Merry, Merry Ghost (33 page)

The aura of contentment vanished from the kitchen. Jake’s eyes flared in alarm. “Has he found that will?”

Her voice was high and strained, her face suddenly gaunt and fearful.

Peg’s gaze filled with uncertainty and doubt. “He doesn’t have the will, but he said he felt it was his duty to inform us of new information.”

The faded red velvet
curtains at the windows were drawn. Despite the glow of light from the fluorescent fixtures, Wade Farrell’s conference room seemed gloomy. This afternoon there were no folders on the table.

Wade waited until everyone had entered, then closed the conference room door. He walked to the chair beneath the judge’s portrait. He remained standing until everyone was seated: Peg Flynn, Gina Satterlee and Tucker Satterlee on one side of the table, Jake Flynn, Harrison and Charlotte Hammond on the other.

All eyes were on Farrell, who looked flushed and uncomfortable. I edged out the chair opposite him and slipped onto the seat. As I had hoped, all the previous heirs were here. The only absent suspect was Dave Lewis. There was no excuse for him to be present. However, if the chief’s suspicions about Peg and Dave were correct, she would very likely inform him of what occurred during the coming meeting. I was sure the chief was wrong about her.

There was no police presence. That was essential to my plan.

Wade’s expression was strained as he settled into his chair. He looked like a man who wished he were elsewhere. His eyes flicked uneasily from face to face. “I felt I had to speak with all of you since I have been apprised of facts that clearly impact the information I previously gave you in regard to Susan Flynn’s estate.

I’m leaving tomorrow for the holidays and won’t be back until after the first. When we met on Monday, I had no way of knowing that Susan had written out a new will on Saturday night.”

Harrison leaned forward, his worried gaze magnified by his bifocals. “Wait a minute, Wade. I don’t know what Peg’s told you, but if there’s a new will, no one knows where it is. I asked the police about that. I don’t see any point in talking about a piece of paper that may not exist.”

“The police may not know where the will is”—Wade nodded in agreement—“but they know that Susan drafted a new will before she died on Saturday night. The police are interested in the will only as an apparent motive for the murder of Kim Weaver. The police believe Kim intercepted the new will when it arrived here in the Monday mail and offered it to someone.” Wade’s tone was grim. “I am upset that my employee apparently took advantage of her position to prevent the receipt of Susan’s new will. However, Kim paid a terrible price for her decision. The police said that she planned to meet someone at the abandoned brick plant and that she apparently had the will with her when her car went into the pit. As I understand it, the police also searched her apartment. No trace of the will has been found.”

The deep lines grooved in Harrison’s face eased. “If that’s the case, why are we here? Either there is a will or there isn’t. I, for one, don’t believe for a minute there was another will. There’s no proof.”

Charlotte’s gaze was somber. Jake lifted a shaky hand to her lips. Tucker had the air of an observer at a sporting event awaiting the game’s conclusion. Gina hunched in her chair as if she were cold and stared down at the bare table. Peg’s face furrowed into a disappointed frown.

Wade took a deep breath. “There is definite proof that the will existed. The will was seen, read, and witnessed on Saturday night. The terms of the holographic will, written on Susan Flynn’s stationery with her monogram, corresponded to the terms of the will she had instructed me to prepare for her signature on Monday morning.”

Tucker’s question was quick and to the point. “Even if a new will existed and someone claims to know what was in it, what difference does it make if there isn’t a copy of the will?” His posture was relaxed, but his eyes never left the lawyer’s face.

Wade tugged at his shirt collar as if it were too tight. “Although I can make no definitive judgment, in my considered opinion Judge Blackburn would combine the testimony of a reputable witness that a holographic will had been duly signed with the undeniable evidence that Susan intended to sign a new will with similar content on Monday. If he did so, I believe Judge Blackburn would rule that clear and convincing evidence existed that a will had been drawn up and that would effectually void the previous will.”

His words came in gruff bullets which possibly made his message even more effective. Only I understood that he was making a herculean effort to lie and he hated every minute of it.

