Free We All Killed Grandma by Fredric Brown

touch.”
    Hennig was waiting for us. Lucian H. Hennig, the sign on his office door said. Short and plump, bald as a door-knob, pince-nez glasses on a black cord, age anywhere from forty to fifty. I remembered seeing him at the funeral, although we hadn’t spoken then.
    He shook hands with Arch first, standing and reaching across the desk, then held out his hand to me and I shook it too. He said, “Do you remember me, Rod? Is your amnesia better?”
    “Not yet, Mr. Hennig. No, I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Did I know you very well? And vice versa?”
    “Not as well as I would have liked to know you, Rod. I fear we have been only acquaintances.” He turned back to Arch as we sat down. “You intimated over the telephone, Archer, that you wished to get an advance against the estate. Is that correct?”
    Arch nodded. “A couple of thousand, if possible.”
    “It’s a bit irregular, since the will has not yet been probated. But it can be done, I believe, if Rod is willing to sign a stipulation agreeing not to contest the will. Are you willing to do that?”
    “Sure,” I said. “On one minor condition. But I couldn’t contest it anyway, could I?”
    “To be frank, not successfully. But you might decide you had grounds for trying—and you are the only person who could even think so.”
    “What grounds? I have no intention of contesting it. Mr. Hennig, but you have me curious.”
    “Pauline Tuttle was your mother’s mother, your grandmother. Archer is the son of your father’s first wife and was only a ward of Mrs. Tuttle’s—although, of course, she raised both of you after your father’s death. But there was no legal or formal adoption and he is related to her only by marriage—her daughter’s marriage. He is not, as you are, her grandson.” He paused to light a big cigar that looked incongruous in his round face. “If Pauline Tuttle had died intestate—without having left a will—the court might decide that you were entitled to all of herestate or to a larger share of it than Archer, because of the direct relationship. Or, again, they might decide that since she raised both of you and treated you equally, she would have wanted her property equally divided.”
    I said, “But she did leave a will, so that’s irrelevant, isn’t it?”
    “Yes. I drew the will myself, so I have no doubt of its validity or of its being admitted for probate. I didn’t—and do not—anticipate that you will contest it, or that you would succeed if you try. But, as executor of the estate, I’d have to protect myself by having you sign a stipulation not to contest it before I could advance money to Archer.”
    “The will simply divides her estate between Arch and me?”
    “Exactly. No other bequests. Ah—you said you’d sign the stipulation on one minor condition, Rod. What is the condition?”
    I said, “I think there should have been one other bequest, whether Grandma made it or not. There’s a housekeeper, May Trent, who worked for her for ten years. I think she should have received a bequest—a thousand dollars, let’s say. The years she worked there are a good chunk out of her life and now, with the house to be sold, she’ll be out of a job. I think she’s entitled to that much. So I’ll sign the stipulation if Arch will agree that she gets a thousand, each of us to stand half of it.”
    Arch glared at me. “I told you
no
, and I mean it, Rod. If Grandma had wanted Mrs. Trent to have anything, she’d have put it in the will. And maybe your share of the estate doesn’t mean anything to you, but mine does to me. My career depends on it. I’m not going to give up five hundred dollars of it, just because you’ve got a generous impulse. I’ll—I’ll borrow what money I need until the estate is settled from a bank or a loan company rather than agree to that. The interest will cost me less.”
    He stood up.
    I said, “Sit down, Arch. I’ll sign the stipulation. And I’ll see that Mrs. Trent gets