The Fame Equation (20 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING I WOKE
up exhausted. My dreams had been filled with Melody, who popped out from behind an endless series of trees and doors, pleading with me to bring her back to life. I felt wrung out as I fed the horses. Sally, I was glad to see, was acting like a normal horse, and Ringo had cleaned up the huge pile of hay Jon had left for him last night. We’d start him on grain tomorrow. After a horse had traveled a long distance, or if he or she was new, I liked to feed hay for a few days. For such big animals, horses had delicate digestive systems and grain could cause tummy troubles.

Before I left the barn, I wrote a note for Jon and tacked it onto the bulletin board on the office door. Just in case something unforeseen happened, I wanted him to know where I was going. True to Brent’s command to forego the topics of work or murder, last night I had not told a soul about the letter, or today’s reading of the will.

Back at the house, I got Darcy up and out the door to school, then perused my closet for all of half a second before I called Carole, who was still in Indiana. What did one wear to a will reading?

“I have jeans and sweaters, t-shirts, long sleeved t-shirts, riding breeches . . . let’s see, and a skirt, but no shoes or boots to go with it,” I told her. “Any ideas?”

“I can have Keith pull something out of my closet for you,” she offered.

The offer was nice, extraordinary actually, but Carole was four inches taller and a size smaller than I was. I tried to picture how her clothes might look on me and stifled a laugh.

“Darcy?” asked Carole. Yes, technically I could borrow something from Darcy, but she was three inches shorter and a size larger. I continued to rummage through my closet while Carole offered suggestions.

“Oohhh! A new pair of black Wranglers,” I cried, pulling them from the black hole that was the back of my wardrobe.

“Good start,” said Carole. “Do you have a scarf?”

“I think so.” I rummaged some more and came up with a silver scarf with rust swirls.

“Dress boots?”

“Yes. I have lots of boots that I wear in the show ring.”

“Any black ones?”

“Yep. Oh, and here’s a rust colored sweater that matches the scarf.”

“Then just do up your hair and you’re set,” Carole said.

It was wonderful at times like these to have a former model as a next door neighbor.

“Thanks, Carole,” I said, then lowered my voice. “Any more near misses for Keith?”

“No, but he’s being very careful, and extra security is still around.”

I was glad to hear that. Maybe the security guards would deter any future attempts on Keith’s life––if that’s what the incidents had been.

Downtown I found a spot in the parking garage not too far from the elevator, then meandered my way through a maze of hallways until I got to the law office. Before I could enter, though, I had to give my ID to a young woman, who examined it closely before she checked my name off a list. Then she put my ID in a drawer, along with my cell phone.

“You’ll get them back on the way out,” she said. “We’ve already had two media outlets try to slip a reporter in, so we can’t be too careful.”

Next, I walked through a metal detector while an armed guard checked my purse. Finally, I arrived in a room with a long table at the far end and about twenty chairs set up in front of it. Even though I was ten minutes early, a lot of people were there ahead of me. Sliding into a seat in the last of the three rows of chairs, I looked around. Claudine and Brandyne were there, of course, front and center, and I wasn’t surprised to see Ruthie and Allen. Melody had generously given to the church and the riding center during her life, and I suspected she had left them something in her will.

I hadn’t had time to give more thought about why I was there. I assumed it was about the furniture, but Melody would not have had time to put the specific pieces I had chosen in her will. Maybe Davis, who also sat in the back row, but on the other end, told her attorney about it. Satisfied, I relaxed––some.

Buffy and Augie whispered in seats in front of Davis. Martin and the red-headed Bobby Lee arrived a few minutes after I did and sat down next to me. In front of me were two people I did not know, two men in their forties who looked as clean cut as Howdy Doody. The other person I did not know was a blond, heavy-set woman in a gray pantsuit who sat on the right side of the front row. At the last minute Bill Vandiver sailed in. He waved his fingers at the room and sat down near Buffy, who by way of hand motions near her hair, looked like she had quickly pulled Bill into a hair consultation.

