“I’ll do that when I get good and ready,” she said. “I don’t need any lawyer — not right now. When I need one I’ll get one.”
Steve Watkins said, “Just a minute, Moms, Uncle Charles only said that...”
“Shut up,” Mrs. Sabin snapped, “I’m running this. I heard what Charles said. All right, Mr. Mason, what have you to say for yourself?”
Mason dropped into a chair, crossed his long legs, grinned across at Charles Sabin, and said nothing.
“All right, then, I’ll say something. I’ve told Charles Sabin, and now I’m telling you. I know only too well that Charles has resented me ever since I married into this family. If I had told Fremont one half of the things that I’ve had to put up with, Fremont would have had Charles on the carpet. He wouldn’t have stood for it for a minute. Regardless of what Charles may think, Fremont loved me. Charles was so afraid that some of the property was going to get away from him, that he was completely blinded by prejudice. As a matter of fact, if he’d been disposed to be fair with me, I might have been fair with him now. As it is, I’m in the saddle, and I’m going to do the driving. Do you understand, Mr. Mason?”
“Perhaps,” Mason said, lighting a cigarette, “you could explain a little more clearly, Mrs. Sabin.”
“Very well, I will explain clearly. I’m Fremont’s widow. I think there’s a will leaving the bulk of his property to me. He told me he was making such a will. If there is a will I’m the executrix of it; if there isn’t, I’m entitled to letters of administration. In any event, I am going to be in charge of the estate, and I don’t want any interference from any of the relatives.”
“You haven’t the will with you?” Mason asked.
“Certainly not. I’m not in the habit of carrying my husband’s wills around with me. I presume it’s in his papers somewhere, unless Charles has destroyed it. And in case you don’t know it, Mr. Mason, Charles Sabin is perfectly capable of doing just that.”
Mason said, “Can’t we leave the personalities out of it, Mrs. Sabin?”