Bitter Sweet (8 page)

He nodded and held out his hand.
“Yes, ma’am. And you were a friend of Lila’s?”

Zoë stepped forward, ignoring the
hand, her eyes practically flashing. “I was a
good
friend. And I want to
know why I never heard of you.”

Sam gave her a gentle elbow.

“What right do you have to get
rid of her things this way? I can’t believe it. The funeral was only days ago.”

The man he’d been conversing with
cleared his throat. “I understand how upsetting this must be,” he said. “I’m
Joe Smith, the family attorney.”

Smith’s steel gray hair was
brushed back in a pompadour and the color matched his suit exactly. His face,
which tended toward jowly in his serious mode now brightened and he flashed a
pleasant smile. Bright blue eyes grabbed and held hers. Sam was hit with a
quick impression of that long-ago charmer in her life, Jake Calendar, the short
affair that had resulted in her daughter Kelly. She was momentarily speechless.

“What are you saying?” Zoë
demanded. “That you, the family attorney, have condoned Mr. O’Malley’s getting
rid of all Lila’s things?”

Smith turned the charm toward Zoë
and Sam shook off the feeling of familiarity. Aside from the aquamarine eyes
this man really was nothing like Jake. She became distracted by two women who
were reaching for a silver tea service in a nearby china cabinet.

“It’s always hard to let go of
loved ones,” Smith was saying. “Ted has been devastated by the loss of his
recent bride and I suggested that moving on, not living among her personal
possessions would make this awful transition a bit easier for him.”

O’Malley deepened his grief-face.
“I truly hope that Lila’s friends will take away personal keepsakes that will
remind them of her in the most positive ways. Please—find something of hers
that you loved and accept it as a gift. Except the urn.” His eyes drifted
toward the living room. “Her ashes will stay on my dresser, always. Wherever I
go.”

Zoë stared at him, her mouth
tight. “Are
all
these items going out to friends, as keepsakes? Because
it certainly appears that a lot of cash is changing hands.”

“Zoë,” Sam said. “Let’s just go.”

She took hold of her friend’s
rigid arm and steered her toward the kitchen. A dozen or more women crowded the
room, handling cookware and small appliances, commenting on the quality of the
items.

“Out back,” Sam whispered through
clenched teeth.

A door led to a wide flagstone
patio, with a pathway leading to the studio where pieces of Lila’s pottery were
walking out the door at a rapid pace.

“Oh, Sam, I can’t handle this,”
Zoë said, her voice cracking.

“Well, Ted did make one valid
point. If you’d like something of Lila’s as a keepsake, you better choose it
now.”

Zoë shook her head. “I can’t. I
just can’t.”

“We should go,” Sam said gently.

“But . . . Can he do this? I’m
sure Lila had nieces and nephews she would have wanted to leave something to.
And what about her favorite causes? She supported quite a number of charities.”

Sam didn’t want to point out
about possession being however many points . . . Ted’s being on site and ready
to move so quickly . . . well, the place could very well be cleared out before
any court could act to stop him. She could call Beau, but had the feeling that
there was nothing the sheriff’s office could do without a warrant or court
order or some such thing. And O’Malley had that smarmy attorney conveniently on
hand to handle any objections. The whole thing stunk—big time.

“I’ll speak to him again—give it
one more try,” Sam said. “Maybe you should just go on home and try to get this
picture out of your head.”

“Can you come over? Darryl went
to Santa Fe for the day and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure. Put on the tea kettle and
I’ll be right behind you.”

Sam watched Zoë walk toward her
car with a dejected slump to her shoulders. She looked back at the house,
squared her own shoulders and went inside. Ted O’Malley was flashing a charming
smile at an older lady, wooing her into buying the dining table and chairs. He
backed away when Sam approached.

“Mr. O’Malley,” she said. “I’ve
just been on the phone with the sheriff.” O’Malley obviously didn’t spot the
lie; his face went two shades whiter. “He’s got a call in for the probate
judge, who wants to know by what authority you are selling these items.”

His mouth worked for a moment
before the gracious smile came back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your
name,” he said with a glance over her shoulder.