Other than the new, whispered talk between Buffy and Bill, no one said a word. There was an expectant hush to the room and my stomach started doing uncomfortable little flip-flops.

At the stroke of eleven, three people carrying thick files walked into the room through a side door that I had not noticed. One was Scott Donelson, Melody’s attorney. The other two were a tall, thin woman with short red hair, and a short, balding man in an expensive suit. I had never seen either before. All sat behind the long desk and opened their files.

“We’ll go ahead and get started,” said the short man. “My name is Frank Barwell and I am the attorney for the estate of Melody Ray Cross. To my left is Scott Donelson, Miss Cross’s entertainment attorney and general counsel. To my right is Cindy Johnson, a California attorney who consults for my office here in Nashville.”

People in the room began to stir, as everyone, myself included, paid close attention to Frank Barwell’s words. Next to me, Martin and Bobby Lee watched the crowd.

“As background, Miss Cross updated her will on September thirty of this year. The year or so previous to that had shown a quite a large spike in her career, and she wanted to be sure her assets were distributed exactly according to her wishes.” The attorney scanned the room and his eyes seemed to make contact with every person in it.

“One of Miss Cross’s wishes was that no one contest her will. She selected her beneficiaries only after long and careful thought, and was quite sure that this is what she wanted to do. If,” he paused, “any beneficiary wishes to contest any part of Miss Cross’s will, then he or she will forfeit their portion of the assets, and those assets will be distributed proportionally to the other beneficiaries.

“In addition, before any beneficiary receives their portion of Miss Cross’s estate, he or she will have to sign an agreement regarding the non-contest clause. Is that clear?”

The stirring turned into full-fledged rustling and I had a sense that some people would not be mighty happy when they walked out of here. Who those people would be, I hadn’t a clue. But I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Here is the list of disbursements that Miss Cross wished to make,” continued Frank. “First, to the Country Music Hall of Fame, six stage, video, or red-carpet outfits of their choice, along with accessories and two of her stage guitars.”

The woman in the gray suit started writing and I assumed she was with the Hall of Fame, especially as Frank addressed his next words to her. “Please get with my staff to make arrangements to choose the outfits, the sooner the better.”

I saw her nod.

Claudine addressed the lawyer in dismay, “But what if she takes somethin’ I want to remember my little girl by? Raylene was my baby. Her clothes and them guitars ought to belong to me.”

“Hush, Momma,” said Brandyne. “Let’s hear the man out.”

“To Davis Young, Buffy Thorndyke, and Augie Freemont, Miss Cross wanted each of you to have four months of commissions or retainers, with those commissions or retainers being averaged out over the past twelve months. There is also a personal letter from Miss Cross to each of you, and a bequest to Mr. Young giving him all of her musical equipment, including the rest of her guitars. Mr. Young is also to serve as executor and will manage Miss Cross’s song catalog, and future licensing, merchandising, and royalties.”

I glanced to my left. Buffy looked happy, Augie looked disgruntled, and Davis had an impassive look on his poker face.

“Four months!” exclaimed Claudine. “What was my baby thinking? That’s money should have gone to her family.”

“Momma,” warned Brandyne. “Hush up.”

“Mrs. Potts, I suggest that you listen to your daughter.” Cindy Johnson spoke for the first time. “In fact, let’s have no further comment on the disbursements until Mr. Barwell is finished. Thank you.” She went back to reading her file.

Martin shifted beside me and I watched as he pointed his chin at Davis. Bobby Lee nodded.

“To the Fellowship of Christ Church, whose representatives drove in from Arkansas earlier this morning, Miss Cross leaves ten thousand dollars, her car, and a letter from her to the congregation thanking them for encouraging her music dreams when she was young.”

The two men in front of me smiled and nodded at each other. I heard a “humpf,” from the front row, but a look from Cindy Johnson ensured that the outburst occurred only once.

