Death in Brunswick Read Online Free PDF Page A

on her narrow shoulder, her thin blonde face docile and wasted.
    Although Carl knew that the old lawyer had been a man of monstrous greed and very wealthy, his mother couldn’t have got more than a twelfth of whatever was riches in 1943. Besides, since his father had died broke when Carl was seventeen, his mother had lived a life of genteel, if discontented, poverty.
    â€˜Yes, dear,’ she went on. ‘Your grandfather didn’t trust women. He was rather old-fashioned, you know.’
    Yeah. Carl had heard stories of the disgusting old brute from his Uncle John, a raffish solicitor—the only one of his relations that he liked.
    â€˜I still don’t understand, Mother.’
    â€˜Well, Carl, the boys got their money outright, but your aunts and I were left ours in trust for our children, to leave as we wanted. I always thought it a little unfair, especially as we were so poor after your dear father died. Anyway, your sister doesn’t need any money with Clive doing so well with the factory, and he has been a little impatient with your poor old mother lately.’
    Well, well, Clive’s been impatient, has he? Carl smiled to himself—Clive, his sister’s porcine husband, owned a fertilizer factory and had made large amounts of money from the superphosphate bounty, whatever that was. Carl hadn’t spoken to him for years. Their antipathy was deep and mutual.
    â€˜Well, how much is it then? Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,’ he muttered hurriedly.
    â€˜Well, dear, the trustees say it’s much more than a hundred thousand dollars now. You see, Carl, I haven’t spent any of the interest all these years and it’s been mounting up.’
    â€˜Fuck! You’ve got to be joking.’
    â€˜Don’t swear, dear,’ she said automatically.
    Carl stared at her as she lay back smiling shyly.
    A hundred thou! His brain raced round like a slot car. What could I do with a hundred thou! I’d be free. I could have my own restaurant. I could tell other poor buggers what to do. I could…
    â€˜Are you pleased, dear?’
    â€˜Yes, of course, Mother,’ he said slowly. ‘But you’ll…I mean, you’ve got years yet.’
    â€˜That’s up to our Heavenly Father, dear. After all, I’ve had a warning. That reminds me. You will come to church with me one Sunday, won’t you, dear?’
    â€˜Yeah. Yeah. Of course, Mother. Um…Listen, I’ve got to…’
    He had to get away and think. God, how will I sleep tonight? His eye strayed over the litter of pill bottles on her bedside table. Maybe she’s got something…
    â€˜Now, Mother, if you want to go to the bathroom, I’ll straighten up your bed and that.’
    â€˜Yes, I will, dear, that’s a good boy.’
    And she got up wearily and shuffled through the door.
    Carl swiftly went through her pills—Linoxin, Digoxin, Vitamin B, Potassium. Ah! Soneryl. That’s more like it. He took three, no four, swallowing them dryly. They were bitter and hard to get down. He wasn’t quite sure what they were but he was past caring.
    While he waited for them to hit, he made the bed and tidied the room in a perfunctory way.
    He picked up a small, richly bound book. It was a missal stuffed with holy pictures. She is taking this seriously now. He was amused. His mother had always liked the idea of being a devout Catholic, but had never done much about it. Shit! Imagine going to church with her.
    His mother returned and, wheezing, got into bed.
    â€˜Now, dear, I’ll have another cup of tea and then off to sleep.’
    â€˜OK, Mother, and I’ll have a drink after that news.’
    â€˜Now, Carl,’ she said sternly, ‘What I wanted to say to you was—the only reason I’m leaving you your grandfather’s legacy is because I think you’re going to be a good boy now. You know how wild you used to be with your drinking and