“What did the doctor say caused his death?”
“Oh, you know how those doctors are. They roll a lot of medical terms out and look wise. Personally, I don’t think Dr. Clarge knew a thing about it. I can’t remember all of the words he used. I remember one of them. He said it was a gastroenteric disturbance, and that it resulted from something or other in the liver, and something or other that ended with an ‘itis.’ ”
“Nephritis?” Bertha asked.
“I don’t know. That sounds something like it. But he said the primary cause of death was a gastroenteric disturbance. I remember that much. The rest of it was a lot of mumbo jumbo about things that didn’t make sense to me, and I don’t think they made sense to him.”
“Where did Mr. Milbers eat breakfast?” Bertha asked.
Josephine Dell looked at her in surprise. “Why at his, house, of course — that is, I suppose that’s where he ate. That’s why he had Nettie Cranning and Eva — and if you ask me,” she blurted, “with all the service he was paying for, he should have been waited on hand and foot, in place of which he had to wait for his meals lots of times. However, it’s no skin off my nose, and it’s all over with now. But it makes me sick to think of his leaving almost everything to them.”
“And ten thousand to you,” Bertha Cool said.
“If he was going to leave most of his estate outside of the family,” Josephine Dell said firmly, “I’m entitled to ten thousand.”
“How long had you been with him?”
“Almost two years.”