Ashes to Ashes
Calista Shipley posed in front of the full-length, tri-fold mirror in the middle of her immense walk-in closet, admiring the fit of the Prada sheath dress that clung to her slender frame.
I can see now why Coco Chanel put such store in the little black dress, she thought, pleased with her reflection. This one makes me look at least five pounds thinner.
The slimming properties of the dark garment notwithstanding, Calista was never one to wear black. White was her color of choice in the summer since she spent hours tanning beside the swimming pool, turning her skin a captivating shade of bronze. In the winter, she preferred blues and purples that brought out the color of her eyes and complimented her ash blond hair. However, on those occasions when she wanted to turn heads, she always wore red. One entire wall in her closet was devoted to blouses, skirts and dresses in shades of scarlet, ruby, crimson and carmine.
Her eyes went to her favorite red pants suit, but she quickly turned away.
I can't very well walk into the lawyer's office wearing scarlet. Once the will is read, however....
It took Calista another thirty-five minutes to finish dressing. Her high heels, jewelry and handbag were all selected to compliment the black dress. Only when she was properly attired and accessorized, did she call for the chauffeur to bring the car around.
"Where can I take you, Mrs. Shipley?" the grey-haired chauffeur, a retired New York City bus driver, inquired respectfully.
"The lawyer's office," she replied as she slid into the back seat of the Bentley.
Edwin James Shipley, Calista's late husband, had died earlier that week. After three days of viewing in the funeral parlor, his body was taken to a crematorium. The widow personally selected the urn—the most expensive one on display—when she made the final arrangements. Edwin would have been pleased with the choice, she felt. A combination of bronze, silver and pewter, it was very masculine in appearance, suitable to a man of his standing and financial status. Although her husband had not been on the list of the top ten wealthiest men in America, he placed a respectable thirty-fourth.
In the eighteen years they were married, Edwin was extremely generous to his younger wife. Calista had been a twenty-three-year-old model and aspiring actress when she met the middle-aged CEO of Mikel Corporation, the software development giant. Then, not long after turning sixty-three, Edwin died of a massive heart attack.
His death was no surprise to anyone. Diagnosed with coronary artery disease, he had suffered an earlier, milder heart attack at age forty-seven. Twenty-four years later, he was found dead in the living room of his Manhattan high-rise luxury apartment with his bottle of nitroglycerine pills in his hand. Calista thought it ironic that Edwin had his first heart attack while playing a fast-paced game of racquet ball and his second while seated on a reclining chair, watching the evening news.
The chauffeur pulled the car up to the entrance of the lawyer's office. Then he got out and opened Calista's door.
"This might take a while," she informed him. "Why don't you go find a parking spot? I'll beep you when I'm ready to leave."
The former bus driver nodded his head and drove to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts for a cup of coffee. He would wait there until his employer needed his services.
"Ah, Mrs. Shipley," Abraham Houseman, Edwin's attorney, said when the receptionist announced the widow's arrival. "Thank you for coming at such a sorrowful time. I'll try to make this as brief and as painless as possible."
"Don't worry about it," Calista said, dramatically dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "It's good for me to keep busy right now. It helps take my mind off poor Edwin's passing."
Houseman led the widow to a conference room where two other people were already seated at a large mahogany table. There was no need for introductions since the other faces were familiar ones to Mrs. Shipley.
"Good. That's everyone," Abraham said and, after pulling Calista's chair out, took his own seat. "If no one has any objections, we will forget about the preliminaries and get right to the heart of the matter."
The people sitting around the conference table nodded their approval.
"As the principal beneficiaries, you three are here for the reading of the will of the late Edwin James Shipley."
Calista, who would inherit the bulk of her late husband's estate, would be the last one named in the document. Uninterested in his many charitable bequests, the widow let her mind wander as the lawyer enumerated them, pondering what her life would be like without Edwin. In addition to being generous with his money, he had taken care of all her needs. In eighteen years, she never had to pay a bill, file a tax return or balance a checkbook. Furthermore, she never had to hire or fire any of the dozens of servants she relied on. There were maids to take care of the couple's eight homes, cooks to prepare all her meals, a driver to chauffeur her around, gardeners, pool boys, all-purpose handymen and even a full-time employee to see to the needs of Calista's purebred Saluki, Nefertari.
The most sensible thing for me to do is hire some sort of manager or overseer, she thought as the lawyer concluded the charitable donations and went on to bequests for the household and office staff. I suppose, given Eddy's heart condition, we should have had the what-will-I-do-when-you're-gone talk years ago, but who knew he would go so suddenly?
"And to my brother, Randall Edward Shipley," Houseman intoned, indicating the other man at the table. "I leave the sum of fifty million dollars and my house in Hawaii."
