It had to be You

room, came out the door, pirouetted around awkwardly, and went back in. Howard was hard-pressed not to laugh. He knew the man was warning the others that the Law was standing at the counter.
    He’d been alarmed when he learned of them. But he soon discovered through the town grapevine that they were virtually harmless. Most of them were middle-aged farmers who talked mostly about crops instead of political theories. In fact, it was said that they were still arguing from time to time about who would be the leader of the cell.
    He took his sandwich to his office in the jail and ate it with a glass of cold water and a few stale crackers he found in a desk drawer. Then he called Chief Simpson in Beacon. There were three operators at the Voorburg telephone exchange. Two always listened in. One didn’t. He’d learned to recognize their voices, and now said, “This will be a private call. Don’t listen.”
    In an offended voice, the operator said, “I’ll connect you.”
    Ed Simpson answered the phone. He must have been sitting right next to it. “Nice to hear from you, Chief Walker.”
    Walker said, “I’m calling to ask what you know about the Connor family.“
    “Sean and his wife have been feuding with each other and most of their neighbors for years. Not a happy family.”
    He went on to explain what they’d done to each other, and it matched fairly well with what Miss Smith had said. There had been a forgery of a deed. Stefan, the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Connor, had broken off all communication with his parents. The son had two sons of his own. Apparently Mr. and Mrs. Connor had always been at daggers drawn with each other. Aidan, the older of their two grandsons, had gone to New York City to do some sort of construction work a couple months ago on one of those big buildings that were going up everywhere in the city.
    “What about the younger son?“ Walker asked.
    “Word leaks back that he’s got some sort of bus and goes from town to town selling drugstore stuff like shaving cream. Of course, in light of the family feud, he’s never visited his grandparents as far as anyone knows.“
    “Thanks, Ed. This corroborates what I’ve heard from a gossiping lady I wasn’t sure I could trust.
    You haven’t happened to hear where the second grandson is now?“
    “I’m sorry. I have no idea. You could call the city halls in smaller towns hereabout.“
    “I’d thought of that, but my budget doesn’t allow that many calls. Thanks again.”

    A little after lunchtime, Mrs. Connor paid an unexpected visit to the nursing home, railing at Miss Twibell for holding up Mr. Connor’s funeral.
    “You sent him to that funeral home,“ she said angrily. “Now they won’t let me bury him.”
    Miss Twibell wasn’t of a mind to be especially pleasant today to a woman berating her without cause. She had other things on her mind.
    The progress of the dumbwaiter was one of those things. She was waiting anxiously for the Harbinger boys to get back with the necessary tools and hardware to install it. And she was fretting, about whether the bank would be open so they could cash her check. She knew the Harbingers had said they couldn’t start until Sunday, but she held out hope they’d come back later that afternoon. She wanted the dumbwaiter, but hated the disruption its installation was causing. Nobody could find anything.
    Moreover, she had to constantly herd Mattie back to bed. The girl kept disappearing, claiming she’d just slipped into the bathroom for a bit, or wanted to see what Mr. Farleigh was doing outside.
    Miss Twibell didn’t bother to explain her abruptness. “Mrs. Connor, there is simply nothing I can do about the body being held. You need to sort this out with your attorney.“
    “He’s not ‘my’ attorney,“ Mrs. Connor snapped. “He’s my husband’s. And what’s more, he’s not in town. He and his wife have gone to California to be there for the birth of their first grandchild.“
    “Why can’t his secretary phone him and let him know about your problem?“
    “She’s scared of running the phone bill up. And claims—I know she’s lying about this—that she doesn’t even know what city they’re in. This is idiocy. I want him buried in my family’s graveyard on our land. He’s dead. He no longer has the right to make a decision. And the funeral home also claims they don’t even have a valid death certificate yet.“
    “Are you sure they said that?“ Miss Twibell