Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

She stood up slowly, looking down at the drenched jodhpurs, face dismissive, fastidious. The Ice Princess was in control again but her voice was brittle.

“Ring for Felipe, please, Daddy. I’ll want another glass.”

“Go change those clothes,” her father said.

“Just when everything’s getting so interesting?” She sat down again. “Tell Tom about the new will.”

Tom’s eyebrows lifted.

Charles sighed heavily, pushed the bell at the side of the desk, then picked up the document in front of him and dropped it back onto the blotter.

“Almost identical with the old one,” he said. “Same lump sum bequests to Tom and a few others. Only difference is that the first one left the major part of his estate to Katherine — not a fortune but still a fair amount of change — and this one divides it equally among ‘any surviving issue of my son, Charles Gordon McCauley.’ Which suggests I fathered more than one child. Which I certainly did not.”

“You didn’t draw this one up?” Tom asked Alan.

“No,” Alan said. “He went to a law firm in Beverly Hills. I guess he knew what he was going to do and didn’t want to clutter up his last days with unpleasantness. The new will’s dated two days before he died, the day before the letter to Shannon Fargo. He had the law firm mail me a copy.”

“I guess he got Shannon here to make sure somebody took the new will seriously,” Tom said.

“What d’you mean, ‘seriously’?” Katherine said angrily. “You think my father’s lying? That old fool loathed his own family and wanted to stir up trouble.”

A discreet knock on the door. Felipe came in. Katherine pointed to the broken glass and ordered another wine. Felipe picked up the pieces and left without a word.

“I suspect,” Tom said reasonably, “that Mac saw Shannon and learned who she was and wanted the possibility of a second granddaughter looked into.”

“How would you go about it?” Charles asked.

“I’d rather not. I’d have to pry my way into people’s lives and privacies.”

“For Christ’s sake, Tom, you’ve got a law degree,” Charles snapped. “In a few weeks the bar results will come out and you’ll be a lawyer. A bit late to get so thin-skinned. Don’t you owe this family something?”

“What I owe is to Mac. It’s a debt beyond repaying.”

There, he’d said it — put years of throttled resentment into words. Charles’s face closed like a fist. But Alan Scherer smiled easily.

“Lighten up, you guys.” He made a friendly gesture. “I think Tom’s right — if Mac did write that letter. Let’s assume he did. Yes, he’d have wanted Shannon’s background checked. If she turns out not to be a McCauley, Mac’s wish will have been fulfilled. The change in the will will have no practical value.”

Alan looked pleased with himself. Tom sighed.

“In other words,” he said slowly, “I should do the background check as a small payment on my debt to Mac.”

Alan grinned.

Tom said, “We all know you’re a world-class negotiator.”

“Besides,” Alan continued, “I think you’d be concerned for Shannon’s feelings, and wouldn’t be hell-bent to prove something against her.”

“Remember she hasn’t claimed to be a McCauley.”

“Yet,” Charles said heavily.

The discreet knock again. Felipe came in with a glass of white wine on a tray. He put the glass down on the table beside Katherine and went away.

Charles went on, “When’s the other shoe going to drop?” Katherine sipped her wine, watching her father. “When it does, I want to be ready, so I’m not buying into the benevolent explanations I’ve been hearing. Let’s satisfy my cautious nature and learn Fargo’s true parentage, which is all we need. Can you buy into that, Tom?”

Tom shrugged. “I guess so.”

Katherine said suddenly, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe that my own father, who is perfectly capable of giving orders, should have to justify and wheedle to get someone to do something he should be eager to do. Mac’s dead, Tom. What d’you think you are, a family member?”

She sat unmoving at the end of the sofa, still but not stiff, a picture of composure. She brought her wineglass to her lips and took a small sip.

Her father said gruffly, “I think you’ve had enough of that, Katherine.”

“Oh, really?” Her mouth curved into a soft smile. “Then I really mustn’t drink any more, must I?”

Still smiling, she tilted the wineglass and slowly, almost meditatively, poured its contents into her own lap.

She set the glass down carefully on the table and stood up. She spoke clearly, the last word a sharp bright dagger.

“I’m very, very angry.”

She walked without hurry to the door and went out. Tom realized that his mouth was open and closed it. Alan Scherer had been startled out of his habitual courtroom calm and seemed embarrassed. He looked at Charles as though expecting him to make some comment. Charles didn’t. No one ever did. Which made a weird incident even weirder.

“Right,” Tom said, taking a deep breath. “Mac’s dead, so I’ll be moving out. I’ll need a day or two to find a place.”

Charles’s eyes were the color of stones in a river, his face as unyielding as a bridge abutment.