“To William Vandiver,” Frank paused as Bill straightened in attention, “Miss Cross leaves fifty thousand dollars toward the sports car of his dreams, along with a personal letter.”

All eyes were on Bill as he put his face in his hands. Buffy reached over to rub his back.

“To Mary Catherine Enright.” Without thinking I reached out to grab Martin’s hand. He squeezed it tightly. “Miss Cross leaves one hundred thousand dollars, a letter, and all of her journals, songwriting notebooks, and other handwritten materials. She also leaves Miss Enright her computers, iPad, phone, and other electronic equipment.”

“One hundred thou––,” cried Claudine.

“Mrs. Potts!” This was from Scott Donelson, who had yet to say anything.

“But––”

“Shhh.” This was from Brandyne, who I thought was showing remarkable restraint.

The flip-flops in my stomach went into overtime. One hundred thousand dollars! I had to remind myself to breathe. I couldn’t even fathom her other gifts to me.

“To her siblings, Brandyne and Bodine Potts, Miss Cross leaves each of them the sum of fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Fifteen––” An indignant Brandyne started to rise, then sat back down after looking at Cindy Johnson.

“To her mother, Mrs. Claudine Potts, fifteen thousand dollars, and the balance of her clothes and household goods.”

I could see that both Claudine and Brandyne were agitated to the point of explosion. Hopefully Frank was about done. I wasn’t sure how long the two could contain themselves.

“To the Holy Church of the Mighty Happy, and to the Mighty Happy Therapeutic Riding Center, Miss Cross leaves the balance of her finances, which after probate, should amount to about six hundred fifty thousand dollars.”

Brandyne clamped her hand over her mother’s mouth as Ruthie sagged into her brother’s arms.

“In addition, there are royalties, copyrights, and other intellectual properties to consider,” said Frank, eyeing Claudine cautiously. “Any future advances or royalties from record sales or songwriting, or sums from merchandise sales or licensing, or any other such income including the entire rest of her estate, will be divided as follows. Twelve percent each to Davis Young, the Fellowship of Christ Church, William Vandiver, and Mary Catherine Enright. Four percent to Claudine Potts, four percent to Brandyne Potts, and four percent to Bodine Potts, with forty percent to the Holy Church of the Mighty Happy.

“Regarding the notebooks and journals bequeathed to Miss Enright,” Frank continued, “the physical materials belong only to her. But, advances, royalties, and copyrights from unrecorded or unpublished lyrics within the notebooks that later become published or recorded will be split by the group of beneficiaries named earlier. Davis Young is appointed sole administrator.”

Brandyne by this time was holding her mother down in her chair. Guess I now knew who the unhappy people were. The small crowd began to murmur, but Frank quickly took control before he finished.

“Those of you who have received letters from Miss Cross, you can pick them up on your way out, but you will have to sign for them first. Miss Cross’s last mention is of her father, Cletus Bodine Billy Joe Potts, and she has specifically excluded him from receiving any portion of her estate.”

It was then that a tornado broke loose in the form of Cletus and Claudine’s daughter, Brandyne.

W
HEN ALL WAS SORTED OUT
, Cindy Johnson had a firm grip on the arm of a wailing Claudine, and Brandyne had been taken into custody for assault. Brandyne had first taken a swing at Scott Donelson and connected solidly with the side of his head. She then lit into Martin when he tried to calm her down.

Cindy handed Claudine off to Frank Barwell with a strong admonition to behave herself, then dusted her hands off on a napkin, picked up her files, and left the room.

“Her house,” I heard Claudine say to Frank. “What about my baby’s house?”

“It was rented, Mrs. Potts,” Frank said. “Your daughter had not yet closed on the home she was purchasing. Miss Cross wanted you to have the fifteen thousand and all of her personal property, after her bequests to others. I suggest you be satisfied with that, as the intent of her will is clear. If you contest her wishes, you will forfeit your daughter’s bequest to you.”