He took another deep breath. “In my considered legal opinion”—his expression was dismal. The man had no talent for subterfuge—“Judge Blackburn will rule that the estate should be apportioned on the basis of intestacy since the proven existence of a new will, notwithstanding its disappearance, effectively voided the previous document. If the estate is distributed on that basis, the heir would be the closest living relative.”

“Oh, Wade”—Peg’s voice rose in excitement—“does that mean Keith inherits even if they never find the new will?”

Wade flushed again.

I hoped a shot of Jack Daniel’s would ease his blood pressure later. Or did whiskey raise blood pressure? I’d always preferred plain club soda.

He avoided looking at them. “That is my judgment.” He spoke slowly, weighting each word evenly. “The determining factor, in my view, will be the testimony of the witness. If Judge Blackburn believes the witness to be credible, I don’t see how he can rule otherwise.”

“Who is this presumably credible witness?” Harrison’s tone was tense. “Why, this could be a sensation-seeking, delusional person off the street.”

Peg turned on Harrison. “How did some unknown person know enough to describe a will that reflects what Susan had already directed Wade to write?”

Harrison ignored her question. “If everything depends upon this unknown witness’s credibility, who is this witness? We have a right to know.”

Wade folded his arms. “The witness is a man you know well, a man who has the respect of Adelaide, a man who spent most of his working life protecting Susan Flynn’s investment in Burnt Creek. Susan Flynn took that new will to Leon Butler’s house Saturday night. Moreover, Susan asked Leon to read the will and sign it as a witness. Leon Butler will swear to the existence of the new will and he will also testify to the contents and that he watched as Susan signed the document. I have arranged for his testimony to be taken here in the morning with a notary public present. As soon as the courthouse opens after the holidays, I will present Leon’s affidavit to Judge Blackburn.”

Harrison pushed back his chair. “There’s still no will. I’ll have my lawyer get in touch. I’m going to fight this trumped-up claim.” His bluster was loud and determined, but his face was slack with shock. He turned on his heel, walked blindly to the door. Charlotte hurried ahead to open it.

The other presumptive heirs filed out of the conference room. Jake moved like an old woman with hunched shoulders and slow steps. Gina burrowed her hands into the pockets of her coat, her face grim. Tucker walked swiftly, leaving the others behind.

Only Peg smiled. She looked back from the doorway. “You’re doing the right thing, Wade.”

He massaged one temple, clearly glad the meeting was over. “I’m doing what I can for Susan.”

In the law firm
parking lot, Jake tried to stifle sobs. “It isn’t right. If the judge does what Wade said, I won’t even be able to live in the house.”

Tucker’s pickup gunned out into the street. Harrison and Charlotte passed without a word of farewell.

Peg reached out a hand toward her mother. “Of course you will. We’re going to take care of Keith and—”

Jake swung away, broke into a trot to follow Gina. “I’m going to drive home with Gina. Oh, it won’t be my home. Not anymore.”

Peg stood by her car. All traces of her elation in Farrell’s office drained from her face. She slid into the driver’s seat, sat there in despair. In the light from the lamppost, she looked terribly young and unhappy and alone. One hand reached for her purse. She lifted out her cell phone, held it for a moment, started to slip it into the purse, then, her eyes huge and empty, quickly punched a number.

“Dave, I wanted to let you know—”

I wasn’t certain of her tone. Was she calling in hope or in dread?

“—that I don’t have to decide anything about Susan’s will. Leon Butler witnessed the new will Saturday night and he’s going to make a sworn statement tomorrow and that means Keith will inherit.”

She listened.

I wished I knew what Dave Lewis was saying.

Peg’s face was abruptly resolute. “I’ll call you later.” She clicked off the phone.

Leon Butler’s pickup was
the only vehicle parked in front of his house. Light outlined closed blinds at several windows. The front porch was shadowy. The early dusk of winter turned the surrounding woods dark and menacing. The only sounds were those of the night, the rustle of leaves, the occasional hoo of an owl, the faraway whistle of a train, the falsetto yips of a coyote.

It took me ten minutes of scouting to find the silent sentinels, at least a dozen of them, dressed all in black, caps, jackets, trousers, and boots. They were stationed in various places around the house and in the woods near the road. They had blended into the night, shadows among shadows.