While Edwin's generosity brought tears to Randall's eyes, it made Calista angry. For as long as she'd known him, her late husband had carried his younger brother on his shoulders. Not only did Edwin give Randall a lucrative job in the company—one he certainly didn't merit by his abilities—but he also gave him a million shares of Mikel stock. And now her brother-in-law was getting what was in Calista's opinion, fifty million dollars of her money! Even though she would inherit more than five billion, fifty million was a lot!
The remaining person at the table, Miss Lillian Rickman, Edwin's sixty-two-year-old administrative assistant—his secretary, as Calista insisted on calling the woman—received twenty million and a house on Nantucket Island. This was another bequest that upset the widow, although she did an excellent job concealing her displeasure in both cases. Although Lillian had been with Edwin since he first began the company and had frequently worked without pay while he was struggling to find a foothold in the computer software market, Calista didn't see those years of service and loyalty as being worth twenty million in cash and a four-million dollar beach house, especially since Lillian had been more than adequately compensated by a substantial salary once the company became profitable.
"And, finally," Houseman read, turning his attention from the tear-stained faces of the grieving brother and employee to the tight-lipped widow, "to my wife, Calista Marie Shipley, I leave the remainder of my property, both real and personal, which includes but is not limited to my controlling shares in Mikel Corporation, my private jet, my yacht and the Upper East Side Manhattan apartment in which we lived as well as the houses in Paris, London, East Hampton, Miami and Rome."
Calista looked down at her left hand and the diamond-laden platinum wedding band she wore, a tangible symbol of a marriage that now made her one of the richest women in the world.
I could spend a million dollars a day for the rest of my life and still not go through all that I've inherited.
The forty-one-year-old widow was so dazzled by the magnitude of her inheritance that she paid no attention to what the lawyer was saying. When her eyes finally looked up from the ring, she noticed the other three people at the table were staring at her expectantly.
"Do you agree to the conditions of the will?" Abraham asked.
"Conditions? What conditions?"
"As I just mentioned, there is a codicil that amends your husband's original will."
"A codicil? I don't understand."
"Your husband came to me last year and asked that I change his will," Houseman explained, "that I attach certain conditions—well, only one actually—to the inheritance."
"What is it?" the widow asked, imagining it had something to do with her not being allowed to remarry for a specified period of time.
Well, there's certainly no fear of that happening!
Calista knew that prenuptial agreements were not always ironclad, and she had no intention of risking a second husband getting his hands on any of her money.
"You are to dispose of your husband's ashes in the manner he outlines in the document."
"That's all?" she asked, smiling with relief. "I just have to throw his ashes in the ocean or wherever else he wants them?"
"That's correct. Within thirty days of the reading of this will—which makes it thirty days from today—his ashes must be disposed of in accordance with his wishes. If they are not, then your portion of the inheritance is to be used to create an Edwin Shipley Charitable Foundation of which Randall, Lillian and I would be the directors."
"You don't have to worry. There's certainly no danger of that happening. I'll be sure to see to my husband's final wishes. It's the least I can do for poor Edwin after everything he's done for me."
The lawyer then handed a sealed envelope to Calista.
"That takes care of everything. You'll find the instructions in here."
* * *
"Panoramic Precipice? Where the hell is that?" Calista exclaimed after reading the letter the lawyer had given her.
"Did you say something, ma'am?" asked one of the maids, who was scrubbing the floor in the next room.
"I'm just talking to myself."
Calista took her cell phone out of her Hermes crocodile handbag and called Abraham Houseman's office. The lawyer's receptionist recognized her voice and immediately put the call through.
"Mrs. Shipley? How can I help you?" Abraham asked.
"There are no driving directions included with this letter," she complained. "How can I scatter Eddy's ashes if I have no idea where this Panoramic Precipice place is?"
"I'm sorry for the oversight," Houseman apologized. "I assumed you were familiar with your late husband's log home."
"A log cabin?" Calista asked with a laugh. "Are you serious? Who did Eddy think he was, Abe Lincoln?"
"It's not a rustic cabin, by any means. It has six bedrooms, eight baths, an indoor pool, a sauna, a state-of-the-art home theater ...."
"Stop! You sound like a real estate agent. I'm not interested in living there; I just want to know where the place is."
"Again, I apologize. Panoramic Precipice is what Edwin called his property in New Hampshire. It's located in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, not far from Mt. Washington, the highest point in the Northeast."
"I know what Mt. Washington is. I'm not stupid!" the widow exclaimed angrily. "Just send the directions to my chauffeur as soon as possible, will you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Shipley," the lawyer said, trying to keep his temper at an even keel and not let the former model anger him.
Model, indeed! he thought after hanging up the receiver. The only modeling she ever did was for a Kmart sales circular.
* * *
Calista Shipley had her personal maid pack an overnight bag since the drive to Panoramic Precipice would take more than seven hours. Rather than make the long roundtrip, she would spend the night in New Hampshire, hopefully in a five-star hotel—if they even had any in the state—and return to New York the following day.
