The Eight

The Eight

Prue found her brother, eighty-year old Joe McKenna, slumped over a burning Cohiba and a snifter of Louis XIII, still gripping the little black notebook that he carried with him everywhere—even to bed. She pried his stiffening fingers off the book, rummaged through his desk for his will—she found it, read it, and put it back. The notebook she took.

She had served him a late morning breakfast in the library where the fireplace burned off the gripping chill of another November day. Eleven o’clock was early for a cognac and cigar, but why not? He was in excellent health, rich and could do whatever he pleased.

Prue spent her life a spinster—living with Joe and keeping house for a stipend—she had nowhere to go after she had blown through her share of their parents’ inheritance. For forty years, she watched Joe spoil their deceased brother Robert’s children, Julie and Logan, both single and in their forties. She deserved that money.

*****

The next day, Julie and Logan paid a visit to Longworth House to check on Prue. The preliminary coroner’s report ruled Joe’s death a heart attack, but they suspected a real-life “she done it,” because there was no love lost between Uncle Joe and Aunt Prue. They fought horribly over money, and everyone knew it.

Pleasantries aside, Logan got to the point: “Do you know if Uncle Joe had a will?” he asked Prue, as they made their way to Uncle Joe’s library.

“No, my only business is to dust and keep his books tidy,” Prue called after them.

Logan riffled through his uncle’s desk. “Here it is!” Julie snatched it away. “It’s handwritten! Joe didn’t trust lawyers and he especially didn’t trust Prue.

“Prue may live at Longworth until her death, then it goes to Logan and Julie McKenna. The money goes to whomever can ‘crack the code,’” she read.

“Give me that!” snapped Logan. “What code?”

“I don’t know,” Julie said. “Maybe the answer is in his little black notebook?”

Prue scurried into the room with her feather duster assailing nearby rows of leather-bound classics now in a fog of floating particles. She needed to keep her eyes on them.

“Prue,” said Logan, “do you know what Uncle Joe meant about a code?”

She shrugged. “He talked in riddles,” she said, “and smoked, drank and wrote in that book. Whenever I was around he shoved the book into his trousers and kept his hand there like he thought I might roll him for it.”

They swallowed a laugh, because it wasn’t far from true. Uncle Joe barely tolerated his sister.

“Where’s the book now, Prue?”

“I tossed it. It was full of nonsense—pages of rhymes, strange notations and numbers. I tell ya the man had a screw loose upstairs.”

“So…where did you toss it?” asked Logan as he sifted through the trash next to the desk.

“It’s gone—trash got picked up yesterday.”

“Except for this trash,” asked Logan.

Logan and Julie exchanged glances: was she lying? She wouldn’t toss the one thing that might shed light on Uncle Joe’s money. They knew her all too well.

“Look here,” Julie pointed to the witness signature on Joe’s will. “Who is Malik Kumar in Kuala Lumpur?” She turned to Prue “Do you know Mr. Kumar?”

“Never heard of him,” Prue lied. She could hear things through the library door, but she wasn’t going to help those two wreck her plans.

They couldn’t find anything related to his finances: no statements, no receipts and nothing in his Rolodex revealed a banking history.

“Look through his phone records,” suggested Julie.

“Good luck,” said Prue, turning back to her dusting, “Joe threw his paid bills into the fireplace. ‘That’s money goin’ up in smoke,’ he’d say.”

“We need to find that book,” Logan whispered. “I just don’t believe she pitched it.”

“Do you think you could rustle us up something to eat, Aunt Prue?” Logan asked. And off Prue went, dusting her way down the hall.

Logan turned to Julie, “She knows something she’s not telling us, but I think the answer to this mystery lies in Malaysia. That book is around here somewhere.”

“She probably hid it, and what better place to hide a book than in a library?” asked Julie.

“I agree. He looked around at three walls covered with books. “I’ll start here at the top left, and you start there at the bottom right. Close and lock the door, and work fast.”

Logan grabbed the library ladder, looking for books with black spines. Julie did the same. She moved some books sticking out from the shelf and said excitedly, “I’ve got something!”

Logan rushed over to find a small, hinged door in the wall. Julie opened it, and there was a black notebook! She quickly replaced the books, stuck the notebook into her jacket and opened the door, only to find Prue.

“Yer lunch is ready,” she said. Julie wondered how long she had been standing there—did she hear them talking?

“Thanks, Aunt Prue, can you wrap it to go?” asked Logan.

*****

At Logan’s apartment, they needed to verify that this was the book.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not eating anything Prue serves until I know she didn’t murder Joe.”

Julie, about to take a bite of sandwich, stopped mid-crunch, “You have a point.” They opened the notebook, and written in red ink:

Dear Logan and Julie, I’d hoped you’d find this book. It’s up to you to collect clues leading to your inheritance. I made some good investments. Please provide for Prue and then each of you take half. I would never trust Prue to do the right thing. UJ

“Well, it’s the right notebook,” said Logan.

“He could just as easily have sent us a letter,” opined Julie.

“You know Joe. He was an eccentric intellect.”

“Maybe, but I’m not going to make my heirs jump through hoops,” she said.

“C’mon, this is fun,” said Logan. “A little gumshoe, a little adventure, a little risk.”

“It’s not a little risk if Prue is homicidal,” said Julie, turning the page. There was a sketch of Joe’s library and two lines from Kipling’s “If:”

If you can make one heap of all your winnings,

[...]