She simply stared him down.

The voice of the lawyer came from
behind her. “Ms. Coffey rewrote her will as soon as she married. My client, Ted
O’Malley, is the sole beneficiary of her trust. A trust which, by the way,
keeps the entire estate out of probate. Your sheriff’s judge has no
jurisdiction over that.”

O’Malley gave her a smug grin.
They’d called her bluff. And Sam knew that he knew it.

“I can show you a copy of the
documents,” Smith said. “But you’ll need a court order for that. Since we don’t
really know you from Adam.”

Curses.
She turned away.

The conversation replayed through
her head the whole time it took her to drive to Zoë’s house. By the time she
pulled into the long drive beside the big adobe bed and breakfast, she’d calmed
down enough to know that she wasn’t going to be able to force Ted O’Malley’s
hand. There simply was nothing she or Zoë could do to stop all of Lila’s
belongings from disappearing. She parked near the back door and admired the
shady patio and Zoë’s touch with flowering plants.

Inside her Mexican-tiled kitchen,
Zoë had set out tea cups and wine glasses.

“We better go straight for the
wine,” Sam said.

Ever the hostess, Zoë pulled out
some chips and whipped up a little bowl of guacamole.

“I didn’t get anywhere at all with
the husband or the lawyer,” Sam said, after admitting that she’d tried to use
Beau’s rank to intimidate them. “He barely flinched.”

“It’s not that Lila’s things are
most important anyway,” Zoë said. “That stuff eventually has to go somewhere.
It’s just—I miss her. And I feel like a horrible friend for not staying in
touch recently. I mean, how could I have not known that she was seeing someone
and getting serious enough to marry the guy? During my quick visit to the
hospital she only talked about how silly it was that she’d broken her ankle and
how we would get together soon. Maybe she meant to tell me about Ted when we
saw each other again.”

“She surely didn’t know him very
long, otherwise you would have known about him.”

“I have to wonder when they met. I’m
going to call some mutual friends and see if
anyone
knew of Ted O’Malley. Maybe Lila got taken in by him and was
embarrassed to admit it. Maybe he was after her money all along.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Sam
swigged the last of her wine. “Look, I better get back to Beau’s. We only have
one day off this week and we haven’t actually spent much of it together. If you
get any juicy info from the other friends, let me know. If we could find some
evidence of fraud, I’m sure Beau would help build the case.”

Zoë stepped around from behind
the breakfast bar and gave Sam a hug. “I’ll do it. And thanks for coming over.
You’ve been a big help.”

Sam squeezed Zoë’s hand and
walked out to her van.

Back at the ranch, Beau stood on
the porch, brushing straw off his jeans.

“You don’t want to come close to
me,” he said. “I just finished mucking out the stalls.”

She took a step back.

“But if you want to make us a
sandwich or something while I take a shower, and then maybe snuggle up beside
me to watch some NASCAR . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows in that way of his, the
way which told her there might be some afternoon delight in the picture.

“I would love that. At some
point, though, can I run something by you?”

He suppressed the sigh that meant
he would either have to give up the car race or the sex and he didn’t want to
miss either. “Talk while I’m cleaning up? And then I’ll help you with the
sandwiches?”

While he showered she recounted
the morning’s events and conversations, admitting to the part where she’d
fudged—well, lied—about him contacting the judge.

“It’s just that Lila’s house was
literally being dismantled right in front of us,” she said, watching as he
suggestively pulled the towel back and forth across his back.

“Um-hm.”

When she didn’t stop talking long
enough to take advantage of his state of undress, he began pulling on clean
clothes.

“What was the lawyer’s name
again?” he asked.

“Joe Smith.”

“Never heard of him,” he said.
“He’s supposed to be local?”

“I assumed so, but he didn’t
really say.”

“I’ll do some checking on it,
first thing tomorrow. Meanwhile, lunch?”

