Gilt (14 page)

"When did Yolanda say all this?"

"When I called her and asked her to ask him about it."

I sighed. The Small Town Telegraph at work again. "Aunt Portia is an old woman, Mom. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"When will you and your friend arrive?"

"I'm not sure Dan will come with me," I hedged. "After all, it's not much fun to come there and visit people in a hospital. I mean, he and I aren't
that
friendly."

"How friendly do people have to be to visit family in the hospital?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't, but that's beside the point. I would like to meet him. I'm surprised you never said anything about dating him."

"We don't really date. We..." I scrambled for something innocuous that two middle-aged people would do. "We go for coffee and a movie now and then."

"Oh." There was a long pause. "He made it sound more than that. I realize it must have been awkward at first, since his wife and your husband died in the same fire. But maybe that gave you a common bond." Penny didn't wait for me to comment but pushed on, determined to put the best spin on this she could. "I think it's marvelous that you're dating. I'm looking forward to meeting him. He's a business person, isn't he? I mean, he said he taught business, didn't he?"

Now what was she getting at? "Uh, yeah."

"Well, good. Perhaps he can review Portia's investment papers. She'd like an unbiased second opinion."

"About what?"

"About your inheritance."

The books slid off my lap and landed on the carpeted floor with a thump. "My what?"

"Oh, dear. I thought Portia told you."

"Told me what?"

"Perhaps I shouldn't say."

I counted to five, slowly. "You've already said, Mom. What did Portia do?"

There was another long pause. "She's leaving her estate to you and Amy."

"Her estate?" I thought of the farm, which was composed of a large old house, a somewhat ramshackle barn, a garage, a wood lot and the fields.

"The farm, her money, her land. You know--her estate."

A dozen thoughts raced through my head. I settled on, "Why?"

"I suppose she felt you and Amy would do what was best for the land."

I longed to howl, tear my hair, pace, and throw the phone, all at once. The damned Land again. It was always about The Land. "We'll talk about it when I get there, Mom. I'm not going to worry about an inheritance until I have to."

"Dan might have some ideas. It's always good to get an outside opinion on things."

I started to snap,
He's as outside as you can get
, but restrained myself in time. "I'll talk to him and see if he still wants to come with me."

"Amy was going to stay at the farm with Portia. Perhaps you should stay there, too. You and Dan, that is. There's plenty of room there. You're welcome to stay here, of course, but I think Amy might like the company."

"We'll see."

Penny correctly interpreted my tense tone of voice. "We'll talk more when you get here. I have to admit, I'm glad to have you coming. It's been hard."

I immediately regretted my snappish thoughts. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'll check at the office and see if I can get tomorrow off. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thank you. Call me if you can't get here tomorrow, okay?"

"Will do." I pushed the Off button on the phone and jammed it back into my purse. Damn it, what was Portia up to? Granted, we were all she had left of family, but I didn't want to have to decide how to manage her estate. I remembered the paperwork, forms, and bureaucracy I encountered when John died. I didn't want to face all that again.

I grabbed the books and headed for the checkout desk. I still had to stop at the office and try to get time off then I would need to pack. A road trip was in my very near future.

*****

Two hours later I was contemplating my wardrobe. I needed six days' worth of clothing, including potential funeral clothes, picnic clothes, and casual summer-in-Minnesota clothes. I grabbed my small suitcase and tucked in slacks, denim capris, a swim suit, a few tops, and a pair of shorts. I was evaluating my sandal collection when the landline phone next to the bed rang.

Steele
and his phone number showed on the display. "I got the day off," I said by way of greeting. "I thought we'd get on the road by nine tomorrow morning."

"Is there any reason we can't leave tonight?"

I lifted Grumble out of my suitcase, almost losing my tenuous connection to the phone tucked between my chin and shoulder. "I don't think it's that urgent."

"It might be. I talked to the Chief of Police in Tangle Butte and he--"

"J.T. McCord?" I interrupted.
             

I was rewarded with a moment of silence. "Do you know him?"

"It's a small town. Everyone pretty much knows everybody else
." Not really a lie
, I reasoned. If I used the Degrees of Separation rule, I was only two or three degrees away from the police chief, since his wife and my brother went to school together. Or I went to school with his wife's brother. Maybe. "What did he say when you called? How did you introduce yourself?
Hi, I'm a guy who's investigating his wife's murder and I think an elderly citizen in your town had something to do with it
. Was that it?"

A long-suffering sigh came through the phone line. "Jack Tinsley called him and filled him in on the background. McCord said that you stand to inherit most of your aunt's estate."

I grabbed for my cat, who was once again making a foray into my suitcase. "So I've been told," I muttered.

"Did you know it's valued at a couple of million dollars?"

I dropped the phone and it bounced off Grumble's head. He crouched low, glaring at me as though I had planned it. I extracted the phone from my disarranged clothes, surprised to see I was still connected. "Say what?" I demanded.

"That's what McCord thought. The land, house, stocks, and investments. That's a conservative estimate."

Aunt Portia? Rich? I shook my head. She sure didn't act rich, or dress rich, or seem rich. "My mother said Aunt Portia was leaving it to Amy and to me. How did McCord know that? I just found out myself."

"Your aunt had all her legal papers with her in her purse. She told Chief McCord she carries them with her all the time."

I visualized Aunt Portia's voluminous Coach handbag, a purse that was large enough to carry a laptop. Any legal papers would easily fit in there. "That sounds like Aunt Portia."

"He talked to her in the hospital and she showed him her copy of the will. But McCord checked with her lawyer in town. He has a different version. If she had died, the estate would have been in contention because of that."