The ride from Manhattan to New England was long and tedious. Thankfully, the chauffeur chose to take the limo because of its comfortable interior. He had also taken the liberty of having the bar stocked with Calista's favorite wine. By the time the driver crossed the Connecticut-Massachusetts border, the widow had already consumed half a bottle and was sleeping on the back seat.
"We're here, Madam," the chauffeur announced as he pulled up to the front door of a large, luxury log home.
A young man who looked like he just stepped off the cover of an L.L. Bean catalog was at the front door to greet her.
"Mrs. Shipley, my name is Jay Tomlinson. I'm a clerk at Abraham Houseman's law firm. I'm here to assist you in complying with the conditions of your late husband's will."
"You mean you're here to make sure I don't throw the ashes out the back window."
"Something like that."
The handsome young man smiled, creating deep dimples in his cheeks. Despite his plaid flannel shirt and the worn blue jeans, Calista found him quite attractive.
"Let's get this over with then, shall we?" the widow asked, standing beside the limo, holding the urn in her arms.
"I'm afraid your husband's ashes will have to wait until tomorrow. Panoramic Precipice is more than a four-mile hike up the hill. We'll never be able to make it there and back before it gets dark."
"Damn it! I was hoping to spread the ashes and go to the nearest town that has a decent hotel."
"Why don't you stay here tonight?" Jay asked, opening the door wide to invite her inside. "The house may be made of logs, but it has got all the comforts of a modern dwelling."
Calista reluctantly entered the front door, but after a brief tour of the cabin, she had to admit it was a beautiful home——for an outdoorsy type of person, that is. Unfortunately, she was never one for the great outdoors herself. Neither, to her knowledge was her late husband.
Why didn't he ever mention having a place up here in the mountains? she wondered. In all the years we were married, Eddy never expressed the desire to go fishing, hunting or hiking. Then why build a log home in the middle of nowhere? It makes no sense at all!
Curious, she walked through the rooms once again, looking for signs of Edwin's presence. In the hall closet was an old jacket like one she'd seen him wear on several occasions. In the kitchen cabinets, there was a selection of his favorite foods, and in the living room were a number of magazines he enjoyed reading. In the bedroom, there was more proof including a framed photograph of Edwin himself on the dresser.
That's odd! There's no picture of me, just one of him.
Suddenly, the various pieces fit together, forming a clear picture.
He didn't want me to know about this place, and he didn't want whoever he brought here to know about me.
The idea that her husband might have been unfaithful to her had never occurred to Calista. He had been a workaholic and what most people referred to as a nerd. His computers had always been the most important things in his life. Now, to discover that Edwin had a secret existence made her feel disoriented.
Who was she?
Calista cursed herself for not having paid more attention to the reading of the will. Her husband might have left something to his lover.
The will! All the homes were listed in it: the houses in Hawaii and Nantucket that Eddy left to his brother and his secretary as well as the six homes I inherited. There was no mention of a log home in New Hampshire.
"Jay!" she called to the young man who was watching a football game on one of the largest television screens Calista had ever seen.
"Yes?" the clerk replied.
"I don't recall your employer mentioning this place in the will. Does it now belong to me or to someone else?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Shipley. I'm not privy to the contents of your late husband's will, other than the instructions for the disposal of the ashes in the codicil."
"All right, thank you. I'll take the matter up with Houseman himself when I get back to New York tomorrow."
* * *
The following morning Calista was up by seven o'clock—much earlier than she normally woke. After a hot shower, she dressed in the only outfit she had packed in her overnight bag: a slinky, red silk dress, silk stockings and stiletto heels. After applying her makeup and brushing her hair, she went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
Jay Tomlinson was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of low-fat granola and drinking a glass of orange juice. As on the previous day, he was dressed in flannel and denim.
"You're going to hike up the mountain dressed like that?" he asked with disbelief when Calista walked into the room.
"Why? What's wrong? This is the way I always dress."
"That's hardly an appropriate outfit for walking up a rocky, wooded path with heavy undergrowth. Didn't you at least bring a pair of pants or another pair of shoes?"
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Just let me get a cup of coffee, and we can be on our way."
When she walked outside, Calista was hit by a blast of cold air. The temperatures were hovering around the freezing point, and all she had to wear over her thin dress was a Gucci canvas trench coat. She hadn't taken a dozen steps when, shivering, she cursed herself through chattering teeth for not bringing her mink.
The hiking trail was far worse than Calista had anticipated. Pricker bushes tore at the hem of her delicate dress and put runs in her silk stockings. Worst of all, she kept losing her footing on the slippery rocks, and on more than one occasion she tripped over an exposed tree root. Even with Jay holding tightly on to her arm for support, she had great difficulty walking.
