Death Waits for Some Men

Chapter I: In Which a Decision is Made

Heredis fletus sub persona risus est. (The tears of an heir are laughter beneath a mask.) -- Publilius Syrus

It was Mr. Ross's funeral that gave Ruth the idea.

Mr. Ross had been old, curmudgeonly, and very rich. His children were more relieved than upset by his death. They watched the coffin descend into the earth with suitably mournful expressions. Then they turned away from the grave and became downright cheerful. Slapping each other on the back, enthusiastically shaking the guests' hands, and inviting everyone back to the church hall for a meal.

Ruth looked at them, then at the grave, then — very thoughtfully — at her father.

Mr. Ross had done his family a good turn by dying. His first child would inherit the accountant's firm and his other children would divide the money between them. Ruth's father would soon be made a partner in the accountant's firm. Mr. Ross had been eighty, in poor health, and a widower. Ruth's father was fifty-three, in revoltingly good health, and was a widower until he went and lost his head over a thirty-year-old artist. Or "artist", as Ruth always thought of her stepmother, because the wretched woman took delight in producing the most appalling crimes ever committed against art.

There were five Ross children. Ruth had only one sister, Nancy, who was currently hiding behind a headstone. Not because she was insane — though Ruth believed she was — but because she was sketching a bird and didn't want to scare it off.

When Ruth's father was made a partner and the firm became Ross and Fitzpatrick, he would make considerably more money. But when he died most of it would go to Ruth's stepmother. He had no children with her yet — they'd cut short their honeymoon to attend the funeral — but when he did, the money would be split up even more. Ruth would get very little. And Ruth very much wanted a lot of money.

If only Louise would drop dead five minutes after Dad, she thought gloomily. Louise was her stepmother. No power in heaven or earth would make her call her "Mum".

The guests were starting to disperse towards their cars. Ruth went over and rapped her knuckles on Nancy's head.

"Owww! What'd you do that for?" Nancy whined, dropping her sketchbook and snatching it up again.

"We're leaving," Ruth said.

As she and Nancy traipsed towards their father's car, another thought struck her. If this was a thriller novel I could kill both of them and inherit all the money.

She stopped in her tracks. Nancy walked into her back.

"What'd you stop for?" Nancy complained.

"Nothing," Ruth said mechanically. "I was just thinking."

~~~~

She continued to think all that evening. She thought about it on and off for the rest of the week. She thought about it when Dad and Louise left for the rest of their honeymoon. And she thought about it when they came back.

The Fitzpatrick home was not what anyone would call happy. In the first place there was Stephen Fitzpatrick, who had yet to realise that his daughters were adults and might want to have lives of their own. Like getting jobs and moving out, or even going to university. Then there was Nancy, who was now twenty-five and had given up on ever being able to leave home. Ruth herself was twenty and hadn't completely given up hope. Her father's continued good health was the only thing standing between her and inheriting a fortune — not to mention her freedom.

Then there was Louise. Louise with her dyed magenta hair and her paint-splashed overalls, who believed whole-heartedly in her own genius. According to her, a genius was someone who despised beautiful things like sunsets and flowers and instead painted empty beer bottles and unmade beds. Louise who would inherit almost everything in the event of Stephen's untimely death. Louise who was only five years older than Nancy yet treated both of her stepdaughters like toddlers.