It had to be You

Connor opened the door of her husband’s room and shouted, “He’s not breathing!”
    Betty and Miss Twibell leaped up and hurried into the room, Miss Twibell closing it behind them. Even with the door shut, Lily could hear Mrs. Connor wailing and sobbing. “I really thought he’d get better and come home and go back to work.”
    Miss Twibell and Betty brought Mrs. Connor out of the room and helped her to the sofa. She was still sobbing and hiccuping. Miss Twibell pushed a bell by the door, and the cook’s assistant showed up in a moment. “We need three cups of strong tea and sugar, please. As quickly as you can,“ Miss Twibell told her.
    The girl was back in moments. Mrs. Connor’s sobbing had stopped and she was mopping her eyes and nose with an oversized handkerchief with a lace border.
    “What do I do now?“ she asked. “How can I take care of the farm all by myself any longer? The workers don’t like me. One of them walked out this morning. That’s what I wanted to talk to Sean about.“
    “Don’t worry about that now,“ Miss Twibell said. She’d been through this any number of times, comforting bereaved relatives when patients reached the end of their lives. “First, you need to make the funeral arrangements.“
    “I’ll bury him on our land, where all my family are buried,“ Mrs. Connor said. “That’s only right.“
    “You need to consult his attorney first to see if he had a will leaving instructions as to his wishes,“ Miss Twibell told her. “Would you like me to call and make you an appointment? I also need to call Dr. Polhemus to sign the death certificate.“
    “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, please.“ Mrs. Connor told her the name of the family attorney.
    Lily went to Miss Smith’s and Miss Jones’s room. She really wasn’t entitled to eavesdrop on Mrs. Connor anymore, and didn’t want to appear to be doing so.
    Miss Smith was laughing uproariously at something Robert had said. Miss Jones was smiling as she was sewing two narrow strips of knitted work together with a curved blunt needle.
    “What’s so funny?“ Lily asked. Miss Smith was laughing so hard she couldn’t explain. Robert rose from the one chair and gestured for Lily to sit in the chair, and then said to Miss Jones, “Would it be improper if I sat on the foot of your bed?“
    “Better than the floor,“ Miss Jones wheezed. “You’d get bits of yarn all over your trousers.”
    They chatted for a half hour but couldn’t help hearing a trolley roll into Mr. Connor’s room and leave a few minutes later. Lily hadn’t intended to tell the pair of old ladies that Mr. Connor was dying. But they guessed when they heard the noises. “He’s gone, then?“ Miss Jones asked.
    “I think so,“ Lily said.
    “Good riddance,“ Miss Smith said. “He was a nasty man. I have friends in Beacon and they told me years ago about him cheating his oldest son.“
    “How?“ Robert asked.
    “Connor and his son Stefan owned a rental property,“ Miss Smith explained, “or so my friend said. Connor wanted to sell it. The son didn’t. So Connor forged his son’s name on the deed and sold it anyway. And he kept all the money. His son was furious. Connor’s wife took her husband’s side and between them they drove the son and grandsons away. From the way we hear her talking to him these days, she must have changed her mind about his morals since then.”
    Robert heard a bell ring and they went to see if it was Doreen alerting him that the first load of laundry was done. It was and he went away reluctantly, muttering about elevators.
    As Lily stood around at loose ends, Betty came out of Mr. Connor’s former room, carrying a pillow and sheets. She took Miss Twibell aside and showed her something. Miss Twibell nodded and headed for the telephone in the main room.
    “Give me Chief of Police Howard Walker’s number, please,“ she said to the operator. It took a few minutes for the operator to find him. He wasn’t at the boardinghouse where his main office was. She finally located him at the jail.
    Miss Twibell said, “Chief Walker, this is Miss Twibell. Could you do me a favor? Would you call over to the funeral home in Beacon and tell them not to do anything to the body that’s on the way. We’ll need an autopsy done before they embalm him. I could have told them this, but they might consider me a silly woman making something out of nothing. I’d like a chief of police—either you or their own chief in