Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (16 page)

Mr. Abrams nodded. “You can certainly choose to proceed with that legal action, but the trust is also legal and it will take years to come to any sort of alternate resolution.”

“I can’t believe this. My own brother cheating me. Again.” Jeff swore, pushing past them all, as he stormed from the room.

After he left, his sister said, “Is there any other mention of us?”

The attorney tapped the papers on the table, aligning them, and shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Eklund.”

Janice sighed and picked up her purse. “Then I’ll go talk with my brother. Good day.”

“Your check will be mailed to you as part of the probate.”

“Thank you.” Janice nodded and left.

John glared at the attorney, and then at Liz, before he sat and folded his arms. Apparently he was interested in hearing how the rest of Gene’s assets would be dispersed.

The attorney looked at Liz. Here it was. The moment of truth. “You will receive the home in which you resided in Park City, as well as the vacation homes in Colorado, New York and France. There are many accounts, which I will go over with you at a later date, but you will receive the bulk of your husband’s estate, other than his bequests to other people, which total $515,000.” He then revealed the dollar amount that Liz would receive—an astronomical sum, and far too large for my bank account to ever hold, with a stipulation that any children Gene and Liz might have in the future would receive money currently in a trust fund. If no children were conceived or born at the time of his death, then that money would automatically revert to Liz.

The good news? Liz was a wealthy woman.

The bad news? Some people, including law enforcement, might look at that and say she had
millions
of reasons to murder Gene.

Liz looked pale. Finally, she asked, “Who is the person that is not here?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” The attorney looked at her sympathetically.

Liz nodded, her lips tight. “Yes. I’m curious to know who is receiving the other $500,000.”

I knew she wasn’t concerned about the money, but about the other woman.

He straightened the papers on the table again. “A woman is pregnant with a boy child. The mother will receive $50,000 for her care, and the child will receive $50,000 upon his birth, with the remainder going into a trust that he will receive on his twenty-first birthday.”

“Gene’s child?” Liz rose from her chair. “I’m going to be sick again.”

Worried, the attorney pointed the way and Liz stumbled from the room.

I looked at Mr. Abrams, who shrugged in apology. “I’m sorry I upset your sister. It was a recent addendum to the will.”

John shook his head. “I’m out of here, too. Gene is as annoying dead as when he was alive.”

That left just me and the attorney. He said to me, “These events are often upsetting to the family.”

You think?
But I nodded and waited for my sister. After a few minutes, I excused myself, picked up my purse, and followed the direction the attorney pointed.

Gene left almost everything to his wife—and his child.

I understood the significance of this.

Not only would that give the Sheriff’s Department more reason to suspect Liz, but his impregnation of another woman made Liz look doubly guilty. His son might receive a sum in the will, but having a son by another woman made Liz look like a woman scorned, and probably capable of anything, even murder.

I suddenly began to realize that it might be very important to at least try and figure out who the real murderer was.

~ ~ ~

My cell phone buzzed. I checked it and excused myself, walking out from the law office lobby into a quiet corner. “Hi, Lonny.”

“I have come to a decision,” he announced in a light tone.

I smiled. “Really? All by yourself, just like that?”

“Do not mock me, Ms. Butler,” he teased. “I decided that you, Liz, and even your fearsome grandmother need to get away for a night. No talk about Gene or his untimely death.”

“That sounds nice, actually.” And totally in keeping with my friend’s thoughtfulness. “What do you suggest?”

“I bought tickets to Hale Center Theater’s latest play. Tonight. I’ll pick you all up at five. Dress up. I’m going to distract you from your melancholy. I got an extra ticket for Zach, too, if you feel it’s okay for him to be out late on a school night.”

“I think he’d love it. Thanks, Lonny. We can certainly use some distraction.”

“Tell your grandmother I did not buy a ticket for any boy toys she may have rustled up.”

I chuckled. “I will.”

He lowered his voice. “I’ll see you tonight at five. Dinner is on me.”

“You’re awesome. Thank you so much.”

“Later.” And he was gone.

I was still smiling when I put away the phone.

When Liz was ready to leave, I told her Lonny’s plans.

“I’m not sure I want to go anywhere in public right now, Vicki,” she said.

“I think it would do us all a world of good.”

After going down the stairs and getting into her vehicle, she said, “Okay. I’ll give it a try. But I’m driving myself so I can leave any time I want.”

“Sounds fair,” I said, hoping she didn’t leave after dinner. She was the one who needed distracting the most.

When we got back to the Inn, I didn’t expect to see Grandma dressed in her karate outfit, all white with a white sash belted around her waist. She struck her karate pose, minus the yell.

“My, Grandma, what big hands you have!” I couldn’t resist.

“Get your sister. We’re going into town.”

“Dressed like that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I brought clothes to change into.”

“Grandma, I have guests and we just came from the reading of Gene’s will.” I smiled at her. It was noon and all my guests were already gone, skiing and shopping for the day. Which Grandma had probably guessed, based on her own years of running a bed and breakfast. Plus, Zach was at school. And she knew Cielo and Kent took turns fielding the desk for me.

“Well, hell’s bells, girl, Liz really needs some diversion now.” Grandma changed out of her karate outfit and into her colorful street clothes—a rust-colored turtleneck sweater and dark brown slacks with a dramatic necklace and rings.

I said, “We have to be back before five o’clock. Lonny is taking us to dinner and a play.”

“We can do that.” Grandma looked at my sister. “So are you a wealthy woman now?”

Liz nodded.

“That’s good. It makes life easier.”

I just bet it does.