Except the WILL which says to them: ‘Hold on;

“Logan, the word ‘will’ is in caps!

“I think he’s directing us to find it. Keep reading, see what’s there,” suggested Logan. She saw two lines from Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence.” She read aloud:

The poison of the snake and newt,

Is the sweat of Envy’s foot

Julie gasped. “Augury means ‘prophecy,’ Logan…do you think Uncle Joe predicted his own death?”

“More likely he’s warning us about Prue’s jealousy.”

“Do you think Aunt Prue poisoned him?” Julie exploded with questions.

"The very last page has only one line. ‘Eight maids a milking,’” she remarked.

“It’s from The Twelve Days of Christmas, said Logan.

“I know that,” Julie said.

Julie flipped through the notebook and found numbers, sketches, more poetry, quotes, and then they stared at what they believed was an overseas phone number stretched around the edges of one page. Reading the numbers clockwise: 011 603 3684 888.

“Maybe that’s the number for Malik Kumar in Malaysia?” Julie asked.

“I don’t know…we can try it.” They Googled the phoning code for Kuala Lumpur: 603, then Googled the language: English.

“What are we waiting for? Call!” demanded Julie.

“And if Malik doesn’t answer? We need a game plan,” he said. “But first we need to get back to the library.”

*****

Prue opened the massive front door, “You’re back…J’ya know anything?”

“Why would we know anything?” Logan shot back, still annoyed by her lie. Prue caught herself. She knew they had found the book, she needed to play their game.

“It’s just an expression,” Prue smiled—which was suspicious in itself. They went to the library, leaving Prue to her dusting.

Okay,” said Logan, “The first poem was Kipling, so we’re looking for a book on Kipling.” It didn’t take long, as Logan noticed a book in the first row with a bookmark sticking up. He flipped to that page—it was the poem “If.” The page number was circled in red: 28. “Found something,” he showed it to Julie.

“Okay, what now?” Julie asked.

“Let’s go through the notebook and make a list of poets in the order of their appearance. We will then pull all the books with bookmarks and note the page numbers in the order that they appear in the book,” suggested Logan.

“That’s crazy!” said Julie indignantly.

“Well, it’s all we’ve got, it’s worth a shot.”

They easily found the marked books, but for the line “Eight maids a milking,” they found nothing.

“Let’s see what we can make of the numbers we have,” suggested Logan. They stared at the numbers: 28 17 63 59 85 42 and 74. “It’s too many numbers for a bank account or a locker number—what about an overseas phone number?” suggested Julie.

Logan considered that, “Wait! What if it’s an off-shore bank account?” he exclaimed.

Julie was silent, then, “Oh my gosh, Logan…you might be right! An account in Malaysia!”

“Check the phone number we thought we saw in Uncle Joe’s book,” demanded Logan. Julie recited the number.

“It’s ten-thirty in the morning in Malaysia,” said Julie, calculating a thirteen-hour difference. Logan dialed his mobile phone:

Selamat pagi,” said a voice.

“Do you speak English?” asked Logan.

“Yes, I speak English,” replied the man who answered.

Logan wasted no time getting to the point. “I’m looking for a Mr. Kumar.”

“I am Malik Kumar,” replied the voice.

Logan covered the phone to tell Julie he was talking with Mr. Kumar and put his phone on speaker so that Julie could hear the conversation.

“This is Logan McKenna calling from New Hampshire in the United States. I am the nephew of Joseph P. McKenna. My Uncle Joe passed a few days ago, and Malik Kumar signed as a witness to his Last Will and Testament about four years back. Are you the same Malik Kumar?”

“Yes. Mr. Joe has died?

“Sadly, Yes.” said Logan.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have the numbers then?” asked Malik. Logan raised his brows and smiled at Julie.

“Who are you?” asked Logan.

“This is CFI bank,” Malik replied. “This is my private number, and I need a number from you to verify your identity.”

Logan nodded to Julie and recited the numbers to Malik, to which he responded, “You’re missing a number.”

Julie checked and everything was in order, but they couldn’t find the Frederic Austin lyric. “Wait!” yelled Julie. “Eight maids a milking! It’s the EIGHT!”

“The last digit should be eight,” said Logan, faking confidence.

Suddenly, they heard commotion coming from the foyer. Logan asked Malik to hold and quickly clicked off the speaker to his phone when he saw that Prue was being handcuffed. “What’s this about?” demanded Logan.

“The toxicology report is what it’s about. Your Aunt is being detained for the poisoning death of her brother. Must’a put digitalis in his morning prunes,” said the officer as she was dragged off protesting. Logan and Julie stared at each other, then shrugged as if to say, What can we do?

“Malik, are you there? Yes, a money transfer is preferable.” Logan gave him his personal account number and his email address so that Malik could forward release papers. “And, oh! What is the balance on the account?”

“Ten million American dollars,” replied Malik.

Logan ended the call, took a seat behind Uncle Joe’s massive desk and stared at Julie.

“Well? How Much?” Julie asked impatiently.

“You will be twenty thousand dollars richer,” replied Logan.

“That’s it?” asked a surprised Julie.

“Yep,” said Logan.

“Oh…Well great! But why are you looking at me like that?” asked Julie.

“I’m picturing you with a feather duster.”