. The twins finished their pie, shook hands with Don, and dropped the keys to Carl’s apartment in Nellie’s hand.

“We haven’t been up there in years, but Carl was neat as a pin. Probably isn’t much stuff up there. Whatever it was, he was anxious for you all to have it. You’ll have to talk to the lawyer about the bank accounts and such, but no reason you can’t come by the apartment whenever you want,” said Wally.

The twins left by the back door and Jane watched them walk in tandem to their car. Don sighed heavily and picked up the living will.

“I’ve got to get this over to the hospital.”

“I’ll drive it over,” offered Jane. “It’s on my way to the factory where I’m meeting Lucky. And Tim. He has a job for me, too,” said Jane.

“We do, too, honey,” said Don. “If you’re going to be around a while, maybe you could help us out a couple of hours a day? I know I always said I didn’t want you in the tavern business. It’s no place for a woman—I always said that and I still believe it.”

Nellie cleared her throat behind him. “What the hell do I look like?” said Nellie, hands on hips.

“Come on, Nellie, you know that’s different,” said Don. “You’re an exception to the rule,” he added softly, taking her hand. She let him hold it for a count of three seconds, then said, “Damn right I’m an exception.” Nellie than reclaimed her hand and touched it to the top of Don’s head. “You need a haircut.” Jane turned away, knowing that she was witnessing a moment of Don-and-Nellie-style intimacy.

“I don’t want the tavern business for you, Janie. But if you could just help us until we figure this out, I’d appreciate it. Never want you in here at night, no closing up, but maybe a few hours during the day so your mother could go home for a while or I could catch a nap in the back room. That’s all. A few weeks.”

“Whatever you need,” said Jane. “You seem to have caught me at a good time.”

9

Jane delivered the copy of Carl’s living will to the nursing station at the ICU. A young nurse assured Jane that she would put it into the right hands. Jane, as instructed several times by both her parents, reminded the floor secretary that Don and Nellie wanted to be called when there was any change in Carl’s condition, then she peeked in the door to his room. Always thin, Carl now looked skeletal, like he barely took up half of the narrow bed.

“Nicky loved the dog, Carl. It was worth every penny,” Jane whispered.

Pushing through the double doors that isolated the ICU, on her way to the elevator, Jane walked down a corridor with patient rooms on either side. She could hear the hospital version of Muzak playing in stereo. The droning television programs, creaking of wheeled carts, whispered conversations, soft weeping, snoring … then an unexpected new note in the soundtrack.

“Doesn’t anybody care that somebody tried to kill me?”

Jane stopped short, just before the doorway to the room. Who wouldn’t want to hear the answer to that question? Or at least get a glimpse of the questioner? Jane could see into the half of the room where a lightweight navy windbreaker was thrown onto the visitor’s chair. On top of the jacket was a baseball cap. Jane recognized the four-leaf clover logo of Lucky’s production company.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t sign on for this. No one told me that crazy bastard would get me killed!”

Jane heard the phone slam onto its cradle. Ah, the sweet satisfaction of a landline! She poked her head into the door and saw the man from the Steak and Brew who had suffered the allergy attack.

“Hi,” said Jane.

“Who the hell are you?”

Jane introduced herself. She fully intended to tell him that she had been at the Steak and Brew and just wanted to tell him she was pleased to see that he had recovered without the intervention of the television-trained Nellie, but best intentions veered off course as soon as Jane had a chance to digest the fact that Lucky’s crew member was claiming someone had tried to kill him.

“I’ve just agreed to fill in as a temporary assistant for Lucky, so I thought I might just pop my head in and make sure you were being well taken care of,” said Jane, with her best executive assistant smile.

“Lucky sent you? I’d say it’s the least that bastard could do. I took this driving job in this God-forsaken location because I was promised a little something extra from Lucky. I didn’t realize I’d have to die to collect it.”

A quick look at the name card to the left of the door should have helped Jane slide smoothly into the conversation, without confirming or denying that she had been sent by anyone, but she couldn’t say the name without a follow up.

“Slug? I mean, Slug. They agreed to put your nickname on the door? Slug Mettleman?”

“Not exactly a nickname. Full name is Sluggo,” said the patient, who Jane could now see was fully dressed and lying on top of the tangled sheets and blankets. She noted the discharge papers on the bedside table. Someone would be coming to pick him up, so Jane had to work fast in case Lucky really did send someone to the hospital and Jane would be revealed as little more than a curious bystander.

“Yeah, my mom was a fan of the ‘Nancy’ comic strip and she thought Sluggo had a nice ironic sound to it, me being such a tiny little preemie and all. Said she thought if I ended up being a little guy, my name would make me sound tough and no one would pick on me.”

“How’d that work for you?” asked Jane.

“Well, for a little guy with a peanut allergy, I did all right. My dad decided I needed to take karate to go with the stupid name, so I held my own with the twerps who thought it would be funny to slip a peanut butter cookie into my stack of homemade oatmeal raisins.” Slug smiled at the memory. “And hell, I’m a teamster, so what do you think, honey?”

Did everyone in Lucky’s entourage call women “honey”?

“I think you’ve made a great recovery and you’ll be back to work in no time,” Jane said in what she hoped was efficient and businesslike Lucky production speak.

“Yeah, I’m just peachy. But you tell that bastard that the next time I, or one of my pals, reach for my EpiPen and find the case has been tampered with, we’re going to have a little heart-to-heart.”

“Why would you think Lucky is responsible?” Jane knew Detective Oh would advise her to just smile and nod and to let Sluggo keep threatening and showing his hand, but Jane Wheel, curious bystander, merged with Jane Wheel, girl detective, and a million questions popped into her head.

Sluggo pointed to the case. On the nightstand next to it sat a tiny laminated three-leaf clover.

“Who the hell would put that in there? And it’s not even a lucky four-leaf clover, so what the hell does that tell you?

“Brenda didn’t get a chance to fill you in on all your duties, did she? Let’s just put it this way, I might have been able to tell Lucky and Brenda what it’s like to have a full-blown attack, but perhaps I didn’t convey how goddamned scary it is to not be able to breathe. Perhaps I’ll give him a more detailed explanation by putting my thumb on his windpipe if he ever goes near my stuff again. And that goes for his pretty new assistant, too. Got it?” Jane nodded. “Besides,” he added, “Lucky’s responsible for everything, right? It’s his shindig, yeah?”