End Quote

by Daniel Marshall Wood

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Henry Mason closes the will with this quote: ‘Always look behind. The past holds treasure.’ ”

“Disappointed?” Roger Coplin asked as they left the lawyer’s office in downtown Dallas and headed to a bistro across Harwood Street for a drink.

“Not really.” Elizabeth Mason Largent touched his hand. “Surprised, yes, but it was father’s choice to leave the house to my brother. Everything else was taken by medical expenses or lost in the stock market years ago.”

Libby’s halfhearted smile failed to convince Roger. “I know you would have liked to have had the family home.”

“That would have been nice, of course,” Libby said, “but father must have had his reasons.” The waitress hovered. “Vodka martini with a twist of lime.”

“Gin and tonic for me. Your brother was all but gloating over his take.”

“Pete was indeed gloating. I might’ve, too, given the same circumstances.” Libby sat back on the leather banquette. “What little there was in the estate went to the wayward son in a world still favoring men.” She sipped. The drink wasn’t as bitter as her current mood.

“The mirror your father left you. What’s with that?” Roger turned toward her.

“He knew I loved it, ever since I was a little girl.” Libby smiled. “I’d hide on the stairs during parties and see everything in the mirror. I twirled in it before dances and could hardly believe that was me as a bride. The memories are still delicious.”

“Surely your father could have given you more,” Roger said, holding his hands far apart. “A house and a mirror – not even close.”

“I’m happy that father even remembered the mirror. During the past few years he wasn’t always lucid.” Libby kissed Roger. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for caring – and for coming with me.”

“I wanted to be with you, even though I hadn’t met your father in our year together,” Roger said. “What was that quote in the will?”

Libby pulled the one-page document from a mahogany leather handbag. “ ‘Always look behind. The past holds treasure.’ That’s sweet.”

“I’m not familiar with the quote,” said Roger. “We can Google it.”

“Or embroider it on a pillow. It must have been one of his favorites,” Libby said.

“Father loved to read. His library was chock-a-block with biographies and thrillers. The more twists and turns, the better.”

“What’s the story behind your estranged brother?”

“A real charmer, no?” Libby laughed. “Pete could do no wrong in mother’s eyes. Dad wanted to pack him off to military school, but mother wouldn’t hear of it. Pete floundered through college. Went into a brokerage house with some buddies and eventually burned through everything father and many others invested. After that, I’m not sure. Probably charmed a series of rich women into taking care of him while he went through their money, too. I hadn’t seen Pete in over five years.”

“What do you think he’ll do with the house?”

“Sell it, no doubt. It’s worth quite a bit, on the edge of the Swiss Avenue historic district. Developers have been after it for years, wanting to replace it with a Junior League Georgian.” Libby shuddered at the thought of a builder’s overblown pastiche replacing the stately Spanish colonial.

“Would you live in it, had the house been left to you?”

“Yes – yes I would. I think we could have been happy there, entertaining and doing our part for preservation. But now it belongs to Pete.” Libby sighed and signaled the waitress.

A week later the lawyer phoned with surprising news.

“It’s about the house,” Libby told Roger after finishing the call.

“Good news?”

“Good and bad. Which do you want?”

“Either one is fine. Just tell me something.”

“Well, it turns out that the house had a reverse mortgage on it.” Libby said.

“So?”

“So Pete doesn’t own it. The bank does.”

“Your turn to gloat,” said Roger.

“I won’t come down to his level,” Libby said. “But this means Pete will have to come up with at least half a million dollars to buy back the house. I know he doesn’t have that kind of money. He’s threatening to sue, but the lawyer said it’s all legal.”

“And the bad news?”

“Well, the family has first right of refusal, so there’s a month before the house is placed on the market. But I don’t have enough, even if I sell my house.”

“To put it tritely, where there’s a will there’s a way.” Roger caressed Libby’s shoulder. “Maybe there’s some means of creative financing – a bridge loan, perhaps. We’ll look into it, if it would make you happy.”

That night, Roger’s sleep was shattered by the sound of glass breaking downstairs. Libby’s side of the bed was empty. Instinctively, he grabbed a pistol to defend his lady.

“Roger, put that down. It’s okay.” Libby stood amid a sea of broken glass.

“What happened?” Roger reached for her.

“The glass candlesticks fell when I took the mirror off the wall,” Libby said. “I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of father, the house, the mirror, that quote in the will.”

“And . . .?”

“There has to be more than just the mirror. It’s apparent father really didn’t want Pete to have the house, what with the reverse mortgage. He was just making a statement.”

“And a definitive one. Sounds like revenge to me,” said Roger.

“Payback for all the heartache Pete ladled on our family.”

“And how does a broken mirror fit into all this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Libby struggled with the heavy gilt framed mirror. “Always look behind,” she murmured, tearing at brown paper covering the back.

A small glassine envelope had been tucked between layers of cardboard. Libby carefully retrieved it.

“What’s in it?” Roger asked.

“Two old stamps. United States . Airmail. Triangular.”

“They must be valuable for your father to have hidden them there. That’s why he wanted you to have the mirror. You figured out his clue in the quote.”

“Yes. ‘Always look behind. The past holds treasure.’ ”

“Your father loved you very much,” Roger said. “He showed it through his will. He taunted Pete, giving him something supposedly worth a lot. With you, it was just the opposite – a seemingly sentimental mirror, actually of great value.”

“Now I’ll be able to buy the house – for both of us.” Lucinda kissed Roger.

“Your old man wasn’t out of his mind. He made his life’s closing statement in only a few sentences of the will.”

“With several unexpected plot twists,” Libby added. “Let’s have a drink to celebrate.”

They toasted in the midst of glass shards. “To Henry Peterman Mason,” Roger shouted.

“And to no more twists, except lemon or lime.”

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