The rest of the afternoon went as
planned, and by eight o’clock that evening Sam decided she really ought to go
home for the night. She hadn’t talked to Kelly all weekend, and could only
assume things were all right with her sometimes scatter-brained daughter. And
who knew what types of bakery messages might be awaiting on her home
phone—people who knew she used to work from home often called there when they
couldn’t reach anyone at the store.

“See you for lunch tomorrow?”
Beau asked after he’d kissed her goodnight.

“Don’t forget to check on those
names I gave you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned and
kissed her again.

*

Sam was smoothing frosting over a
pan of brownies the next morning when her cell phone rang, inside her pocket.
She licked her fingers and fished it out.

“A little bit of quick news,”
Beau said. “I thought you might not want to wait until lunch time for this. I
discovered that all of Lila Coffey’s bank accounts were closed the day after
she died.”

“How did you—?”

“Don’t ask. Ted O’Malley
apparently had enough of the proper documentation that the bank let him do it.
He took about two thousand from her checking account and more than a hundred
thou from savings—all in cash.”

“And I saw thousands in furniture
and art being sold at the house yesterday. Holy cow.”

“Yeah. The guy sure acted faster
than the typical grieving widower.”

“Huh. And that lawyer told me he
was devastated. Ted had her cremated and said he was going to keep the urn on
his dresser for the rest of his life. Now I’m wondering if that didn’t also get
sold with the pots and pans.” Sam caught herself tapping her foot. “Can you
haul him in, Beau? Question him about all this?”

“If there truly was a legal will,
he’s probably within his rights. Bad manners aren’t against the law. And before
you ask the next question I know you’re going to ask, yes, I did check the
courthouse records and they were legally married. The groom listed his address
the same as hers.”

“Don’t mention this to anyone
yet. I need to decide how to tell Zoë about it.”

She disconnected the call and
carried the brownies up front for the display case.

“Everything okay, Sam?” Becky
asked when she came back to the kitchen.

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
But even if Beau can’t act upon this officially, I can do a little snooping
around.

She sat down at her desk and
pulled out the Taos directory. No listing for Ted O’Malley. No listing under
attorneys for Joe Smith. Okay, maybe neither man had lived in town very long—the
directory was, after all, nearly a year old. She pulled her computer keyboard
toward her and searched the names online. Too many Joe Smiths in New Mexico,
and no matches anywhere in the state for an O’Malley with a first name or
initial that could conceivably match up to Ted. What the hell was going on
here?

“Sam?” Becky’s voice snapped her
back to the present. “Sorry. Just wanted to remind you that one of those bridal
shower cakes is supposed to be delivered early this afternoon.”

“Thanks. Glad you said
something—I’d forgotten.”

From the walk-in fridge she
pulled the traditional sheet cake with its “Congratulations, Sandy and Ron” in
ordinary blue script, along with the order form for it. She remembered the
woman who had ordered it—matron of honor for the happy couple—a woman so
completely conventional that she’d probably never had a quirky or creative idea
in her life. No matter what she tried, Sam hadn’t been able to convince the
woman to go with something more fun for the cake. So, anyway. She hoped the
bride-to-be wouldn’t be too disappointed.

The order form gave a street name
Sam had never heard of, and she had to look it up on the map. It was not far
from Lila Coffey’s place. Suddenly, the cake delivery began to take on some
interest. She checked the rest of the finished orders in the fridge but this
was the only one slated for the north side of town, so she told Becky she would
be back in an hour or so and carried the large box out to the van.

The affianced young woman who
accepted delivery of the cake was so thrilled with it that Sam had to remind
herself—never try to second-guess the customer. Obviously this girl and her
matron of honor were absolutely on the same wavelength. She left the young
woman to finish dressing for her shower so she could soon show off the cake to
her friends. Sam was eager to get on with the second part of her errand.

The road near Lila Coffey’s house
looked so different today, without the dozens of cars lining the way, that Sam
nearly cruised on past. She spotted the distinctive chalet roof and braked
quickly, turning into the driveway at the last possible second. The front yard
had lost its neat appearance—the grass looked trampled and some of the
flowering shrubs were certainly the worse for wear as people had ignored the
walkway altogether. She sighed and got out of the van.