Grandma refused to say where she was taking us. She drove us down Mountain Boulevard until she reached the stoplight where it intersected with Silver City’s Main Street. Turning right, she drove us past Lodgepole Restaurant and Silver City Bank. Then past the Police Department and Mary’s Donuts. Krispy Kreme never had a chance here. Mary cooked gigantic donuts that would melt in your mouth.

We went right past the small theater where the latest Disney animated movie was playing alongside the latest action guy flick. Then past the Moose Muffin Café and Gene’s real estate office. Liz turned away.

Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto Kensington and I knew where we going. Her favorite store, Ye Olde Fudge Shoppe.

Fudge. The ultimate comfort food.

A red-and-white striped awning set the perky tone for the medieval-sounding place. Inside, it looked even less medieval—twelve or so round, white, wrought iron tables. There were probably twelve of them, surrounded by not-quite-comfortable-but-cutesy wrought iron chairs. The place was half-empty—or was it half-full?—of ladies of all ages, and a lone man. He was an older gentleman who was sitting at a corner table.

We went through the line, choosing their specialty—broccoli cheese soup and fudge cake—and pulled out seats at one of the tables.

All except Grandma. She locked eyes with the older gentleman, who stood slowly and walked toward us, his eyes never leaving Grandma. Then when he used one of the corniest lines ever—“Don’t I know you?”—she giggled and told us she’d be with us in a moment.

I rolled my eyes as I watched her take a seat at the man’s table. “Grandma needs to have her wings clipped.”

Liz said, “Aw, let her have some fun. She’s nearly eighty years old. I only pray I have as much spunk when I’m her age.”

When Grandma rejoined us, her newest man in tow, Liz and I had already finished our soup and were starting our fudge cake.

“You girls shouldn’t wolf down your food. It’ll upset your tummies,” she said. Then she held out her hand toward her new friend before introducing him as Herbert Norris.

Herbert Norris? As in the man whose gun was used to murder Gene? At least, according to my own questionable source, David Weston. Now, how best to work that particular tidbit into the conversation? And why would a person use his own gun to murder someone? Unless they were in the heat of the moment.

“Ladies,” he said with a nod of his head, before he grimaced in pain. He put one hand up to his midsection. “Sorry, I got my ribs bruised the other night and they’re still rather painful.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “What happened?”

He looked chagrined. “I’d rather not say,” he said, glancing at Liz.

Liz sighed. “Did my husband do it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Grandma patted his arm. “It’s okay, Herbert. Just have a seat and tell us what happened.”

With a hesitant nod, he sat in one of the feminine chairs. “I went over to your husband’s house and, regrettably lost my cool. I shoved him. And he shoved me back. I fell down, and, well, I’m not as young as I used to be. I ended up in the ER that evening.”

Grandma huffed. “Fisticuffs are for younger men, Herbert.”

“I know, Naomi. But I had good reason.”

I wasn’t sure how to say this except to blurt it out, so, “I heard that it was your gun that was used to kill Gene.”

He flushed red in embarrassment. “Yes. I took it with me. Foolish, foolish, foolish, I know. I don’t know what I was planning to do with it. Threaten him, I suppose. And he took it from me when I left his home.” He looked at Liz. “I am very sorry, Ms. Eklund. I never intended for it to be used that way.”

Liz and I exchanged glances. She said, “It’s all right, Mr. Norris. I’ve learned there are many things about my husband I wasn’t aware of. There were apparently lots of people upset with him.”

“Like over the Silver Creek Development deal,” Herbert Norris said. “I heard the old man’s son was very angry about the way Gene acquired the land.”

“Really?” Liz said, as she leaned in toward me. “After we leave here, I want to look through some of the files in Gene’s office.”

Herbert visited for a few minutes and then left, promising to call Grandma.

“You gave him your phone number?” Liz pretended to be shocked. “You
hussy
.”

“Oh, stow it, Elizabeth.”

“Well, what other woman your age is out picking up men?”

Grandma sighed. “That’s exactly the point. I have too many friends who sat down and just never got back up. I’m not going to do that.”

“No, you’re certainly not.” Liz grinned. “Good for you, Grandma. But I just have one question about Mr. Norris.”

Grandma put on her patient face. “Yes?”

“What would Dr. Ray say?”

“He would be glad I’m not sitting at home, atrophying.”

Liz laughed so hard, she snorted water from her nose. “You and atrophy in one sentence? You’re killing me.”

“Killing you?” Grandma got a wicked gleam in her eyes, as she held up her lethal karate hands, and quoted one of my favorite lines from the movie,
Fried Green Tomatoes
. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have used my hands.”

Chapter Ten

LIZ WASN’T JOKING. AS GRANDMA drove up Kensington and turned onto Main Street, Liz asked her to drop us off at Gene’s Mountain Home Real Estate office so she could get a copy of the Silver Creek Development files. Now that she was legally Gene’s heir, his half of the real estate business was hers, and she was free to do so.

“That will take a while,” Grandma said.

“Norma will help me with it.” Norma was the efficient, older woman who had worked as Gene’s receptionist and secretary since he opened the office five years ago.

“I didn’t see her at the funeral,” Grandma said.

“Wasn’t she there? I was too distracted to notice,” Liz said. “But I’m surprised to hear she didn’t come.”

“I’ll go visit Ilene,” Grandma said. “I need to pick up some yarn for a project, anyway. Just call when you want me to pick you up.”

Ilene Jackson was the owner of the town’s primo yarn, knitting, and craft store, Knits and Knots. She did the calligraphy on my Inn menus and signs in exchange for spending several awesome weekends at the Inn. It worked out well for both of us. She was an empty nester who turned her passion of a hobby into a thriving, successful business. She and Grandma were good friends.