"Owww!" she cried in pain and stumbled forward.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Shipley?"
"No, I'm not. I think I twisted my ankle."
"It's just a little bit further."
"Didn't you hear me? I twisted my ankle. Look, I've come this far, can't you take the urn the rest of the way up the hill and spread the ashes yourself?"
"As much as I'd like to, I'm afraid I can't. If I were to take the ashes that would nullify the will where you're concerned," said Jay, who had been selected for the task because Abraham Houseman knew he would insist on following the instructions to the letter.
"What if I were to pay you to do it and then keep quiet about it?"
"Please don't ask me."
Leave it to that bastard Houseman to send an Eagle Scout to make sure I don't cheat.
"All right," Calista groaned. "I wouldn't want you to lose your ethics badge, but can you at least find me a big stick that I can use as a cane?"
"Certainly."
Thus, the widow hobbled along like Dickens' Tiny Tim for the last leg of the hike. Finally, she and Jay arrived at a scenic observation point, the view from which was spectacular.
"You have to spread the ashes from there," Jay instructed, pointing to a large, flat rock that jutted out over the side of a cliff.
"Lucky for me I'm not afraid of heights," Calista said.
The law clerk handed her the urn, and the widow stepped on to the rock. She held the urn in the crook of her arm, and with her other hand pulled out the stopper.
"Goodbye, Eddy," she said and tilted the urn over the edge.
A strong gust of wind blew the ashes back into Calista's face. Startled, she raised her hands to her eyes. Suddenly, she felt the heavy urn slip out of her arm.
"No!" she cried, and frantically reached for the falling jar.
Too late, she realized her folly.
* * *
Abraham Houseman was sitting in his conference room when he heard the ring of the phone. Since it was his personal line, he answered it himself.
"Houseman here."
It was Tomlinson, his law clerk. The young man was talking so fast that the lawyer couldn't understand a word he said.
"Slow down, Jay. I can't make out what you're saying. What happened?"
He listened as the young man relayed the tragic news.
"Come back to New York. There's nothing for you to do there in New Hampshire."
Abraham hung up the receiver, leaned back in his chair and looked at the two people sitting at the mahogany conference table.
"It's done," the lawyer said.
"Now that it's over, I almost feel sorry for her," Lillian Rickman said.
"Why?" Randall cried. "You saw the video from the home security camera. My brother was lying on the floor clutching his chest in agony, and that greedy bitch stood there and watched him die, making no attempt to get the nitroglycerine pills for him. She never showed him any mercy or compassion."
"I agree with you, Randy," the lawyer said, standing at his office bar, pouring three glasses of champagne. "By withholding aid, Calista killed Edwin. And then she tried to cover it up. That's why she put the pill bottle in his hand before she called 911."
"Still, it wasn't as though she had committed premeditated murder," Lillian argued. "She couldn't possibly have known he was going to have a heart attack."
"True," Abraham agreed, "just as we weren't sure she would fall from that rock while she was spreading Edwin's ashes. We took a gamble. It was a long shot, but it paid off."
"I don't want anything to do with her share of the money," Lillian said.
"That's fine," Houseman said. "Randall and I will see that the Foundation spends it wisely. It was never about her inheriting the money anyway. It was about justice. I was friends with Edwin Shipley since we were in the second grade. We were inseparable in high school and college. He was the best man at my wedding, and he was my oldest son's godfather. He was a good husband to Calista, gave her everything she ever wanted and asked nothing in return. To coldly stand by and let him die like that ...."
When Abraham felt his throat constrict with unshed tears, he brought the fluted champagne glass to his lips and swallowed the Boërl & Kroff Brut in two gulps. He and his two visitors drank in silence, amazed that their hastily devised plan had worked. All of them, Houseman in particular, had gone to great lengths, despite the risk involved, to get Calista onto that rock. There never was a codicil to the will. Edwin never owned a log home in the White Mountains. Moreover, Randall was fairly certain his brother never even visited New Hampshire. Luck had indeed been with them.
Lillian Rickman was the last one to put down her glass.
"Would you like some more champagne?" Abraham offered.
"No, thank you," the former administrative assistant replied. "One is enough for me."
"Well, then," Randall said, standing up and reaching for the simple but elegant porcelain urn that was sitting in the middle of the conference table. "If the two of you are ready, I suggest we go spread my brother's ashes."
"Where he wanted them," Abraham added with satisfaction. "Right here in Manhattan."
"If there is an afterlife," Randall said with a bitter smile as the three conspirators exited the conference room to perform one last service for a good man they had all loved, "I hope Calista realizes that the ashes she was spreading when she fell over the side of the mountain belonged to my neighbor's cremated German shepherd."
While vacationing in the White Mountains, I tried to get Salem to test the theory that when a cat falls, it always lands on its feet. Funny, he didn't go for it!