"A different version?"

"A later version, one handled by Michael Bennington, had the inheritance details changed somewhat. The land was left in trust to a group of investors in that version of the will."

I sank on the bed next to my suitcase. Grumble peeked at me from his spot under my clothing, his smug expression telling me he was exactly where he wanted to be. "Michael and Aunt Portia used to be in an investment group together. Maybe that's when it was changed."

"I guess it's a good thing you have an alibi for her illness. Otherwise the police might wonder if you'd like to benefit from her death."

My jaw dropped open. "Alibi?"

"Bennington figures in this somehow but I don't know how. Why would he substitute a phony will? And how does Denton fit in? It's Denton who's mixed up with that gang. He has to figure in this somehow, but you said your aunt doesn't know him."

I made a mental note to check with Aunt Portia about that little fact. "Maybe Portia really changed her will."

"That's not what she said."

"Michael isn't stupid," I reasoned. "He wouldn't do something like that. He'd have to forge her signature. That's illegal." I considered my words. "And unethical," I added. Of course, I didn't think that would bother him that much. Then I wondered why I thought that.

Dan didn't give me a chance to pursue my evaluation of Michael's character. "Both Jack and I think the answer is with your aunt. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight."

"That's kind of early," I said. "It's only ninety miles away. It won't take long to drive."

There was another pause. "Eight-thirty?"

I remembered the anxious tone in Penny's voice. "Well, maybe," I agreed reluctantly.

"Let's split the difference. I'll pick you up at eight-fifteen."

"We should take my car. There's more room."

There was another sigh. "I'll leave my truck at your house, okay?"

"I suppose. Or I could pick you up and--"

"See you tomorrow." He hung up.

I replaced the phone and regarded Grumble, who was curled happily in my bag in a tight chubby ball. My elderly neighbor would look after him, so that wasn't a problem. My neighbor adored Grumble and the feeling was mutual. There really wasn't any reason I couldn't leave early. So why did I feel so uneager to go? I tugged Grumble out of the bag. "You're on your own for this week."

My cat didn't comment, only wiggled in my arms, anxious to continue rooting in my suitcase for whatever it was that so fascinated him. I turned slowly. "Hey, John?" I called to the air. "I'm going to visit Mom. I thought I'd let you know."

My resident ghost didn't comment either.

I let Grumble slip to the floor and closed the bag, zipping it to prevent further feline incursions before going downstairs. After a brief hesitation, Grumble followed after me, obviously hoping for a handout as I stood in the kitchen, peering into my fridge. I had just retrieved the makings for a ham sandwich when I heard a car pull into the drive. I peeked through the kitchen curtains to see Michael emerge from his convertible.

"What's he doing here?" I hurriedly tugged the curtain back into place but not before Michael saw me and waved. "Damn." I went to the front door and pulled it open as Michael reached for the door knocker. "Hey, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" I asked.

"I finished golfing with a client at The Wilds and thought I'd stop by. Can I come in?" He didn't wait for an answer, but edged his way into my small foyer.

The Wilds was an upscale country club south of my little middle-class neighborhood. Michael looked the part of successful golfer-lawyer in his color-coordinated dark green shorts, white polo shirt with green trim and white boating shoes, sans socks. His thick blond hair curled slightly around his collar from the humidity but other than that he appeared cool, pressed, and fresh.

"Sure, come on in," I said lamely as he brushed past me into the kitchen. "I'm making a sandwich. Do you want something?"

Michael glanced at his pricy gold watch. "I have to meet someone in an hour, so I'd better not. Don't let me stop you, though." He leaned against a nearby counter and crossed his feet at the ankles. "I talked to Paul about that guy you were talking to yesterday. Did you know that Dan Steele used to be a cop?"

"Hmm." I busied myself with arranging the ham, pickle, and lettuce on a slice of bread. "A long time ago, I think." John's words seemed to buzz in my head.
I had evidence that Michael embezzled from your aunt.
Dan and Jack Tinsley seemed to think Michael was deeply involved in whatever happened to John. And John believed it, too. I tried to think of a casual way I could ferret out information. "I'm going home tomorrow, instead of Wednesday. Aunt Portia's sick and in the hospital."

"Really?" His voice was a cool as his appearance. "That's too bad."

His obvious disinterest pissed me off. I decided to set a fox loose in the hen house. "Dan is going with me." I turned slightly so I could gauge his response.

It was even more exciting that I hoped. Michael stood straighter, his eyes wide. "Why would he do that?"

Because he thinks you had something to do with John's death
. The words almost tumbled out but I stopped them in time, remembering Dan's supposed cover story. "I wasn't strictly honest with Paul when I told him I knew Dan." I focused intently on smoothing mayo on my bread with long, even strokes of the knife. "Dan and I have been, um, seeing each other." I strained my sight, swiveling my eyes in their sockets until I felt like a pop-eyed cartoon character as I sought to take in Michael's reaction.

His eyes widened then his entire face seemed to solidify as though a mask was being smoothed over his boyish, charming features. Then that mask shifted away and once again Michael-the-genial was back, smiling slightly. "Really? How long has this been going on?"

Oh, shit. I didn't have my cover story straight yet. "Not too long," I said with what I hoped was a good mix of not-important and none-of-your-business. I slapped the sandwich together. "We were going home for the Fourth holiday and when Portia got sick, Mom wanted me to come early. Dan decided to go with me." I took a bite of sandwich then leaned over to feed Grumble a smidgen of ham.