Kaleidoscope by Dorothy Gilman Page B

Children. Does this surprise you?”
    Pruden didn’t answer that but said, “Just how would that change in his will break down, moneywise?”
    â€œFifteen million to his wife, fifteen million to the home, which had become much more than a hobby for him. He seemed truly committed to helping them. Gave me the impression that he felt it was very creative and meaningful for him; the home was sadly underfunded and its buildings run-down. He spoke of the need for more hearing aids, a teacher to teach sign language, he wanted to see the playground expanded, more wheelchairs added, and he wanted the money placed in a fund to be drawn on year by year.”
    â€œAnd did his wife agree to this?” asked Pruden. “He’d talked about it with her?”
    Harbinger’s eyes narrowed. “I had the impression that he’d tried to talk about it with her, but she was— or so I gathered—quite upset about it, and this troubled him. I think it troubled him very much. She knew, of course, of the appointment he’d made for them both this Friday and she had assumed the changes to be minor; she’d had no idea that he’d suddenly decided on such a drastic change.” He paused, and then, “This interests you?”
    â€œVery much,” said Pruden. “You know it does. But he never changed the will, then; he deferred to his wife’s anger?”
    â€œWhich is why you’re here, of course,” said Harbinger. “But if it’s a matter of justice . . . Actually when he came to see me that day, without his wife, he changed his will, and that will is now in my safe-deposit box. He also wanted to keep tomorrow’s appointment on my calendar, from which I deduced that he’d not told his wife what he’d done, but preferred to tell her of the change—to avoid a scene, perhaps— when they arrived here on Friday. He said it meant a great deal to him to use the money he’d made as he chose, and for something
useful
.”
    â€œHe didn’t like scenes,” murmured Swope.
    â€œNo man does.”
    â€œAnd now he’s dead,” said Pruden. “Did you entertain no . . . shall we say, no
suspicions
?”
    â€œUnder different circumstances, yes,” said Harbinger. “One would have to admit that his death arrived at a most convenient time for Joanna, but there was so much evidence, and every indication . . . that angry child leaving her fingerprints all over the apartment and fleeing, and surely you have no evidence otherwise?” He frowned. “I’ve been frank with you, at the risk of my integrity; now it’s time you level with me.
Have
you evidence to suggest otherwise?”
    â€œYes and no,” Pruden told him with a frown. “That is to say, any evidence we have would never stand up in court.”
    Harbinger’s eyes probed them both. “Provocative but inconclusive. Do you mind telling me what
you
think might have happened?”
    Pruden exchanged doubtful glances with Swope, but Harbinger, without waiting for a reply, turned to his intercom. “Miss Dotson,” he said, “no calls for the next forty minutes, if you please. I am in conference.”
    The next morning Pruden and Swope were told that Mrs. Epworth could at last be interviewed. For days their approach had met with rebuffs from her doctor, but now, although she was grief-stricken, the doctor said she was no longer under sedation and could describe for them the harrowing events of the week before, and answer any questions they had about the child Jenny. She was, however, very fragile still.
    Pruden said smoothly, “Of course. So far we have only the police report given on the night of the murder. If she could fill in some details we’d appreciate it. What hour would be convenient?”
    It was agreed that at two o’clock that afternoon they could meet with her at her apartment, and Pruden at once put in a call to