Relieved, I popped inside. Since the blinds were closed, no sharpshooter would spot Leon Butler through a window and fire. If an attack came, that attack would have to occur in the house.

My stomach knotted. Kim Weaver had no warning when a rifle shot punctured the front right tire and her car careened into the water-filled pit. Tonight when the doorbell rang or the knock came at the back door, I would be there first. I had no weapon, but I could move without being seen. If a hand lifted with a gun ready to fire the instant the door opened, I would push the barrel to one side, afford time for a rescue to occur. From this moment until the trap either succeeded or failed, Leon Butler was my responsibility. True, he’d agreed to provide a target for an elusive killer, but it was I who had asked him to take that chance.

Water splashed and silverware clinked in the kitchen. Leon stood at the sink, washing his supper dishes. He worked with the sleeves of his red plaid flannel shirt rolled to the elbows. His lined, weathered face was somber. He dried the dishes and silverware and returned them to their proper places. He unrolled his sleeves, buttoned the cuffs, and walked to a door near the refrigerator. He opened it, flicked on the light to reveal basement steps. He closed the door, pushed home a bolt. At the back door, he slid the bolt into the bracket.

He walked across the wooden floor, his boots clumping, into the living room.

“Who’s coming?” the parrot squawked.

Leon shot a quick glance toward the cage at the blue-and-gold macaw. “Never miss a trick, do you, Archie? I don’t know. We’ll find out.” Moving purposefully, Leon strode to a gun safe tucked in a corner near an old walnut cabinet. He twisted open the lock, lifted out a thirty-eight, closed the safe. He spun the chamber, then retrieved a box of cartridges, loaded the gun. He balanced the gun in his hand with easy familiarity. In a moment, with a decisive nod, he placed the gun on a small wicker table next to an easy chair that faced the front door. The kitchen and stairs were behind the chair. He draped a copy of
Field & Stream
over the gun.

He settled into the chair with its clear view of the front door, retrieved the magazine, and began to read.

Archie muttered, “I’m a good boy, am I,” and began to swing, the faint squeak a companionable sound in the quiet room.

Methodically, I checked out the rest of the house. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms and a study with a desk, bookshelves, and a computer. Downstairs, I flowed through a closed door to the left of the front door.

Three men waited in semidarkness in a small, military-neat bedroom with twin beds, a maple dresser, and a bedside table. Some illumination came from a hooded flashlight resting on the floor near Chief Cobb.

Cobb sat in a folding chair angled to the door. The door was opened a sliver, affording a narrow view of Leon in his easy chair, the stairs behind him, an old leather sofa to his left, and a portion of the parrot’s cage.

In the narrow shaft of light from the open door, Cobb’s heavy face looked stern and determined. His gray suit was rumpled, his necktie loosened.

Detective Sergeant Price lounged in another folding chair. He was dressed in black, loose jacket, pullover sweater, slacks, tennis shoes. In a single stride, he could burst into the living room if Cobb flung the door wide. A police-issue revolver rested on one leg, his hand curved around the butt. In the dimness, his craggy face was calm, yet there was a sense of readiness and power about him despite his casual slouch.

Johnny Cain pulled a window shade back just enough to watch the front porch.

The men neither spoke nor moved. There was no sense of impatience. They were there, and there they would stay until night passed into day if necessary.

Occasionally Chief Cobb checked the luminous dial of his watch. Twilight faded to darkness.

I moved outside. Neither the house nor the woods gave any hint of watching eyes, listening ears, muscles ready for action.

Headlights abruptly swept the front porch. I blinked against the glare, trying to discern the vehicle, but I couldn’t see past the lights. The motor was turned off, the headlights doused. A car door slammed.

I almost went forward to see, knew that didn’t matter. What mattered was Leon. I went inside.

Leon’s head raised. He looked toward the door, his eyes narrowed. He placed the magazine over the gun and came to his feet.

Quick steps sounded on the front porch. The screen door rattled as a fist pounded. “Leon? Are you home?”

Shock held me immobile. I had never expected to hear that voice at Leon Butler’s house this night.

Leon’s face folded in a frown. He walked to the door, turned on the porch light. He slid open the bolt and turned the knob.